Fine Feathered Fiends
Alfred Hitchcock scarred me for life. “Good evening,” my ass, motherfucker. How am I supposed to sleep when all I can think about are birds waiting to peck me to death on the way to the subway station? All the ghosts, goblins, and ghouls from the twisted minds of Stephen King and Clive Barker don’t scare me as much as Hitchcock’s fucking birds. With their beady eyes and sharp beaks, birds are nature’s ultimate killing machine. If you put a bird up against a lion, the bird would win. Shut up! It would too! That’s the National Geographic special they don’t want you to see. Can you imagine the worldwide panic? I don’t like birds. Except for puffins. Puffins are cute. And chickens. Chickens taste good. There are no puffins or chickens in Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds for the same reason that not even Peter Jackson took the screenplay for Alien vs. Hello Kitty very seriously.
Another reason I hate birds is because of the lunacy they inspire in otherwise normal people. Anything that motivates people to wear pith hats, safari vests, and knee length khaki shorts while walking around chirping bird calls to each other ranks up there with Renaissance Festivals and Star Trek conventions. These are the people who, as children, wore calculator watches so they could keep track of how often they got beat up at the playground. Fortunately, although Central Park is a birder’s paradise, I rarely encounter bird watchers. They get up way too fucking early. By the time I get to the park, the early birds have eaten their worms and the early birders have moseyed off for coffee, shuffleboard, and a relaxing change of diaper. But there’s one birder I see quite frequently. Unlike the others, her voice is not the hushed, subdued equivalent of one hand clapping. Her voice is The Clap. A painful, abnormal discharge that induces nausea and general discomfort.
The rain last week kept The Clap sightings to a minimum but there was an outbreak yesterday as Dingo Girl and I were on our morning walk. The Clap came into view as she swooped toward an unsuspecting flock of feathered menace. “I see ‘em! I see ‘em! The blue jays!” she yelled, running to a rock outcropping in the middle of a small stand of trees. She tried to run up the rock face but her bright yellow Crocs slipped on the smooth surface and she fell backwards, Crocs over cranium. Her pasty legs and multi-colored muumuu flashed and sparkled like a chameleon under disco lights. The bags of Wonder Bread tied to her waist burst open, sending doughy goodness spinning through the air like cotton candy. I had a sudden craving for carnival food and was torn between rushing over to help and rushing to Coney Island. Oh, come on, Innernetz! You know I did the right thing! It was too early to go to Coney Island.
But The Clap didn’t need my help. She jumped up unscathed and carefully made her way to the top of the rock. “Pretty biiiiiiird! Pretty biiiiiird!” she hissed, sounding less like Mother Earth and more like a sucking chest wound. “Pretty biii — *hack* *cough* *hiss* — iiiird!” Craning her face to the tree branches she raised her arms to the sky and hopped in a lop-sided circle resembling a one-legged chicken trying to cross a hot road. “Blue jay, blue jay, bluuuu *hack* *phlegm* *ooze* jaaaaaay!”
The Clap stopped her masturbatory mating Macarena long enough to yell at Henpecked Husband to get the camera. Henpecked rummaged through his Power Ranger backpack and rushed over to The Clap waving — a cell phone. “Not that one, damn it! The good camera!” The Clap wheezed. Henpecked, properly castrated, dumped the contents of the the backpack on the ground next to the sullied slices of Wonder. “Here! Here!” he whimpered, racing toward her with &another cell phone. But it was too late. The Blue Jays scattered. And by Blue Jays, I mean Crows. Big, black, nasty crows. It’s easy to see how The Clap could have confused the two. After all, Blue Jays are blue and white and Crows are black. I would’ve made the same mistake as well if my Guide to North American Birds was written in Braille. And if I were a moron.
The Clap, being the avid birder that she is, obviously knew the best way to get the Blue Jays Crows to return. She cupped her hands around her mouth, took a deep breath and called, “Come back here you motherfuckers!” Surprisingly, it didn’t work. The Crows circled in an ominous dark cloud. Damn, I thought. I’ve seen how this movie ends! And that was my cue to get Dingo Girl and go. It was about to get ugly. Do you know what a flock of Crows is called? A murder! Yes, a murder of crows. That’s not a mistake made by superstitious naturalists long ago. That’s not even a hint. That’s a warning. A warning somewhere along the lines of someone throwing a note through your window attached to a rock that’s attached to a dead ninja with your name painted on his toenails. I had a feeling that I was about to witness a fly-by.
