My favorite author, Kurt Vonnegut, just died. I'm really sad. Here's the response I posted to Blogging For A Good Book:

Oh no…

Vonnegut was my very favorite living author. I loved his voice, his humor, his passion, his causes, his charisma. His novels, his nonfiction, his short stories– all of it was brilliant.

Vonnegut was, to me, one of the most important voices in the whole history of American social thought. Of the many different thinkers who have tried to understand the world around them, Vonnegut is one of the elite few in my personal pantheon of people who really get it, up there with Mark Twain and Ben Franklin. I admired his compassion and intellect, and his gift for putting it all into words that moved me. He managed to package humanity and philosophy into a ripping good pleasure read.

I'm really bummed. I admired Kurt more than any other famous person. The world's a worse place without him. I don't think I've ever felt so sad about the death of someone I didn't personally know.

A more cheerful, lengthier post soon, about the awesome gifts I received in the mail yesterday, but for now... well, to use Kurt's words, for right now, I think happy posts can take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.