I've just been informed that I am the subject of an FBI dossier. That's a French word that means a file full of papers containing made-up stories about things somebody else imagines I might have done sometime when I wasn't some place I've never been, that someone I've never met swore they saw me doing before I was even born. Now, I'm no worry-wort. I don't panic easily. Generally, I oppose alarmism. But, using an expression widely expressed by so many highly-erudite, culturally-elite, well-tempered, conventionally-wise talking heads these days—I have become "deeply concerned." If I should reach the level of being "gravely concerned," you may find yourself reading the musings of a fill-in blogger in my place. For now, I'm still here. And responding to my internal defense mechanism, I whipped out my poetic license and voiced my concerns in the form of a poem. Note: For those of you who are hard of reading, and anyone else who cares to listen, please try to find the Download File link below, so you can click it and experience a dramatic oral interpretation of my latest literary effort. ![]()
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Longtime readers have come to realize that this blog is the written representation of my ceaseless search for meaning in life. Or, well, at least my search for meaning in words. You may recall, I have learned English by reading every printed object I could find in the nearest dumpster. (See Fun Fact Friday #28 and the three posts that follow it.) Sometimes, what I read is baffling. Occasionally, it's more than that—it's upsetting. For example, I was enjoying the last few crumbs in a box of cookies the other day, until I started reading the label. I encountered an ingredient I had never seen before. At first, I misread that word, and I though it said "terrified soybean oil." I have heard of plants going into shock, but this sounded a bit more severe. Then, I looked closer and realized that it actually said "interesterified," which sounds like a Bushism or a Sharptonism and doesn't get past my spell-checker. But it turns out interesterified is an actual word for an unnatural act performed on unwilling soybeans, so they may as well be terrified. I was frightened out of eating the rest of the cookie crumbs. And it makes me wonder how "degerminated yellow corn meal" must feel.* They say that reading is the key to learning. They also say ignorance is bliss. I may have to separate my learning from my eating. *My spell checker thinks I must have meant degemination (without the r). One of these things is not like the others... Of course you chose the correct answer—B for Bird Control. Since I live in a special part of the world where seagulls are admired, cherished, honored, and photographed in soft focus, I sometimes forget the harsh treatment and officially sanctioned cruelty and persecution that is everyday reality for seagulls in many disparate corners of the world. But my readers occasionally snap me out of my reverie by sending me links to hate-filled individuals and institutions that remind me there is still much work to be done to rid the planet of rampant anti-seagullism.
I'm the victim of a leak. I have no idea who the leaker was. But it's not worth appointing a special counsel or turning the matter over to an inspector general. It is what it is. I just feel like my personal Earth-shattering major announcement bubble has been deflated. No chance for a twenty-trumpet fanfare now. But most of you have been unaware that I've released my first YouTube video. Until now. I owe a special thank-you to the cameraman who was recruited to join my seagull news channel that never got of the ground. It turned out he also is a highly-skilled video editor, and I hired him back to help produce my first video.
I'm glad you like it. Of course you do. Even though I haven't devoted much of this space to seagull activism recently, that doesn't mean I'm not active behind the scenes. I belong to a worldwide network of like-minded bird-brains, and I have recently received some top-secret messages from secret friends of mine in the resistance. Quietly, without fanfare, these brave heroes are protesting the global persecution of poor, starving, innocent seagulls. And they have shared some before-and-after photos of their handiwork, which I, in turn, will share with you now. You have no idea how it warms my soul—and my stomach—to see how my compatriots are fighting injustice wherever they find it. I can't wait for their next top-secret messages.
