I am once again pondering the usual existential question: Why Am I Here?
Somewhere on a mountain in Tibet, there is a malnourished Buddhist who will say that the meaning of life is the sound of one hand clapping. I don't know about you, but if I were to brave the hazards of blizzards, high winds, hypoxia and Yeti outrage on some Himalayan death-march to receive that answer, I'd have to say that, at that point, I think the meaning of life would sound more like a sherpa being thrown to his death than any sort of single-handed applause.
Furthermore, there are those out there who will say that you've never lived life until you've experienced a brush with death. That's why I refuse to help old ladies cross the street. After all, no one ever told me it had to be MY death that I'm having a brush with, and in this experience, I have no problem with getting a "second-hand" answer to my question. Don't worry. It's not like I'm going to be shoving them into traffic. That would be mean AND illegal, and I am certain that the meaning of life is NOT to sit in a prison.
On the other hand, there's also the concept that the meaning of life is to simply eat, drink and be merry. I can embrace that, and where better to find this meaning of life than at the local Hooters Happy Hour? I mean, there I can take a glipse into the mind of God while a cute girl in hot pants serves me beer and wings. I mean, I don't know about you, but to me, it sure beats the hell out of climbing mountains or playing Frogger with the elderly.