Sep 2, 2005

I Haven't The Foggiest

Sitting on Empty this morning. The needle is hovering just above "E," I wish I could crawl back into bed and stay there. It promises to be another lovely day, the schools are closed so the parish can offer it's buses to the rescue effort down south, and right now I'm about pushed to my limit on rescue efforts. And I haven't even done anything.

The good news is that they managed to rescue Fats Domino. At 77 years old he was living in the Lower 9th Ward, aka The Ghetto, and refused to leave. Don't get me started on THAT. New Orleans people seem to believe that they're invincible to natural disasters. Guess you know better now, eh?

If you like bikes and haven't followed the Motorcycle Daily link, do so--they've got new pictures of the 2006 Kawi Ninjas and the new Yamaha YZFs, as well as the Fazer. DAMN bikes are looking sweet these days. Seems the era of the big canister pipe is coming to a close, too.

I put the hummingbird feeders out last weekend, certain that I was too late for one, and sure that the hummers from last year and year before had long forgotten that food was to be had here, since no feeder has been out since 2003. Boy was I wrong. The two feeders, hanging on opposite corners of the patio have been bringing freeloaders non-stop. I constantly hear that high-pitched cheeping chatter they make, and cannot mistake that 'overloaded honeybee' sound they make when making their 7g turns in mid-air.

What most gets me is how violently they will attack each other. The males, that is. The females casually land on the little perches and drink to their heart's content and their tummy's fill while the red-throated males fight and bicker and crash into each other with such astounding violence that I cannot believe more of them don't simply die from the impact, much less the swashbuckling parry-and-thrust of those beaks. But they fight and bicker and battle and still they come back, and once in a great while one manages three free seconds to get a drink before he is knocked sprawling off his perch by another bully.

I've got them in stereo right now--I've got one feeder to my right, outside the big office window, and I've got two hanging to my left, outside on the patio, so I get a constant chittering and vrooming soundtrack as each feeder in turn takes on it's load of overworked, violent birds. Knowing these little blighters there's one male who is trying not only to guard the two patio feeders but also the front porch one, all at the same time, and he's zooming back and forth around the side of the house to patrol.

Ah, nature.

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