When Birds Attack: Part 1
A friend of mine was attacked by a hawk the other day. Apparently, she was jogging along the road after setting out a sign for her yard sale, and the hawk saw her ponytail bobbing and swinging and must have decided she was a squirrel or some other tasty tidbit (she is a rather small person) and swooped down and tried to snatch her up. Luckily, she isn’t tiny enough for a hawk to be able to snatch up and carry away, but when she told me this story, I thought the whole thing was pretty mildly amusing, so I, being the kind and understanding person that I am, made fun of her mercilessly for being attacked by a hawk. Because you have to admit, it’s kind of a weird thing to have happen.
When Birds Attack: Part 2
Apparently, there’s this thing called “Karma” which, according to a website I just glanced at, is a fundamental doctrine in Buddhism and is the law of moral causation. There’s a whole lot of explanation on this website, but it all boils down to, “What goes around comes around.” Anyhow, “Karma” seems to be alive and well. How do I know this, you might be asking. Well, here’s the answer.
So yesterday afternoon, I went out in the backyard to turn on the spa and get it warmed up. To do so, I have to walk under the big pine tree we have out back. Several weeks ago, we were thrilled to notice that a pair of hawks had built a nest in that tree, which was quite exciting because we were going to be able to watch as the hawks tended their eggs, and we might even get a chance to spot the little raptor babies after they hatched, which I imagine would be all cute and fluffy and fierce looking and adorable, and which would be a pretty cool thing to see. So as I walked out in the backyard, I looked up at the nest, as I’m in the habit of doing, and I saw that both the hawk parents were in the nest, and I thought things such as, “Oh, how cute – the hawk parents are in their nest. I wonder if/when the eggs will hatch?” What I didn’t think is what I should have been thinking, which was, “I need to keep my senses keenly attuned to my surroundings just in case something unexpected happens, because you should always expect the unexpected, plus you were just laughing at someone yesterday for being attacked by a hawk, and everyone knows there’s this thing called “Karma” that is the law of moral causation, and it would serve you right if one (or both) of those hawks sitting up in their nest decided to attack you.” But I didn’t think any of those things, and instead focused on the task at hand, which was to turn on the spa so it could warm up, which I did, and right after turning on the spa, I was… okay, if you didn’t see this one coming you really should pay closer attention… attacked by a hawk. And it was exactly like my friend described it. First I heard a strange whooshing sound. Then I sensed the air pressure shifting around my skull. And before I could react – WHAMMO! – I had been attacked by a hawk. Which, I have to say, is both surprising and painful, because hawks are pretty big birds (though not big and yellow and goofy and friendly like “Big Bird” from Sesame Street) and they have really sharp talons, and they use those talons when they attack. So the hawk knocked me in the noggin and flew off, and I was like, “What the heck was that?” and then I was like, “I think I just got attacked by the hawk,” and then I was like, “Ouch, my head hurts,” and then I started feeling my scalp to see if it was bleeding (which it was, but only a little bit because the hawk didn’t tear and gouge, it just struck and retreated) and then I looked around and saw the hawk flying off. It landed in a nearby tree and sat staring at me with its evil hawk-eyes (which are pretty creepy, I have to say, when they’re staring at you right after the hawk has attacked you) and I was like, “Dude, why did you just attack me?” but it didn’t answer – it just continued to stare at me. Then it swooped down at me again, and I was like, “Whoa Nelly,” and I ducked and waved my arms and it flew off and landed on the roof of my house and did that staring thing again. So I started walking, very slowly, away from it, but it swooped again, and I ducked and waved again, and finally, after a couple more swoops/ducks/waves, I finally made it into the house, where I breathed a deep sigh of relief. And when I went out to take my spa, I made sure to scan the skies and I wore a towel on my head. Just in case.
When Birds Attack: Part 3
Okay, this isn’t actually about a bird attack, but it is about birds, and I hate to break the pattern, so whatever. The other day, approximately eight hours before I was attacked by a hawk, I was riding my bike on River Road just west of La Cañada, when I spotted a couple of strange looking creatures standing on the side of the road. I slowed down a bit to get a closer look and realized that they were… turkeys. One white turkey and one brown turkey bobbing their heads and walking along like turkeys do. Since I spotted these turkeys several hours before I was attacked by a hawk, I wasn’t at all scared/worried as I pedaled by them, which turned out to be okay, because neither of the turkeys attacked me.
