Birds I View

[Welcome to the new hosting site for my newsletter! I know you’ve been hankering for whatever all this is for at least the last few minutes before you opened this email. (Provided that this import process was successful. If not, good afternoon, you vast, gaping void of silence!) I’ve moved off of Substack for reasons previously discussed. Can't promise that I'll frequent this newsletter more than the previous site. But I can promise that I'll be losing $11 each month on it if I'm not using it. I've lost $11/month on other things that I forget to use, like a The New Yorker subscription, but this feels more valuable, and less cluttering on the coffee table. We're not talking sunk costs here—the true costs are mostly psychological at this point. And on that front, we're in pretty deep already. Dredging the abyss. So welcome back! Let's find some weird fishes down here.]

If I was another animal other than a human, it wouldn’t be a bird, much as I admire them. Being a bird means having too many heaped-upon metaphors to carry on my little wings. (See?) But if I was another animal I’d hope it’s one that appreciates birds, like a hippo or a gentle dog.

Heard people complaining that the swifts had moved to a new chimney on the east side of Portland. Cities change, it’s true. It’s in their nature. Even nature thinks so. At some point your roost doesn't get the same sunlight it used to or your favorite dumpster gets a working lid, and the call of the east side beckons. I never lived on the west side, but I imagine there's only so much of it you could handle. Ever try parking over there? Or housing for you and your 5,000 friends?

Came across some turkey vultures in the Los Angeles suburbs. Oh, the glee teenage me could have had proclaiming this a sign of suburban decay. Vultures are, of course, a healthy thing for a delicate environment—especially ones with this much road kill. Not many sidewalks here, you see, not that the rabbits complain much about walkable urbanism. The neighbor had apparently tried hosing the dead rabbit towards the other side of the street like a game of carrion table hockey. But nature's scouring pad came circling instead. Every neighborhood could use a vulture, really. Whenever I drop food in the kitchen I call Lottie over to clean up for me. The amount of rat pancakes I've seen go uneaten in Portland would make any cathartes shake their head at the waste.

I finished the Silent Hill 2 remake last November. If you're not familiar with that ray of sunshine, imagine a video game comprised of clinical depression monsters designed by David Cronenberg hiding under cars and floorboards. You, a depressed wife guy, wander a fog-laden town with little except a plank of wood with a few nails in it to defend yourself, just working through it. Charming stuff. The soundtrack, however, is incredible and independent of smashing fleshy digital monstrosities it's well worth a listen. (See the Akira Yamaoka track below.) Too much time has passed to make an accurate playlist of what I've been listening to, so consider this the 2024 sampler platter.

I make no grand promises at New Years. If I knew now what I needed to know by the end of this year I'd promise that, but I can't so I won't. Sometimes the meaning only comes at the end of the sentence, punctuated definitively or not...