Dinner For One, In the Dark

So you caught me thinking what shall I decide to wear at the end of time? All escatology aside, Enrico Fermi and his pair of weiner dogs (dachsand in German) would deduce that there were to be no guests. He had don his calculations specs and gathered the nearest cocktail napkin and stabbed it staccato with his mechanical pencil. He would wear the clothes he would wear when he was washing all his other clothes. I fancy Fermi wished he had a large array of wardrobes endlessly searching for his perfect suit.

But these one in a million things can be misleading. Consider this-If you live in the southern hemishphere, where I undertand that all pleasure arises from the left hand, you could put on some clothes and step out of your ranch styled bushwack thackshack and behold a mighty spectacle in the sky.

Stellar in its essence and confounding in it presence, this latest gift to the taxonomy of the heavens has a life so mysterious, we wonder if she, in our apparent infancy, may not be the one that delivers our churning cannablistic DNA farm into the kepler belt.

No one saw it coming.

Well actually Robert H McNaught, an astronmer from the underphere conjured it up with the sheer willpower of his comet creating cortex. Or maybe by having the stamina that it takes to become an astronomer Robert H McNaught was paid a star gazers wage to sit around all night in his fancy astro science lab coat and study years and years of photo plates to find what so many of his colleauges never would. A Fuckin New Comet.
I undertand that when he discovered the mighty snake of celestial ice he was wearing his standard astronomy attire-a fancy astro science lab coat.

But science is never pretty, that is why most people do it alone in lab coats.

But what about Comet Schumaker-Levy so many frustrated comet hunters must be thinking. Well yea Schu-Lev was cool. It was new and it had some violence to do, but it all ended up looking like someone throwing a rice crispy at a shirtless Fat Albert.

Somwhere along the other end of all this million to one odds lies the highly disputed theories of the actual apearance of modern culture in the Americas. Did they somehow, like so many other species pilot across the vast waters of the north atlantic on magical McDriftwood, fertile with impregnating info. Or will someday soon that plastic magic global warming reveal ancient pathways sliced through the arctic tectonic plates herding ice age refugees east and west across that most insomniac place on the globe. Never mind the controversies of Mr Ice Cool himself-Keniwick Man, and his arch enemies They who left thier spear in his back, the Clovis People.

But with science straining to listen to the future and religions arguing about the past, can we ever find our way in what appears to be the McNothing? Or can we expect some ark from afar sloshing petri-dishes on this comet raveged rock?