Yesterday James and I watched part of a Discovery Channel show about army ants. The Discovery Channel and Animal Planet have become the mondo nature channels, it's like old PBS nature documentaries done with the clammy fervor of fetish videos. In the old days, you'd see gazelles being ripped to shreds by cheetahs on the savannah, say, but the Marlin Perkins voiceover would have the dispassionate tone of someone enunciating lottery numbers. There was unacknowledged bloodlust there, giving the whole thing an atmosphere of unease and discomfiture, like finding grandpa watching pornos. But now the disturbing images are matched by breathless narration, creepy graphics, and a generally teasing approach. More honest, but I don't know if it's better! I like my nature pornography a little more furtive and shameful I think.

So these army ants give me the willies. For me it all goes back to that episode of "The Outer Limits" where that giant ant with a human face crawls up that guy's pants leg. The Tasmanian ones come with deadly stings, the African ones have clacking pincers and the relentless physical aggression of leering fags at last call. They all move in huge battalions, communicating chemically and by smell, it's like San Francisco on Pride weekend. Finding even one of those things in my home would prompt me to move at least two states over, and these things march in armies of millions. This show confirms my belief that 95% of the animal kingdom was put on earth for the sole purpose of giving me the creeps.