I am not an easily impressed person, maybe because I enjoy criticizing everything. It's a sickness, I am bored most of the time. I mean I'm not that interesting myself. I can't have a good time when most other people are having a hoot. My average job life is 10 weeks because nothing keeps my mind busy beyond that time. The only words that come out of my mouth that vaguely resemble a compliment are, "Hmm, It's OK."
Once in a while, almost as often as a Hale-Bopp appearance, something blows my mind away. For some reason the feeling I get when that happens is as if I was beat down. Defeated.
As I read the last line of Milan Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being, the only thing I could say was, "You son of a bitch." I hate superlatives, so I'm not going to throw them at this book, but I will throw some adjectives. Random, Crazy, Sick, Cynical, Hilarious, Czech. Ok I will use a superlative, it is not the best book, it is not the best written book, but it is the Most Me book. A book that forces a discussion of the philosophical relationship between God and Shit into the story line is Most Me. A writer that uses sets of parentheses within sets of parentheses to go on random tangent lunacies is a Most Me writer.
The last time I had this feeling was when I watched Charlie Kaufman's Adaptation.
That puts at 2 the number of people alive today I find impressive.
I'm still searching for that impressive politician.