I Heard The Owl Call My Name

I heard the owl call my name

Yes, it is indeed one of my most favourite books. I like the simplicity of the logic, and the reasoning of the religion.  I was an atheist for quite a long time, now I consider myself to be more agnostic, partially due to this short novella.

In the meantime, my owl has discovered the joys of hooting in a travertine marble tiled house. The echo effect is incredible. It is even more incredible at three or four in the morning.

“Whooo-Hooo” resounds throughout our peculiar demesne, scaring the cat sometimes, and making the dog turn her head at odd angles.  I have to answer back, which irritates the Lady S. to no end, because now you have two echoing owl calls going back and forth.

This morning, she thought that a houseguest had stepped upon her cat, due to a series of harsh calls. I explained that while entertaining the guest last night, I had completely forgotten to give the owl his evening series of rats to feast on, and he was pissed off.

Trying to find rats at four in the morning while not waking up your houseguest is somewhat hard though.  I thought I had put them in one spot to thaw out (I get them frozen) and had not. No, I do not thaw them out in the kitchen.

After stumbling about with a pen flashlight for a while, I finally discovered them in my studio underneath a plastic bag. Owl is fed.   S.’s alarm goes off fifteen minutes later.  Damn owl.

Anal

O.K. There are some things I am anal about, I know.

Dishes are one of them. I wash the dishes, then put them in the dishwasher. A spot on a glass can cause a major meltdown in the kitchen for me. I scrub, polish, and damn near sandblast everything.

Our plastic glasses are now somewhat cloudy.

What  really gets my goat, however, are the dials on the dishwasher. Why the hell isn’t there just an “on” switch ?  I have this dial that can rotate all over the place (how many of us really need ‘extra rinse cycle’ ?)  without really telling you if you have hit the right spot? 

Turning on your dishwashing machine is like dating a girl who fakes her orgasms. You just never know if you are doing it right or not.  In the end, the dishes are clean, but you walk away from the event feeling somewhat puzzled, and you have to go back and check to make sure it all worked out correctly.  Of course, this is easier with dishes than a woman.  They will slap you if you try to do an inspection.

We have a microwave that does not have settings below 1 minute. Yes, it is pretty, and looks good next to the other myriad kitchen appliances, but come on !  If you want to nuke something for 30 seconds, you have to hit the minute button and then sit and listen to the beeping.  I once forgot a burrito overnight, as I had gotten bored and wandered off someplace. I opened up the microwave door the next day to heat up another burrito. Yikes.

I fed it to the dog, and she had the runs, unfortunately in the stairwell.

I hope someone from the mainstream dishwasher corporations figures out that making washing dishes simpler would ease up on my worry load. Yes, I am running the washer right now, so I have to go check and make sure I got the dial in the right spot.

Good Vibrations

Good Vibrations

The first album I ever owned in my life was by the Beach Boys.  I know every single lyric by heart of every song they did.  Yeah, I know, most of it was junk…but it still makes me smile.  I had a hand-me-down Datsun B210 back in the day. The kind with a hatchback. It went everywhere.

Seriously.

It forded rivers, slid down highways, and went off the snowy roads in Flagstaff. We could just all get out and pick it up and put it back on the road.  Peter (PeePee) and I would get all dressed up in Hawaiian garb, grab a cheap bottle of rum and some cigarillos, then go do doughnuts in the grocery store parking lot near NAU.   We were the only ones insane enough to drive during a white out, and had the Beach Boys blaring from the speakers.  Youth. 

Oh yeah, we also had Slim Jims for sustenance.

I never had much experience with real vibrators until I met some college girls in the 80’s.  I don’t see what the fascination is, but they sure seemed to like them a lot.  I can’t move my tongue at 9,000 rpm, but have done o.k. with the “vowel” technique.

A-E-I-O-U.  Repeat as often as necessary.

I’ve found that horehound drops help keep your jaw muscles from hurting too much.

Anyway, I was gifted with a c-ring that vibrates.  Unsure about it, I thought of what my grandfather always had said “ try everything at least once”.  O.k.

