Carbon Copy

Forget Avian Flu; I've Got Aviary Fever!

Yesterday, I picked up Kris from her posh design firm in downtown Salt Lake City so we could get together at least once before I head back to Indiana. It was 3 o'clock. too late for lunch, yet too early for dinner. What was there to do? What else but go bird-watching in the country's oldest and largest bird park, Tracy Aviary, located in Liberty Park. We parked on the wrong side of the park, so we meandered around a pond and the carnival rides and purchased some sno-cones before we entered the aviary.

There are a lot of ducks at Tracy Aviary. I love how ducks swallow their necks in an act of perfect contentment.

These birds also roam about freely:

But most birds, sadly, do not. Which, on a peevish note, makes it very difficult to take good pictures. Sometimes I had to try and squeeze my lens in between the netting. If they aren't going to think about the convenience of the birds, they should at least think about mine.

In one part of the park, though, you got to take a trip to Argentina and see the birds of South America. You could even go inside one of the cages (built kind of like a hacienda) and see the birds more closely. This was both exciting and a little terrifying (because birds might land on your head). But it also made it more convenient to take pictures (always important) so we risked it.

Luckily, we escaped the building with hair and scalp intact and continued our tour of Argentina.

I was really taken by the flamingos, but especially fascinated by this sleeping one. He just tucked himself in so gently.

(Sidenote: They actually have really nice restrooms at the Tracy Aviary, soft tissue paper, automatic water, and paper towels to dry your hands. It was a pleasant surprise.)

Here's the Bald Eagle. (Another sidenote: I found out that bald -orig. spelled balde - means white, not bare.)

More roaming, bellowing peacocks. Kids were chasing him, and I had a flashback to my second grade fieldtrip when I, also, chased the peacock because I was trying to be "cool." Sorry, peacock.

Someone told me there wouldn't be pelicans at the Tracy Aviary. Looks like someone was wrong.

I have never before seen a duck like this. Awesome.

I had a challenging time trying to get a picture of this swan because it kept gliding around and blurring my photos. But it was a graceful blur.

We never had magpies like this in my backyard.

And bird's with amazing psychedelic feathers (not furs). Again, I had to align my camera with the holes in the netting in order to get pictures.

Well, that's the end our tour through the aviary. I returned momentarily to taking photos of flowers because beautiful.

And then Kris and I pulled up a spot of grass in the shade for a good chat before I dropped her off at the Trax station.

After Effects

This is what happens to your black flip-flops after visiting the Great Salt Lake. Crystalized.

F!@# Terry Tempest Williams* (aka The Great Salt Lake)

When people in Indiana find out I'm from Salt Lake City, I inevitably get asked about the Great Salt Lake. I'm always a little embarrassed to admit that I have never been there. Oh sure, I went to a concert at SaltAir once, which is right by the Great Salty Lake, but it's not like you go recreating in the lake. But I heard this so often (esp. from my friends in Ecocriticism who were reading Refuge by Terry Tempest Williams) that I decided I would have to visit the lake when I was home this summer. When I told people here what I wanted to do, they looked at me like I was crazy. What? The Great Salt Lake? Why? It stinks and there are flies. But I was determined. Luckily, I persuaded Steve to come with me.

The worst part about the Great Salt Lake is the smell. It's an olfactory sensation you just can't describe via pictures or words. Try rotten eggs, brine shrimp, manure. Mix them all together and let them sit in the sun for a couple days. We really only got whiffs of this scent, but that was plenty. Still, I didn't want to let a nasty smell deter me. We headed across the sand to the water. Now, I was wearing flip-flops, naturally. I mean, I was going to the beach. Why not? There were plenty of warnings along the beach why you don't wear flip-flops.

I almost lost mine several times in the sludge.

And then there was this:

I don't know what it was, but I touched it. Ew.

Still, we persevered.

Once we got nearer the water it wasn't so bad. Steve tested it out for us.

Seemed ok, so we went on in.

We wanted to see how far we could walk before it got deep. We went surprisingly far and saw some interesting things along the way.

Such as....

Sadly, this wasn't the only bird to perish in the salty waters. We saw a couple more. And yes, we were walking in that water. But, it's really no different from when Venice was flooded.

I think we should give the Salt Lake a new nickname. I was thinking Pinstriped Lake.

