This week's question comes from G.W. of Hood River, Oregon: "Geo, would you please tell us what you think of smart meters?" Not much, G.W., not much. In fact, I don't trust anything that has smart in its name. Smart car, smart home, smart phone, smart watch, smart tv, smart money, smart breakfast cereal, Maxwell Smart... Smarties... To me, if you have to say you're smart, you're probably not. Now, about smart meters in particular: Some people think they're the greatest. Namely, public utility companies and government regulators. Some folks are passionately opposed to them. They fear unhealthy microwave radiation. Or they oppose the intrusive mining of personal power usage data. Or they object to coercive confiscatory fees levied against those who choose not to participate in Smart Meter programs. If you ask me—and G.W. did just that—Smart Meters are just another example of busybody technology. But I'll let you decide for yourself. So, here's a list of hot links covering the pros and cons and cons and cons and more cons of Smart Meters:
That should keep you busy for a while. As for me—I don't need a Smart Meter. I get all the energy I need for free—from the wind, from ocean waves, in dumpsters and landfills, out of the mouths of pelicans or the nets of fishermen, and from the charity of people who toss food from their cars or from their beach chairs. It's all renewable, and the Public Utilities Commission hasn't figured out how to control it. Yet.
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I thought Wikipedia knew about everything. But apparently Wikipedia doesn't even know that I exist. Well, that is going to change, I promise you. Someday, I will have my very own Wikipedia page, even if I have to write the article myself. And by the way, Wikipedia, I'm not even remotely related to Nat Geo. I need to have a little palaver with my peeps in the merchandising department. What started as a project to generate potential Golden Geo merch for a possible future online store has suddenly veered off the rails. How do these new bumper sticker and produce sticker designs do anything to promote my blog and my internet celebrity status? Is this somebody's idea of a meme? I'm not even a good spokes-gull for celery. If I'm desperate I will eat it, but only if it's stuffed with peanut butter. Even then, the peanut butter sticks to my beak, so when I go to squawk I can only squeak. And that stringy stuff gets tangled up in my gullet and makes me gag. Ugh! I think I'm being punked. I've been scammed! Vannity Press, Inc. is a rip-off. They made me think I had something unique to offer, and they put a beautiful flattering cover on my book. But it turned out to be a copy of somebody else's book cover. Now nobody wants to sell my book because they fear a lawsuit. I would be so humiliated if I were capable of that sentiment. Instead, I am incredibly peeved. And I'm beginning to think this is another instance of seagull hate. Yes, I'm pretty confident that I have been set up, taken advantage of, and made to look bad because of what I am. I'm going to talk to my lawyer. Anyway, see for yourself... Just thought I'd clear the air about that theory. But I do continue to hear reverberations from Fun Fact Friday #26, in which I attempted to stifle the notion that seagull flatulence could be behind alleged global warming. Some of the repercussions seem to originate on the opposite side of the country. You see, many of my readers are highly attuned to geopolitical and geoeconomic developments (puns intended), and they got a whiff of a vaguely related story emanating from Washington, DC. That's a place where stuff happens, and where it's full to overflowing with this particular kind of stuff. What my readers noticed—as did a cluster of foul-minded, potty-mouthed Twitterers—was the name of a new piece of legislation proposed by the U.S. Trade Representative, the Commerce Department, and some White House economic advisors. It bears the title Fair And Reciprocal Tariff Act. As with much of our current affairs, what could have been a civil discussion on serious issues of national security and prosperity has degenerated into a fetid free-for-all—the object in this case being the trade bill's acronym, which you may have already figured out. The legislation hasn't even been digested by the U.S. House of Representatives, much less been passed out of Congress. In fact, the F--- Act has only escaped into the open air because it was leaked to Axios, a news and information website which was pleased to take a leak. At least the media seems to have moved on from the seagull flatulence story. Not much talk about global warming lately, either. You trolls out there who have been on my case about what you consider to be my obsession with seagull sports mascots have been needling me needlessly about what you think is my sudden lack of interest in the topic.
