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We'll rot or annilhilate
Nov. 21st, 2006 11:59 pm
Currently at UW: -4.1. High today: 4.9. Light freezing fog on the way home, laying down a heavy frost. There was still a very thin sheet of ice in the middle of the pond when I went by late this afternoon, which was surprising, and goes to show that even though it may seem warmer in November than October, it really isn't.
Let the record show that the tailless squirrel will go up trees when pressed. Today another squirrel chased it up a tree. This makes me more optimistic it will live through the winter.
Shortly after I saw the tailless squirrel chased up a tree, I saw a seagull, meandering through a herd of geese, with a feather sticking straight up out of its back. Hard to tell whether the feather belonged to it or not--I've always been struck by how alien detached feathers look to the birds they're from--but it sure looked like, actually, a goose had plucked out one of its own feathers and stabbed the seagull in the back with it. So I was staring, bemused, at this, for a couple of minutes--the geese standing around munching on the grass, hissing at the seagull wandering among them when it got too close--until, all of a sudden, one of them made a little squawk and they all ran into the water, and the seagull took off over the pond, showing that the feather sticking up was actually in its wing.
I thought, at first, that this was just typical random goose herd behaviour, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something charging over, so I turned around and stared at it, and it was a big white galloping blob, which, for some unaccountable reason, I interpreted, for a second or two, as a gigantic goose, until I realized it was a dog. It ran over to the middle of where the geese where, and dropped a plastic water bottle on the ground. (It's too bad that dogs can't know that this is a recent innovation in doggy existence: all the dogs--well, a lot of them--have water bottles now.) Then I turned back again to see where the dog had come from, slightly annoyed that someone was letting their large dog run around (illegally, I suppose) unleashed among birds, and saw, to my surprise, a 20-ish granola-ish looking woman with some sort of multi-coloured beaded thing around her head. I was, I guess, giving her a look of death, or horror, or who knows what; she said, in a strangely resigned sort of way, "I'm sorry if she ruined that for you." I said it was OK. I briefly considered telling her that, at first, I thought her dog was a giant goose, but, you know, the moment passed.
On one hand, I think it's ridiculous that David Ortiz didn't win the AL MVP. On the other hand, it's pleasantly surprising that Jeter didn't win it, either.
Done with Being and Nothingness. To save you the bother of reading it yourself, I'll tell you how it ends: ( nothingness wins. )
Let the record show that the tailless squirrel will go up trees when pressed. Today another squirrel chased it up a tree. This makes me more optimistic it will live through the winter.
Shortly after I saw the tailless squirrel chased up a tree, I saw a seagull, meandering through a herd of geese, with a feather sticking straight up out of its back. Hard to tell whether the feather belonged to it or not--I've always been struck by how alien detached feathers look to the birds they're from--but it sure looked like, actually, a goose had plucked out one of its own feathers and stabbed the seagull in the back with it. So I was staring, bemused, at this, for a couple of minutes--the geese standing around munching on the grass, hissing at the seagull wandering among them when it got too close--until, all of a sudden, one of them made a little squawk and they all ran into the water, and the seagull took off over the pond, showing that the feather sticking up was actually in its wing.
I thought, at first, that this was just typical random goose herd behaviour, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something charging over, so I turned around and stared at it, and it was a big white galloping blob, which, for some unaccountable reason, I interpreted, for a second or two, as a gigantic goose, until I realized it was a dog. It ran over to the middle of where the geese where, and dropped a plastic water bottle on the ground. (It's too bad that dogs can't know that this is a recent innovation in doggy existence: all the dogs--well, a lot of them--have water bottles now.) Then I turned back again to see where the dog had come from, slightly annoyed that someone was letting their large dog run around (illegally, I suppose) unleashed among birds, and saw, to my surprise, a 20-ish granola-ish looking woman with some sort of multi-coloured beaded thing around her head. I was, I guess, giving her a look of death, or horror, or who knows what; she said, in a strangely resigned sort of way, "I'm sorry if she ruined that for you." I said it was OK. I briefly considered telling her that, at first, I thought her dog was a giant goose, but, you know, the moment passed.
On one hand, I think it's ridiculous that David Ortiz didn't win the AL MVP. On the other hand, it's pleasantly surprising that Jeter didn't win it, either.
Done with Being and Nothingness. To save you the bother of reading it yourself, I'll tell you how it ends: ( nothingness wins. )
