Pigeon Fight

During a recent trip to Toronto I watched pigeons — I know, rats with wings — in the bus depot while I was waiting for my bus. Anyone who's familular with the a city for more than, say, a week has to be totally over the birds — old ladies on park benches don't bother feeding them anymore— and just perplexed by the attraction they seem to hold for others. There's no way you can sneak up on a robin or a crow before they'll fly off. Pigeons are so used to people that they won't even move if you're about to step on them. But what was special about these birds is that there were three of them, and one was sort of lopsided. I'm no veterinarian, but I think it had a broken wing, kind of slouched over and wobbling. I'm gonna name her Trina, after one of my daughters pet Cestial Goldfish [She was an egg shaped goldfish, but its eyes were pointing up words to the sky and no dorsal fin]. A gimpy, depressed fish who spent her short time in her aquarium nutrifying the environment, getting her food stolen by the other fish and eventually and most pathetically became food for the other fish.

Trina had her own tourmenter, a white speckled pigeon, tall and upright — I’ll call her Adrian — who kept jumping on her back and pecking at her, because Adrian is a total douche. The third pigeon- I’ll call him Calvin, more or less watched the fight from a distance as also the crowd of humans watching along with me. I was torn — I think most of the people there were torn — part of me wanted to break up the pigeon fight. Part of me was eight years old and wanted to take Trina home in a little shoebox and nurse her wing back to health and part of me wasn't really sure what to do. Not that it's my fight, but what do I know about bird morality? They're not sentient in the same way that I am, and what right do I have to impose my morals on them? Not to mention, what right do I have to side with Trina over Adrian? Maybe in pigeon-land, Adrian has ethics on her side here.

The good news, if you can call it that, about my moral waffling is that no one else had a strong urge to help out Trina, or maybe just turn the Bus Station slightly less violent, either. A few people sauntered up to the fighting birds with their heavy bags and screaming children in tow, but being a city pigeon, Adrian hardly noticed. No one actually swatted at her with their Daily Newspaper [which might be illegal anyway] or ran at the birds or threatened them. I waited for my bus to come, figuring that either the Greyhound would scare the fight off, or the throng of passengers disembarking would. But no, as far as I know, Adrian is still there, wailing on Trina and Calvin not doing a thing [typical male behaviour when women are fighting].

Teresa.

Sneaky T!

I should have been a rock star. I really want to be, really truly in the deepest part of me I think I should be a rock star. I have the perfect name for it, Sneaky T, but unfortunately not a drop of musical talent. Although, that hasn't stopped a lot of talentless hacks from assaulting the ear drums of innocent listeners everywhere.

A couple years ago I decided I was going to teach myself how to play Ukulele. After seeing that a simpleton as Tiny Tim learned how to play the Uke I figured I could, too. He can sing sublimely, but seriously is lacking in even the slightest shred of true musical ability. Inspiration really can be found anywhere.

A couple of weeks ago when I was thumbing through my well worn copy of Aesop's fables to find the story I used in a post, I stumbled on the receipt for the ukulele. It has sat relatively untouched ever since the date on the silky piece of paper.

For the first couple weeks I practiced every day and was frustrated at how hard it was, but as soon as my nails grew out and I realized I would have to keep them short and that I hadn't really made any discernible progress, I put it away. It may have been gone but it was not forgotten, and the silent cries of it sitting in the corner mocked me for my folly and over blown sense of my own abilities. I may have had fantasies of one day playing like Eddie Kamae, but I knew that would never happen. Unfortunately, being able to strum out Baa Baa Black Sheep was equally impossible.

When I was at the Red Dog Listening to an unknown band earlier this week, I realized that there may yet be an instrument for me. A lanky, tobacco finger stained woman pulled out a tambourine and began beating it against her body in a frenetic dance to "Walk Right In", which also happens to be one of my favorite Dr. Hook songs, I thought to myself, "now that I can do!"


I walk past the Old Peterbprough School of Folk Music nearly every time when I'm downtown and I can see an array of tambourines from the window, but I have yet to go in and buy one. I am sure the Ukulele is lonely, but I can't bring myself to buy it a friend that I will also neglect. Although, I am just certain I would be stellar with a tambourine. There was a brief moment not too long ago when I thought my rock star moment might have arrived. An old friend informed me that he was starting a band, invited me to check out one of their rehearsals and then inquired if I could scream. Can I scream? Hell yes, I can scream. Like a motherfucking banshee. And then the question seemed odd to me and asked him why he needed screaming. Seems it is a pretty serious punk band that he is creating, which is even more odd considering he plays the banjo. It could be genius, though. I was totally up for giving it a go and between being an experimental punk band and featuring a banjo player, I figured I could fit right in with my rock star name, my latent screaming talent and my red vinyl pants and tambourine. Nothing ever came of it as far as I know.

Guess it is up to me. I'll cut all my nails off tonight and tune the Uke. The steel strings are murder on my fingertips. It is completely awkward. But for God's sake, anyone can play the Ukulele, even Elvis the Pelvis picked up the talents to win the affection of unsuspecting women and shit, if Tiny Tim who was very unattractive could woo the hearts of the women too…..maybe I can add to my charm. I might just get a tambourine, too. Just in case. I Might be Wrong.

I can play the triangle, I'll use it as a back up!

Teresa.

