I try to avoid this, and I'm sure you do to: being put on hold, as the recorded professional voice talent says, because "all of our agents are busy, but we'll be with you as soon as we can..." Which might even mean sooner than tomorrow. So there I was on hold again. Grooving to the warm sounds of some 90s smooth jazz, finger-popping (of course, not literally) to a hard bop 70's boogaloo beat, humming along with a familiar Mozart piece. Repeat. And repeat again. The 70s and the 90s and the 18th century are alive and well—well, maybe not so well—in the form of music on hold. I say "not so well" because static and garble—nearly eradicated by digital recording and broadcasting—still infect the timeless space of music on hold. My audio technicians have produced a short sample of their impression of a music on hold announcement that sounds like a worn-out cassette recording being broadcast on a distant AM radio station heard over a 60s pocket radio. For the background music, they borrowed a snip from Swiss-born smooth jazz musician Alex Bugnon's "Strollin" (2001). Click Download File to listen. ![]()
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My marketing staff is really cranking out the bumper stickers. I love their energy. But I'm not sure how to take this one. At least they used the Seagull font.
If you logged onto this page yesterday and were totally confused, who could blame you? For those who missed it, here's how it looked: Even I have no idea what that says, or what it was supposed to say before my web host scrambled my post. Yes, they appear to have gone past shadow banning and other forms of social media censorship. Now they just toss everything into a digital blender, add a dash of special algorithms, and it comes out scrambled beyond recognition. But why would they do this to my blog, out of all of the billions of blogs in cyberspace? What could I possibly have done to offend anyone? No, that wasn't a rhetorical question! To be continued... Just when I thought I had mastered the English language, I had a little problem with my website and sought help from an online tech support chat. I had to practically stand on my head to figure out what was being said. Here's an example: Unlike others might, I didn't just come away from this experience exasperated and disillusioned. I didn't just run to Yelp® and post a negative review. No such thing. I became motivated. I'm not narrow-minded. Maybe small-minded, but open-minded nonetheless. I'm inquisitive, and I want to learn new things, to try new things. I try to be positive, creative, even groundbreaking. And I figured if Babitha could so easily mangle the language, so could I. And maybe even more successfully. All I needed was the right tool. So I took yesterday's blog post and tossed it into a word blender, which is similar to a word processor. I think it's a joint project of Microsoft® and Cuisinart®. I simply clicked the Pulse button intermittently for 30 seconds. Here's the result: Well, it's only a beta version. I think I've made a grievous mistake. Yesterday, I posted my newest song/poem here. It was inspired by current events, but not based on real events. In other words, it was pure fiction. Not to be taken literally. And in my mind, it was totally acceptable under the terms of my poetic license. But now my legal team tells me I should have cleared it with them first, due to the sensitive nature of the subject matter. Why must everyone be so touchy? I'm not sure what the ramifications will be, now that yesterday's post has been published and is probably out there in cyberspace forever. Even though it's probably too late to cover my tracks, I am going to pretend that yesterday never happened. Maybe I can just casually delete yesterday's post. Today I will at least do what my legal advisers say I should have done in the first place. In the interest of national security, I am replacing the unabridged lyric sheet and the unedited recording of my song/poem with heavily-redacted versions, both in print and in audio. I hope the next message in a bottle that washes up on my beach isn't a grand jury subpœna. ![]()
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... RMT of Myrtle Point, Oregon, has submitted this question:
"Geo, would you please stop singing and explain what seagulls are saying when they make those non-English sounds we usually hear." First of all, RMT, I commend you for following the rules and saying "please" when you ask me a question. If you've ever met me, you know I cherish good manners. Unfortunately, on the advice of counsel, I am not allowed to give a straight answer to your question. Additionally, I am on my way out of town for a day, and cannot stop to provide more detailed information. However, please accept this consolation prize: I have previously discussed the language of seagulls in Fun Fact Friday #15. I hope you will follow the link I just provided, and see what you can learn from that episode. For good measure, here's another link to a blog that offers a human interpretation of seagull speech, complete with recordings that might help you match what you've been hearing with the descriptions given by so-called bird lovers. But I am bound to silence regarding what I really know about what seagulls have to say when they squawk or squeak. Sorry. So far, we've encountered gull wing designs in aeronautics, architecture, and in the automotive industry. Now we find that the term "gull wing" has shown up in the realm of interior decorating. That is, it has become a descriptor of color. Except everyone seems to see a different color when they think of gull wings. I'd say the prize for accuracy goes to the paint maker Benjamin Moore®.
Mohawk® flooring's Gull Wing carpet color comes in a reasonable second. But I have yet to see a gull whose wings match the other two carpet samples below—one from Lowe's® and one from The Home Depot®. The Stainmaster® carpet even looks like it comes pre-stained. Or is that spot in the middle actually a cigarette burn? And what about the remaining scrap. It looks more like the color of sand. But at $2.25/square foot, it could be your best buy for a rental unit. Just sayin'. See for yourself:
Yesterday marked six months of balancing act blogging. Who knows if I'll be around for another six months. I am a seagull after all. I have a short attention span and a lifespan to match. Therefore, even though the following was prepared in advance for 4/20/2019, I'm turning it loose on 5/20/2018. We can all pretend we set our clocks ahead eleven months. Time to clear the cache, anyway. The mind can lead you to some funny places. I overheard some folks talking about how it's 4-20 today, and all I could think of was an old nursery rhyme, which, according to snopes.com, began as a coded message used by pirates to enlist new crew members. I'm not buying it.
