My favorite author died 10 years ago, today.
I don’t want this to be one of those weepy sentimental things, because Douglas Adams was not a particularly sentimental person. What he was, was a man, a writer, an atheist, with a love of life and a love of humans and the sorts of things that they do that I don’t know if I can hope to live up to.
He was not a satirist, I think. He wasn’t cynical enough for that. He loved the shit out of life too much for that. What he did, was point out all of the things about humans that were absurd and point out how funny they are and how we should all be happy about it. Without all of life’s little absurdities, it really wouldn’t be very interesting.
He was an existentialist, though he might not have used the word. He showed me that life had no meaning, but that this is a good thing.
He taught me what it means to be a “radical atheist.”
He taught introduced me to Richard Dawkins who taught me about evolution.
He taught me that science is ridiculously interesting but reminded me that science is not so interesting that we should forget about life and why science is important.
He taught me that literature is important.
He showed me that even tragedy is necessary.
He taught me a lot of very important things and is largely responsible for the person I am today.
He was my friend even though he didn’t know it. I think he would have liked me.