Some place in the universe, on some distant planet or moon, leaning up against a stone formation that is 9.4 times larger than the Burj Khalifa in Dubai, is the datebook for the Cosmos. She’s a punctual gal, the Cosmos; she hasn’t missed a date in 4.3 billion years and today was no exception.

If you have the time to flip through the pages—and the minimum of 836 people to lift them (this number is subject to change due to seasonal gravity changes)—you’ll come across the section where appointments for individual people are predetermined. On page 4,815,162,342 you will find the intermediary index which redirects you to the alphabet set language which will tell you that the English section of the datebook is on page 8,888,888,887 and that planet Earth is on page 8,888,888,904,899. The text is small, but not as small as that found in an Ayn Rand novel (not because it would be an inconvenience to read but is rather simply impossible to print any smaller). Thusly, the G section begins on page 8,888,888,905,004. In the subsection for years between 4000 BCE and 48212 AC3 exists the name Glide. Glide number 493 is the name Kevin Glide. I am number 494 because I am Kevin Glide II.

Before we go any further it should be explicitly stated that though the Cosmos is an extremely punctual woman, she is also organized to the point of unorganized. If you asked her she would tell you that the datebook is an organized system in her mind and so what if no one else understands it. She didn’t expect the whole “universe thing” to take off with such popularity. I digress. Back to Kevin Glide II.

If you were to look at Kevin Glide II’s section of the datebook, reading past the old plans to make his childhood painfully awkward (though not as painfully awkward as middle school) past the reminder for a karmic rain check for misleading him into attending Grand Valley State University for his freshman year of college, past the years leading up to May of 2012, you would see that May 4th was always going to be a shitty day.

I checked out of college for four months today. As I’m handing over the key to my empty room, I get the news that Adam Yauch is dead. I almost cried in public. The Beastie Boys are my favorite; at the age of six, they were my first band, a band I could call my own. From 6 to 11 they were the only group I listened to. Now a third of them is gone. No new albums. No tour. No human to be alive and well and having a positive impact on the world. I actually can’t wrap my mind around it. I see his picture and hear his voice: he is alive. I never saw him beyond a screen or heard his voice beyond speakers, he is no more alive or dead to me now than he was when I was six. 

But I saw The Avengers and it made me feel like a kid again. Not in the cliche way. During parts of the film, to see heroes I’ve adored since childhood on the screen together transformed me into a six year old again just short of literally. 

Isn’t that art? Isn’t that life? Isn’t that art? Isn’t that life?