Bird Turds in Ecoland:
Final Thoughts of a Simple Eagle

He's back! Hovering over the campus. Don't be fooled! This is nothing but political satire disguised as harmless yammering. Fowl play. This bird is too much!

By Al Krauss

This is the swan song of old Eagle eyes, who may be considered to be chickening out, and eating crow in the wake of all that heavy voting on November 4 (total turnout: under 22% of registered voters, of whom more than half voted against the victorious incumbents).

Mixing species, that's what they always accuse me of. You know, the English Honors Class of life, where you don't dare mix metaphors. People, birds, they each belong on their separate turfs.

Like, what a turkey Congressman Riggs is proving to be (if you already hadn't known that reality), though by the smell of the red herring with pepper spray seasoning in his office, you'd suspect he's some kind of osprey (fish eating hawk). I mean, Riggs did something very fishy when he pulled out a piece of cointelpro propaganda about "terrorists" and called it a legitimate document, thereby justifying the Q-tip torture. Yeah, admittedly, I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel for humanoid bird things.

Still, too many people simply are being ostriches about the political reality around them, there, in the above ground world (their heads, of course, being quite stuck in the mud). In a nutshell, they can't even see the worms crawling around where their eyes are. And when they come up for air, they're, well, just like so many ducks out of water.



What's with ducks out of water? Why, their brains waddle awkwardly on the bumpy terrain of thought provoking issues. Issues come to mind like the land deals we have closer to home than Hurwitz and Redwoods , but maybe that's food for, uhm, gullible seagulls? Those birds will swallow anything, like nice, sweet scholarship funds for the needy, and needed right now.

Many years ago, there was a series of odd little cartoons in magazines like "The Ladies' Home Journal" with a silly Woody the Woodpecker type character called "Watchbird", who would be shown looking sideways at some caricature of a human doing something stupid, and the cartoon caption would say " is the watchbird, watching a dodo bird, or a road hog, or a worry wart"... and then, there would be a frontal view of watchbird watching YOU, the reader, with the phrase turned into ".. here is the watchbird watching you. Have you been a -(dodo bird, road hog, worry wart)-- this week?"

So, have you been a gullible sea gull this week? Do you believe that new owners of land right next to the College would never think of making major long term profits and, way down the road, kicking back in some nice, quiet no-paper-trail way?

Back to duckbrains, waddling awkwardly around the terrain of real thought. How can we thinking humans begin to understand those wobbly ducks? By understanding, really, that those ducks are acting like a bunch of silly geese.

You know, you look right and you look left, and you honk the same honk your neighbor honks, and you fly in formation, right on up to the north pole, or south pole, or whatever pole the favorite flag hangs on.

Oh my God! Have I made a mistake? Maybe it really was a fish out of water after all, and not a duck! We who resist the banal (that's really spelled with the "b" in front) money grubbing of techno school-to-work programs, we are fish out of the frying pan and into a fire. Yes, the fire of, not revolution, but revolving credit. You do know that one well, don't you?

But no, here we shall doggedly persist with the bird thing in our mouth. Let's stretch it some more, rear up on our hind legs, and never once r"egret" we did that. Getting an owl's eye view of the Hurwitz empire, we escry some squirrelled marblets (or were they murrelled squawkettes, for the raucous sound of their hungry chicks in nests scattered here and there amongst the redwood trees..?)

Yes, I know, irrelevant, even irreverent. You are thinking I'm out of control here. Like a motor mouth of birdwords. Even so, better too many than too few. Men of few words (or, if it makes some of you feel better, persons of few words) were/are generally trigger happy. The easiest solution makes the loudest noise, and with the most dramatic results. Enforcement wins the destruction derby every time. Final solutions are the best entertainment. Incidentally, have you ever heard of a trigger unhappy person?


When it comes to imagination, simple cloudy ideas really take the cake. Some of you may not remember how old Gypper Reagan (ex-President of the U.S., ex-Governor of CA.) came on as a man of simple words and simple thoughts. He spoke his little homilies of "truth", and one of those was, "...if you've seen one redwood, you've seen 'em all".

Seen one acre, you've seen 'em all. Sold one parcel, you've sold 'em all down the drain (someone just slapped my pecky-nosed beak, and said I was being too parrot-like by repeating unfounded rumors: we'll see, Dr. Ehmann, we'll see)

In these scenarios, all we need is one large sample tree, and a few replacements coming along in the nursery; or one sample mountainside parcel preserved and called "watershed laboratory", and you've solved the problem. This is only apropos of the herring and pepper spray thing (did you know that the College land deal, ironically, has been called a red herring by those in the center of the mess?)

How did I get from birds to fish and trees? My answer, were I possessed of one, would never be simple (don't you just love simplicity? The song, "..'tis a gift to be simple, 'tis a gift to be [thought] free" comes to mind).

To be self serving and thought free, however, is very simple. Of course, on one level I too am self serving, having sacrificed a perfectly good old Shaker folk tune on the altar of cynicism. Yes, it is my belief that all good humor grows out of the soil of, er, "loving" cynicism.

And then, to digress at the last possible moment, we concede that only great clowns, who work with pantomime and in silence, own the true rights to tragicomedy. The tragicomedy of the maladministration of college assets goes way beyond our little blurb here, way beyond cynicism.

Here, beneath it all, it's just a matter of those things that happen to your automobile windshield from time to time, you know, when the winged ones, on their way to whereever, let their bird turds fly.

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For more swan songs, see back page (Eagle advisors bid farewell!)

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