Y2K2 - The Real End ....
Writers Beware!
Yes here it is
fellow writers. 2002 is fast upon us. Depending on the humidity, it is
more upon some than others. I for one hate the heat so the air
conditioner resides in a window where the computer is. Of course. Where
else would it go? Heat makes me cranky. My family understands this and
pretty much allows me to live in the air conditioned part of the house.
They urge me toward it. Cringing when I wake up in a hot bedroom. I
don't see why. Doesn't everyone get just a little testy when their skin
is about to slide off? Odd, I guess I thought I was normal. But I
digress.
Y2K2 is coming. We are nearing
the moment when the world will cease to communicate. When computers all
over the world will develop dyslexia and the year 2002 will confuse
their chips to the point of melt down. They (the ever-present they)
thought it was the millennium turning. Foolish mortals. 2002 will take
computers to the edge and beyond. Stunned beyond function, they will
screech to a grinding halt, searching for bad sectors and foaming at the
modem.
Nothing is ever simple, is it?
2000 was such a nice round number and so anti-climatic. I know I for one
breathed a huge sigh of relief at 12:01 of the new millennium. I really
felt sorry for all those people who had a quarter ton of beans, a few
hundred bags of rice and enough gasoline stockpiled to blow up the
planet. I know a great recipe
site for using up those beans if anyone needs it. But don't dismay.
Y2K2 is coming. Just six short months to gather your supplies again. I
guess you've learned a few tricks about supply and demand during that
little millennium exercise in weird. Never store those beans in humid
areas. They tend to swell out of their containers. And as our 7th grade
science teacher explained, gas expands to fit the space it
occupies....and keeps expanding.
Writers will have it especially
tough in the coming months of the crash of 2002. Paper will be at a
premium for those incessant list makers again. Pencils, forget it.
They're a recommended survival item. And coffee of course will cost our
first born. Worth the price, but still....
And once the world settles down
to a somewhat primitive way of life again, we'll be appointed Scribes.
Yuck. Quill pens are fun to use in mastheads and for unruly
pseudonym/alter egos, but as slow as my email server. Scribes. Do we get
to wear long hooded robes too? They will put us in long dusty rooms with
inadequate lighting and ration our ink supply. They will still demand we
produce X number of chronicles a week. The Gods forbid they have a war.
We'll be screwed. My writing callus has been long gone. I'll be sore for
months.
But in time, and with planning,
our successors will develop a language all their own. They will keep the
masses ignorant of the important details of the kingdom. We Scribes will
encourage confusion. We will spread rumors about immanent return of the
Gods of Old - Pinky and The Brain. We will convince the peasants of
their puniness and frailty. We will withhold all bean recipes. We will
overcome the dust, the ink stained fingers and the eyestrain. We will
prevail.
But while we're dreaming big,
could we dream they pay scribes more than 2 cents a word? Whatever mode
of currency there may be in our post-apocalyptic world. Hell, most of us
have worked for sheep, canned corn and Quill even did a piece on the
Process of Pasteurization for a pair of socks once. We writers are
relatively easy to please.
One more thing...I vote we get
color choices for our robes.
________________
Copyright 2001 - Satiric Quill |
