Their Sweet Time
Saturday, early afternoon, after breakfast at the usual place, followed by three hours at the office, a quick trip with cameras over to San Francisco to see if there might not be a Mideast anti-war demonstration on Montgomery street, a somewhat knee jerk reaction to the fact I haven't been taking any pictures lately and less so a response to what is happening in Palestine. God knows what is happening in Palestine, except it is not good and the man in Texas has not done anything yet to make it better.
The Mideast is one of those things you studied in school, you see year after year on television, you read about in mind numbing detail in the papers: a story as old as history, except real people are really dying and the consequences for people who are asleep at the wheel (like me), yes, even here at the end of the rainbow, may be deadly.
This American Life, ran "Cowboys of the Apocalypse" on public radio last week, a story about Fundamentalist Christians and Orthodox Jews who have joined forces to breed a perfect red cow in order to bring on "The Rapture" and Armageddon. Evidently the two remaining preconditions for Armageddon are the building of a temple and the appearance of a perfect red cow in Palestine. Or, at least, a red cow in Palestine. And there aren't any red cows in Palestine.
So Fundamentalist American Christians are collaborating with Orthodox Israeli Jews (who have put up the necessary $50,000) to breed a "perfect red cow" (or at least a red cow) to bring on "The Rapture" during which all of God's good little chilluns will get zapped up to heaven, and all of God's bad little chilluns will get fried in the hell fires to follow. Crazy? Yeah, I'd say that, but the thought is, well, here are some folks who are working their little hearts out to bring us the end of the world but, don't worry, it's OK, because it's all done in the name of God. In the name of God. Many things are done in the name of God.
I digress. This started, before I got to talking about red cows, with my morning, going into the office to salvage what was left of my computer room after our Friday day long clean-a-thon and I am here now at my apartment, looking at boxes that need repacking, looking at the tape gun that sits unused on the table, looking again at the boxes (still there) and thinking, I've just spent how many hours packing, discarding, rearranging and now that it's time to do my own stuff, something in which you would think I'd have a greater interest, now that it's time to do my own stuff as opposed to office stuff, why do I shrink back like a vampire from the light? This doesn't really need an explanation (now, does it) so I think I'll walk down the street and have a cup of coffee, have an ice cream cone, have an anything at all before I come back and, um, pack. Sure, man, why not? Take your time. You've got all the way til when? Armageddon?
Sunday, waiting for the old storage company to call and tell me they're on their way to my new storage locker in Alameda. What do you bet they take their sweet time?