It's the end of the world

In Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, there is a gentleman at the bar who keeps saying "It's the end of the world." At one point he raises his drink as he proclaims this.

Now there are many claims these days that the end of the world is nigh, and if I had a drink, I might raise it. Of course, if it really is the end of the world the glass might be empty, or cracked. And in my case, I'm more likely.to raise a cup of coffee. If that coffee has artificial sweetener or creamer, it might indeed be the end of the world.

In my lifetime I've been told that we are entering a new ice age. I've also been told we are suffering the effects of global warming.

I don't know whether to buy a parka and snowshoes, or sunglasses and Bermuda shorts. Of course, I could wear them all at the same time just in case. At worst, people might assume I'm a San Francisco street person.

Then there are the Rapture folks. Here I have real concerns. If I'm one of the raptured, I will go with the frustration of knowing that I didn't finish writing that novel I've been working on for 30 years or didn't get to visit the toilet paper museum. And if I don't get raptured, I might have to duck all those suddenly driverless cars, or might not have a good reason for being angry about the furnace repairman not showing up at the scheduled time.

Now, to be honest, the end of the world has not been a major concern of mine. At least it doesn't rank up there with whether or not to trust the 10-second rule when it is comes to food that fell on the floor.

Will it end in fire or ice? Either would suffice.

Will there be a visit from aliens bearing cookbooks?

Will we end up as a hyperspace bypass?

Will a supercomputer finally list all of God's nine billion names?

Will Anthony wish us all into a cosmic cornfield?

Science offers a few boring possibilities. 

 

The sun will go supernova.

A nuclear war - or one involving even more advanced weapons - will lead to annihilation.

An asteroid will hit us.

A super volcano will explode.  

A black hole will swallow us.

An asteroid will hit us, setting off a super volcano that will explode and push us into a black hole. Or a cosmic cornfield. 

Or it may just drag on and on and on, through the centuries, getting dimmer and colder and deader - at which point that furnace repairman might finally show up.

I'd like to imagine that if the end ever looms over me, getting bigger and more ominous, that suddenly  ...

The alarm will go off, I'll get up, get dressed, get on my bike, call the dog, and pedal off delivering the morning newspapers with the dog running joyfully at my side just as we used to do in simpler, happier times.  

Of course, I'll have to be careful about looking at the headlines on the newspapers.

Because with all that's going on, I might start thinking maybe it would be better if it all did come to an end.

In that case, I'll raise a cup. 

And I'll feel fine.

Pax et bonum