In just 29 minutes, a transformation will take place. November 1, at least in my neighborhood, will sink into the abyss of history. The calendar will shift. A new day will be born. Life as we know it will change; what we know now as now will become the past. Transmogrification on speed or steroids or something like that. It’s the sort of thing that compares favorably with volcanic eruptions and collisions between tectonic plates.
While you (as if there really were a “you”) are rocking along, oblivious to this extraordinarily massive upset to what we naively consider “time,” I will be waiting in anticipation, sipping a bit of Seagram’s 7 Crown and holding on to the edge of my desk. (There could be seismic repercussions to this shift in the space-time continuum, my friend.)
I just checked the clock. What began as a countdown to an event 29 minutes away has changed to a 21-minute countdown. Obviously, I failed in my tryout for the part of “blazing fingers.” I may type slow, but my mind doesn’t. Yeah, that.
With just over a quarter of an hour until the calendar discards the day in which I find myself, I am getting giddy in anticipation. What will the future hold?
Perhaps most importantly of all, though, will there be popcorn in this brave new world? Some people can’t get by without popcorn. I am not one of them, but there are those among us who need popcorn the way a cocaine addict needs butter.