It really was beautiful. And the water wasn't too bad. Here's a tip: don't go if you have open wounds (Steve) or just shaved your legs (me) because ouch. Anyway, scenery:

And a self-portrait. I love how I think I'm getting a nice picture and then I end up with Steve pulling a face. Jerk.

The aforementioned SaltAir:

I thought I did so well with my flip-flops and the sand and everything, until I met a pocket of sludge. It was disgusting. I almost got stuck.

We drove to Chevron after and bought some water to wash our feet and shoes off and then took a scenic tour (with extended detour) to Tooele because hey, I'd never been. It really wasn't worth going. We ended the night with some frozen custard at a park. How lovely.

*Title by Steve.

Done, Done, Done!!!

I just sent my last paper in!!! Even thought it's pretty much crap, at least it's done! Now I can finally get to vacationing.

Let me tell you a little secret: writing a paper when you're supposed to be on vacation is seriously the worst thing in the world. I am never doing this again.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

I went to my first ever baseball game tonight. The Salt Lake Bees played the Oklahoma City... uh... I don't know. I didn't ever see a mascot for them. But we won, so that's what matters. Some highlights: view of the mountains throughout the night, hot dogs, and tall lights (which disappointingly remained intact). I was hoping I could catch a foul ball, but secretly whenever one seemed to head in our direction, I flinched shrinked. The game ended too quickly. Topics of conversation: guns, books, jobs, discontent, journalism, letters, consistency, my white legs, surgery, friends, and false explanations about baseball. No crackerjacks or peanuts, but they weren't really missed.

Today

I have a paper I'm supposed to be writing. It's due a week from Friday. I'm not doing such a great job of researching. I took last week off and gave myself some time to relax and catch up with friends and family. Maybe that wasn't such a great choice because now it's even harder to get back into academic mode. I started trying to research on Monday, but so far I've spent more time researching a new digital camera, birthday presents, and future jobs/schools than I have Washington Irving. I really have been trying to be studious. I even refused to babysit my darling niece this week because I wanted to dedicate time to the paper. This afternoon I went to drop off my mom and decided to go in for just a minute so I could say hello to Claire. I thought she'd be sad when I had to leave. However, when I said I had to go, she jumped off the couch where we were cuddling, ran to the front door, and opened it for me. There's something about that little service that made me sad. At least she requested that I read her stories before bed time tonight. Ok, back to studiousness.

Sugar House

I'm back in Utah. I came back to a new home. Last March, my mom moved out on her own for the first time to a little place in Sugar House. It's adorable: hardwood floors, breakfast nook, corner sink, little door for a laundry shoot. Very cottage-y (not the cheese kind). It's a new experience living in Sugar House. I'm all turned around in directions living at this end of the valley. I have to head south more often than north. I don't know the fastest routes. Everything seems leisurely. The streets, yards, and parks are all populated at any given hour. The other afternoon, I went to play in the park across the street with my niece. To my dismay, there were circles of women picnicking while their children played. Whole groups of them. They made me anxious, and I can't really tell you why. People are always out jogging, and this morning I had to slowly follow in my car two cyclists who would not move over to the side of the road. It's contageous, this out-of-doorsness. Even as I type I'm sitting out on the porch enjoying the sunset and evening breeze. It's no surprise that several people are walking their dogs in the park while children swing. Huh, so this is what it's like living in a neighborhood that actually lives.

Update:

I got my hair cut yesterday, and when I went home and looked at it again in the mirror, I was reminded of none other than Mrs. White in Clue.

Valentines in May

I've been putting together my poster for my Archival Theory project on valentines. Since most of you won't be able to travel to the exhibit tomorrow afternoon, I thought I'd post some of my favorites online for your enjoyment.

Let's just get the comic ones out of the way:

And now for the racist one:

Here's one for the feminists:

(This valentine is actually on a brad, so you can move it back and forth and make her sweep the floor.)

I can't tell if this one is joking or not. Over the boy, the sender wrote "You" and then added "Geraldine" over the girl. I wonder if Geraldine was that girl in school everyone teased. But who knows...

Warning: This one almost contains explicit language.

A lot of people attribute the word "dawg" to Randy Jackson (of American Idol fame), but I've got proof that it's actually slang from the early part of the century. Don't believe me? Check it out:

The rest of these are just pretty to look at:

There you go! And I better go, too. I gotta get the poster finished. And then.... home! (well, on Tuesday.)

Cheers!

Happy Birthday, old man! You know who you are.