THE TATTOO

Wow, another crazy night of work in the ER.  By the end of the shift I was so tired that when I got home at midnight, I didn't watch TV to unwind; I just stripped off my scrubs, and went to bed.

I walked the dog this morning, and when I got back, my wife was talking with a guy my age who was clearly some sort of home improvement salesman.  I immediately noticed that spider web tattoo on his left elbow.

It looked a lot like this one from a web site that I found when Googling for images of spider web tattoos:

Before I go on a rant about the home repair salesman and his stupid tattoo (which cost him a sale), allow me to state the obvious:

I don't have any tattoos.

Why not?

1) I'm a fat, balding middle-aged guy who doesn't work out.  If I got a tattoo, I would look like an idiot.

2) Tattoos are forever.

3) When I am 70 years old, the tattoos that I (pretend) got when I was 25 or 35 will look really stupid on my wrinkly, liver-spotted, sagging skin.  Working in a hospital in a working-class, blue-collar community, I see a lot of people who got tattoos when they were younger.  Now they're old and sick, and those tattoos look really stupid. 

4) They are very working class.  Some how, some where, at some time in American history, it became very cool to be very blue collar i.e. to display the tastes and sensibilities of working class people.  Call me an elitist, but the last thing I want to do is try to impress my neighbors, friends, and coworkers by acting "street".  American culture has been in a downhill race towards the lowest common denominator for a long time, but I refuse to take part in the race.  Here's the thing: I have several friends from working class backgrounds--or who have working class jobs--and they don't act like blue collar hillbillies.  If they have any tattoos, I'm not aware of it, because they keep them out of the public eye (read: people at work can't see it when you're dressed in regular clothes).

Remember in the 1980s when ear rings were the big thing?  Guys were getting ear rings, and girls had the whole length of their ear lobes pierced up, down, and sideways.  Of course, it went from ear rings to all kinds of other body piercings, because there are always the adventurous ones who need to push the envelope.

5) There, I hit the nail on the head: It's excessive.  People aren't able to get that one tattoo somewhere under their shirt, where co-workers can't see it. NOOOOooo......they have to have big, gigantic tattoos OUT IN THE OPEN.

TRUE STORY: I was birding at Patagonia Lake, Southeast Arizona with Ferenc Domoki.  I told him that I was tired, and would take a nap in the car while he searched for life birds.  A woman and her husband (They were wearing wedding rings)  rolled by my car on bicycles.  As they were hunched over the handle bars, the following big gigantic tattoo on her lower back was quite visible:

NASTY BITCH



Really?
You want the world to know that (think that?) about you?
Think about it: if she wears a bikini, everybody can read that tattoo right above her ass. Does she have kids?  Is she going to the beach with her kids?

Getting back to Mr Home Improvement:  The spider tattoo on the elbow is a tattoo that men get in prison.  He seemed too mellow and middle class to be an ex-con, but that spider tattoo was right there.  Either (A) he is an ex-con, or (B) he's a dumbass who doesn't realize what the tattoo means--or even worse, he actually thinks it's cool.

So what?  If he is an ex-con, maybe he's a guy who is trying to turn his life around by working an honest job?  I should support that, right?

Actually, yes.  I have had people with--ahem--colorful pasts repair things around my house.  Here's why I had a problem with this guy: he kept asking too many personal questions about how many of us live in the house, what kind of jobs we have, when we're home, etc.   Truth be told, these could have been just harmless questions he was asking while trying to be sociable i.e. trying to chat up a sale, but he crossed the line: before we had met, he had already peered inside my car, and examined my hospital i.d. badge laying on the driver's seat.

That was it: I didn't want him in my house.

DO THAT, AND I'LL SUE YOU:

It’s Sunday morning, and I have a work-induced version of a hangover. Can I call it a “workover”? Last night was ridiculously busy. It started out well. In fact, the first couple of hours were spent reading this book called The Crime of Reason  that I had just grabbed at the Claremont Library on Friday afternoon. At 149 pages, (followed by 28 pages of footnotes; but you don’t need to read the footnotes) it’s one of those short books so full of serious ideas that it’s the literary equivalent of a suitcase nuke.

The author is a physicist who says that in our information-driven brave new world (sorry, Aldous) all of the basic tenets of what makes human society work are being turned on their head—and that’s not a good thing. He talks about how modern corporations and governments are copyrighting and patenting—and even criminalizing information, when in fact this is counterproductive, pointless, and it leaves only dishonest people i.e. corporations and criminals with the ability to use scientific knowledge in a profitable manner.

I highly recommend this book.

PÉNTEK 13.a

Dél 12:00

Azt irta a Katona István egy emailben (én nem drótpostázok, hanem emailezek), hogy a Csíkszentmihályi Mihály a szomszédom. Hát, nem éppen. Az a Nagy ĺsten igazsága, hogy Claremontban minél délebre élsz, annál csóribb vagz. A 10es Freeway gyakorlatilag a város déli határat rajzolja, és az én házam 100 méterre van a 10estől. Én bezzeg csóri vagyok. Ez olyan, mint ha azt mondanám a Katonának, hogy Ö még a Soros Budán élnek, tehát, bisztos ismerik egymást, jo haverok lehetnek.

