Tick, tick, tick …
I don’t know about you, but this week is feeling a little different to me than the typical snoozy time between Christmas and New Year’s. The Seattle thing alone–spooked by the potential for terrorism, city officials there canceled the big celebration at the Space Needle–negates the accuracy of the ho-hum statement I’ve heard more than once: “This New Year’s will be like any other.”
No, it won’t. Though I still don’t believe anything dramatic is going to happen on New Year’s Eve or Day–whether it comes from the Heavens, the angry Earth, UFOs, rambunctious computers, or roving wackazoids–I also don’t believe it’s ludicrous to be a little worried about the possibility of human-generated mayhem. There’s obviously the potential for something large and awful to happen somehow, somewhere. I live in Northern California, and a few weeks ago in Sacramento a dust-up occurred when the FBI preemptively arrested a couple of militia guys who, according to the FBI, were plotting to blow the hell out of a huge propane plant, in hopes of touching off a widespread anti-government insurrection during the Y2K chaos they’re expecting. What if that had happened? There was talk of 50 percent casualties within a 5-mile radius. Jesus!
The story didn’t get nearly as much national play as the Canadian terror suspects–why not?–but this wasn’t the first time since Oklahoma City that the FBI has busted bad-boy righties before they made their move. (Another typical episode occurred in 1997, when members of the so-called Aryan People’s Republic were arrested in Arkansas and later charged with plots to murder public officials and overthrow the government.) And, yes, I know, we can’t entirely trust the FBI on these matters. As right-wingers often point out, isn’t it possible that the Federales might trump up such incidents to deflect light from their alleged misdeeds at Waco?
Sure, it’s possible. Now excuse me while I climb onto the nearest rooftop and shout, “Thanks, G-men!”
I can’t completely put a finger on why I feel a teensy bit spooked. For the most part, everything’s business as usual around the Heard “ranch” as the Big Day approaches. We’re even hosting a foppy Open House on New Year’s Day, and my only nod to the millennium was to include a few wisecracks in the invitation. (“Note to the Antichrist: If you come, bring a sixer, or I’m kicking your sorry ass out.”) But I know that all that day, I’ll be checking the computer for news. All day, I’ll experience that weird tingly feeling I get anytime there’s serious weather in the forecast–along with the same sense of guilty ambivalence about what I “really want” to happen.
I share this trait with my sister, who virtually starts vibrating when there’s a tornado warning. She would never hope for the weather to be too bad–nobody killed, no trailer homes scattered, etc.–but she’s always quietly disappointed if the meteorological freight train passes with barely a whimper.
So what am I saying? Do I suddenly want terrorists to “sort of” blow something up? No, what I have in mind would involve relatively minor Y2K disruptions that remind us all to feel a little humble: a brief power outage here, a temporarily screwed-up city government there, a very large number turning up magically in my checking account–and staying put.
I would also like to see a few Y2K glitches targeted with a precision that borders on the supernatural. Embedded-chip septic-tank crashes that strike only the affluent suburbs of Connecticut. (Do septic tanks even have embedded chips? I’m praying that they do.) Digital chicanery that causes a six-month work lossage on the set of the next Robin Williams dramady. And finally–if I only get one, Powers That Be, let it be this–Molly Ivins’ laptop refusing to store her next book title (Hey, Lady, You Can’t Smoke That in Here! And Other Misadventures in the Land of Big Shrubs) until she relents and just calls it Politics Now.