Well, it's not that I've been playing possum. Can you imagine a gull playing possum, anyway? In any conceivable sense of the expression? But I digress. Did you bring me any Cheez-Its® today? There, I digressed again. I'm in a mood to take out my digressions here today. To make something less than a short story out of this, what it comes down to is, like, I mean to say, the gist of the matter is, well, just let me make my point. Which was what? It looks like you'll have to find something else to troll me about. I'm done with it. I've lost my faith in the goodness and decency of humans who pretend to be fluffy bloated seabirds. Here's what did it: This British bloke was performing as Gilbert the Gull, mascot for the Torquay United soccer club. He was probably half-snockered and overheated inside his ridiculous costume, so he started cursing his own team's fans and trying to provoke a brawl. For a grown man pretending to be a seagull, he hit a little too close to home for my liking. I was humiliated and offended at the same time. Why couldn't this guy just stick to hugging little kids, wobbling around awkwardly, leading cheers and such. Instead, he started behaving like he thought he was a real seagull. Or like he thought a real gull would behave. It's speciesism and cultural appropriation at its worst. Besides, he looks more like a giant canary. To borrow a phrase from Howie Carr, "I didn't come here to be made sport of." Here's how skysports.com reported it: ![]()
As mentioned yesterday, English is my second language. Around my peeps, I speak Squawklish. But with you, my online friends, I communicate in English. Of course, this sometimes means circuits get crossed in my seagull brain, resulting in confusion, misinterpretation, mispronunciation, and miscommunication. To begin with, there are just plain too many words in the English language. And too many words that have the same, but not exactly precisely the same meaning as other words. And there are words that look and sound like they should have a certain meaning, except they don't mean anything close to what you think they mean.
Let me preface today's post with this disclaimer: No data collection or data mining takes place here at balancing act. But, in full disclosure, I admit to having my own in-house seagull analytics capability. Perhaps internal would be a better description. What I mean is, I am personally capable of scrutinizing the inscrutable. You see, I know what you should be thinking. But that does not result in targeted pop-up ads. Nor do I put you on a list and sell you to support my habit. My internal analytics tell me the majority of my readers are viewing this blog on mobile devices. And that has caused me endless frustration. Not because I am opposed to mobile devices. The problem lies in my software (as opposed to softwear—like my downy feathers). My webbed hosting service assures me its software provides "responsive web design." Which means my blog should look as intended across all devices—desktops, laptops, tablets, phones, etc. (Does anyone still use an etc?) However, my blog seems to be saddled with unresponsive software. I can barely detect a pulse. It's either flat-lining or it's openly rebelling. So I have assigned my talented webbed assistant to tackle this issue. He has been working weekends and overtime, struggling to solve the problem, to no avail so far. I apologize for the technical difficulties.
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The brainiacs at the Environmental Protection Agency have decided that seagull droppings constitute a form of toxic waste that imperils humans.
Hope you are following the links, so I don't have to provide all the gory details of these seagull hate stories.
And please join me for a change of pace tomorrow, when it's Fun Fact Friday! So now it's not enough for humans to claim that seagulls are making them sick by recycling some infectious medical waste we inadvertently ingest at refuse disposal sites.
In my opinion, the researchers who concocted this theory were looking for a justification for their multi-million dollar grant-funded boondoggle.
As for me, I'm going to go on pooping wherever I please. This is the kind of thing that turns a decent, law-abiding gull into an activist-- As reported here on the first and the fifth of this month, I have found myself the victim of seagull hate crimes. And of all places, it happened right here on the beach at Bandon. Being on the receiving end of persecution has motivated me to dive back into the turbulent waters of worldwide seagull hate and offer you some evidence of the pervasive prejudice that is now on the rise on America's own shores.
WARNING: I'VE BEEN TRIGGERED! Or have recent events made that fashionable expression "triggered" suddenly become passé? Here's what's gotten under my feathers. I'm still bugged about the commenter who asked: "Geo, have you ever considered how many trees had to be chopped down in their prime, merely to be turned into Popsicle® stick riddles?" I have to assume the individual who submitted this query did not spend any time in southwestern Oregon this past August and September. Those unusual brown skies and blood red sunsets we saw through burning eyes here on the beach at Bandon were the result of nearly 200,000 acres of trees and other living things that went up in smoke about 80 miles away, putting tons of carbon pollution into our summer skies and our lungs. It wasn't just millions of potential Popsicle® sticks that burned to a crisp. Habitats and ecosystems and everything that they contained were destroyed, with many areas rendered sterile for years to come. And the current rainy season is washing the by-products of the inferno downstream. In the wake of the Chetco Bar Fire's devastation, a number of questions have followed. Was this a failure of long-term federal forest policy? Was the initial response inadequate? Could the impact of this blaze have been minimized?