Hivatalosan, még mindig nincs állasom, de azért néha dolgozom abban a kórházban, ahól az u.n. hétvégi állasom van. Elméletileg, bármelyik nap kezdenni fogok a nagy állami kórházban az izótopos laborban dolgozni, de valahol valami bürokratának, aki marhára ráér, jová kell hagynia ill. Aláirnia a papirmunkát, hogy kezdhetek. Lehet, hogy ez a bürokrata eppen szabadságon van. Sose lehet tudni.

Ez a harmadik hét ahól pénteken rázom a fejemet, mert azt hittem, hogy „Ezen a héten már az állami kórházban leszek.”

Az az igazság, hogz tényleg hamar lesz állásom, de most már elegem van a várakozásból.

14:00

Péntek a 13.a van, es a mentöosztályon vagyok-ez az egyetlen egy nap amit dolgoztam, ezen a héten. A babonások nem szeretnek dolgozni a mentösztalyon péntek a 13.an, mert meg vannak gyözödve arrol, hogy az általában egz kataszrofális müszak szokott lenni. Nekem az ellenkező a tapasztalatom. Mióta megérkeztem délben, még nem röngteneztem egy beteget, se. Feleségem azt hiszi, hogy igy nézek ki:

Hát, ma nem.

Visszont, ezt neki nem kell tudnia. Hála Istennek, nem tud a feleségem magyarul. Amikor haza megyek ma este, lefogom dobni magamat a fotelra, es sóhajtanni egz jó nagyott. Azt fogom mondani lihegve, hogy „Oh my god, you won′t believe the shift I had, today” (Ez Igaz. Hihetetlen hogy milyen jó müszakom volt) Aztán tévét fognok nézni pofátlanul, és néha arra kérni az asszonyt, hogy hozzon valami enni vagy innivalót.

Ezt igy kell csinálni.

14:00

Ja, közben, hogy ezt irom, meg jobb lett a helyzett: fagyit osztogatnak ingyen a folyóso végén.

Hát nem jó?

Azért, ettöl függetlenül, inkább dolgoznék heti 40 órát.

Tekintetbe véve, hogy önkénytelen szabadságon vagyok, és nagyban döl a tavaszi vándorlás(vonulás), elmentem szerdán ki a messzi sivatagba madarászni.

Jó madár fajokat latunk, ill. sok madarat láttunk, de azért igazán nagyobb lehetett volna a díverzitás. Tavaszi vonulok közt nem volt akkora a választék, amilyen lehetett volna. A fenti kép egz LeConte's Thrasher, akinek igen is olyan szinű a tollazata, mint a homoknak. Nem tudtam kihozni a képeken ennek a madárnak a legérdekesebb jellegzetességét: hihetetlenűl hosszú, görbe csőre van.

Tekintetbe véve, hogy valamiért ma milyen nehéz volt a madarakat lefényképezni, kénytelen voltam gyíkokat fotózni:

Ennek a fenti gyíknek hihetetlenek a színei. Sajnos, a fénykép nem hozza kí.

Ez a gyík peddig nagyon batór, és felháborodva lesi az embereket fenyegető szemekkel. Jó nagy kövér állat:

D.U. 17:30

Na, még se ment olyan jól ez a péntek a 13.a: Ebédszünetre elmentem a Jeepel a Costcoba benzínt venni. Útközben megszakatt az öv ami hajtja a kormányt és a vizpumpát. Erős férfias karjaimmal hajtottam tovább a kocsit, vettem benzínt, és vissza hajtottam a korházba. Ay egész út k.b. 3 km volt, oda vissza. Mire beértem a kórház parkoló placcjára, füst és gőz szagot éreztem. Kiszálltam a kocsiból, es mindenhol csurgott a zöld hütővíz. Na jó, felhivtam az argentin haveromat aki egy másik kórházban dolgozik (mert ugye, a feleségemet nem találtam se otthon, se a mobilon), és azt mondta a haver hogy „Apropó, nem vettek fel arra az állasra, amire pályáztál nálunk.” Hát, ez nem jó hír. Az egy jólfizető állás lett volna, ami közel van a házamhoz. Ez volt az az állás amit nagyon ill. a legjobban akartam.

Na. Kösz, haver.

Hát mondjuk, nem az Ő hibája. 

19:30

Fél óra mulva jön az argentin haverom. Utólértem a feleségemet, de ha már megbeszéltem a haverral, hogy Ö hoz haza, akkor maradjunk ezzel a tervvel. Majd kimászok a sebészeti öltözékböl (angolul: scrubs), felhuzom a rövidnadrágomat és egy polóinget, és elmegyünk a moziba. Hétvége van, ugy se tudok semmit se tenni állással kapcsolatban.

Szombat 14.e

OSAMA BIN LADEN MEETS DAVY JONES

Evening Grosbeak

Blue Ridge Campground, San Gabriel Mountains, Los Angeles County

Elevation 7896 feet (2406 meters)

Gee, I thought Friday April 29th was a good day.  I finally got Evening Grosbeak on my L.A. County list, by re-finding the flock discovered by Cathy McFadden & Paul Clark.

