
Apoc-Eclipse Now
August 21st, 2017 was revered as a special, NASA-inspired holiday of sorts because the Great American Eclipse of 2017, also known as “the day people pretend to give a shit about the solar system”, made its debut. In the most rehearsed fashion, it stepped out on stage, bowed, turned back around, and said “see you in seven more years”. Curtain call — silence. Eclipses are the deadbeat dads of the planetary system. He shows up with presents and promises, then peaces out just as you’re beginning to enjoy his company.
If you don’t already know — because you’ve been living under a rock or perhaps in the shadow of the moon — a solar eclipse appears when the Moon passes between the Earth and the Sun, causing a total or partial blockage of the Sun from an earthling’s perspective. It’s beautiful, it’s bold, it’s magnificent. I was able to feast my eyes on this rare occurrence through a dusty welder’s helmet that was passed around by my co-workers like it was a fat philly. Comments included “let me get that”, “quit hogging it”, “when’s it gonna be my turn?”, and of course, the token eclipse-virgin uttered what all eclipse-virgins across the nation felt — “I’m scared”.
After soaking in the sun’s “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia” moment, I wondered what significance the Great American Eclipse imparted upon on us. I suppose it offered children an opportunity to learn a bit about the cosmic universe. On second thought, it goes deeper than that. Those same children were conceived by people who miscomprehend contractions. Headlines reported various anecdotes of impaired vision by sun gazers who refused to heed the warning “don’t look directly”. Somehow “don’t look directly” begins to correlate with “don’t come inside me”. And suddenly the world makes sense again.
Nevertheless, with every major event in history comes a natural evolution in the popularity of certain baby names. The year 2017 will deliver more tiny blessings named Luna, Sunny, Sky, and even Moon. Certainly, for every shift in baby names comes an equal shift in stripper aliases. Newton’s law, right? Ms. Full Moon may not carry change, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have places to store it.
What I’m sure of though is that there was an upswing in replays of Justin Bieber’s original song “Total Eclipse of Your Heart” as well as flying off the register counter sales of Wrigley’s Eclipse gum. Orbit must be seething with resentment. Their new slogan should be “every damn day” because Orbit is the single mother clawing her own eyes and ears out as the children commemorate deadbeat daddy’s miraculous arrival the night before Father’s Day.
All in all, I believe the Great American Eclipse of 2017 was a success. In Los Angeles, it was a partial eclipse — displaying an orange crescent reminiscent of a mouse-bitten cookie. A bold, beautiful, magnificent, nibbled cookie…cookie…cookies. There’s chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, peanut butter, black and white, gingerbread. The flavors. The diversity. The endless shelf life. It’s becoming clear that they have been the true, unspoken heroes of August 21st, 2017 all along.
R.W.
