Listen to the birds for a change
There are three billion fewer than there used to be
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A Carolina wren relentlessly sings its singsong song in the bushes near our house. I haven’t seen one since the trees leafed out, but I hear them every day.
Catbirds are back, mewing and mimicking the patois of other songbirds. They sound like they’ve had one too many.
Red-shouldered hawks screech across our hayfield most mornings, staking their claim to our property. They make a high-pitched
kee-aah that can wake sound sleepers. Blue jays do a poor imitation of this battle cry perhaps to sound scarier, or maybe just to show off their range.
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Miss Misinformation is the pageant for me
Remember Miss America, she of the eponymous pageant? Well forget her. Ditto Miss Universe, Miss Gluten Free and all the rest. They’re old hat yesterday’s politically correct Kumbaya news.
Who needs to ogle fulsome females bent on curing world hunger and striving for inter-galactic peace whilst strumming ukuleles in their swimsuits?
I, for one, won’t miss these Misses.
It’s a new century, time for a total makeover of the beauty pageant, this tawdry single gender genre (try saying those last three words really fast). It needs to capture the Zeitgeist of a blissfully ignorant world careening toward Global Warming and fascism in a 5-MPG Hummer.