Joseph Calev's Blog: Joseph Calev

Today, I’m going to address a common fallacy in our vocabulary. The term “as a crow flies” is entirely false. While it’s meant as a straight line between any two points, no crow is going to fly this way.

First, you’re assuming the crow doesn’t receive a call that he needs to pick up some fresh carrion for the young ones, and that the nearest grocery store isn’t two miles in the opposite direction. You’re also assuming the crow’s GPS doesn’t take him down Sycamore St, when a more direct way would have been down Main, then a right at Ridge. Of course, there’s construction on Sycamore, so the crow winds up taking an even longer detour.

You’re also not taking into account the park that’s just off the way, where the crow decides to stop for a chat with other crows along with a healthy game of Scrabble. Therefore, as you can see, no crow flies in a straight line. There are just too many distractions.

It’s funny how many shots I get at the end of my stay. This was from an early morning at Marymoor. I’d come to get shots of the herons in stick mode, and did get the shots I was looking for. On my way out, I noticed this merganser fishing near one of the water entrances for dogs.

Aware that my experience was soon to be cut short by an overzealous dog, I sat next to the water and was surprised to see this merganser head right up to me. I kept my camera trained on him while he searched, and to my delight she caught something!

After her snack, our time was of course up. A dog came careening into the water and the merganser was gone. It was easily my closest experience with one (it came much closer than in this photo) and made for a great end to the morning.

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Martin Sarcelle had had enough of the prankster Hans Grünerflügel. First, Hans playfully convinced Martin that he wasn’t truly a “green” winged teal and that only a proper green teal would recycle, eat only farmed seaweed, and switch to electric vehicles.

Next, Hans ensured Martin wasn’t going anywhere by parking his Explorer in the only charging spot of the park, then decorated the entire marshes in paper mache. After Martin was forced to fly himself to Whole Foods, then arrived back to find the park in complete disarray, he finally had it with Hans.

The park denizens to this day exlaim they’ve never seen a teal so angry. As for Hans, he still blames Martin for not being green.

A long, long time ago in a place not so far away, there lived a man named Zopyrion. He was a Macedonian under Alexander the Great, and had been placed in Thrace in order to guard against a potential Persian counterattack.

Now, Thrace back then wasn’t a happening place. Not only was it cold and snowy, but there were no bowling alleys and getting a clear signal was a major hassle. Life had become boring there, and Zopyrion was jealous of all the fun Alexander and his merry crew were having. So, he resolved to do some conquering too.

Back then, the list of countries marauding armies could overrun were similar to those now. Since Thrace wasn’t that far from Ukraine, Zopyrion chose that one – or more specifically the rich Greek colony of Olbia.

Olbia was a weird place back then. Perhaps it was because they were in the sticks, but they minted some of the oddest coins, such as millions of dolphin-shaped ones and huge gorgon coins.

Back to Zopyrion; he recruited an army of thirty-thousand men, then headed toward a now royally freaked Olbia. For the area, this was a massive force, and the Olbians had every right to be scared. They’d done absolutely nothing to annoy Zopyrion, but that didn’t matter. He’d set out to obliterate the city.

To improve their odds, the Olbians gave their slaves freedom, granted citizenship to foreigners, and called for help far and wide. They were in a major bind, and unlike at Tarentum, they couldn’t even ride the dolphins. Since everyone else was busy with Alexander the Great, no help came, but they did receive a massive windfall in a storm that destroyed Zopyrion’s fleet on the Black Sea (just saying…it could have been the dolphins).

Despite the favorable Vegas odds and the hundreds of talents bet on them, Zopyrion and his crew failed to take Olbia. With their supply chain gone, they had no choice but to make the long retreat back to Thrace. Only they never arrived.

The Scythians, Getae, and other tribes, who’d taken a beating by Philip II and Alexander III for the last several years, couldn’t resist some Macedonian target practice. Little by little they picked Zopyrion and his army off until Zopyrion was annihilated.

Alexander the Great, who later read about the events in the newspaper, was initially bummed, but then after reading on to learn that Agis of Sparta and Alexander I of Epiros had also perished in separate events, he was quite happy. Completely forgetting who Zopyrion was, he moved on to the comics.

