Wikipedia tells me that dark comedy, (a derivative term from black humor/black comedy/humour noir), is a form of comedy:
. . . in which laughter arises from cynicism and skepticism.
How droll!
Thus, today’s topic is the atom bomb, which is without a doubt one of the funniest things on the planet. I think my introduction to dark comedy — “Thanks, Mom and Dad, the nightmare was great!” — was Dr. Strangelove, one of moviedom’s great films, which I still immensely enjoy. If you haven’t yet introduced a child to this superb movie, do so as soon as possible, preferably late at night with lots of popcorn and other yummy treats, and then — after tucking the toddler into their comfy bed — sit back and listen to the little angel howl and moan from his or her hidey-hole under the blankets.
Great fun, that!
So, what brings this subject to mind, you ask? Well, I chanced upon an article awhile back from The NY Times which addresses how we, the citizenry, can prepare for and survive a nuclear attack by terrorists.
Quick Aside:
The term, “atom bomb” traditionally refers to older, fission-type stuff, which is Old School, quite blasé and mostly equal to tens or hundreds of thousands of tons of TNT going kablooey. A “nuclear bomb” on the other hand usually refers to a much more powerful fission/fusion thermonuclear thing, which is very modern, hip and can step up the kablooey factor into the millions and tens of millions of tons of TNT. All the A-List chic nations have a few thousand.
Back to our topic.
From where I stand, all of us in The Village should think about the unthinkable; a nuclear detonation in a populated area. I think the more we contemplate such a monstrously horrific event, the more we will become convinced that nuclear weapons must be eradicated everywhere.
In the meantime …
Apparently our government was going to conduct a simulated attack and preparedness test run in Las Vegas that would’ve involved 10,000 emergency responders, but the test got cancelled last year because some influential folks (politicians) were concerned that it would frighten away the tourists. Personally, I think tourists would get a big kick out of the spectacle, but I’m no politician.
At any rate, take the advice in the article as seriously as you choose, and if the unthinkable (not to mention, un-practice-able) happens, act accordingly. Here’s an EPA chart to help you in your pre-apocalyptic house hunt:
My money’s on a single story, windowless, concrete and steel English cottage with a doubly deep basement lined with shelves for all the victuals I’ll need to store.
Charming.
At any rate, let me make a couple of observations. In the event of a nuclear kaboom, the recommendations include urging us to remain in our cars, thus shielding ourselves from fallout. I think that’s sound and sober advice, especially if your car has just been launched into a low orbit. (Only a fool would open the door and step outside.) You might also consider holding your breath, because oxygen is a somewhat rare commodity at 80,000 feet. (I’m surprised they didn’t include that bit of advice.)
I’m also relieved when I read the opinion of one anonymous but well-placed official:
It’s more survivable than most people think . . . the key is avoiding the fallout.
While I don’t know what most people think about nuclear survivability, and I’m certain this counsel is well-intentioned, I tend to think the key to surviving a nuclear explosion is avoiding nuclear explosions in their entirety.
The article continues its sage and comforting guidelines by quoting a line from the government’s Citizen Corps web site, which tells us that a nuclear blast:
. . . is potentially survivable for thousands, especially with adequate shelter and education.
First, the elephant in the room is frowning because that statement has an unspoken element; that is, while a nuclear blast may be “potentially survivable for thousands”, it will be potentially unsurvivable for tens or hundreds of thousands more. Second, I do feel better because folks who visit our home tell us its a nice place, (adequate shelter), and my wife and I both have college degrees, (education).
My god, I hope they didn’t mean a PhD!
Regardless, I still feel pretty good about all this. Basically, and according to the article, I simply need to ensure I’m more than a few miles (and significantly upwind) from ground zero when everything goes down, (or up in this particular case), and if I’m not, apparently I’ll have about 1/10,000 of a second to reproach myself for selecting such a mutton-headed venue before my DNA is scattered to the four corners of the earth.
Now, if I happen to be somewhere near the fringe — and this is where I get a little miffed — you know, too far away to get instantly poofed to smithereens, but not far enough away to avoid all the other stuff that follows, (i.e. the blast wave, fire, fallout, etc.), then I’m going to get a bit testy about things, especially all those politicians who didn’t want us thinking about the unthinkable.
Now, go watch Dr. Strangelove again . . . and don’t forget the popcorn.
Nighty-night.
