Birdcide

Bird watching.

David (hubby) and I do a lot of this. We spend money on feed, feeders, and how to keep off the squirrels who show up for the feed and hang upside down like bats on the feeders. We spend thirty bucks on two baffles and hot sauce seed even though the very knowledgeable girl at Bird Watchers Supply said, "Squirrels. Can't stop 'em."

I thought -- Clint Eastwood could do something about them, but I digress, as usual.

We have 14 feeders (three of which we inherited from David's mom), and David religiously fills the feeders so that we can watch the birds. David also washes out the bird bath each morning, and since it's hot, he adds ice cubes to cool it down. Our back deck is the freakin' Ritz Carlton for Birds.

Each Christmas, someone in my family gives David a bird feeder. Thus, the 11 we have accumulated over the years. Last year, my niece gave David a bird feeder that glows in the dark. The birds hang out there at night like it's a disco.

I have no idea when we got "old" enough to enjoy birds and their antics -- whether it's the bully bluejays, the "I'd rather walk than fly" Carolina wrens, the downy woodpecker, or the run of the mill mousy brown birds that we can never remember the names of..

Me: Why are those birds so plain?
David:What birds?
Me: Those brown plain ones with the plumage of bark.
David: Plumage? Who says plumage?
Me: I do.
David: I can never remember their names, but if this were the debutant ball for birds, these guys would be sitting in the chairs around the dance floor waiting for a starling to ask em to dance.
Me: Why starlings?
David: Cause there are more male than female starlings.
Me: What? You made that up.
David: I don't know what those brown birds are called.

Anyway, I have told many squirrel stories in my day since I find squirrels so annoying and neurotic. David throws ice at them(not the same ice that he puts in the bath), and they dive from the second story deck into the ducia or the azaleas like Olympians. Well, scared Olympians who freeze right before they take the plunge...

We are bird watchers.

This afternoon I came home from running errands, and I open the back door for Keats, who likes to stare down the birds like she's a big bad serial killer, and I happened to glance at the bird bath. In the bath is a dead bird -- flat on his back -- stick figure legs straight up in the air, inert beak, lying on its back in the water like its on a pneumatic.

I called David at work.

David: Whut? (that's how he answers his phone -- caller ID has brought that to us)
Me: Dead bird in the bird bath.
David: Okay.
Me: You're gonna have to move it -- bird flu and all.
David: Whut?
Me: Well, I don't know what it died of -- could be the flu, could be drowning, could be birdcide, could be a blue jay hit -- you're gonna have to handle it.
David: Are you done?

This is what retirement has brought me.
Time.
Time to wonder about the death of a bird and to blog about it...

Did you guys read this far?
*giggles*

Who plans pain?

I need, my readers, to comment on my blog.

I have no idea if my three friends and one or two former students are the only ones reading it, or if I have one friend pretending to be all five.

So, comment. Please. I'm lonely.

1. I had no idea that there was such a thing as a Miss Hooters International Swimsuit Pageant. It involves small bikinis, some plastic, and glue. The judges are, or have been, John Salley and three old men. The girls are from Brazil as well as Newnan, Georgia. The website for this admits to being unrefined and tacky and calls itself The Mayor of Wingville. Satellite tv is a mind field of enlightening information.

Only not.



2. I went to Kroger to get a prescription filled today because I can get three months of that prescription for ten dollars. My doctor informed me that I should purchase it at either Wal-mart or Kroger cause they "have the deals." "Deals"? On drugs? I felt like a junkie looking for the best corner.

I don't do Kroger -- I'm a Publix girl -- it's mostly geography and Howard. I haven't been in a Kroger since 1995 when I used to shop there for my parents. I like Kroger.. I like it that I had a friend who made it a verb. "I'm Krogering today."

Heh.

You know that there is nothing more interesting to me than people I don't know. People I know, not so much -- people I don't know, fascinating...

I watched the woman who had put her prescriptions in ahead of mine. She was pretty in that suburbia housewife put together from head to toe kind of way. Cute little khaki pants, designer Flip Flops, diamond studs in the ears, processed blond hair slicked back in a pony tail, expensive watch, and a pressed t-shirt that blazoned Cannes.

She was wandering around in the cosmetic section looking at Herbal Essence shampoo and Breathe Right. Quite the variety of browsing as she waited for the druggist, Danny, to fill her prescription.

With one eye on "perfect woman at the grocery store" and one eye on the freebies, I spent some time taking my own blood pressure (120 over 70, 71 heartbeats per minute) and looking at the wrinkled, dog eared magazines provided by Kroger -- Health Today and Prevention. No People magazine for the old fools picking up their Metamucil and Zantac 150.