That’s all the bird stories I’ve got, so until next time, may your nesting hawks remain in the nests, may your soaring and circling hawks continue to soar and circle, and may your turkeys continue to hang out peacefully by the side of the road, ignoring each and every passerby.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Lamborghinis, Facial Hair, Bobcats, and Batman
Impulse Control
Those of you who know my youngest child, or who have heard stories of his exploits, which are few and far between since he doesn’t actually do all that much other than eat Frosted Flakes, go to school, go on the computer, and wrap up in a blanket to take naps on the couch, are probably aware that he sometimes has a bit of an issue with impulse control (as in, creeping out of his bedroom in the middle of the night and eating his way through half a dozen boxes of girl scout cookies). The other evening, the phone rang, and he answered it, and said, “Hello,” and then got a funny look on his face and hung up the phone. When we asked what that was all about, he mumbled something about the person asking for him by name, which totally freaked him out (imagine the horror of such a thing happening to you – doesn’t it send shivers down the spine?). But since this is my son, I figured it was just another odd little quirk of his and didn’t think much more about it. But then I came home a couple of days later and got the mail, and there was a letter from an insurance company addressed to my son, which I thought was kind of odd since he’s only thirteen and doesn’t own or operate an automobile, so why would they be sending him mail, but I figured it was some kind of mistake, so I opened it (yes, I am aware that this is a violation of the postal code and that I could be sent to prison for lots and lots of years for this heinous offense – so let’s keep it on the q.t. shall we?) and found that it was a price quote for car insurance for his four vehicles. Hmmm, I thought, this is strange (since, as mentioned before, the boy doesn’t own any vehicles, let alone four). So I looked through the quote and saw that three of the vehicles matched the vehicles that we actually own. The fourth, however, was a bit of a surprise, because it was a Lamborghini – and we don’t own a Lamborghini, nor have we ever owned a Lamborghini, and to be honest, I don’t really want to ever own a Lamborghini. Now thoroughly puzzled by this mystery, I decided to investigate further, so I listened to our phone messages and discovered that there were around eight or nine messages for my 13-year-old son from various automobile insurance companies about the quotes he’d requested. Even more strange, I mused. So then I decided to cut to the chase and talk to the boy, who hemmed and hawed for awhile, then finally ‘fessed up and said, “Fine, I’ll show you,” then opened up the internet and went to the game site he’d been playing on and showed me how there was a place he’d been going where he could get powers and points for the characters in the game by clicking on various ads and then filling out forms (applications for a Discover card, insurance quotes, and what-not). At that moment, I was torn between conflicting emotions, including, but not limited to, the following:
• Anger/frustration that my son had apparently not learned from an earlier incident of random clicking and choosing that cost him the use of his Xbox until he reaches a point in life where he no longer is living in the same house as his parents.
• Irritation at the companies who set up such a blatantly manipulative system that’s aimed at people with poor impulse control (such as 13-year-old boys) and that’s quite obviously aimed at taking advantage of their poor impulse control and using it against them.
• Mild amusement that he applied for car insurance for a Lamborghini (fits right in with our other three vehicles - a Honda Odyssey, a Prius, and a 22-year-old pickup – wouldn’t you think that might send up some red flags at the insurance company?).
• A mixture of sympathy and “you-got-what-you-asked-for” towards the insurance agents who continue to leave messages for my son about the quotes they’d sent out. And no, I’m not planning on returning any of their calls.
And the winner is…
Several of my 8th graders decided to do an “award show” for their presentation last week, and gave out a number of humorous awards to members of the class. Overall, it was pretty entertaining, and I’m now gazing fondly at my own award (which is a cardboard cutout of an Oscar with a strange-looking, toothy-grinned, google-eyed smiley face where Oscar’s face normally is seen). I was a bit disappointed that I didn’t win for “Most Sarcastic,” but I did bring home the gold for “Best ‘Stache” which is not that surprising since I’m the only one in the class with any facial hair to speak of (though not the only staff member). Plus, I remember when I was a lad who was knee high to a grasshopper, way back before I was able to generate facial hair and how much I wanted to have a mustache – so much so that one of the first things I did when I was able to grow facial hair was to grow my facial hair until I had that much coveted mustache that I had coveted for lo those many years covering my upper lip. Once it was grown I twirled it, stroked it, washed it, cooed at it, and generally pampered it so much that it became a bit spoiled – so much so that I eventually had to shave it off and start all over again, which I did, quite successfully, as you can see by the award that I just won. So the roosters have finally come home to roost, the pigs are on the griddle, and I feel a strong sense of satisfaction from a job well done.
