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Pigeon Poop
Jan. 10th, 2007 07:56 amThis morning was a reenactment of the John Carpenter film "THE FOG." It started out nice, a clear and cold pre-dawn morning. The dorkdog and I went for our usual walk. It was just us and the homeless people pilfering the recycle bins out and about. Twenty minutes later, I stood at the bus stop gazing out towards the hills. The sun was glowing all along the ridge.
I was thinking how our town isn't laid out to a true north/south east/west grid pattern. Because of our position along the bay shore, we're at an odd angle, and in my no-coffee state I ruminated on why I look left and just consider that north and look at the hills and just consider it east and could I ever find my way out of the woods if I were lost, and...
I can't see shit, now. WTF?!
In less than five minutes, we'd gone from clear skies to zero visibility. An icy fog enveloped the entire area. I could no longer see dawn breaking or the hills, not even as a dark lump. All I could see was fog and the weak yellow/orange halo of light around the street lamps and the occasional car. The bus stop sign across the street was obscured to me now. Even the bus driver commented on it. For 10 blocks he complained that the fog had come out of nowhere.
Once I got to MacArthur for the cross-town bus, I stood there in more fog. MacArthur is a transit hub in North Oakland. Bart and no less then a dozen bus lines converge there along with the CalTrans bike shuttle across the bay bridge, the EmeryGoRound shuttles into Emeryville, and passenger shuttles to Childrens, Kaiser, and Summit hospitals. Suffice to say it is a BUSY place full of busy people going to and fro, and a large number of less fortunates hoping for a hand out and rummaging in the bins. There's a newsagent there, a florist cart, and often a roach coach. There is also a big amount of litter and garbage all over the sidewalks, benches, flower beds, and the over flowing trash bins.
People are pigs, plain and simple. People in large numbers that is. What is it about society in general that we think the rest of the world is supposed to pick up after us? I'm certainly not spotless Suzie homemaker, but I do not toss my trash aside in public, dropping it on the ground, throwing it out in the street, leaving it scattered all over benches where people sit. Yes, I believe in curb-side beatings for litterbugs.
With people comes litter, with litter comes scavengers. There are a LOT of pigeons and some sea gulls who hover, swoop, waddle, and scratch out a veritable feast from the litter all over MacArthur station. I sat there this morning, huddled on my foggy bench and watched two pigeons fight over a squashed, dirty, hamburger bun. The loser hobbled off looking dejected and abused. It was a wonderful piece of extemporaneous acting.
I was reminded of December of 1999. I was sitting at a table on the second level of the Eiffel Tower. I was having a hot chocolate and a bun. I watched this pigeon, this poor, bedraggled, one legged pigeon. He hopped around slowly, pitifully, a wing dragging along to counter balance his woeful attempts to walk with only one leg. He was weaving slowly across the iron floor in front of a family of three. A small boy was tossing him bits of bread. Eventually though, they finished their snack and left. And here this poor pigeon was dragging his broken body back and forth hoping for just one more crumb. I'm sure all the other, more healthy pigeons beat up on him a lot, called him names, stole his food and just generally made his life a living hell.
I watched then as he straightened himself, tucked his wing back where it is usually and now that his victims were gone began to hop on his one foot as agile as could be. It reminded me of that last scene in "The Usual Suspects." There was nothing pathetic or bedraggled about that pigeon now. I was amazed. How can a bird with a brain the size of a pea be capable of such subterfuge? He noticed me and began to transform back into the pathetic wretched creature he'd been a few moments earlier. I laughed and shook my head. I picked up my trash and carefully put it in the bin. The bird dropped his act with a look of disgust and hopped off to find another table of victims.
The point to this mad ramble? No point. Just brain droppings while I have coffee and argue with the BossMan over IM about the capabilities--or not of Acrobat, and who stole my staple puller.
I was thinking how our town isn't laid out to a true north/south east/west grid pattern. Because of our position along the bay shore, we're at an odd angle, and in my no-coffee state I ruminated on why I look left and just consider that north and look at the hills and just consider it east and could I ever find my way out of the woods if I were lost, and...
I can't see shit, now. WTF?!
In less than five minutes, we'd gone from clear skies to zero visibility. An icy fog enveloped the entire area. I could no longer see dawn breaking or the hills, not even as a dark lump. All I could see was fog and the weak yellow/orange halo of light around the street lamps and the occasional car. The bus stop sign across the street was obscured to me now. Even the bus driver commented on it. For 10 blocks he complained that the fog had come out of nowhere.
Once I got to MacArthur for the cross-town bus, I stood there in more fog. MacArthur is a transit hub in North Oakland. Bart and no less then a dozen bus lines converge there along with the CalTrans bike shuttle across the bay bridge, the EmeryGoRound shuttles into Emeryville, and passenger shuttles to Childrens, Kaiser, and Summit hospitals. Suffice to say it is a BUSY place full of busy people going to and fro, and a large number of less fortunates hoping for a hand out and rummaging in the bins. There's a newsagent there, a florist cart, and often a roach coach. There is also a big amount of litter and garbage all over the sidewalks, benches, flower beds, and the over flowing trash bins.
People are pigs, plain and simple. People in large numbers that is. What is it about society in general that we think the rest of the world is supposed to pick up after us? I'm certainly not spotless Suzie homemaker, but I do not toss my trash aside in public, dropping it on the ground, throwing it out in the street, leaving it scattered all over benches where people sit. Yes, I believe in curb-side beatings for litterbugs.
With people comes litter, with litter comes scavengers. There are a LOT of pigeons and some sea gulls who hover, swoop, waddle, and scratch out a veritable feast from the litter all over MacArthur station. I sat there this morning, huddled on my foggy bench and watched two pigeons fight over a squashed, dirty, hamburger bun. The loser hobbled off looking dejected and abused. It was a wonderful piece of extemporaneous acting.
I was reminded of December of 1999. I was sitting at a table on the second level of the Eiffel Tower. I was having a hot chocolate and a bun. I watched this pigeon, this poor, bedraggled, one legged pigeon. He hopped around slowly, pitifully, a wing dragging along to counter balance his woeful attempts to walk with only one leg. He was weaving slowly across the iron floor in front of a family of three. A small boy was tossing him bits of bread. Eventually though, they finished their snack and left. And here this poor pigeon was dragging his broken body back and forth hoping for just one more crumb. I'm sure all the other, more healthy pigeons beat up on him a lot, called him names, stole his food and just generally made his life a living hell.
I watched then as he straightened himself, tucked his wing back where it is usually and now that his victims were gone began to hop on his one foot as agile as could be. It reminded me of that last scene in "The Usual Suspects." There was nothing pathetic or bedraggled about that pigeon now. I was amazed. How can a bird with a brain the size of a pea be capable of such subterfuge? He noticed me and began to transform back into the pathetic wretched creature he'd been a few moments earlier. I laughed and shook my head. I picked up my trash and carefully put it in the bin. The bird dropped his act with a look of disgust and hopped off to find another table of victims.
The point to this mad ramble? No point. Just brain droppings while I have coffee and argue with the BossMan over IM about the capabilities--or not of Acrobat, and who stole my staple puller.