For more background on what we're battling, click Hate Update in the Categories list in the sidebar. Power to the Seagulls! As far as I know, I am the only seagull currently publishing poetry online. There are lots of humans who have posted putrid poetry about seagulls from their narrow humanistic points of view. It makes me sick to my stomach, and as you know, virtually nothing I consume can do that to me. This stuff that passes for poetry about seagulls, and the sand, and the sea—it's awful, appalling, androcentric, aggravating, and annoying. And I will not despoil my own blog by linking to any of it. You can do your own search and see what I mean. Then again, if you'll toss me a few of your French fries, I could be persuaded to change my mind. Meanwhile, stick around and enjoy some real seagull poetry. Read and listen: ![]()
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Hey! Where's the meme?
I had the best day yesterday. They let me renew my poetic license! The last time they allowed me to bust out a stanza or two was back in April. Surely you know who "they" are. "They" are the ones who must remain nameless. "They" are the ones who sit in judgment. "They" are the ones who starve the starving artists. "They" are the ones who put the muse in music. And the Poe in poetry. "They" put the try in poetry, too. And the me in meme. Or maybe not. But somebody did, because it wasn't always there. Anyway, now that my Right to Rhyme has been reaffirmed, I feel invigorated. I feel inspired. I feel poetic again. I even feel like singing, but "they" haven't granted me permission. So, here goes... Feel free to squawk along, although you do have the right to remain silent! ![]()
So it's the day after the demise of the Seagull News Network (the network formerly known as SEANN). To avoid depression, I must quickly redirect my creative, entrepreneurial energy. Fortunately, my anchor, my beet reporter, and my cameraman were not yet under contract. So we're all free to go our separate ways.
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: Wear a smile wherever you go. Wear a smile, even if it’s a size too big. Wear a smile. It'll brighten someone's day. But I’m a seagull. You can’t tell by looking at me whether I’m smiling or frowning, whether I'm happy or sad.
*This musical link is to "Happy Talk," performed by Juanita Hall from the original 1958 motion picture soundtrack recording of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical South Pacific.
It's not easy being a wordsmith. Every day, I try to bring my best game to this blog. Some days are winners. Some days not so much. Yesterday, I hit a walk-off grand slam. It was a three-pointer at the buzzer. A hole in one. The gold medal. Nothing I can offer you today will measure up. I don't even think today's verse will take the bronze. It's only a quintain in iambic tetrameter. You be the judge.
March 29 is the first date on the Geo Taylors calendar. Every year about this time, we seagulls get busy and help perpetuate our kind. When Mrs. Seagull and I began that mission many years ago, on this very day, it brought us together, and we never will part. That's the seagull way. That’s the way things ought to be. And it's a sneak preview of tomorrow's Fun Fact Friday topic. Musical link by Chet Petty and the Playboys, 1959.
I stand against seagull hate. I squawk against seagull hate. I fight the good fight against seagull hate every way I can.
Shtick shmick, I say!
This is no shtick. I admit to being a multi-talented performance artist, but this is simply not another running gag. A running gag is when a chunk of somebody's leftover picnic scraps gets caught in my throat as I frantically try to evade the other gulls who want a piece of my treasure. Now that's what I call a running gag. All joking aside, I am seriously at war with hate, even if there isn't enough room on my sign for a hashtag.
Valentine's Day is almost here. If you're like me, you probably wait until the last minute to find something special for your sweetheart. This year, I'm here to help you save time and money, and come out looking good on Valentine's Day, too. In fact, what I have to offer is absolutely free! For a limited time, you can show your valentine how much you care with a one-of-a-kind gift... (See order form below) Offer ends Tuesday, February 14, 2018 at 11:59 p.m. PST. Void where prohibited. Some exclusions may apply. Offer may be extended by Geo on a whim. Consult your physician if you have previously experienced allergic reactions or severe side-effects when responding to free online offers or coming in contact with seagull feathers. * Ah, you've found the asterisk again. The title of today's post comes from the lyrics of "Heart," a popular song in the 1955 musical Damn Yankees, which was based on the book The Year the Yankees Lost the Pennant. P.S. On the birthday of our 40th president, consider his words: "Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn't pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children's children what it was once like in the United States where men were free."
I hope that is true for you. I hope all your troubles will stay the heck away. |
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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