Good Stuff
In the not too distant past, I posted a few of the things that I find irritating, so in the interest of fair play, karmic balance, and all that kind of jazz, here are a few things I’ve noticed over the past week or so that serve as the wind beneath my wings:
• Seeing both a rattlesnake and a bobcat during the same run the other afternoon (and avoiding being bit by both).
• Waking up on May 1 and needing to put on a sweatshirt because it was so chilly in the house.
• Ceiling fans – this isn’t something that just happened, but I always love this time of year when it starts getting just a little warm and you can fire up the ol’ ceiling fan and enjoy the breeze (and the whooshing sound).
• Sleeping with the windows open (and the ceiling fan whooshing above).
• The backstroke (call me a convert, but I’ve now made it through 100 yards of backstroking without slamming into the ropes, and I no longer feel like a complete spaz while backstroking).
• Cactus flowers.
I am Batman…
My official Team in Training wetsuit arrived this week (with the official “Team in Training” logo emblazoned across the chest) and I immediately tried it on so I could see how it fit. With a fair amount of coaching from my lovely bride, quite a bit of squirming and cinching, and a dash of good old-fashioned elbow grease and American ingenuity, I managed to squeeze myself into the wetsuit. As I peered at myself in the mirror (especially if I squinted enough to make the image blurry) I realized that, if I only had a cowl and cape, I could pass for Batman (might need to work on the ol’ physique just a bit, but the squinting did work wonders). So I immediately tracked down my 13-year-old son (since he’s a big fan of The Dark Knight) to see what he thought. “What do you think?” I asked once I’d tracked him down. “Don’t I look like Batman?” He looked up at me from where he was (which was wrapped up in a blanket on the couch), took a second to let the image sink in, and said, “No, you look like a dork.” Ah well, what does he know?
That’s all I can think of for now, so until next time, may your insurance company remain reputable and above-the-board, may your mustache remain lustrous and sleek, and may your self-image remain untarnished in spite of any malicious and misguided efforts to tear you down.
Those of you who know my youngest child, or who have heard stories of his exploits, which are few and far between since he doesn’t actually do all that much other than eat Frosted Flakes, go to school, go on the computer, and wrap up in a blanket to take naps on the couch, are probably aware that he sometimes has a bit of an issue with impulse control (as in, creeping out of his bedroom in the middle of the night and eating his way through half a dozen boxes of girl scout cookies). The other evening, the phone rang, and he answered it, and said, “Hello,” and then got a funny look on his face and hung up the phone. When we asked what that was all about, he mumbled something about the person asking for him by name, which totally freaked him out (imagine the horror of such a thing happening to you – doesn’t it send shivers down the spine?). But since this is my son, I figured it was just another odd little quirk of his and didn’t think much more about it. But then I came home a couple of days later and got the mail, and there was a letter from an insurance company addressed to my son, which I thought was kind of odd since he’s only thirteen and doesn’t own or operate an automobile, so why would they be sending him mail, but I figured it was some kind of mistake, so I opened it (yes, I am aware that this is a violation of the postal code and that I could be sent to prison for lots and lots of years for this heinous offense – so let’s keep it on the q.t. shall we?) and found that it was a price quote for car insurance for his four vehicles. Hmmm, I thought, this is strange (since, as mentioned before, the boy doesn’t own any vehicles, let alone four). So I looked through the quote and saw that three of the vehicles matched the vehicles that we actually own. The fourth, however, was a bit of a surprise, because it was a Lamborghini – and we don’t own a Lamborghini, nor have we ever owned a Lamborghini, and to be honest, I don’t really want to ever own a Lamborghini. Now thoroughly puzzled by this mystery, I decided to investigate further, so I listened to our phone messages and discovered that there were around eight or nine messages for my 13-year-old son from various automobile insurance companies about the quotes he’d requested. Even more strange, I mused. So then I decided to cut to the chase and talk to the boy, who hemmed and hawed for awhile, then finally ‘fessed up and said, “Fine, I’ll show you,” then opened up the internet and went to the game site he’d been playing on and showed me how there was a place he’d been going where he could get powers and points for the characters in the game by clicking on various ads and then filling out forms (applications for a Discover card, insurance quotes, and what-not). At that moment, I was torn between conflicting emotions, including, but not limited to, the following:
• Anger/frustration that my son had apparently not learned from an earlier incident of random clicking and choosing that cost him the use of his Xbox until he reaches a point in life where he no longer is living in the same house as his parents.
