Volcanoes are hot, and so am I

So, yeah, volcanoes have been taking a lot of heat lately. That is ironically timely, considering that someone on the Internet whose graphic I stole said that May is Volcano Awareness Month. I know, it's not May yet, but it will be soon. Unless the world is destroyed by simultaneous cataclysmic volcanic eruptions on all continents, that is.

I like volcanoes. I relate to and admire their collective commitment to the single-minded physical manifestation of rage: the seething cloud build-up, the oozing of hot lava, the apocalyptic eruption, and the fumarolic cooling period during which you're never quite sure when they're going to blow again. Clearly volcanoes are metaphors for my daily existence. Most people who are not me only dream about causing 1.7 billion dollars worth of lost revenue to the airlines industry. But that's all in a day's work for me and a volcano.

Volcanoes are useful, really. They created Hawaii. And there are often lots of kickass gemstones left in the wake of an eruption. There is also volcanic pumice, which keeps our heels nice and soft. Mine, anyway; yours could be like yak leather for all I know (or care). Volcanic ash enriches soil, too. Plus volcanoes have excellent grammar and syntax.

Wait, no, I'm confusing them with Vulcans. Easy mistake; Mr. Spock is also hot.

However, I call bullshit on the trope that virginal sacrifices are necessary to the care and keeping of volcanoes. WTF, what's a volcano going to do with a virgin anyway? The fire god Vulcan (not to be confused with the aforementioned Vulcans) does not need a steady diet of virgins to remain satisfied; he's clearly taking care of business all on his own. And anyway, how are you supposed to get said virgin to the caldera of an oozing volcano? It's not like you can climb up the sides with her, dodging hot lava all the way. And I don't think the tribal Pacific Islanders had budgets for helicopters. Bullshit, I say, bullshit. However, I cannot speak to the truth about volcanic Tom Hanks bloodlust. I don't think it can be true, though, because there's only one Tom Hanks and lots of volcanoes. They'd all be fighting over him. The losers would get Peter Scolari.

One thing is for sure: volcanoes do represent sex. I don't think I should have to spell this out for you. If you don't get this metaphor, you really ought not be reading my blog.

I think what I like best about the current volcano hysteria is the ensuing cognitive dissonance about Iceland having volcanoes. Hell yes, Iceland has volcanoes; 130 at last count, all with cool names that no one will ever use for an AG doll. Since the last time Eyjafjallajökull blew was 1821, it was due again. No steady diet of Volcano Virgin Chow was going to hold it back, let me tell you.

I love how people get all freaked out. Scientologists are wetting themselves about all the disembodied Thetans who are now scrambling around Europe to find bodies to inhabit, because they know that's the real reason aircraft were grounded. And then there's the panic over the EVIL EDVARD MUNCH SCREAM-FACE that showed up on on a radar image of the crater. FFS, people, zoom in! That's not Munch's Scream-face.


Yeah, me and volcanoes. We're hot.