The Unauthorized Biography of Rosco P. Coltrane

When it's my moment in the sun, I won't forget that I am blessed, but every hero walks alone, thinking of more things to confess

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Location: Owensboro, Kentucky, United States


Saturday, May 07, 2005

Birds of a Feather

I have always loved to watch birds. It has been my secret passion for most of my life. When I was a kid, my dream was to be an ornithologist. What can I say, I was a bit of a geeky child. I used to go around the countryside with my best friend, Jeremy, and we would collect bird nest. We would keep them in the little addition to our garage. We had all kinds of nests. We had common Robin, Cardinal, and Blue Jay nests, but we also had exotic ones as well. There were a few nests that were built in the ground by various bird. But the holy grail for us was that of an Oriole.

A Oriole has a very recognizable nest because it looks like a sweatsock made out of dead grass. We acquired it from a family member if I do recall.

So a few days ago, I was rollerblading down the Fayetteville Bike and Walking Trail through the middle of Fayetteville's recent influx of chain stores and restaurants. I was amazed to see a nicely preserved marshland in the middle of town. I was amazed at all the birds that I saw. Blue Jays, a number of different finchs, both male and female Cardinals, and lots of sparrows too.

But just as I was turning around to go back towards my car something darted right in front of me.

The holy Grail maker itself: An Oriole.

I don't know why the Oriole has always had a grip on me. Maybe it is because of it's nest. Maybe it is because the Oriole looks like a sleek sports car that Steve McQueen would drive, black with an orange racing stripe.

But it is my favorite bird, and it made me feel better to see one here. I didn't think they lived this far west, but I guess I was mistaken.

This sighting, coupled with the news of the sighting of the woodpecker long since written off over in Eastern Arkansas makes me want to take up the hobby again. I want to go through all my old books and find my Audobon's Field Guide to North American Birds that my great grandmother gave me when I was 8 years old.

Friday, May 06, 2005

The Really Hot Girls and Me (or Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful!)

A few days ago, I was waitng in line at Wal-Mart in one of those Self-Checkout line. I had a package of 2 T-shirts and a couple of bananas, and I figured that it would be just as quick to run through one of the four quick lines. Well, one line was closed and another was open, but it only took cash, no cards. I didn't have any cash on me, so I was down to two lines. There were about six girls standing in front of me and all of them were smoking hot. So in this line there were six smoking hot girls and me, who the words "smoking hot" will never be used to describe unless I happen to be in the middle of a grease fire.

Then the heavens opened up.

The check-out girl near the door point to me and said, "Sir, I can check you out right here."

I looked around, still just me and six smoking hot girls.

I walked up to the counter and just smiled. Behind me, nothing but six really smoking hot girls getting upset because I got to cut in front of them. In a world where the really, really smoking hot people always get to cut in line, or get out of a ticket, and in general just get all the breaks, a little bit of justice was found...The bald guy got to pay for his bananas and t-shirts before the really, really, exeteremly hot and gorgeous girls had to wait and pay for their Diet Cokes and make-up.

As I walked out of Wal-Mart, I could almost envision myself at the end of Revenge of The Nerds and "We are the Champions" playing in the background.