The new alternator in my Jeep is already acting up. I need to take Gwen the Jeep back into the shop and have the electronic thingy replaced (it’s under warranty), but I’ve got other errands I need to run tomorrow. So I’ll probably forgo the alternator for another day or two with hopes the electrical system in Gwen won’t mind the erratic current. Heck, there were a score of women who put up with my erratic current and came away unscathed. According to the doc, so did I. I’ve got this uncanny ability to dodge bullets. I can also calm jittery squirrels. You can’t believe the anxiety those bushy-tailed rats have to endure daily. Someone’s got to do something. I wonder if squirrels would take antianxiety meds if provided. They’d need to be done on schedule each day, so giving the squirrels a watch is a must. I’m skeptical if squirrels can read the time, analog or digital. All of this pondering I think is a waste of time. Jittery they will remain.
Have you ever been to the park where squirrels are fed by children and the elderly? The squirrels are relatively tame; still wild animals but tolerant of the presence of humans, and the perfect targets for a really fun game: Squirrel Tag.
The game is simple. Approach a squirrel minding its own squirrely business, usually from the rear of the critter, and tag it with your hand, typically on the bushy tail. This part is important: Run! Those little rodents are nasty when they’ve been provoked and will chase you with squeaks and barks that will have you laughing like a hyena on crack, once the thing stops chasing you.
The squirrels at Grand Canyon National Park, especially outside the Bright Angel Lodge, are fat. There are signs everywhere in every language known to man and moonman alike explicitly stating not to feed the wildlife. The reason given is two-fold. Bubonic plague is still present in the Rocky Mountain and western states of the US, brought to the US with infected rats on ships pulling into port in San Francisco. So, get bit by one of these begging squirrels that will climb your body and face to get a lick of your ice cream cone (there’s a ice cream shop at Bright Angel, on the canyon side of the building) and you can end up with a disease that might kill you, or even make you sick enough that if you do live, you often have limbs amputated. No joke. It’s serious stuff. Not to mention the fleas they carry that also spread the plague. Pretty scary, yes? There are less than 20 reported cases of bubonic plague in humans each year in the United States. All the same, don’t feed the squirrels.
The other reason you’re not supposed to feed the wildlife (mainly squirrels) is because they become dependent on humans for their food, and rather than store food from the wild in their nests for the winter months, they continue to rely on tourists to the canyon to feed them whatever goodies they have at hand. Well, come the winter the visitation rate of tourists drops significantly (it’s at 7,000 feet above sea level at the rim, so cold weather and snow are the norm at the canyon in the winter months), and with the fewer tourists, the human-dependent squirrels starve to death. Pretty sad stuff. So don’t feed the squirrels. That said, I’ve got a great photo of my Mom feeding a squirrel right in front of the sign that states not to feed the squirrels. They’re just so cute, you see.
Mule deer are also common in the area of the lodges, visitor center, and campgrounds at the canyon, and people often feed the deer, which again there are signs that state explicitly not to feed the deer. In this case, it’s not because of disease or starvation, it’s that deer conditioned to humans giving them food will often attack with their front hooved legs those tourists who pass close to the deer but fail to provide a treat. These animals end up being put down as a danger, a danger created by tourists feeding the deer. It’s a sad end to the protovenison brought on by human ignorance and inability to follow the rules.
In kindergarten you are taught to follow the rules. I didn’t do so during the bicentennial of the United States celebration at the school, where I started tapping my coffee can drum too early and the teacher took away my drum sticks, so during the performance I just sat there, ridiculed by my fellow students for my misdeed. There’s only one time our country turned 200, and I missed the ability to beat a drum in celebration. Follow the rules!
Want to hear a really sad story of mule deer being fed by humans? At the Royal Gorge in Colorado, the deer are so overfed they look like ambulatory medicine balls with legs and a head. The Royal Gorge is privately owned and not part of the National Park Service, so there is no regulation about feeding deer to the point where even Jenny Craig would throw in the towel. And Jenny’s pretty cool. She likes to help the obese. These deer are beyond help, though. Eventually they’ll opt for rolling around from place to place rather than walking. That actually might be pretty cool to see. The gorge is somewhat disappointing, other than the bridge built over the gorge that is designed to handle even Prairie Whales (motorhomes). I’ve visited many more impressive gorges in the wilds of the Western US which are much more difficult to access, but the off-roading and subsequent hikes make the beauty just that more worthwhile and beautiful. And the deer are sprightly and lean. Dude, it’s all funky cool.
I’m guilty of feeding wild animals. There’s this really cute cotton tail rabbit that frequents my cul du sac, and I often leave out baby carrots and a bowl of water in the morning, hopefully to attract the little cutie to the office window in the front of the house where I can watch it nibble the orange treats for my amusement. Yes, a cotton tail, common as sand grains in New Mexico, brings me joy to observe. Heck, I married a woman who abused me to no end (she got better after we divorced, mellowing some), and sometimes the masochist in me got some joy from her abuse. I really didn’t know any different, so any attention from her was welcome attention. So you see, watching a wild rabbit eating carrots is a much more positively satiating form of entertainment. Hard to argue with that, so don’t even try.
