My daughter visited me last week, and we got into a discussion about death. She claims that society is obsessed with it, that people rush to view the accident scene, the big fire. We talked about how difficult it was to turn off the TV during and following the horror of 9/11/01. My inclination was to disagree with her as to its being an obsession until I realized that the only TV show I refuse to miss is "Six Feet Under."

I read in the Tribune this morning that two superplumes of magma are working their way up from more than 400 miles under the earth's crust toward the surface. Compared to the smaller pockets of magma that power the world's volcanoes, these monsters are stunningly huge. They're located somewhere around southeastern Africa. The article didn't speculate on when or how the plumes might reach the surface, but I found myself imagining a scenario where the earth is jiggled in its orbit, new landmasses rivalling the size of Australia arise, a catastrophic dustwind settles over my head on, say, its second pass around the globe, anyone without a 1960's-style bomb shelter is plumb out of luck, and humanity's territiorial and religious wars are rendered petty and absolutely inconsequential.