Perched on the rock with her pasty skin, bright yellow Crocs, and flamboyant muumuu, The Clap resembled the lesser-known urban fairy tale character, Snow Blight. Surrounded by the Seven Loaves. And her Dopey husband. As Dingo Girl and I headed home and away from the impending crime scene, we could hear The Clap still trying to daintily woo the crows: “Goddamnyoushitforbrainsmotherfuckers! God *hiss* *phlegm* *cough* damncomehere!”
If The Clap hasn’t been murdered, I’m sure I’ll see her again. Perhaps at Starbucks.
********
I’m over at The Greenists again! Come see me!
Posted on Tuesday, September 15, 2009 at 08:27 AM.
Tags: City Wildlife, In The Neighborhood, Dingo Girl, Oh the Horror!
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Comments & Trackbacks
I don’t understand. I have tons of blue jays here. Maybe she scared them all the way to RI?
I’m going to have nightmares tonight.
Between being scared to take a shower because of psycho and scared to go outside because of the birds, I think Alfie boy owes me some recompense!
I hate birds with a passion. I will avoid them at all costs. If one even looks like its coming near me, I lose my mind. I had a bird come up the dryer vent in my apartment, peck through the hose, and torment me for three days before we got it out. I hate ‘em.
Dude, The Clap is way scarier than the birds. I bet next time you see her, she’ll be jumping off tall rocks with tissue paper wings attached to her arms.
My mom is one of those birdwatching people. I can’t tell you how many mornings I woke up as a child, because she was yelling excitedly about some yellow tailed warbler on the birdfeeder. I don’t get it.
I am not a bird watcher either nor do I get amazed easily at the sight of one that I have not seen before. Birds for pets is not me either - too messy and loud, besides, my dog will probably end up killing it. That movie is disturbing. I’ve seen it once and will never see it again! I hope you are having a great week!!!
Crissy — We have tons of blue jays here as well. She just wasn’t looking at them. Just in case, maybe I should send her in your direction. I think she’ll like Savers.
Kristina P. — You should wear goggles when you sleep. Paint eyes on them so the crows will think you’re awake.
Jenera — Woman! That is the stuff I nightmares. What if it laid eggs in their and the chicks are just biding their time to launch their attack upon you? There’s only one solution. You have to move. Immediately.
Mel Heth — It might be worth running into The Clap again just for that stunning display of brilliance.
Prosy — Your mom was plainly crying out for a puppy.
freeteyme — And then your dog would end up rolling in it and there’d be bird parts all over the place. Ew, nasty. Or does that just happen to me?
I wanted to write a pithy response, but all I could do was hang my head and laugh. That was really good. h
My mother was obsessed with that movie “The Birds” and made me watch it with here anytime I was sick from school. She went so far to drag me to Half Moon Bay. And that spooky playground is there where those murderers hung out at and waited to peck you to death. She even had aviaries (yeah that’s more than one, like freakin 4 aviaries) set up in our garage and one outside for the “outside” birds *shudders* the ones that were wild! I totally understand your bird dislike.
I have to admit, I rather enjoy seeing hawks soaring overhead when I’m out hiking. Something about them soaring overhead is always just… cool. Does Pale Male still reside in his nest near Central Park?
As for crows, they’re WAY overpopulated out here. Still, in the mountains, they’re the only birds I see doing acrobatics in the air, flipping over on their backs while soaring on thermals. I swear, they’re the only birds to seem to really get a kick out of flying.
I hate birds. We should start a support group.
They’re weird and foul and disgusing and YUK! My mother asked me to bird watch with her, to which I replied, “Fuck no I don’t want to bird watch. I hate all those bastards. They creep me out.” BTW this post left me feeling itchy.
Hilarious post! I hate birds so, so much. They are filthy, full of diseases, and clearly waiting to peck my eyes out.
You are too funny!