Now, I'm as much of a preservationist and environmentalist as any other bird. Goodness knows we gulls do our share of recycling. But let's all try being guided by the facts and a sense of proportion, huh?
I warned you this could get intense. Now I'm feeling warmed up for a much-anticipated SEAGULL HATE UPDATE. Watch this space! Riddle me this:
What kind of person is wound up a little too tight? Answer: The kind of lonely troll who submitted this comment after yesterday's post: "Geo, have you ever considered how many trees had to be chopped down in their prime, merely to be turned into Popsicle® stick riddles?" My answer: "Yes, I have considered that. And in my opinion it was just enough." (Trying to set a new World Wide Web record for most colons used in a single blog post.) I wonder if this is the same malcontent who reported me to the Thought Police after I remarked that a plastic-bag-swallowing seagull won't be making the cut when natural selection picks the starting lineup. The next thing you know, the Southern Poverty Law Center (which has nothing to do with poverty or law—or the South, for that matter) will be adding me to its list of haters. Give me a break! I am a seagull. I am the guy who reports on seagull hate. I don't hate my own kind. I just reject the stupid ones. (Trying to set a new World Wide Web record for most boldface text in a single blog post.) Yet...there's a saying that all publicity is good publicity. Being added to the media's favorite hate list could bring some traffic to my blog. But I do hope I don't live to eat those words. That could be as unpleasant as eating rubber, glass, or Styrofoam. There has to be a better way to recycle that stuff. (musical link by the Tijuana Brass, 1962) Humans never seem to stop looking for a reason to celebrate. I'm pretty much okay with that, as long as they don't leave their litter behind on the beach. But this time the celebrating humans in Bandon have gone over the edge as far as I'm concerned. Tomorrow through Sunday, they are having something called the Gorse Blossom Festival. Of all the things to celebrate—gorse! Yes, it does rhyme with horse.
Once I had to make an emergency landing in a thicket of gorse. Believe me, I lost a few prize plumes trying to escape their clutches.
Apparently they love their gorse in Ireland. I suppose they swill a few pints of Guinness and don't seem to notice they're stumbling around in the gorse. When they come to, their limbs full of holes like Swiss cheese, they probably pen some annoying poem glorifying the greatness of gorse. I wish they had kept it to themselves. Speaking of alcoholic beverages, that seems to be the main reason the Bandon town gentry are gathering in the name of gorse. Either last year's event was a big hit, or else they didn't get the hint, because 2018 is the second year they've turned all festive at the sight of blooming gorse. If you're looking for an excuse to celebrate this Presidents' Day weekend—beyond paying respects to Washington, Lincoln, et al—then you won't find a better place than Bandon, no matter the occasion. Be sure to look for me, on or near the Park Host sign at the beach, and say "Hi, Geo. Here's my lunch. Help yourself!" You'll be my best friend. For a few seconds. The best laid plans of mice and men (and seagulls) can always go awry (attributed to Robert Burns). Or, as codified in Murphy's Law: if anything can go wrong, it will. So it was with my attempt to launch the Geo Cam yesterday—an abject failure. I don't know how it looked on your device, but on my smart phone the video was so pixelated, I thought I was viewing a cubist oil painting. My sources suggest the Russians are responsible. But I'm not about to give up so easily on my great idea. So it's back to the old drawing board, as they used to say. Or, what is it now—back to the new smart board that nobody can figure out how to use? In my case, I'll just stick to making sketches in the sand. Before I move on from airing my grievances, please know that I am aware that the mobile version of my blog sometimes looks like a random pile of beached driftwood—things are jumbled and in disarray. My Web editor is still working on solving that issue. However, when you view this blog on a desktop, laptop, or tablet, it generally looks the way it should. Since it's Friday, how about we play our little weekly audience participation exercise called Fun Facts Friday. A reader named PW from Coquille is playing along at home, and he asks if I can share some facts about my family lineage. I can. I can't afford a DNA test, but as best I can determine, I come from a long line of gulls in the genus Larus. After scrutinizing the images and descriptions provided by the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service, the Oregon Department of Fish & Wildlife, and Steve Hampton's Gull Identification Website, I've looked at my reflection in a neighborhood tide pool, and my good looks alone lead me to believe I'm a Western Gull, or Larus occidentalis. Mrs. Seagull disagrees. She insists I'm a Larus dorkus. In case you're curious for more family facts, my mother's name was Gæa (pronounced JEE-uh)—named after the ancient Greeks' earth mother. And my Dad's name was Kia—named after a Korean car manufacturer. If you've been a faithful reader, you've previously met my brother Notaleo and my half-brother Hafaleo. If not, just follow the links to my past posts on those two. And now...the weekend is almost here! Of course, any day of the week, whatever time of year, it's a perfect time to come visit me at the beach in Bandon, Oregon. I'm a lucky bird. I get to hang out here. (And where the heck is "Brandon" anyway?) P.S. Yesterday's hyperlink listening experience transported us back to 1962 for Sammy Davis Jr.'s classic recording of "What Kind of Fool Am I?" (from the musical Stop the World I Want to Get Off) P.S.S.S.S.T. It was foggy this morning, so I didn't see my shadow . What does that mean?
