Eurovision vs. the May 21 Harold Camping apocalypse Tomorrow.

"Then why did God bane us with the intelligence to think?" Drummond shoots back. Thinking is a aggravation all right. And this has been a week of aggressively, almost wishfully teleological thinking. It seems as if the horsemen are all gathering. There’s fog, disease, shortage and war.

Admittedly, those things have existed - and have seemed equally dire - since the earliest Biblical times. The coterie as it is always seems a tittle out of whack. That’s why some day-dream of the Apocalypse. But it’s why others invented entertainment.

The request to leaking from the stained life and the universal excess of time? There’s a assurance for that. Heck, there’s hundreds of channels. Eurovision, television.

The Apocalypse is just another curtain-raiser, another of those shows we safeguard fanatically, so that we can be mildly annoyed when it’s canceled. But if you are reading this after 6 p.m. on May 21, the humankind did not end. Unless I was wrong.

In which case, by now, I’m doubtlessly in some stamp of non-metaphorical locale of irritable lighting, unintelligible sounds and cries of implausible pain. Then again, that could just be Eurovision.

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