Murphy is no friend

The only law that has been constant in my life has been murphy's despite the governmental ones that we obey and utilize without a connatural thought on a daily basis. Life chooses to take many forms, it’s not just being humans however, this law is recognized only in our western culture. Bet you didn’t know that! Wikipedia apparently claims that this law originated sometime in the late 1940’s when some air force base coined the fraise that "If things can go wrong they usually do". Or more clearly "Things will go wrong in any given situation, if you give them a chance". It continues to discuss theories from Sod’s law and Finagle’s Law. Read it yourself. I’m too lazy to explain. Once again, murphy’s law, playing on my playful but loafing mood. Speaking of loaf…I think I’ll have some toast. I’ll probably burn the slices and the butter will no doubt be hard.

Teresa.

Stormy day ahead

This is a place for my musings. I doubt that I will have much to say that will interest anyone but me, yet I have paperclipped myself to the trend. Optimally, perhaps I might make you think from time to time… we don't do enough of that these days.

Well okay… I am, well... I am what I am. I love writing and reading- not necessary in that order. I love working as long as it interests me. I am going to be a writer, or at least would love to, enter the realm of possibilities only limited by my imagination. I love dreaming, being to myself, talking to myself. But I love being with others I like-too. I am very complex, difficult to understand and a difficult person so that makes me quite irritating. Hey, thats part of a good package, so you’ve to bear the brunt.

My Daughter Anna is just 8 years old (seen above showing me her uvula...that little dangling thingy). After church on Sunday we exited the bus at the park just down the street from our home. We stopped at the cornerstore for popsicles. Sheesh, I remember when popsicles were a nickle. Now theyr’e a whopping 87 cents for coloured, flavored, frozen water on sticks! As we continued to the playground, Anna tooted or more accuratly, expelled very loudly from her derriere. Instead of politely excusing herself from this very unlady like behaviour, she instead responds with something even more astonishing. As pretty and cute as she is says, "To air is to human". I nearly dropped my 87-cent Popsicle. We giggled together.

I’m meeting with my EX and our lawyers today. As you might say, It’s the precurser to a trial, however as I understand this step of the process is necessary. I’ll be ready to brave the storm for a bit this time. You’ll see me out there in my little Scooby Do dinghy, yellow rain coat and a Captain Highlighter rain hat tied securly under my chin, as I scribble useless thoughts on bits of multi-colored paper and toss them overboard... rowing in circles through rough seas, drowning myself in a paper ocean as the rambellings of an idiot and his demands are tossed into my direction aiming for my inflatable, falling like anvel’s to the bottom. Please continue, on hourly rates, your lawyer and mine must be costing you a fortune (I’m not going to bargan).

Whenever I notice our normal, manic weather, I feel a sentimental pride and delight in this place. My appreciation of the curious and changeable is sated without me having to do a thing. Of course I'm sitting comfortably inside.

MUAH!
Teresa.

It was an accident?

I frequently listen to AM 680 in the mornings but invariably find myself becoming agitated by the Traffic News. It is not so much the constant reminder of just how badly people drive, or the level of congestion that no one [apart from Howard Stern] seems prepared to tackle. What gets me is the constant use of the word ‘accident' to refer to road crashes. Why? This has been much debate with me.

The constant use of the word ‘accident', especially by journalists, to refer even to those crashes caused by the most blatant dangerous driving seems to me one reason why we all seem to be in denial of the realities of our ‘car culture'.

'Accident' has a number of connotations that a more neutral word such as ‘crash' does not. Common phrases include ‘Accidents happen'. This implies that they are inevitable and that there is nothing that can be done to avoid them, which when it comes to road deaths is just not true. Another common phrase people use is ‘It was just an accident' or even ‘I didn't mean it, it was just an accident'. The subtext to this phrase is, of course, ‘It was not my fault' or ‘I refuse to accept any responsibility for what has happened'. [A universal problem with road crashes where everyone feels someone else must be to blame]. In short, the overuse of the word ‘accident' seems to encourage the general view that no one is to blame for road deaths and injuries.

Some time ago, I emailed radio 680 about this and ‘Sally Traffic' [as to say] did me the courtesy of Emailing me back. I was told that the use of the word ‘accident' was not the CRTC’s policy but that they would never use ‘crash' as she believed the word is ‘sensationalist'. [And of course we mustn't be ‘sensationalist' about anything as mundane as road deaths must we...?]. It also continued to explain that some commercial stations do have a policy of not using the word ‘crash', especially in the mornings, as it is felt this is more likely to upset listeners about to start their day.

There are plenty of other example of ‘the culture of denial' being expressed in language. For example, another common phrase is ‘The car went out of control' when what is really meant is ‘The driver lost control of the car'. We also say such things as ‘The pedestrian was killed by the car', even when they have been run down on a pedestrian crossing and what we really mean is ‘The pedestrian was killed by the car driver'.

Strangely enough cyclists seem to have much less problem calling ‘a spade a spade' and the word ‘crash' is used in preference by most cycling enthusiasts when they describe racing cyclists ‘coming a box of tricks'. It even sounds a bit odd to say ‘the cyclist has had an accident on the descent'. Almost universally, commentators will just say, ‘The cyclist has crashed' without this been considered to be ‘sensationalist'. Then again cyclists are not living in denial of the realities of the ‘car culture'... The philosopher Wittgenstein said that ‘the limit of my language is the limit of my world'. Given this if we are to make people less accepting of road deaths do we need to challenge the comforting language that the upholders of the car culture use to put a less threatening spin on the harsh realities of road deaths [And by drivers to avoid having to accept individual responsibility]? Or is a simple word such as ‘crash' really ‘sensationalist'?

Collision seems to be a good word.
Teresa.