The carnival mood as exhibited in China and elsewhere speaks less of gallows humor than an urge to squeeze fun out of a humdrum existence.

Hey, if we're all going to perish tomorrow, why not do what really makes us happy?

The gawky teenager in the Hollywood movie Independence Day uses that excuse to get sex from his date, and most of "the prepared" this time are engaged in variations of that tactic - to gorge on a calorie-rich last supper, or to burst out in songs that would scare away all other karaoke patrons. Instead of truth-or-dare, it evolves into a die-or-dare game, for which the ordinarily timid can embark on the boldly unconventional they can explain away the next day.

Doomsday mania is probably good for the service industry and bad for moving merchandise. Otherwise, the millions of online stores would turn every doomsday foretold into a massive on-sale holiday. Well, someone in China did build a 5-million-yuan ark and received 26 orders. I bet nobody wired money to him. They may have transferred ghost money because, with much of the world obliterated, hell notes would be more valid, right?

And instead of today's edition of China Daily, they may be reading a survival guide that warns of the dangers of melting snowcaps or rising salt water. They thought they could go on adventure like Pi in the Ang Lee movie, but they're more likely obliterated like the contestants in television reality shows.

Contact the writer at raymondzhou@chinadaily.com.cn.

Different strokes for different folks	Muddy waters	When a star loses its luster	Blessed month for movie lovers