01/09/02

It’s weird how my kitten Papa knows instinctively where to bite me, he knows where the blood vessels are thickest and nearest the skin—on my wrist for instance. Sheila suggested that he can probably smell it. Well that’s pretty cool, to have an animal smelling my blood through my skin. Wow.

Everyone should live with predators.

I would just like to say that it is my conviction that longer hair and other flamboyant affectations of appearance are nothing more than the male’s emergence from his drab camouflage into the gaudy plumage that is the birthright of his sex.

There is a prevailing notion that elegant plumage and fine feathers are not proper for the male.

But aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaactually.

That is the way things are in most species.

(I still remember all the words to Hair. Holy cow. Let the sun shine in!)

(Hair—written and performed by, well, hippies, radicals, liberals at least—is most definitely not politically correct in 2002. Hmm. So much so that I’m not even going to quote the songs I’m thinking of.)