• Irritation at the companies who set up such a blatantly manipulative system that’s aimed at people with poor impulse control (such as 13-year-old boys) and that’s quite obviously aimed at taking advantage of their poor impulse control and using it against them.
• Mild amusement that he applied for car insurance for a Lamborghini (fits right in with our other three vehicles - a Honda Odyssey, a Prius, and a 22-year-old pickup – wouldn’t you think that might send up some red flags at the insurance company?).
• A mixture of sympathy and “you-got-what-you-asked-for” towards the insurance agents who continue to leave messages for my son about the quotes they’d sent out. And no, I’m not planning on returning any of their calls.
And the winner is…
Several of my 8th graders decided to do an “award show” for their presentation last week, and gave out a number of humorous awards to members of the class. Overall, it was pretty entertaining, and I’m now gazing fondly at my own award (which is a cardboard cutout of an Oscar with a strange-looking, toothy-grinned, google-eyed smiley face where Oscar’s face normally is seen). I was a bit disappointed that I didn’t win for “Most Sarcastic,” but I did bring home the gold for “Best ‘Stache” which is not that surprising since I’m the only one in the class with any facial hair to speak of (though not the only staff member). Plus, I remember when I was a lad who was knee high to a grasshopper, way back before I was able to generate facial hair and how much I wanted to have a mustache – so much so that one of the first things I did when I was able to grow facial hair was to grow my facial hair until I had that much coveted mustache that I had coveted for lo those many years covering my upper lip. Once it was grown I twirled it, stroked it, washed it, cooed at it, and generally pampered it so much that it became a bit spoiled – so much so that I eventually had to shave it off and start all over again, which I did, quite successfully, as you can see by the award that I just won. So the roosters have finally come home to roost, the pigs are on the griddle, and I feel a strong sense of satisfaction from a job well done.
Good Stuff
In the not too distant past, I posted a few of the things that I find irritating, so in the interest of fair play, karmic balance, and all that kind of jazz, here are a few things I’ve noticed over the past week or so that serve as the wind beneath my wings:
• Seeing both a rattlesnake and a bobcat during the same run the other afternoon (and avoiding being bit by both).
• Waking up on May 1 and needing to put on a sweatshirt because it was so chilly in the house.
• Ceiling fans – this isn’t something that just happened, but I always love this time of year when it starts getting just a little warm and you can fire up the ol’ ceiling fan and enjoy the breeze (and the whooshing sound).
• Sleeping with the windows open (and the ceiling fan whooshing above).
• The backstroke (call me a convert, but I’ve now made it through 100 yards of backstroking without slamming into the ropes, and I no longer feel like a complete spaz while backstroking).
• Cactus flowers.
I am Batman…
My official Team in Training wetsuit arrived this week (with the official “Team in Training” logo emblazoned across the chest) and I immediately tried it on so I could see how it fit. With a fair amount of coaching from my lovely bride, quite a bit of squirming and cinching, and a dash of good old-fashioned elbow grease and American ingenuity, I managed to squeeze myself into the wetsuit. As I peered at myself in the mirror (especially if I squinted enough to make the image blurry) I realized that, if I only had a cowl and cape, I could pass for Batman (might need to work on the ol’ physique just a bit, but the squinting did work wonders). So I immediately tracked down my 13-year-old son (since he’s a big fan of The Dark Knight) to see what he thought. “What do you think?” I asked once I’d tracked him down. “Don’t I look like Batman?” He looked up at me from where he was (which was wrapped up in a blanket on the couch), took a second to let the image sink in, and said, “No, you look like a dork.” Ah well, what does he know?
That’s all I can think of for now, so until next time, may your insurance company remain reputable and above-the-board, may your mustache remain lustrous and sleek, and may your self-image remain untarnished in spite of any malicious and misguided efforts to tear you down.
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