I was going to post about the irony of the human search for meaning in the universe; you know, how that which presumably separates us from other animals is our constant search for the one answer we will never find.
Oh, also something about how time moves relentlessly on and that even if we someday manage to overcome the physical obstacles to traveling at the speed of light, we can only ever travel ahead in time, never back. Our youth and past triumphs remain prisoners of the memory.
Then I wondered why there is always some slowass holding up the fast lane on 280. I mean, seriously. When you look in front of you and see a ribbon of empty asphalt, then you glance in your rear-view mirror and see a menacing train of cars driven by angrily gesticulating people, I feel you should know enough to move into the right lane. But no.
Could it be that the slow driver in the fast lane is merely trying to recapture her youthful notion of seemingly endless time? Might he secretly yearn for those lost moments when the world appeared before him as an empty canvas, beckoning him to create! imagine! dream!?
Or is he just a big clueless jerkface?
You can find more of the interesting word usements I structure on Apple.com.
Read my article, Better Writing Through Design, on No. 242 of A List Apart.