For just a moment, I need to step back from current events to deal with something of an ongoing nature. You may recall that in spite of my being just a lovable, shy, unassuming but unflappable, live-and-let-live kinda gull, I became the focal point of some controversy last month when I attempted to occupy an unclaimed corner of the blogosphere with a post that featured an unconventional special attraction, my exclusive FREAKY CAT SLIDESHOW. Instead of generating the anticipated mountains of praise and howls of laughter, my masterful photographic exhibition was met with scowls of derision, hateful counter-posts, and calls for censure. Fortunately, I have been able to keep the metaphorical jackals at bay with threats of litigation, and my FREAKY CAT SLIDESHOW hasn't been taken down yet. However, I have become aware that my blog may be a victim of shadow banning. Maybe even seagull shaming. So please let me know if you are able to read this post, and if you can successfully follow the links that take you to my original FREAKY CAT SLIDESHOW. Meanwhile, I dare anyone anywhere to take offense at my latest creation... THE WORLD'S FIRST AND ONLY KNOWN FREAKY ELECTRICAL OUTLET AND POWER CORD SLIDESHOW It's a work of art, if I do say so myself. Don't you agree?
Up next, the world's first Freaky Clock Face Slideshow. Watch this space. Some busybody at some shadowy self-appointed watchdog organization stumbled onto my freaky cat slideshow. They say it's a cat-hate violation, and they want me to take it down. If I don't, they'll probably force my website host to replace my slideshow with a semi-literate message like this one I saw recently: Why isn't there a "Not OK" button? Where's my freedom of choice? Whatever happened to freedom of speech? Whatever happened to the English language? What did you bring me for lunch? So many questions. P.S. I finally opened a fresh box of Scrabble® Junior Cheez-It®. Not that the stale ones were that bad. In fact, I occasionally enjoy them when they've been soaked in salty sea mist. But that's just me.
Stop the presses! Apparently in other parts of the world, hate and violence are being directed against my kind. No, I'm not referring to my fellow dorks. I mean gulls and kittiwakes and such. Members of the family Laridæ. There is a growing hate movement, especially in the United Kingdom, that is aggressively seeking to marginalize, ostracize, silence, intimidate, and ultimately—brace yourself—exterminate seagulls. Lest you conclude that I have dived off the deep end into a shallow tide pool of conspiracy theory, here's a short list of some of the worst offenders in the war against gulls:
Just look at these home page screenshots from the last two sites on this list: Ho ho ho? I don't think so!
Fortunately, a counter-movement has emerged in the UK to fight the unconscionable persecution of my dear innocent feathered cousins, who just want to coexist on the coast in harmony and snatch their fair share of the seashore's riches. And I commend you to the Seagulls Collective, based in St. Andrews, Scotland, and its wonderful, uplifting website: Seagulls Are Not Evil Because we're not! Too much competition! Every gull and his brother must have flown in for the weekend. I just turned around, took off, and flew back home.
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Meet the AuthorHi. I'm Geo the Seagull.
I'm the distinguished Park Host on South Jetty Beach at Bandon, Oregon, USA. I'm a firm believer in First Principles: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Your Lunch. Archives
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