Hey, did you know that carrots were a white root vegetable when first harvested in the wild? With selective breeding of the carrot, Dutch botanists from the Renaissance were able to turn the carrot orange in homage to the royal family of the Netherlands, the Family of Orange. So you’ve learned something about the vitamin A-laden vegetable enjoyed as a raw snack (which I’m munching on right now) or as a sliced ingredient of Scheshwan Chicken. Carrots are yummy, no ranch dressing necessary. Maybe some barbecue sauce… naw, that’s dipping raw potatoes in Cool Whip. They are not two great tastes that taste great together. Anyway, knowing this will help you when you’re a contestant on Jeopardy. I’ll have to tell my Jeopardy try-outs story at some other time. It’s quite long and involved, and I’m still a little sore about being ditched even though I scored highest on the aptitude test.
Speaking of two great tastes that taste great together, I once spent much time with a girl who loved Reese’s peanut butter cups. Me, I never developed much of a liking for them. I think I was turned off by the lame 70s commercials where two people collide while strolling down the street or on the surface of Mars or wherever, one with an open jar of peanut butter and one walking along with a bar chocolate. The chocolate ends up sticking out of the peanut butter, and one of these dudes says, “Hey, you got your chocolate in my peanut butter!” to which the other dude replies “You got your peanut butter on my chocolate!” They taste the new concoction, and by the stars, they enjoy the contrived-collision combination, which at some point they must have gone into business making the flavor combination a reality as peanut butter-filled chocolate cups. I mean, this is just a ridiculous fabrication of the advertising agency. Nobody walks around with an open jar of peanut butter. Nobody. It just doesn’t happen. walking around with an open bottle of hydrofluoric acid with the liberated fluorine whiffing its way back into your face and lungs makes just as much sense. Why would anyone walk around with an open jar of peanut butter, other than with the hopes someone will collide with them and whatever food they were carrying ended up stuck in their peanut butter. Just be thankful it wasn’t some dude with a carrot. Chocolate-covered carrots. How did I get back on carrots? Whatever. I’m going to finish this bag of baby carrots. Addicting, really. No need for chocolate, although Jessica and I did share some Lindt Extreme Orange chocolate earlier watching “The Fighter.” I can understand now why Christian Bale took home an Oscar. What a killer performance he gave.
Did you ever see “Empire of the Sun” way back in the day? It starred a 12 year old Christian Bale, who I’ll admit I’ve got a platonic non-gay man crush on. He’s such a good actor it’s great he was acknowledged by the Academy. I liked him in “The Machinist.” I kind of like that one movie whose name escapes me where he plays a Yuppie businessman who kills people. It wasn’t quite dark humor but it wasn’t quite a thriller, either. That middle ground provided a perfect venue for an adult Christian Bale to shine. Plus, the movie’s just weird, and I like weird things. You know, like a walrus in a hot pink thong tutu.
Getting way off segue here, I’m listening to a “Super 80s” cdr I made many years ago, which is kind of scratched up so some songs won’t play. What is playing, though, is one of my favorite songs from 1982: “Teenage Enema Nurse” by a band called Killer Pussy. So they aren’t very couth, but the lyrics (which I won’t quote here… you can Google them if interested) and the music is very good and goofy, and when I first started listening to music on KROQ in California, it was the silly songs that caught my attention. “I Eat Cannibal” by Total Coelo and “Shiny Shiny” by Hayzee Fantazee were favorites of mine.
One very tongue in cheek song that would cause the chronically politically correct to faint forever from the sheer irreverence is “Little Girls” by Oingo Boingo. If you are unaware, Oingo Boingo is the New Wave rock band Danny Elfman headed up until 1995 when he decided to concentrate on doing movie scores. What are some of the recent ones he’s done? Frankenweenie, Wanted… quite a few. He’s very good. But back to his song “Little Girls.” The lyrics run through, “I love little girls, they make me feel so good. I love little girls they make me feel so bad.” Right. That just wouldn’t fly today, but in 1980 when the song was in rotation, it was a fan favorite on KROQ. It’s odd how seriously we take ourselves now. Where’s the joy? Where’s the ability to laugh at the ludicrous? I’ve got an answer: Right here at Steve’s Thoughtcrimes. What a shameful plug for my own site, but if if you’ve gotten this far you must find the blog somewhat interesting. Or, maybe you’re looking for ways to infiltrate my network brute force and all. Not a good idea if you like your registry. That’s all I’m saying on the matter. It’s fun being adept.
Anyhow, I should probably get back to coding. I spent the evening watching “The Fighter” with Jessica and then we had one of our insightfully illuminating conversations that I enjoy so much. She’s got a lot she contends with, so when you can get her to smile and laugh (which I’m very good at doing), you’ve got a whole world of joy to last you through to the next time life gives its best at smothering your happy mood. So tonight I’m happy still.
That’s about all I had to say. Good night, be good to each other, and don’t take yourself too seriously. And don’t feed the squirrels. I promise, some carry bubonic plague. That stuff’s pretty serious shit. I like you better healthy. Yes, that includes walruses. Be peaceful and idealistic.
Source:
http://www.stevebringe.com/?p=1694