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 |  Nothing like a fortune cookie to make a year intriguing. |
"30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  The Prompt: 2012 to others is a tragic year since it is associated with end of days. Express your sentiments on this. The Music: "Let It All Hang Out" - The Hombres The Serious. Come December 20, 2012, I'll be sitting in a funky diner just outside of Sacramento with my niece, sipping on a vanilla malt. Should the world end when the clock strikes midnight, the shakes will be free. Score. Should the cosmos keep spinning and the planet not implode on itself, I owe my niece a cheeseburger and fries. I better get working on those coupons now. Wouldn't it be a bit anti-climatic if the world ends on that particular day? I mean, we're all writers here. Doesn't that smack of the formulaic ending? I want the unexpected. I want the world to come to the brink of ending, everyone holding their breath, then an awkward 1970s disco tune fills the air as someone's phone rings. Lonewolf  knows what I mean, lol. The recipient will be the same guy in the movie theater, sitting somewhere in the fourth row, who refuses to listen the adverts on the screen asking moviegoers to politely turn off the phone. He'll be standing in the middle of the street somewhere, expecting the worst, when his phone goes off. He couldn't turn it off for the end of the world, because, you know, he has a life. The apocalypse soundtrack by KC and the Sunshine Band. The Not-So Serious. Confession time. I'm going to admit something I haven't said aloud to anyone who isn't required to love me. When I have free moments in an otherwise hectic life, I dabble in Eschatology (the study of the end). It started when I was a small child, watching one of those throw away documentaries on A&E after Sunday school. "Mysteries of the Bible" would show the audience odd paintings of demons eating babies while a strange, disembodied voice narrated biblical scripture in a voice that Charlton Heston would be envious of. It made me feel frightened and excited all at the same time. Any way you sliced it, we we're all going to die in a fiery pit for not brushing our teeth on a regular basis. Fascinating stuff. I've been hooked ever since. If I weren't surrounded by practical people, I probably would be at an obscure college somewhere on the east coast, earning my PhD in a cold, dark room surrounded by the scent of cheese puffs. My secret dream is to be on one of those documentaries the History Channel shows, giving a guest lecture next the man who hasn't shown his face in fifteen years because the government is watching his every more. Basically, I want to be the invisible fourth member of "The Lone Gunmen" because the truth really is out there. (Thanks, Mulder.) It wasn't that long ago that I faced that scary point in my relationship where I had to share those embarrassing parts of myself with my significant other. I nervously showed him the stacks and stacks of books I had on unheard of cultures and their views on when we're all going to die as well as my complete collection on the works of Nostradamus. There was an expression of his face of horror and uncontrollable laughter. To his credit, he kissed me on the the forehead, muttered something like "that's nice, sweetie" and walked off to make some tea. We're soulmates, what can I say? The Absurd. My father sent this to me in the mail. No letter asking me how I was doing. No note to justify the picture. Just cutout of this picture pasted on some sturdy cardboard. Somehow I was not disturbed by what he was implying without saying a word. Then again, his favorite movie is "Buckaroo Banzai". Enough said.  For the enjoyment of your ear holes. |
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