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fake Comfort in The Death Clock

Ed Ronald, OP Peer at

as sitting in a bar drinking with a bunch of writers the other day. All of them were depressed, as
ters tend to be. I have found the good ones seem to be depressed more than most people. I

ik their depression has something to do with the fact that they have chosen a vocation that

ces them to pay attention to the archaic, superficial, hedonistic, society we live in.

I don’t socialize with them for their uplifting conversation. I do it in hopes that maybe some of
ir talent might rub off on me. The gathering took place at the Brooklyn Pub on Columbia

eet, which has a balcony that overhangs a deadly drop to Front Street.

After a few drinks and conversation about politics and popular culture, our despair intensified

i members of the group would disappear only to be found hanging over the balcony railing
uing the merits of suicide. We soon had a policy of taking attendance after each round and if a
ter was missing the happiest person in the group had to go outside and talk the jumper back tn.
Somehow on my way to the washroom I made a wrong turn and found myself standing at the

 

re of the plunge screaming, “I don’t want to live in a world that reveres George fucking Bush
| Paris fucking Hilton.” It wasn’t long before someone patted me on the back, took my hand,
1 led me back to our table.

Sensing the atmosphere was growing even darker, I decided to lighten the mood by talking

ut a webpage I had seen recently, called “The Death Clock.” On the site you put in the date of
w birth and it tells the date you will die. I explained to the writers how comforting it was to

»w that I will be dead on Friday, July 27, 2035.

After that date I won’t have to pick up a newspaper and read how the world’s wealthy have dis-
rered new ways to make money by committing atrocities against the poor, such as The Coca Cola
mpany that have been privatizing water resources in India, depleting the local ground waters and
sing water shortages for thousands of communities in their quest to sell bottles of Dasani. I
n't have to hear about Wal-Mart and Nestle getting rich on child labor. I think being dead will
p me come to terms with the policies of Halliburton, Dow Chemical, Chevron, and Monsanto.
On that predicted Friday in the future I'll be free from TV. I have to keep changing the channel
zet away from entertainment excrement.

Television executives ate turning prime time into the Roman Coliseum. Viewers watching over
ved spectacles give the acts a “thumbs up” or down over the phone. The tube is flooded reality
»ws and game shows so the executives don’t have to pay someone to write a decent script. ?m
guessing, but I bet being dead and never hearing catch phrases like the tribe has spoken, you're
d, or deal or no deal will be a pleasure.

\fter listen to my reasoning, the writers conceded that knowing when you are going to die
ud be comforting, We left the bar that night encouraging each other to stay positive while we are

ig because relief is not that far away.