It was certainly interesting.  Today, I did not go jogging as usual, if that is a clue, and still can not cross my legs.  S. seems to be alright, she went grocery shopping and is making a tossed salad.

I wonder what is up tonight?

Hotels and Owls

Tucson Animal Show September 09

Or, Try Sleeping with an Owl in your Hotel Room

Owls are not meant for hotel rooms. 

The passerby glance at them through the windows and do a double take, hence the need to draw the curtains completely. This makes the already somewhat depressing residence even more so.

Owls wake up at three in the morning. It must be an instinctual thing, so they can glide about and catch rodents and whatnot. In a hotel room, they try to glide, but instead cause quite a racket, and leave a lot of feathers for the maid to clean up.

The owl glared at the side of the large television for over two hours. It wasn’t on. I kept on looking at the side of the tv to see what was so fascinating, but couldn’t. I do believe he was mad because it was not turned on.

I did turn in on, but the only thing playing was “Basketball”…a truly horrific supposed comedy that should have been banned in all theatres. The writers would have been ritually flogged, tarred, and feathered as they were ridden out on the rails of the god damned trains that came past the hotel every 20 minutes or so, hooting much louder than the owl, but causing him to respond.

I felt sorry for the people next to me.

In another room, just to clear things up. Hey, my wife reads this now and again.

BANG !  BANG!  Yep , that is your owl at 3:20 telling you that it is now time to try to fly to some other hotel room that may be more comfortable, or perhaps hit the Jacuzzi which unfortunately has already been closed at ten p.m.  You try explaining this to a four year old owl.

I dare you.

a somewhat tawdry look at seagull love...

 Ms. Jonathan Livingston Seaquell

My wings were warm, they had touched the sun early that day, as I flew about the park near the ocean. 

A spirit in rest needs to be taken sometimes, so I landed onto the strand, amidst the Styrofoam cups and sticky ice cream wrappers left by the little innocent children.

I picked up a limp condom in my beak, and shook it about with great vigour. Salty spray flew everywhere , and the kittywakes scampered all about the beach, leaving gentle imprints in the sand and broken glass.

There was a bit of kiwi laden hamburger, still in the beautiful bun, underneath the platform that supports Mr. Halleywell’s fruit stand and bait shop. I took this up to the verdant lawn, and gently ate it while young ladies in thongs skated by. They looked so heavenly, I squawked once at them, letting them know that I had seen their camel toe.

With the smell of fish so overpowering, I once again took flight.  Beneath me was the boardwalk, the ocean, the people.  I knew what I needed, and my sharp eyes sought it out.

There he was, a bright white male, proud in form. I alit next to him and presented my rear. Seagull courtship is something that is not talked about in polite society, but can be brutal in a very fun way.

He took off his ComicCon t-shirt, and with a quick movement, slid aside his black speedos, and impaled himself into me. Never have I felt such exquisite pain !

We ran together, me flapping ahead, and fanning his extremities, while he tried to keep up with my furious adour.

When he finally exploded, near the FizzGrill Stand, I launched off like a missile, full of joy and a little bit of soreness.

artist

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September Fourth. Sleepy Time.

Do you ever sort of wonder what goes through your significant other’s mind during the night?

Frequently, I am awakened by a stab to the ribs. No, not with a knife, but with stiff fingers. I do snore, but not as much as my brother or my good friend T.   She poked him in the eye when he snored in the motel room at Tonmocon 1.

Sometimes, I can’t sleep, and just watch the fan for a while and think of things to write later on. Now and again, she’ll wake up and jab me, insisting I was snoring, even though I was awake.

I think she does it just to keep me on my toes.

                                              (s. sleeping in "starfish configuration")

If I do get up to urinate, or get a drink of water, she sprawls across the kingsize bed like a starfish that has been flung up onto the strand. I have learned to move very quickly when I do get out of bed, and get back fast, before here extra-sensory system has figured out that I am no longer next to her. In this fashion, I can sometimes get as much as six hours of sleep.

Now and again, she'll wake me up to see if I actually was asleep. I guess there is some sort of fear, or hope, of me not breathing.

I suppose time will tell.