Pointless ruminations and ominous shooting stars.

So recently, as those who ever read this digital molehill can attest, I’ve “updated” the “decor” of this blog.


Blogs are evolving beings, as I see it. Bloggers should not be so wary of change; but many of them approach the blog shtick as some sort of branding exercise that implies one must abide by the tried and true forever. Maybe they are right. Personally, I tend to change my looks often. Even within my general appearance, I constantly change. I shave, I grow, I wear a new t-shirt, a new button-up, a new color, a new brand of funky jeans…I’m not averse to change for the sake of change,  for the sake of personal appetite.


I’ve drastically revised Social Extinction over the past few months. I rid the header image for a photo, and now condemned that photos to the slush-pile for an ocean of whiteness. This, perhaps, is my allegiance and recognition of Donald J. Trump, our soon-to-be-POTUS.


Anyways, during this decorative revision, I found an old category I once experimented with years ago called “pointless ruminations.”


These were blog posts that had nothing to do with anything. They were not centered around news events or themes, and essentially represented only a narrative of thought and idea that came to me on the spot. Their goal was not commiseration. Pointless ruminations were all my own; they kindled like a strict malaise in my mind and the writing involved turning my esoteric meanderings into a readable format.


Here is an example of a pointless rumination from 2010 (which is when they appear to have all occurred).


In unearthing the new theme, I discovered this old category and tonight, as I took the train home, I thought of a few pointless ruminations, and inspired by the moment, it suddenly dawned on my why I stopped doing them. They are hard work! Pointless ruminations required real writing and conjuring of creative fires; unlike regular blogging, I couldn’t simply link to a story, make a few snide remarks, and let her rip. No! Pointless ruminations meant that I actually had to compose and provoke and entertain. I needed to contort thoughts into legible “entertainment.” This was the strength, and the weakness, of Pointless Ruminations. Originality but exhaustion. With this creative immersion, I should just write stories and try to make a few bucks. But it was fun, while it lasted.




Tonight, on the train, I was sitting on one of those sideways seats which I tend to enjoy because you have more space to spread out and can consciously, rudely ignore people as well.


A young, but respectable, Hispanic woman boarded with her stroller, a weird stroller that had the normal front-facing baby divot, but adjoined was a rear-facing littler infant seat. She had two very young children on one stroller! Genius. A toddler facing forward, an infant facing backwards. She sat across from me and while trying to entertain them, I realized that both the children kept staring at me. What the fuck. I hate that. I don’t like children. They annoy me. They are loud, noisy, nosy, abide by no sense of logic or maturity. I can’t handle them. Which is fine, but once in a while, some of them are abruptly and rudely intruded upon my life and it’s up to me to decide what hell to do.


I don’t talk to strangers, adults; and I sure as hell don’t make stinky, cutesy faces to children. Fuck that. I look away and ignore them, but in so doing, I wonder if I appear as an ogre. Are we indebted to humoring young broods? I think not. I ignore them, even when they won’t fucking stop looking at me. I see some people, in similar situations, smiling and making goo-goo faces at the infants, as if the onus is on us to entertain the little bastards. Hell no. Not for me. I just look out the window or space out. I don’t even allow my eyes to meet those little shits.

Quit looking at me, damnit. You’re making me feel guilty, or at the very least, putting me on the spot, a very uncomfortable one, I might add.


Hey, so last night, on the way home, I saw shooting star as I drove on the freeway in East Los Angeles.


Kinda cool…don’t see those much during rush hour in this big, over-illuminated loony bin. Still, they are not rare. I thought it would be curious to check it out on my dash cam once I got home. My dash cam is the reservoir of my driving life. If I’m not driving to work, I’m taking the train and writing about annoying children. And if I’m driving to work, I write about shooting stars.


Such is pointless ruminations!


Anyways, I finally took a look at the dash cam that recorded the shooting star last earlier.
Yup, it was a shooting star. Not much to see here.


My video…hiccuped.


My dashcam is a Cobra model 840 and it is very reliable. The only time it ever acted up was on a trip home from San Francisco in which the screen went green for about 20 minutes after being exposed to direct, hot sunlight the entire time. Otherwise, it has proven seamless. Technical interruptions in recording are rare, especially at night and in cool temps. These are the best conditions for a dash cam; they tend to falter in very hot, sunny weather.


I state this all as a prelude to the video I’m about to show you. It is a brief glimpse at the shooting star as it descends to the horizon…and the interruption in recording that follows immediately.


My dash cam has never done this at night.  And the timing. The moment the shooting star (ie, meteorite) vanishes to the horizon, my dash cam froze and stuttered. Weirdest damn thing ever.


OK, maybe not weird, but the timing stretched the limits of credulity.


The 3-second shooting star appears at 8:07 and continues sinking, “shooting,” until about 11:09, when it vanishes behind an overpass, and by inference, to the horizon. All is normal at this point; but a few seconds later, my dash cam freezes.

It just freezes, stops, the moment the meteor vanishes into the horizon. My entire ride home, that dash cam was fine. It stalled out the moment of the descent of a meteorite. Hmm.

Meteors have long been the fodder of ill omen, doom, and other dubious custom and legend. But why are they now impinging upon my dash cam’s photographic field?

Of course, the lucid, scientific mind in me realizes this is ludicrous talk. But still, there is also that scientific, observational kernel of my mentality which weighs the levels of chance and statistics and concludes that something is not exactly in keeping with nature because dash cams don’t just lose 3 or 4 seconds (proven dependable ones in friendly environmental conditions like my Cobra) for no reason, and even if they do, why the exact moment that a meteorite vanishes behind the horizon’s wall of secrecy?

Weird, if you ask me, but not superstition.

Nope, not Enrique…

Contrary to popular internet gossip, Socially Extinct, blogger, is not Enrique Marquez, the Pink Panther of terrorists, wannabee destroyer of American society and striving Russian bride husband.

God no.
But I will take the Russian bride (sans any religious hooks).

Enrique Marquez
Enrique Marquez
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Socially Extinct