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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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 think I'd better have a frank discussion with my merchandising wizards. They are coming up with some wacky ideas for Geo swag, and in the process they may be setting me up for a trademark infringement lawsuit. 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... 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. 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: 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! Referring to yesterday's post, I really can't say what's in the memo (because I really don't know). I'm not even sure who wrote the memo. And now I've been told not to mention the memo again. (I think there was an unspoken "or else..." associated with that particular request.) I'm sure some of you are beginning to think I'm a conspiracy nut. Nut, yes. Conspiracy nut, no. I'm just a lovable but cautious, moderate and unremarkable, button-down seagully kinda guy. If I were only a left-winger or only a right-winger, I would fall out of the sky every time I tried to fly. If anything, I'm a skeptic. I only believe what I can swallow whole—which, come to think of it, is practically anything short of a grey whale. And apparently this is one whale of a memo! Ooooooops! I accidentally mentioned the you-know-what again. I just might have to start encrypting my blog posts. Maybe like this: Yes, I finally got an H ! SCORE! And you can tell they're made with REAL Cheese because they leave really oily footprints on paper bags. Or could that be a message of some kind?
To be continued. There I was, just doing my job. Picking up remnants of last night's beach party. Keeping it clean. There was a pretty strong wind coming out of the southwest, and I had to fly after a loose napkin that was being blown down the beach. When I caught up with it, I was out of breath. No, scratch that. I hardly broke a sweat.
Clutching the napkin in my bill, I flew all the way to the nearest congressional office, only to find it was closed. That long flight has delayed the publishing of my post today. But it's better late than never.
I am hoping one of you knows what this message means, and what's best to do with it, before it's too late. For all we know, the survival of the country may depend on it. Thanks for caring! 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! (That's an 80s Disney movie reference. Keep reading, and at some point it might make sense.) My 11/28/2017 blog post brought the bitcoin phenomenon to your attention. By the time that post was finished and published, a single bitcoin was trading for $10,139.03. But it didn't stop there. By December 8, the value of one bitcoin had crested at $17,117.27—an increase of nearly 70%. Since then, the bitcoin tide has rolled out a bit, and the rate as of this nanosecond is $13,570.30 to one bitcoin. Click here if you need to get up to speed on everything about bitcoins. And just why am I so fascinated by and concerned about stuff like cryptocurrency? Stuff that's so new that the words cause the spell-checker to choke? It's because of the future. Just when you think it's right around the corner, or out over the horizon somewhere, suddenly it's already here. So I'm offering you a bird's-eye view beyond the earth's curvature, figuratively speaking. Autonomous cars, artificial intelligence, robotics—they're gearing up to take over!
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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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