Nobody knows, not even the Internet, but there may be ten million different species of insects on this planet, many of which have bitten me.

The other night, in an effort to stretch my brain and intellect, I watched Nova. The show focused on some part of the world I also don't know and some animals who live there. Among the animals featured, and becoming extinct, was this guy, a fossa or foosa.

Now here's the thing. They're pretty cool / weird looking things, fairly doglike and catlike both, long, and numbering only around two thousand or so. This bums me out, but then I get upset with myself. At the start of the show I didn't even know they existed and here I am, twenty minutes later, worrying about their survival. If they were already extinct I wouldn't feel too bad, but what's disturbing is that I wouldn't feel bad if I'd never heard of them, either.

If I hadn't watched that show and in twenty years they were all gone it would have zero impact on me. Now, just because I know, it seems more relevant. Funny how learning causes pain.

Nobody knows, not even the Internet, but there may be ten million different species of insects on this planet, many of which have bitten me.

The other night, in an effort to stretch my brain and intellect, I watched Nova. The show focused on some part of the world I also don't know and some animals who live there. Among the animals featured, and becoming extinct, was this guy, a fossa or foosa.

Now here's the thing. They're pretty cool / weird looking things, fairly doglike and catlike both, long, and numbering only around two thousand or so. This bums me out, but then I get upset with myself. At the start of the show I didn't even know they existed and here I am, twenty minutes later, worrying about their survival. If they were already extinct I wouldn't feel too bad, but what's disturbing is that I wouldn't feel bad if I'd never heard of them, either.

If I hadn't watched that show and in twenty years they were all gone it would have zero impact on me. Now, just because I know, it seems more relevant. Funny how learning causes pain.

I think I've got it...

The RSS Feed generator for this site is working! Well, it's kind of working. My icon doesn't show up yet, but that's small potatoes.

Now if only I had something to say that anyone would want to read. I need to get out of this self-censoring mood I'm in, and the best way to do that is to banish the thoughts I have that no one wants to hear about.

For this entry, by the way, I'm just rambling, to see if the feed thing works.

I think I've got it...

The RSS Feed generator for this site is working! Well, it's kind of working. My icon doesn't show up yet, but that's small potatoes.

Now if only I had something to say that anyone would want to read. I need to get out of this self-censoring mood I'm in, and the best way to do that is to banish the thoughts I have that no one wants to hear about.

For this entry, by the way, I'm just rambling, to see if the feed thing works.

When I talk to old people they usually tell me about their aches and pains or latest medical happenings. This is predictable, but is neithera required subject required nor unique to them. I think it comes from two things: one, they've gotten over the youthful obsession with genitals and worrying about love, and, two, the balance has begun tipping in favor of "flesh is weak" portion of the argument.

In my youth there was never any of that. Not only was I was indestructable and considered mortality to be an academic issue, everything I could conceive of was something I could do. Oh, sure, I'd get winded, tired, or sore, my muscles would and could ache, but my flesh was eager and willing to carry out anything my spirit devised.

This morning my toe hurt again. It's been doing that the past month or so. The bone in there has been feeling as if it had been replaced by a sharp piece of very hot metal. Very distracting. I took the liberty of scrunching up my toe, cracking the joint, and the pain dissipated.

That's when I realized that it had been performing a valuable service: keeping my mind off my toothache.

I suppose I could find a name for what's going on with it, but that would solve nothing. I don't know, it might be an arthritis thing, or bursitis, or some other such well-known name, but finding that out is a waste of time. Learning the label for the ailment does nothing to resolve the pain, but I guess it gives some people a vague sense of undeserved satisfaction. I *think* I know more about something if I have a name for it, but I really don't.

When I talk to old people they usually tell me about their aches and pains or latest medical happenings. This is predictable, but is neithera required subject required nor unique to them. I think it comes from two things: one, they've gotten over the youthful obsession with genitals and worrying about love, and, two, the balance has begun tipping in favor of "flesh is weak" portion of the argument.

In my youth there was never any of that. Not only was I was indestructable and considered mortality to be an academic issue, everything I could conceive of was something I could do. Oh, sure, I'd get winded, tired, or sore, my muscles would and could ache, but my flesh was eager and willing to carry out anything my spirit devised.

This morning my toe hurt again. It's been doing that the past month or so. The bone in there has been feeling as if it had been replaced by a sharp piece of very hot metal. Very distracting. I took the liberty of scrunching up my toe, cracking the joint, and the pain dissipated.

That's when I realized that it had been performing a valuable service: keeping my mind off my toothache.

I suppose I could find a name for what's going on with it, but that would solve nothing. I don't know, it might be an arthritis thing, or bursitis, or some other such well-known name, but finding that out is a waste of time. Learning the label for the ailment does nothing to resolve the pain, but I guess it gives some people a vague sense of undeserved satisfaction. I *think* I know more about something if I have a name for it, but I really don't.

It's said (by marketers?) that Griffith Park is a "popular" spot for hiking, but I'd never done any there in all my life. Last weekend I labored a few hours up and down a thousand feet rise, but I'm not convinced I'd call it hiking.

I'd visited Griffith Park many times in my life, most often to the Observatory. I'd also seen the tiny trains, but never the zoo, and had the occasional picnic in what amounted to large front yards covered in grass and boasting picnic tables and trash cans, but that was about it. I worked with a guy from Philly who claimed to have hiked there once or twice, but I'm not sure where he went.

I used to do a fair amount of hiking, most often on weekends, but I'm such a nature snob that I never considered anything like this

to be a "hiking trail." I know, cheap shot, and not even the throngs of avid Griffith Park hikers consider it to be a "hiking trail," but it's fitting, in an "LA" sort of way. Nothing beats walking up and down a paved street.

But that's not the point.

Not surprisingly, I shared the route with some twenty or thirty other people, including one bicyclist. What was surprising was that nobody I "met" on my journey was particularly friendly. Maybe I appear threatening, but in more than one instance I was actually glowered at, but more commonly ignored. I consider this sad. I'm not sure if the men who gave me dirty looks were afraid I'd strike them down with a single blow and carry their women-folk into the brush or just generally annoyed by my presence. It wasn't as if I was littering, setting fires, or dancing naked in the afternoon sun.

When hiking up north or in Angeles Forest the people I'd run across were all routinely friendly, or at least civil enough to exchange greetings and smiles. There was none of that on the Mt Lee road, and I worry about the future of humanity. Maybe everyone else is eager to avoid their fellow man, but I just don't know.

One thing I do know is that walking up and down a paved road apparently puts most eveyone in a "leave me the fuck alone/ you don't exist" mindset, which, I think, isn't much in keeping with my memories of hiking.