I was trying to look interested in my own blood pressure, Soft soap, and "How to lose three inches of belly fat in three weeks" until I hear the "perfect lady" discussing her five medications with Danny. (You have to check a form that the pharmacist "counseled" you on the drugs you were having filled.)

I wasn't eavesdropping, really.

I was only interested in why she was getting five medications. I didn't want to miss a sale, you know.

Really.

Anyway...

She told Danny that she was having "surgery," and she didn't know why she needed all of these "meds."

Danny proceeded to explain that she had a "sleep aid," antibiotics, a antibiotic creme, a drug like Valium, and some kind of narcotic for "pain."

She said, "I'm just having a little liposuction. I wasn't planning on being in pain."

Me: Weren't planning? Bwha.

Then I noticed the sign that stated: "Please stand back in the line as we do not wish to invade any one's privacy."

I peeled off like a oboe playing band member performing a half time show. I felt sheepish and embarrassed, but once she said "liposuction," I was no longer looking at the article on belly fat.

What is she having lipoed?

Those are the kind of things I had to ponder.

Meanwhile, it looks like I'll have to work off my thirty inches of belly fat by cutting carbs and sugar and circling the track at Boots Ward. Yeah, I wasn't planning on any pain either.

"scratches head*

I had a coupon for Blue Bell ice cream. After Danny counseled me on my need to take my meds with food, I sauntered down the freezer aisle and looked for some Moose Tracks. It's food, and I had a coupon.

Anthony Bourdain, Brenda Starr, and Pistol Pete

1. My friend, NSB, sent me some news that I could blog about, but I am holding those for another day.

2. Husband is watching Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations in Spain. I find Bourdain arrogant, goofy, and kind of annoying in a television kind of way. He says things like food is "smokin' hot" or "gastric grateful." or "nosebleed expensive." I do believe he just said "this is an old man bar -- I'm unimpressed." RMEs, Anthony, I think you need to check your date of birth on your own passport, dude.

3. I saw the obituary for Paul Hemphill, the journalist and writer.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/12/nyregion/12hemphill.html?_r=1&ref=todayspaper

He died yesterday. It made me nostalgic for the sixties when he worked for the Atlanta Times, a newspaper that tried to rival the Atlanta Journal and Constitution. Hemphill wrote honestly and frankly about some of the current issues of the day. He recognized Atlanta for its "raw" feelings on race. Rest in peace, Paul -- you wrote well.

My parents got both papers; they were readers and loved politics. The Times did a great hurrah and then died with a rather pathetic gasp. They were no match for the AJC, a monster newspaper backed by loyal subscribers and advertisers who knew it as a friend. The Atlanta Times was fresh and innovative, but no match for the staid reliability and familiarity of the AJC.

BTW: The AJC was actually, for a long time, two different newspapers owned by the same people.. The Atlanta Constitution was the morning paper, and the Atlanta Journal was the night one -- at some point, they combined to one -- I don't remember if has been five years or twenty years ago that they combined.

I myself had been a 43 year subscriber to the AJC and just recently stopped the newspaper. Why? Because it had turned into an agenda based, subjective mess of poor writing, and driven by petty, local politics, lame celebrities, and lousy "feature" stories. I was bored. I don't need to order boredom to the tune of 110 dollars every six months. Why do I care about the latest "bleed" story of Dekalb County -- the wild, wild east of Atlanta?

The newspaper is dying .. and I can wax and wane sentimentally about it.

As a child and the youngest of four, my siblings and I would fight over the "funnies" on Sunday. I liked my paper pure -- and you young people will not understand some of these memories I have.

I liked to be the first person with the paper -- where it is still creased, unread, and pristine. I liked to be the first to get that beautiful six pages of color funnies that came on Sunday where I lost myself in the romantic reporter Brenda Starr and her nebulous but obvious boyfriend with the patch, the puzzling nature of Pogo, or the signature yellow hat of Dick Tracy.

The paper continued to be a part of my life.

When I was in high school, Pete Maravich joined the Atlanta Hawks. He was this cute, long-haired, floppy socked basketball sensation who once averaged as a college player 47 points per game. A friend of mine saw Maravich play a basketball game as a senior player at LSU where he came in the gym at the University of Georgia and owned it. Even Georgia fans recognized that this player was different, historical, and rare.

As a teenager, I became obsessed by Maravich -- I would open the door to the newspaper on winter mornings to see how "Pistol Pete" performed the night before.

