Yesterday morning I filled the birdfeeder and -bath. Yesterday afternoon I glanced out the window and saw that the feeder was still nearly full. Then I saw that the anti-squirrel part was down.
This feeder has been great in the months I've had it. An inner tube holds seeds, and an outer tube on a spring has strategically placed fig leaves. If a squirrel gets on the feeder, its weight is enough to pull the outer tube down, covering the holes; when the squirrel leaves the spring draws that tube up again. I haven't often seen a squirrel on it--they learn fast--but the few times have been great: once they negotiate the thin hook from the branch and the thinner loop of wire from feeder to hook, there they are on a closed feeder! Whee! They scrabble around with the seeds not half an inch under their tentacles but still ungettable-attable!
Welcome to my small world, in which that passes for entertainment.
I could not figure out in a quick inspection what had gone awry. Before dissecting the birdfeeder I am going to have to scrub it. I don't mind filling it and then washing my hands, but prolonged manipulation through its filthiness is more than my fastidiousness can take. I stood the feeder on the patio to Deal With Later and proceeded with my evening (which went City of Ember and then Oscar and Lucinda on the bus and then "Pirates of the Caribbean" and then Peter Carey on the bus again and then City of Ember until I finished it just before midnight).
This morning I glanced out the window to a herd of sparrows and finches on the nectarine branch, on the windowsills, forlorning looking to that empty bit of air below the hook. I had already thought what a commotion there must have been yesterday as they perched on the feeder only then to realize they had no access. They are not parrots, these birds. They are like the aliens in "Toy Story," as I've said. Not overly bright but admirably single-minded.
What the hell. I fetched the old feeder from the garage, filled and hung it.
Ahoy there, "Pirates of the Caribbean"! I mostly thought you were great and could ignore your illogicalnesses! After all, I make up words like "illogicalness," so I'll overlook that two men could not walk along the seabed carrying a boat upsidedown over their heads for an air supply. But especially in the late eighteenth century, no one would say "hung by the neck until dead." Hanged, damn it!
The old feeder must be exactly what the squirrel engineers who must have plotted the new feeder's demise had in mind. I can just imagine the committee meetings over the last several months, the deliberately accelerated evolution of an opposable thumb, the forging of a small pair of snips for the spring.
Yesterday Shiny Happy New Coworker and I stood by the printer waiting for our jobs. She said, "You have the best clothes."
I was flabbergasted, oh yes I was. Not so much that I couldn't thank her, but pretty much. I was wearing something new, at least.
When do two garments become a suit? This is a skirt and a shell (note: I hate the word "top" for "shirt") that together cannot be a suit because the upper half is not buttoned, is neither jacket nor vest, is sleeveless. Of course I do not want it to be an "outfit" but the two pieces are clearly not "coordinates" (oo, more concepts to loathe!).
Tuesday I told CoolBoss about my Sunday shopping spree. Wednesday I wore the new pink--well, I'll call it a suit--and told her this was one of my new things. She said oh! with some relief, because when I told her "pink," she thought--she groped for a term--I supplied "'Legally Blonde' pink"?--and yes, that's what she thought. Okay, pale pink is bad enough, concept-wise, but aesthetically it's a good choice for my pasty skin. Barbie pink is beyond the pale (oh, I slay me).
Then when a few minutes later I reported this compliment to her, let's just say that, after six years (despite this period's leaving her with the impression I might wear Barbie pink), she was familiar enough with my wardrobe to understand that while this was a very nice compliment, it was a little odd.
Of course, Shiny Happy New Coworker has only been around since spring. Let her experience my winter wardrobe--black with a side of grey--and repeat that comment.
Still, it was nice.
When I told the story to my sister last night, I was a little more dramatic (moi?). "She must be on crack," I said, and my sister, ever so much less diplomatic than CoolBoss, agreed.
But I had another story to tell my sister! When I scurried out for the bus last night, my hair escaped my leather barrette (which, hooray! I can wear again--my braid had got too long to fold into it). I stood there, on Denver's most notorious street, twisting my hair up. I heard a noise behind me and turned to see a cyclist stopped on the sidewalk. Standing in front of the bench, I was blocking the way. I apologized and stepped aside. "Oh no honey I was enjoying it! I just want to stay here till the show's over." By this time I had switched on my Ignore function and hoped fervently for the bus and calculated the distance between me and the nearest open door. He moved on, not before saying, "If your boyfriend don't know you sexy with your hair up, he crazy."
So here we have figurative and actual crackheads with the compliments.
In "Shakespeare in Love," Geoffrey Rush as Philip Henslowe always wants to know when in Romeo and Juliet the pirate king will appear.
He starred as le Marquis de Sade in "Quills," which also featured Kate Winslett.
Kate Winslett starred in "Titanic." In this movie, which had a sinking boat, she yelled "Jack!" a lot.
Yesterday at the library I picked up the copy of City of Ember that I had had the library find for me. I mourn my absence from the central branch and its stacks of stacks and decided to Browse and find a book the old-fashioned way. Oscar and Lucinda occurred to me, and lo, it was there, in an edition old enough, hooray, not to have a movie cover. I read City until it was time to catch a bus (to go see "Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl") and then on the bus started Oscar, which I had brought because it was small enough to fit into my bag.
Oscar and Lucinda was made into a movie, some or all of which I watched without knowing about the book. Whatever parts of it I didn't watch I didn't because I hate Ralph Fiennes, both his acting and his face. Whatever parts I did watch, I did because of Cate Blanchett, whom I adore.
Joseph Fiennes as Shakespeare omits the pirate king entirely from Romeo and Juliet. In "Shakespeare in Love," he does not sleep with Elizabeth Regina; in "Elizabeth," with Cate Blanchett in the title role, he does.
So Geoffrey Rush had to make an entirely new movie in which he could play a pirate king! So he could slit more throats, as he did in "Elizabeth"!
This movie's heroine, though not much this side of daft, at least didn't yell "Jack" too much, though there was a scene where she could not save her Will (see, Shakespeare again) from the collapsed hold of a ship, just like in "Titanic."
And so is proven the interconnectedness of all things. The end.