For the Birds
Apr. 24th, 2008 12:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morrigirlLast April, a group of researchers in the United Kingdom discovered that some urban birds have taken to singing at night so potential mates can hear their calls. During the day their songs are drowned out by the din of urban life. It was an interesting fact, one that made me go "Hmm, that's interesting" before storing it away in my cranium to be called forth at a key moment in some future conversation.
I never gave it much thought until last week when a bird, living somewhere in close proximity to my bedroom window, began singing like a fucking opera star every night at 2:00 AM. Now, normally, I like listening to birds sing; It's very springy and peppy and make it seems as if the sun is shining just a little brighter than usual. However, the tune loses much of its charm at two in the morning when you're trying to go to sleep so you can wake up for work in five and a half hours.
I've had to start falling asleep with music playing, otherwise the bird will keep me up. Yeah, I know, it's weird. Alice in Chains doesn't block my entry to slumber land but Tweety does. I never said it made sense.
This is not the first time I have had to deal with a bird keeping me up at night. Junior year at Knox when Lindsey and I lived in Longden 3 there was a tree right outside our window, and in that tree lived an owl, and that owl loved to hoot. He'd carry on and on and on with this loud sparkling vibrato that when brought to maximum volume could smack the sleep out of me quicker than a pail of cold water. That owl was the bane of my existence, but at least he had an excuse. He was supposed to be nocturnal. The American Idol wannabe outside my current residence, is not.
Not to mention there is a highly brain damaged swallow living in the tree right outside my office window. This swallow has spent the last two days repeatedly flying into the window. He'll fly into the pane at a low speed, kind of bounce off, fly back to the tree, and then fly right into the pane again. I spend all day listening to the repetitive thump of birdy hitting glass. I don't know what is wrong with him. You'd think after two full days he'd have learned that he can't fly through the window no matter how doggedly he tries. Now, I don't think Mr. Birdy was the brightest bulb in the chandelier to begin with, but I do think all these head on collisions are making him dumber. I mean, they've got to be, right? This is the reason protective head gear was invented.
I never gave it much thought until last week when a bird, living somewhere in close proximity to my bedroom window, began singing like a fucking opera star every night at 2:00 AM. Now, normally, I like listening to birds sing; It's very springy and peppy and make it seems as if the sun is shining just a little brighter than usual. However, the tune loses much of its charm at two in the morning when you're trying to go to sleep so you can wake up for work in five and a half hours.
I've had to start falling asleep with music playing, otherwise the bird will keep me up. Yeah, I know, it's weird. Alice in Chains doesn't block my entry to slumber land but Tweety does. I never said it made sense.
This is not the first time I have had to deal with a bird keeping me up at night. Junior year at Knox when Lindsey and I lived in Longden 3 there was a tree right outside our window, and in that tree lived an owl, and that owl loved to hoot. He'd carry on and on and on with this loud sparkling vibrato that when brought to maximum volume could smack the sleep out of me quicker than a pail of cold water. That owl was the bane of my existence, but at least he had an excuse. He was supposed to be nocturnal. The American Idol wannabe outside my current residence, is not.
Not to mention there is a highly brain damaged swallow living in the tree right outside my office window. This swallow has spent the last two days repeatedly flying into the window. He'll fly into the pane at a low speed, kind of bounce off, fly back to the tree, and then fly right into the pane again. I spend all day listening to the repetitive thump of birdy hitting glass. I don't know what is wrong with him. You'd think after two full days he'd have learned that he can't fly through the window no matter how doggedly he tries. Now, I don't think Mr. Birdy was the brightest bulb in the chandelier to begin with, but I do think all these head on collisions are making him dumber. I mean, they've got to be, right? This is the reason protective head gear was invented.
