This morning, while I was walking the dog, I saw something at the base of a tree. Fortunately Cardiff was distracted by a leaf blowing past, so he didn’t notice it until I had a chance to investigate.
A young bird — a woodpecker of some sort — was hopping and fluttering around the tree, trying to get enough of a grip to climb up it. I attached Cardiff to a nearby fence so he wouldn’t be able to scare or hurt the bird, and then picked up the bird. It was freaked out and started cheeping and flapping and tried to peck my fingers (which might have hurt if the bird’s beak had been closed).
The bird was gripping my finger pretty tight with both feet and it was flapping pretty well, so I put it in a hole in the tree where a limb had been torn off in a storm over the summer. I figured if the bird was hurt or just stunned at least it’d be safer there than on the ground where kids and dogs and cats could get at it.
The bird immediately flipped itself off the ledge and took off in the air. I can’t find anything online, but I suspect that maybe woodpeckers are birds that can’t really take off from the ground like sparrows and pigeons can. I did find out that what it was, was probably a juvenile red-bellied or possibly hairy woodpecker (I’ll let you all giggle like 13-year-old boys over that one).
Woodpeckers aren’t exactly common in Baltimore City, but this is the second one I’ve seen this year.
Though in the English language there is no standard accepted method to denote irony or sarcasm in written conversation, several forms of punctuation have been proposed. Among the oldest and frequently attested are the percontation point, — also known as an ironicon — invented by Henry Denham in the 1580s, and the irony mark, furthered by Alcanter de Brahm in the 19th century. Both of these marks were represented visually by a backwards question mark.
Recently, the enormous pile of fail that is Marie Claire magazine ran an op-ed piece by one vapid freelancer who took the opportunity to spew, like so much monkey diarrhea spraying the walls of a zoo enclosure, helpful advice for fat people.
The article is, if you want to treat your eyeballs to a feast of idiocy and self-importance heretofore unimaginable by people with souls, Should Fatties Get A Room (Even On Tv)?.
Okay, let’s just grapple with that title there. Should fatties get a room? No. No, if I have to watch people of culturally acceptable body sizes pawing over each other in the supermarket check out line because the very sight of broccoli sends their libidos into overdrive, then I am allowed to kiss my husband in public. See, it’s the “(Even on TV)?” part that gets me. It’s like she’s saying, “Of course, we all know it’s unacceptable for fat people to touch each other in public. What decent human would even question that. No, no, what we are discussing is the probability of fat sex assaulting you in your very living room!”
That is, in fact, what the article is about. Or supposed to be about:
The other day, my editor asked me, “Think people feel uncomfortable when they see overweight people making out on television?”
Her editor was talking about Mike and Molly a sitcom that has drawn criticism for it’s portrayal of two overweight people in a relationship.
But because she can’t get over her own hatred of fat people, she can’t write an article about that. Instead, she needs to warn us all about the dangers of being fat:
In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the police who investigate crime and kitties who like getting their widdle bellies rubbed! Yes they do! Yes they do! These are their stories.