O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! The sun shines down on us all this morning because I have been asked to provide an opinion! Normally I have to force them upon others unrequested, but NOT TODAY, people. Not. Today.
Q: There are soooo many episodes of Judge John Hodgman. Do I go back and start at episode no. 1? Start listening as of now? Pick an arbitrary point in the middle? Is there a curated list of cannot-miss-episodes?
A: What is time? A river flowing ever downstream. A straight line from the beginning to the end of the universe. A mobius strip, twisting between memory and anticipation. Time is a mother carrying home a bag of oranges from the bodega, a green tendril wrenching apart the seed that has protected it because it is called to reach towards the light, the meniscus of a drop of water that quivers but does not break. Beginnings are false prophet. Endings, lies we tell to anchor ourselves, because if there is memory, can there really be an end? Do we really ever make decisions if the universe contains infinite possibilities of ourselves, a multiverse of Choose Your Own Adventures?
Wherever you begin your journey, what is important is tasting the air as you breathe.