If the world ends...
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I have a serious statistic I’d like you guys to weigh in on:
According to an Ipsos Global Public Affairs poll taken on behalf of Reuters and published in a May 2, 2012, article in The Daily Mail — a reputable United Kingdom newspaper — 22 percent of Americans believe the world will end on Dec. 21, 2012, in direct correlation with the Ancient Mayan calendar.
This is a real number; just under a quarter of our country believes all life on planet Earth will end in less than two months.
And that’s a pretty weird thing to say (or read, I guess) out loud. If a quarter of the country believes we’re all going to perish in a not-so-pleasant way in less than 50 days, how has our society not devolved into total chaos and disarray of epic proportions? Are we lying to the pollsters, or have we all just adopted a progressive and existential point of view on this one?
Anyway, I don’t believe the world will end in December. Neither does NASA, and I’ve yet to hear a reputable scientist take to the airwaves and shout at the top of his voice, “The end is here! We are all doomed!”
You’ll note that I used the term “reputable.” An “Ancient Aliens” host does not qualify as such. Sorry. I’m open to the idea of aliens, but the History Channel’s argument that, “You can’t prove aliens didn’t build the pyramids, therefore, aliens built the pyramids,” doesn’t carry much weight with me.
Moving on.
Again, the world will not end in December (I hope). Every sane person on the planet will tell you the same thing. However, just for fun, let’s assume that the world will end Dec. 21, 2012. Kind of like everyone assumed it would end with the Y2K bug in the year 2000, and again in 2001, and again in 2003. I mean, seriously folks. Can we please get beyond this?
No? OK, fine, you win. Begin cynical thought experiment, now.
If the world is really ending: I would be really sad. There’s so much I’ve yet to do. Big stuff, like travel outside the country, invent a longer-lasting light bulb, cure cancer, have a family, drive a race car, break a world record and get bit by a shark or struck by lightning. If the world is really ending, I’d cry; I’d be sad; I’d hug my loved ones; I’d cry bitter tears for the death of all humanity, and then I’d go do all of those things I just listed above.
Please don’t misunderstand; I’m not saying I want to die via high voltage or a great white shark, but I think it would make for a cool story. Maybe not shark-bitten, but shark-nipped. Like a baby shark that just hatched (yes, some sharks are born in egg form. Weird, right?) and then he comes up out of the ocean depths, nibbles on my heel, and I punch him in the face and swim away. Now that is a story worthy of going on my epitaph, and definitely worthy of Facebook.
The only reason I want to get struck by lightning is there’s an off-chance that I’ll get blue-lightning hands like the emperor from “Star Wars.”
I guess the main thing to take away from this exercise is that if the world was ending, I’d do everything within my power to see and do as much as I could. Maybe that’s why so many believe it will end. Maybe thinking the world will end gives you the reason you need to get off the couch and lose that 20 pounds you’ve always wanted to shed, or travel through Europe like you’ve always wanted to, or tell that special someone how you really feel before it’s too late.
Maybe that’s it. I hope that’s it.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go stand in the ocean while covered in tuna-chum during a thunderstorm holding a golf club.
Two birds, one stone. See you when I have blue-lightning hands.
