Saturday, October 16, 2010

Thursday, October 14, 2010

ACT (Aesthetically Claimed Thing):  Edwin Walter Dickinson, Sheldrake Winter, 1929
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Are these books on religion?

Are these books on religion?

Are these religious books?

How about these?  Are they religious books?

Where are your books on religion?

These aren't the ones I want.
Monday, October 11, 2010

Sunday, October 10, 2010

I arrived at work yesterday morning to find the baby pigeon that lives in the awning above the front door of the bookstore flopping around upside-down on the sidewalk with two twentysomething hipsters towering oblivious above it, engrossed in a relationship-based conversation.  I went and fetched a ladder and a box lid.

CJB:  'scuse me.

HIPSTER #1:  D'ya mind?  We're tryin' to talk here.

CJB:  Look down, will you?

HIPSTER #2:  OH MY GOD!  Should we call the SPCA?

CJB:  Just stand back, please.

I slipped the box lid under the baby pigeon, which is butt-ugly, having lost about half its baby feathers, but only grown about half of its adult "flight" feathers.  It looks like a tiny molting turkey.   Then I climbed the ladder, carefully balancing the softly peeping cargo, and deposited it back in the nest it has more or less outgrown.  Finally I shoved an old piece of two-by-four sideways under the awning, to create a ledge big enough for the baby bird to rest on.

CJB:  You're welcome.

The baby's parents keep coming back to feed it, and I've spotted it a few times, peering over the edge of the nest, checking out the world.

GENE THE MAINTENANCE GUY:  Whatcha looking at?

CJB:  A baby pigeon.

GENE:  Mmmm.  Squab.

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