I don’t like birds much either. Puffins are okay, but when you see them up close, it’s hard to get excited about their cuteness when you’re faced with looking a big cliff stained with bird shit.
favorite line: Henpecked, properly castrated....” great visual. To me birds are totally gross. That Hitchcock movie comes to mind every time I see a bunch of birds sitting on a wire.
Birds frighten me.
God. The Birds was one of the scariest movies I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. I’m with you- good evening, MY ASS.
Man, I haven’t read your blog in forever....but I am so glad I have started again. This post was full of WIN. I really shouldn’t have been eating a hot pocket while reading it but I did and now my screen has bits of processed cheese and turkey on it from all the snort laughing.
Anyhoo-- I don’t get bird watching either. I mean, they are birds. What the fuck is there to watch? There are about a bazillion of them. Just look at a power line. Or all the bird-shit on my car. It’s like going to the park and yelling, “look! there’s a dog!” Whoa. Easy there Jack Hanna.
I had to watch ‘The Birds’ in a class in high school. I’m still scarred.
AND I wonder if I call out to my students like that at recess, “Goddamnyoushitforbrainsmotherfuckers! God *hiss* *phlegm* *cough*damncomehere!” if they’d line up more quickly. I mean, OBVIOUSLY, she’s on to something here.
Hilary — I’ll be here all day. Come back when you have something pithy to say in 200 words or less. This will be graded.
Toe — Did your mom drag you to Star Trek conventions as well? What’s up with the mom’s and the birds and The Birds?
GeekHiker — Hawks, eagles, and falcons are different. They are worthy of awe and respect, I’ll give you that. The common sparrow, jay, or grackle? Not so much. Yes, Pale Male still soars over Central Park with his third wife, Lola. He goes through mates rather frequently. I’m beginning to suspect fowl play.
Fraulein Furioso — Wilkomen, Fraulein! You are not an official member of the Bird Haters Club.
Allie — Are you saying that puffins are not indoor pets?
Jessica — Hitchcock warped an entire generation. He loved women (blondes) while appearing to hate them. “Bird” is a derogatory slang term for women. His movie made people hate birds. Coincidence? The man was a misogynistic genius.
k8 — As well they should. Do not wear open toed shoes. They will peck your toes.
nancypearlwannabe — You know he was laughing at us, right? Give us a creature we encounter every single day and make us terrified of them. I think he’s responsible for the creation of our anti-anxiety medicine culture.
Lisa — The only excuse for not reading me every single time I post is if your eyes have been picked out by crows. But you have redeemed yourself with the Jack Hanna reference.
Jules — I think “Goddamnyoushitforbrainsmotherfuckers! God *hiss* *phlegm* *cough*damncomehere!” is always appropriate. Don’t forget to take bread.
The ONLY movie that scared me as much as that one was the Chucky the doll original. I shudder thinking about it.
The damn Jays wake me every Saturday with their screeching for peanuts that my darling husband insists on feeding them. I can send her a dead carcass if they keep it up much longer.
Hmmm, I am feeling rather sheepish because I’ve been to the Renaissance Festival AND a Star Trek Convention AND I used to wear a calculator watch AND got beaten up all the time in school.
But, you’re right, birds are a creepy lot. Things that can swoop down and peck you AND use their talons = scary! (Which is why it’s a damn good thing cats don’t have wings!)
Birds are still slightly more scary, but only because The Clap didn’t have any sharp objects. I’d hate to think of the carnage if she’d had, say, a sling shot.
By the way, this line: “The bags of Wonder Bread tied to her waist burst open...” made me laugh so hard people looked at me funny. Okay, funnier.
“I would’ve made the same mistake as well if my Guide to North American Birds was written in Braille. And if I were a moron.”
I seriously laughed my ass off at that one...I’m sending this post to a friend—too damn funny! 
The way she calls birds? That’s the same technique I use for attracting men.
My Honey has a superstition about birds in that she will not allow any image of a bird in our house. No picture, sculpture, etc.
Ree — She already has a carcass. Henpecked Husband.
MsDarkstar — If you tell me that you have kneed length walking shorts and a safari vest, I will have no choice but to vote you off the island.
justrun — She had them strapped to her like a low slung bandolier. If I’d brought croissants, we could’ve had a shoot out.