To add insult to injury, a number of humans have purposefully chosen the name Four and Twenty Blackbirds for their commercial endeavors—some of them are even successful. For example, a couple of sisters have opened a handful of popular bakeries in Brooklyn, New York that specialize in—you guessed it—pies. They ship pies nationwide. I hope they have the decency to leave the birds behind. There's also a Four and Twenty Blackbirds Bakery in Ashland, Oregon. And a diner named Four and Twenty Blackbirds in Santa Fe, New Mexico. A gourmet food truck operates on the streets of Hood River, Oregon under the same name. But another traveling canteen bearing that name has closed up shop and no longer peddles poutine and grilled cheese sandwiches in downtown Nashville, Tennessee. In Windsor, Colorado, there's an artsy Four and Twenty gift shop. At Four & Twenty Blackbirds in Manhattan, Kansas, specialty goods such as home furnishings, jewelry, and toys are what you'll find. Twenty-Four Blackbirds Chocolates in Santa Barbara, California sells single-origin, handmade artisan bars, caramels, and truffles online and in its retail shop. Guilford, Connecticut is home to 4 & Twenty Blackbirds Bakeshop. Halfway around the world, Four and Twenty Café and Pantry serves breakfast all day in the Chelsea Village area of Wynberg, Cape Town, South Africa.
I say shame on all of these humans for their anti-blackbird prejudice. I will look the other way if they all get stoned today.
By the way, I've got the munchies. What've you got for me? I just got an email that says I can spend three nights in Iceland for under $400—if I hurry... The offer ends at 11:59 p.m.
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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.
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When it was time to publish yesterday's post, I was up against a deadline. So I had to crank out the first thing that came to mind.
No, I take that back. The first thought that came into my mind was, "Where can I grab any conceivable thing to eat from anyone around here?" Amazingly, I was able to suppress that thought in favor of the second thing that came into my mind. As you can tell, the resulting post was a hastily contrived placeholder that enabled me to get on with more important things—mainly, finding dinner. Then, imagine my surprise when some readers actually liked my Punctuation Poetry post. It was only meant as a kind of faux haiku to express one of my pet peeves—people who don't refer to things like punctuation marks and keyboard symbols by their proper names. Whoa there! You did, perhaps, notice that I referred to a # as a "hashtag," when I know full well that it's technically a number sign (as in Punctuation Poetry #2) or a pound sign for weight (in place of the abbreviation lb.) or a sharp symbol in music (as in the key of F# Major). Now, some quirky techies who added a # to telephone keypads in the 60s wanted to rename it the "octothorpe" of all things. And for years a handful of outliers have insisted on calling a # a "hash" or "hash mark." Rather than just strut around and squawk about all this, I was merely trying to relate to the common Tweeter out there who only knows the language of today's "hashtag" world. Besides, when you look back on yesterday's post/poem, "hashtag" works much better poetically than "number sign," don't you think? Anyway, I was stunned to receive compliments and calls for more poetry, and even a request to do a regular poetry reading. I'm going to have to think a while about that last one, even though thinking is something I hesitate to do for very long, because it makes my head hurt. Admittedly, some of the compliments I received were from readers who were relieved that I had stopped writing about baseball and soccer and high school mascots and such. I hate to break the news to you guys, but I haven't really stopped yet. I'm just taking a 7th inning stretch. You know—there's a break in the action, a time out on the field, and we'll be right back after this important message. Like that. So, stand by sports fans! And get ready, poetry buffs and punctuation punks! Here's my latest literary effort: 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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I started this blog by accident. Once it got started, I was unable to stop it. It has taken on a life of its own. It has become part of my daily routine. Nothing can stop me from making a post—gale-force winds, snow on the beach, torrential rain, sneaker waves, you name it. I'm committed, for better or for worse.
Forgive me, then, if I have questioned your commitment from time to time. I mean, what does it take to read these daily briefings—five minutes max? I get it. Reading my blog is not the centerpiece of your daily routine. I think it ought to be, but that's beside the point. I genuinely respect that your life is dominated by other priorities—work, school, children, spouse, church, hobbies, personal hygiene, social media... I've tried a few tricks to attract and keep your attention. Free stuff, for example. And dependable recurrent special features, such as Fun Fact Friday. Educational material that expands your brainpower. Exclusive expert analysis that increases your world of awareness on crucial current issues. Unparalleled humorous content—sometimes subtle, sometimes blatant, often self-deprecating, usually only appreciated by the author, which doesn't necessarily mean it's not funny. We just have different funny bones. The bottom line is, I'm giving you an opportunity to redeem yourself. It will be easy and painless. Here's how: In case you've missed any episodes, don't despair; they haven't vanished into thin air. They are, after all, on the internet. And that means they may survive forever, with or without "Net Neutrality." Just scroll to the Archives list in the sidebar, and click the link to a month of your choice. I recommend starting with the oldest and working your way up to the present. In my humble opinion, every one is an easy read. Most of them even have pictures. Many have musical accompaniment. A few episodes (like this one) come with professionally-voiced audio versions. Some have spectacular slideshows. Some have puzzles. Some are just plain puzzling. Each blog post is impeccably well-written, immaculately proofread, and tightly edited. I can't believe you have read this far. You can and should share your comments with the author and the other one or two readers by clicking—what else?—the Comments link. And why not share this blog with your kids if you have any? It's G-rated (G for Gull, that is). Share it with non-family members at your own risk. Do what I did. Take up the balancing act habit. It's unbreakable. And it's free. For now.
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) |
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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