I saved every picture of him printed in the AJC sports pages. I memorized his stats, grimaced when he did poorly, but celebrated when he showed his stuff. When he was traded to the New Orleans Jazz, I mourned and felt "jilted."

When he died in 1987 at the age of forty, I was shocked. Pistol Pete dead? Not possible.

As a young teacher in the late 1970s and early 1980s, I became enamored of the Atlanta Falcons. Each Sunday I would watch their games faithfully -- once when the Falcons made their famous "Hail Mary" pass, I jumped so high and got so excited, my cat at that time, Taylor, who liked to sleep on the top of the tv, fell from the tv, and was so traumatized, he hid in the closet for 12 hours. I coaxed him out with real tuna and lies.

I saved every front page of the sports page to hang on the bulletin board in my classroom. My male students were shocked at my knowledge of not only football but almost every play in the game. It didn't hurt that the Falcons had drafted themselves some players who made me swoon. I loved Billy White Shoes Johnson, Steve Barkowski (who married one of my high school classmates), Buddy Curry, Gerald Riggs, and I once met the kicker, Mick Luckhurst -- which is a story for another blog. The Falcons had themselves a team of hunks -- and the uniforms, tight, helped my cause.

By the time I was married, I moved to other aspects of the paper -- the editorial page. I still read the sports page first, but I eventually moved to the editorial page. At one point, the editorial page was balanced -- a conservative view and a liberal view -- but somewhere sometime, all of a sudden, the editorial page became single focused. I got to where it would make my blood boil, and I would tell my husband: "I need to read the sports and living section and ignore the editorials."

How can you be a newspaper and cover "Dixie like the Dew" (their old mantra) but become so one-sided?

Needless to say, two months ago, I let the paper go. I miss the feel of it in my hands; I miss the morning ritual of flipping through it. I miss the idea of it -- the tradition of it -- but I don't miss its agenda.

I read today that the New York Times is considering dropping its Crossword puzzle.

*shudders*

What's next? Are they gonna drop their marriage announcements?
BTW: Those suckers are hilarious.

I told my brother recently that I had stopped reading the newspaper, and he said, "Reading? You're kidding, right? Newspapers have not been readable journalism since the sixties."

I said, "Well, heck, why didn't you tell me?"

He said, "I thought you knew."

Brothers.

*rolls eyes*

*shrugs*


'









Pistol Pete.
Ain't he cute?

Who needs "ammo" on Tuesdays?

Well, I've been out of town for five days...hubby and I were in the mountains. We have tv, but no Internet. I felt cut off from the world.

I missed the Michael Jackson "closing" ceremonies -- I heard they were, to quote Robin Roberts, " not what [the media] expected...." and I can't interpret that at all -- cause the media and I have different expectations on just about everything...

I didn't see a single moment of the memorial -- but I do have one question.

Did the LA taxpayer foot the bill for the Staple Center to be used for a celebrity's funeral?

Just wonderin'..

*rolls eyes*

I had a crazy dream this morning and hubby wouldn't listen to it --

but it involved tree art, Jerry Pece ( a high school friend), lounge chairs, and my old neighborhood -- it was so weird I wanted to tell someone..but never mind...

Hubby and I went to Cafe REL in Franklin, NC, to eat last night. The restaurant, which is very good, is actually in the same building as Hot Spot, a type of Race Trak.. in fact, the Hot Spot and Cafe REL customers share a public restroom. If you use the restroom while at Cafe Rel, you go through a door, and you are in the back of the Hot Spot, about fifteen feet from the cracker aisle. It's like passing from one world to another. Not quite like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, but.... different.

Anyway, the food is really delicious, and the chef makes his grandmother's three layer chocolate cake -- which is like crack on a plate. Next door to the Hot Spot is the Gun Brokerage. There were some interesting people who needed "ammo" on a Tuesday night. That place was busier than Bill Clinton's Twitter.

Another good eating place in Franklin is Fat Buddy's.

It serves "clotting of the arteries" on a plate. They have potato skins to die for or, techinically, from, I guess. They double bake em and serve them with Ranch dressing with chipote spice. A place like this to eat is why they make pants with elastic waistbands. I would say that Fat Buddy's is no misnomer. Heh.

Next.

More randomness...

I read three books and three New Yorkers in my five days.

The best book I read was A Free Life by Ha Jin. I really enjoyed it even though Jin is one of those writers who practically gives a day by day, year by year description of his characters and their lives. Somehow, Jin manages to pull this off without tediousness or repetition.

This novel told the story of Chinese immigrants who came to the US to work on a Masters degree, but after the massacre at Tienanmen Square determined not to return to China. The main characters, Nan and Pingping, embraced the American dream and embraced the values that America was founded on, especially those of hard work and perseverance. I can't believe anyone believes in that darn work ethic anymore.

