The first Tuesday of every month, the city government where I reside, tests out their emergency siren. It's blasting now as I write. It's kind of a mechanical fog horn blast, I'm thinking it's a C note, blared for about sixty seconds. There's some kind of wurlitzer effect, the sound kind of swirls or pans left to right across the horizon. I'm thinking Pink Floyd could of put it to great effect.
"This is a test, it's only a test." That line always goes through my head. Yes, well, isn't it all just a test? And as Woody Allen once asked, "why couldn't it be multiple choice?" But of course, it is multiple choice. Or, at least, sometimes it seems that way. Then again, other times, it seems like the choices are made already, we are just sort of fulfilling them. So there's the illusion of multiple choice. And as the great UCLA basketball coach John Wooden (yes, he's still alive, he's now in his nineties) said on the radio a few days ago, you must "be yourself," and yes, well why are all the great, insights so mundane and bland?
I guess saying the words is easy, to play the game that way, at all times, in all circumstances...maybe not so.
So yes, what if this was an emergency? What if the aliens were invading, or the bombs were falling, or Lake Michigan was Tsunamiing? What would I do then? Hide under my desk? That was the old plan, in school, at direction from the nuns. The horn blasts, hit the floor, roll under your desk and cower in fear.
I don't think so...I'm fortified with some kickass coffee this morning. So, I guess, my feeling is "bring it on." Whatever is in store, I can deal with it (or not). The proof is in the mechanics of a day.
"I was praying the pieces wouldn't fall on me." - B. Dylan