The view from Mountain High's ski lifts

Elevation approximately 8,000 feet .

The town of Wrightwood is directly below.

View is looking north, towards the high desert's Antelope Valley. The pale patch of land between the closest chair and the pole is the enormous Rogers Dry Lake Bed where the Space Shuttle would land if the weather was bad in Florida.
Yes, that is snow on the ground in April, in L.A. County.
While I was looking north, the pine trees behind me held around 30 Evening Grosbeaks.

Well, Sunday night was even better. I had just gotten home from a full day at the Salton Sea, birding with my new friend, Csaba Varga, where we had seen a whole bunch of expected species that breed in the Desert Southwest.

Verdin

Wister Unit, Salton Sea

My wife and kids were asleep, so I hopped back into the car, and drove down the street to In n’ Out for a cheeseburger. While in line at the drive-through, I turned on the car radio, and they played audio of Barack Obama announcing the killing of Osama in Laden.

Now I was flat-out giddy.

Wow. Holy shit. After ten years, they finally got the fucker.

Whew!

So far, so good, then The Prez said that the Navy SEALs did it.

Salton Sea, Imperial County, California

The Salton Sea is a 40 mile long salt lake in the California Desert.

It is one of the last West Coast wetlands available for birds.  It is saltier than the Pacific Ocean.

Run-off of chemicals and heavy metals from surrounding farmlands is killing the Salton Sea.

My face turned red. Embarrassment. Anger. Disbelief. The SEALs???

Why wasn’t it Delta?

I can’t imagine the mixed feelings the Boys at Bragg must have felt. Wow. Holy shit. They really should have given that one to Delta.

Food for thought: the job of the Navy SEALs is to pull surprise raids on ships at sea: Board a ship, shoot the guards, rescue the prisoners, and then sink the vessel. You know—navy stuff. Unbelievably, for years now they’ve grown beards, slapped on desert camo, and have been running around Iraq and Afghanistan, two of the driest, sandiest places I can think of. Aargh. That’s the Army’s job! Or, should I say, “Yaargh,” me hearties?

Then the light bulb went on over my head. I decided that Obama let the Navy send their team in, to buy them off for ending Don’t Ask/Don’t Tell. After all, the Navy is the most conservative branch of the military, if you don’t count Al Haig (a retired U.S. Army General: as much of a right-wing nut-job as he was, and as liberal as I am, I still say he got a raw deal for the “I am in charge” incident when Reagan got shot).

Oh, well.

Cattle Egret at Ramer Lake

photo by Csaba Varga

Ramer is one of several freshwater lakes whose content eventually empties into the Salton Sea.  The yellow wash on the Catle Egret's head and breast is high breeding plumage. In the winter it will be all white.

Then, 48 hours later somebody muttered, “JSOC” and “SEAL Team 6” under the same breath. Then they said that The Prez is flying to Campbell, to meet “…members of the SEAL team”. Oh…now I feel much better. Here’s the deal: Fort Campbell, Kentucky, is a big Army base. It’s the home of the 101st Airborne, and I was supposed to go there from Bragg. Fort Campbell is also home to a Special Forces attachment, and you know that Delta spends time there. The reporter also mentioned 160th SOAR, and that put a big dopey grin on my face.

Man, those Delta Dudes are a bunch of sneaky bastards. They’re hanging back, letting the SEALs bask in the limelight.

Csaba is photographing a Burrowing Owl on Sinclair Road

(that little round bird sitting on the top of the ditch)

Burrowing Owls live in holes in the ground.

Oh, and they’re not your momma’s Navy SEALs—they’re SEAL Team 6, the Navy’s version of Delta.

Burrowing Owl

(This is the same bird that Csaba photographed.)

The owl is looking at your left shoulder.

Truth be told, SEAL Team 6 and Delta have been unified under one unified command structure for a long time, now—Joint Special Operations Command—so the old Army vs. Navy rivalry descends into kabuki theater in this type of situation. They’re all counter-terrorism commandos who train together. Anybody who disagrees with me is itchin’ for a fight.

White-winged Dove

Cattle Call Park, Brawley, Imperial County, California

White-winged Doves return from Mexico each spring to breed in the Desert Southwest.  In September, most fly back into Mexico, but every October a few show up in backyards of coastal towns like San Diego, Newport Beach, or San Pedro.

Lesser Nighthawk

Wister Unit, Salton Sea

So this is the part where you demand to know why an essay about Delta Force and J-SOC is full of bird photos.  Simple.  I don't have any pictures of Delta operators.  Even if I did, I couldn't publish them.

Besides, I have never known anybody in Delta.  I have never hung out with Green Berets.  I have never been inside a PAVE-LOW.

Seriously.

I tell you truly.

Trust me.

Wink, wink.  Nudge, nudge.

Hodge-podge.  Hogy vagy?

I'm just a fat, balding middle-aged guy in the suburbs who is full of hot air.