Friday, May 20, 2011
Laughing at the end of the world
About two weeks ago I was driving home and saw one of their shrink-wrapped tour buses. WORLD ENDING! And I thought not, that's weird, but the sandwich board budget must have been increased.
Then I felt kind of relieved. Then I felt kind of scared. Because, if their version of the apocalypse was just sort of a giant, universe-sized snuffing out of life as we know it, I think I would be okay with that. But this is really old school, Revelation-of-Saint-John style stuff, with the burning and the flames and the floods (and how do those happen simultaneously? Wouldn't we all just get steamed to death like human-sized broccoli florets?) and the doomy doom doom.
The New York Times ran this weirdly touching, very sad article about a family whose parents believe that tomorrow is doomsday. The kids aren't quite so convinced. I mean, what do you do if your bellwether for whether or not everything is, in an essential way, okay with the world tells you that it's all going up in smoke tomorrow? Can you imagine the conversation on Sunday morning?
Sadly, in reviewing my one-more-day-left-to-live scenario, it was rather exactly the same as my every-other-Saturday-morning scenario. Dye my hair. Eat ice cream for breakfast. Contemplate the yawning pit that stretches out underneath everything, like every other day.