DURST: Comet Fevor
Last night was an odd little evening spent under the tail of a comet. More impressive in theory than in actuality. A rare astronomical triple treat featuring the Planet Mars shining pink above the eclipsing moon while 160 degrees on the other side of the sky, the Hale Bopp Comet strode towards the sun like Little Richard with a flaming cape. And I remain unimpressed.It's a dusty little smudge like thing. Looks like a street lamp seen out of my smoke fogged windshield from a mile away. Or Joan Collins through a Vaseline lens at a drive in on the dark side of Alpha Centauri.I don't know about you, but I wanted staggeringly stupendous cataclysms. Fire in the sky. Bright noon at midnight. Simple minded God fearing Republicans cowering on the ground with their heads shoved into mounds of manure out of fear. Little eye numbingly white fat toad kids being sacrificed to various angry gods. I wanted to hear screams intermingled with the frenzied bleating of frightened yet strangely satisfied farm animals who are turned to for a last moment of intimate passion.What do we get? A fuzzy loose collection of fast moving ice in a sky full of giant burning balls of gas. Whoopee. All it did for me was make the X Files a bit spookier.Will Durst was more fascinated with the airplane lights coming from the approach paths at San Francisco International.