Remember when you were a little kid, how fun it was to look up into a snowy sky--how you felt like you were traveling into space at 'warp-speed' while the white flakes ('stars') flew past you?
Too bad it's not fun to do that when it's raining...
(This November has been the rainiest month on record here--over 15 inches of rain. Despite its precipitous reputation, Seattle actually only averages about 5 inches of rain in a 'normal' November...)
So, if you'd been a sky-gawking turkey up here recently, you'd have died.
At least, that's what I've heard. Perhaps it's an urban-farm-myth--that turkeys are so dumb that they can drown in a mere shower because they don't know that they should stop looking up at the rain...
One of my wife's coworkers said that when raising poultry on a small farm, it's better to raise turkeys and chickens together, since the little birds help out their bigger, duller, cousins...
Who knew? (Incidetnally, I LOVE the clay-mation film "Chicken Run"...)
All those turkeys...the tens of millions of turkeys that graced American's tables these past couple of days...Here's an agro-factoid for you:
to breed turkeys that have the desired quantity of 'white meat,' the farming industry has now ended up with birds that have been genetically 'modified' to have such heavy breasts that they can't even stand upright anymore. There's some gravy for your plate, eh? (I'm not a militant vegan or anything, just so you know...)
And, ah yes, the yearly joy of 'black Friday' as people gleefully begin the Holiday-shopping-season. (It's all about consumption--cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, and Best-buy...)
Reports from around the country show fights breaking out and police having to intervene.
Ah yes, the 'holiday spirit.'
Here in Seattle, there's a sort of passive-aggressive 'civility' that manifests itself especially this time of year in parking lots, at four-way stops, and in grocery-store aisles.
For example, you're shopping for produce. Watch the gore-tex-vest-clad lady over there, as her path to the parsley is blocked by another shopper's cart. Instead of calling out 'excuse me' or simply pushing past, Ms. gore-tex just stands there, face all a-crinkled with indignation, waiting for the 'violator' to finish squeezing the flavorless tomatoes and to get out of the way. A minute passes and the indignation climbs, but still, oh no, we're not going to be 'rude,' we'll just wait. Finally tomato-squeezer finishes and moves on, and Gore-tex-zilla, whose face is now red with eyes rolled way up, huffs past the still-unwitting 'violator' who ambles to the free-coffee-sample table...
Speak up people, just speak up--a little 'excuse me' won't kill the joy...And oh, when you get to a four-way stop and you have the right-of-way--just GO! This 'no, YOU go--no, really, YOU GO'-business just holds up traffic. It's not polite. It's stupid.
I wish I had come up with this phrase, but I didn't--'scando-japanese reserve.' Perhaps that's what keeps people from calling out 'excuse me' up here...False, cool, civility does not civilization make.
And now, a lengthy music-nerd joke, which was forwarded to me:
A C, an E-flat, and a G go into a bar. The bartender says, "Sorry, we don't serve minors." So the E-flat leaves, and the C and the G have an open fifth between them.
After a few drinks, the fifth is diminished, and the G is out flat. An F comes in and tries to augment the situation, but is not sharp enough; A D comes into the bar and heads straight for the bathroom saying, "Excuse me, I'll just be a second."
Then an A comes into the bar, but the bartender is convinced that this relative of C is a minor. Then the bartender notices a B-flat hiding at the end of the bar and exclaims, "Get out now! You're the seventh minor I've found in this bar tonight!"
The E-flat, not easily deflated, comes back to the bar the next night in a 3-piece suit with nicely shined shoes. The bartender (who used to have a nice corporate job until his company downsized), says, "You're looking sharp tonight; come on in--this could be a major development!"
This proves to be the case, as the E-flat takes off the suit, and everything else, and stands there au natural.
Eventually, the C sobers up, and realizes in horror that he's under a rest. The C is brought to trial, found guilty of contributing to the diminution of a minor, and is sentenced to 10 years of DS without Coda at an upscale correctional facility.
On appeal, however, the C is found innocent of any wrongdoing, even accidental, and that all accusations to the contrary are bass-less. The bartender decides, however, that since he's only had tenor so patrons, and the soprano out in the bathroom, everything has become alto much treble; he needs a rest, and closes the bar.