flux

Longtime (obsessive?) readers (and magpieboy) may recall that I am like a woman forty years my senior in my inordinate fondness for songbirds, to the point when people ask how my day went, I have a tendency to talk about how excited I am that a new species has arrived at my feeders. I still enjoy going out dancing downtown or sitting around with my friends, cracking wise over cheap beer and good bourbon, but I feel just a little bit embarrassed to admit that watching the nuthatches and grosbeaks and towhees flick about is almost as fun.

I would feel worse if I hadn't given up on being cool years ago. Junior high school either breaks the nerd in one or galvanizes it. For me, it was the latter (I bet you can't tell (I am being sarcastic here (I hate having to say when I'm being sarcastic, it's so lame))).

Anyway, as I said in my last entry about my bird habit, I put out mealworms for my spoiled avian buddies, which means I get to play around with a bucket of larvae, which is even more fun than watching the birds. It's like being a kid again, when kind of gross, creepy stuff was the most desirable of all stuff, which is why gummy worms are exponentially more delicious than gummy bears. I ate a mealworm in my environmental science class in high school on a dare. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't as tasty as a gummy worm, though it was probably more nutritious.

So the last batch of mealworms has finally and completely gone down the gullets of chickadees, bluebirds, and the rest of the little gluttons who come to my impromptu soup kitchen. Which meant, of course, that I got to go buy a nice, fresh, new bag of mealworms today.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is what crazy looks like:





And, with that, sweet Jesus gravy train, it's past my bedtime. Night, y'all.



ADDENDUM: Having that little "PICS" bar below my jour-, I mean my blog, showed me that I am making a nigh-identical face in the picture I uploaded a few days ago. Gawd, get a new schtick, why don't you!