Once settled here, they sent for their four year old son, who had been kept in Beijing with the grandparents until the parents had a place for him; even though the parents tried to keep him immersed in his Chinese heritage, the son Taotao was Americanized pretty quickly. Most of the story was set in Gwinnett County. Many of the places mentioned in the novel were real places.

An extra bonus to me was that at one point, Jin quoted Faulkner -- as well as W.H. Auden, Robert Frost, and John Steinbeck.

I totally enjoyed it and my five days away from "celebrity memorials."
*shrugs*

"I'm not gonna be shooting them at anyone, silly."

There is nothing better than real dialogues with your former students, your friends, or your family members; I have one of each -- note what follows:

Sarah W told me: "You should really watch Sixteen and Pregnant on MTV."

Me: "Because it's...."

Sarah W: "Really funny. I watched it with my dad. He called it Knocked Up, but I told him -- noooo that's a movie and that's so different. This is real."

Me: "Wait. Wait. You watched it with your dad?"

Sarah W: "Not every time, just this once."

NSB told me: "That guy had many snakes, none of them legal."

Me: [this was after the news story of the python killing the two-year old in Florida -- NSB lives in Florida and they had much more coverage] "There are 140,000 Burmese pythons in Florida right now. I read that in a magazine. That's not counting the ones they don't know about. "

NSB: "And I needed to know this.....why?"

Me: "Cause you are my friend."

Nora told me: "I'm working for the government. I have an "issued" phone. No camera. They don't want me taking pictures of the submarines or the nuclear part of them and putting them on the Internet."

Me: [this was after I asked my newly graduated niece about her new job] "You're gonna be working with nukes?'

Nora: "I'm not gonna be shooting them at anyone, silly."

Real conversations are awesome.

Blog correction: Apparently on my blog titled "Former Students Only," I wrote that I had taught my most recent students 4 of the works listed in Newsweek's top 100. Jessica let me know that actually I only taught 3 of them. See, I told you Newsweek wasn't much of a magazine. I noted that they had left off Scarlet Letter and was letting them pass. Not any more -- what a crank list that was after all.

*shrugs*

Former Students only...

Attention my former students, especially those of the last years..

Dr. Parrott just sent me this link:

Newsweek's 100 books --

http://www.newsweek.com/id/204478/?q=/name:0/type:0/range:0/page:5

Ahem.

Yeah, four out of six of the assigned books from American Literature, taught by me -- made the top 100.

*does a little rumba*

Dang. I knew I was good.

And this is Newsweek -- just imagine if it was a real magazine.

*chuckles*

I'm kidding.

Sorta.

Do something! Quick.

July 1st, if you are a teacher or a student, is the day that you usually get up and think to yourself:

Oh no! It's July 1st. Only one more month till we go back to school. Quick. Do something you wanna do. Make plans. Stay up late. Watch that movie. Read that book. Go out to lunch! Quick. Time's running out. Eek!

Over the thirty-three years that I taught -- I had that little panic attack moment in my head about the first of July.

Of course, I'm not talking about when we used to go back after Labor Day, which might have been during the second world war, but in the last years when the school system kept bringing teachers back earlier and earlier and bringing back students earlier and earlier until the parents began screaming: Stop! The first of August is too early to go back to school. Stop the madness.

Yes, kids need to go to Disney World. Let's never go back to school in August. Let's go in September when the rest of the Western world goes back to school. Then, of course, you can have the same scenario in your head about August 1. LOL

Guess what?

I got up this morning and flipped the calendar over and noted to myself:

Uh. Hmm. July 1st? I got a raise. I'm not going back to school. I'm here at home -- air conditioner is on -- books are on the table -- Internet is running -- and all is well with my world. *tee hee* .. but my teacher friends? Bwha. They are so in a sweat.

Each year, when I was teaching, I would have this conversation or one similar to it with my husband:

Me: Argh. It's July 1st. I only have a month left before I go back to school.
Hubby: I hate that.
Me: Noooooooooooooooo. You don't understand. I only have one month left.
Hubby: One month? What a shame.. you have already had one month off and now you only have one more. Why do I not have tears in my eyes?
Me: Your sarcasm is not appreciated.
Hubby: When is it ever?
Me: Good point. I've got to do something today.
Hubby: Why?
Me: CUZ. I only have one month left.

You get it, right? It was similar to that every year. BUT.. not this year....

To all my students out there and, of course, to all of my teacher friends out there:

Bwha. One month. You'd better do something. Quick.

*files nails*