R's always been a DA devotee (along with the rather more scurrilous and um, earthy, Gerald Durrell) and knew a lot more about his origins and personal life than I did when we met, pointing me toward his autobiographical accounts and unwittingly introducing me to Hot David- shirtless smoothie, Madagascar-bound khaki enthusiast, tranquil gorilla whisperer. But reading such stuff is also a rueful exercise these days, laden with reminders of everything we're losing; extraneous curiosity, broad access to a decent fundamental education, functional literacy, societal equity, the appreciation of merit, authentic and effectual idiosyncrasy.
Let's not lie face down in the gross mud of social decay at this juncture; David Attenborough is 90. Smarter than all our elected representative dickwads tied in a too-tight bundle on purpose. Hotter than a thousand malignant Instagram narcissists tricked into a basement and doused in overdue accelerant. More influential than any stunting, stunted bubblehead or flabby phalanx of Twitter warriors.
David Frederick Attenborough, thank you.