Life on earth and other unstable concepts

I expect it's conjuring trouble to name your blog after a doomed dirigible.

But then, I get up in the morning, guzzle coffee and hustle out into the world - oblivious to the fact that I am situated on a ball of dirt which is hurtling through space at .29 miles per second and has molten lava at its center. Usually, while I'm checking my watch, locking my door, preparing for the day ahead, I am blissfully unaware of my flea-like size and importance, not to mention my mortality.

The mere act of being alive and incarnate is inviting trouble, so let's not be spooked by a little word association.

And if I tell you the quote about the Hindenburg under the title was sent to me by a friend who was describing my personal life and habit of writing about it - that should tell you more than you'd learn from the usual list we use to pigeon hole each other (so that we can immediately stop paying attention.)

You know the list: what-do-you-do, where-do-you-live, favorite musicTVbooksfilms.

Why do we do that? Surely it would be more interesting to know what someone wants carved on their tombstone when they depart this ball of hurtling mud. Or what was the most inappropriate thought they've ever had.

Alright. There's a start. I want Cowgirl of the century. This on the suggestion of the same friend who provided the Hindenburg quote and who has kindly consented to spray-paint graffiti on my grave marker.

As for inappropriate thoughts...

Years ago, I was coming home from work on a beautiful Friday in August. My walk took me through the petting zoo at Riverdale Park, down a steep set of stairs that led to a footpath over the Don Valley Parkway. Although it was a lazy summer afternoon, I was wary because there had recently been a brutal rape in the city - at noon - in a city park. And this particular afternoon, the park was empty of its usual scores of baseball teams, dog walkers and after work athletes.

As I got halfway down the steps, a jogger suddenly appeared - and hauled up to a dead stop at the bottom of the stairs. I stopped short too - then, because he resembled a friend of mine, I relaxed a little.
"Are there animals up there?" he yelled out. What? Oh.
"There's a petting zoo up the path, if you keep going."
"...Because there's none down here," he shouted, like it was the punchline of a joke. He turned around to run back in the direction he'd come from.

Very weird, I thought.

A minute later, when I got to the short path that led to the bridge, he was standing there enthusiastically masturbating. In my direction. And for my entertainment. Did I think, Run! Now!...? No. I stood there, cemented to the ground, thinking...

A simple "you look nice today would've done."