I woke up last night with an insight: fun is the objectification of the good life.
But the good life is essentially subjective.
By “essentially subjective” I mean that it is an participatory existential state, not a comprehensible event on a timeline with a start and finish.
This bit from the back cover of Blondie’s debut album impressed me as a child: “Blondie hates fun, but they have so much of it that they decided it’s time to unload the real meaning of fun on this LP.” Condemning entire categories of experience is hilarious. When I declare time as my least favorite dimension, I’m stealing this humor from Blondie.