AnnQ — Send it with a Braille copy of the Guide to North American Birds. It’s going to be the “it” item on everyone’s Christmas list!
Jules — How’s that workin’ out for ya’?
gerry rosser — Does this extend to the eagle on dollar bills? I know where she can unload a couple thousand of them if she likes.
Yeah birds are pretty freaky and I think of them as gross. They’re just always together and flying around in packs with their crazy eyes.
Oh my. While you’re on the subject, may I recommend Neil Gaiman’s “Anansi Boys” novel? Lol.
Court — It’s those crazy eyes, right? Well, and those sharp beak and talons.
Freedom First — Nooooooo! Don’t get me started on spiders.
I think you are being too hard on the birds, not to mention the poor guy with the cell phone camera. Perhaps if you brought your own bag of stale Wonder Bread to the park and tried to feed the birds yourself, you would realize what’s so seductive about birds. They may be plague carriers, but they are cute when they sing and eat out of your hand.
i can’t get over all the bird haters. what’s up with that? the clap is way scarier than any bird. then again, i’ve never seen the hitchcock film. btw, why didn’t you take a picture of her with your cell phone?
But didn’t you see Psycho? I still peek out of the shower to make sure some guy in drag isn’t after me with a knife. But what if a murder of crows in drag come after me with knives? Top that, Hitchcock. Top that.
Unindicted Co-Conspirator — Sing and eat out of your hand? Is that before or after they peck out your liver?
blakspring — You haven’t seen The Birds? Girl, you need to stop your traveling and sit down on your ass like the rest of us lazy Americans and watch some good ol’ fashioned TV!
Hillary — I think he had that script in the works when he died. Maybe someone will finish it someday. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Not everybody who wears a pith helmet is a weirdo. My uncle Jack wore his pith helmet to Shakespeare in the Park because he was afraid birds would fly overhead and crap on him. A perfectly reasonable precaution, I think you’ll agree. The only weird thing Uncle Jack ever did was that time he burst into tears and throw things at a picnic because a bird crapped on his chicken salad sandwich.
“Come back here you motherfuckers!”
That’s how I get the dogs back into the car. Works like a charm. The Clap must not be doing it right.
Unindicted Co-Conspirator — Damn! That must’ve been some good chicken salad!
saragtogajean — Are you going to host any conferences on your method? There seems to be quite a market for your talents.
Hey, you won the CD in my giveaway! You need to email me.
“masturbatory mating Macarena”
I am totally using that line. At work on Monday.
Perhaps a course of reading books about extinct birds would cheer you up: there’s one called Curse of the Labrador Duck by Glen Chilton that’s all about his examining the few remaining (STUFFED) Labrador Ducks in the world--most of which are in museums. I like particularly the parts where he talks about how their webbed feet are nailed to old packing crates and their glass eyes are peculiar and undignified colors like lemon yellow.
Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I gave you a little shout out on my last post!
My first real scary film was Hitchcock’s Psycho. Scared the crap out of me!!!
Kristina P. — Woohoo! I’m a winna! Thanks for the shout-out. I hope to be able to deliver some good news to you soon. I hear rumors of a Snuggie Pub Crawl in the works.
Kelley — I think if you include the choreography they’ll REALLY appreciate it.
Lorraine — Hi Lorraine! Nails through webbed feet, glass eyes, lemon yellow? I’m going to have nightmares. At least they can’t fly because they’re stuck to packing crates. Well, and they’re dead.
Gary — You should read the book. Very, very different. The shower scene is two sentences long.
There is a book???
Holy fuck. This was a glorious piece of writing. I’m going to link it under my sunset. Thanks Dingo for the fun vicarious glimpse very well told.
Holy shit, that is AWFUL...yet I wish I could have witnessed it. Haha! The Clap! I’m stealing that! Birds are dicks, like I’ve stated many times before except for penguins and hummingbirds. I met and interviewed Tippi Hedren, the star of “The Birds,” a few years ago and she said it wasn’t scary to make that film, which I found impossible. She was also 80-something and still looked hotter than most people I know, which I also found impossible.