Meanwhile, in Olbia, there was much rejoice. This coin was minted just after the victory, a reminder of the perseverance of a city and country against stacked odds.

One typical Sunday in March, a Mrs Anya Colibri was enjoying the territorial view from her southern window, when her own reflection greeted her. She squinted at first, until she recognized there was a photographer trained on her.

This was most inconvenient, as she’d yet to shower that day and really wasn’t prepared for the publicity. Of lesser concern was the invasion of privacy. Sure, she’d recently closed on this northwest contemporary just a week earlier, haven miraculously outbid a rufous out of California for the cozy location close to freeways but still nestled in the woods. However, it wasn’t her first encounter with such a strange person, and she knew he’d soon go away, which he did.

The next day, however, she was greeted with three photographers jostling each other for a view into her bedroom window. With her eggs ready to arrive along with the bedroom stencils, cribs, and baby cameras she’d ordered, this was concerning. Her friend had been evicted not long ago by crows who had followed a photographer crowd.

Attempts to buzz them into leaving were unsuccessful, and the next day the crowd had grown to five, with others replacing them as each grew tired. When she fired up her laptop, Anya was stunned to find her home address listed on Facebook. How could they have done this!

With her hideaway no longer hidden, Anya was faced with a horrible deliberation. Should she abandon her home and look for a new one, or should she risk being visited by crows or stellars jays? Neither option was tempting. If only the photographer hadn’t posted her address!

(note: this photo is from two years ago)

We know how it is. You’ve just settled down on the couch and have your beak on the TV remote when she asks about the solarium. You’d promised to retrieve the lumber after the fourth bedroom, and now she hands you the Bill of Materials. It’s pouring outside and you’re anxious to finish Stranger Things before the next season comes out.

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Perhaps the top thing to do in tiny Sint Maarten is to visit Maho Beach, immediately next to the airport, to watch the huge planes fly overhead. One may also enjoy the smell of jet fuel and, if you stand in the right spot, have the privilege of being knocked over by the engine blast.

Since I’d seen photos of the beach, I decided to check it out. I’d thought that it would be difficult to get a decent shot, since I hadn’t bothered to look up when the large planes arrive. However, I was surprised to see a steady stream of them, including a few decently sized ones such as this.

Had we stayed a bit later and risked being stranded on the island when our cruise ship left, we could have seen the Air France flight, supposedly the largest, which according to what we heard, had scared the living daylights out of a family with small children the day before. Their entire bag with possessions was thrown into the sea, though luckily others dove in to retrieve them.

I took this photo from a nearby restaurant. This was easily my favorite island of the trip.

I don’t dislike cruises. I just have a difficult time dealing with other homo sapiens. I’m most at home in the forests or marshes, where I pay careful attention to the local inhabitants and their habits.

Since my wife and kids do enjoy cruises, I stick to my wildlife schedule and enjoy the ship when others aren’t there. I wake up early to catch the sunrise each day and typically have the boat to myself. Then, just as I do at any park, when enough people surface I slip back to the bowels of the ship.

There, I work out new plots to books and read until sunset. At that time people are still about, but I look funny so they keep their distance. I then take my wife to some shows where people do things I can’t, then repeat the process the next day. If that’s a port day, then I rent a taxi to see the island by ourselves without the pressure.

Seven days later, we’re back on land. If I’ve been good enough, I’m allowed to visit some wetlands for a few hours where I can photograph the alligators and many birds that don’t like the Northwest.

Today, we’re going to discuss an odd habit of the third most dominant species on Planet Earth (most dominant are ants, followed by dogs).

A number of humans, when they’ve reached the maximum stress caused by other humans, proceed to place themselves on large boats with an even more massive number of fellow sufferers. They trade in their domiciles for habitations smaller than a typical closet and gorge themselves on substandard food.

These huge boats then journey to magical islands where the humans rush out in an attempt to sink them. In the meantime, they purchase overpriced fake jewelry, sit in traffic, terrorize the local wildlife, and incinerate themselves under the sun.

A few hours later, the humans cram themselves back into the boat and eat and drink until the next island. Some humans eat so much they can no longer leave the ship, but luckily the same fake jewelry and ability to contract melanoma are available on board.

Roughly a week later, the ship arrives in the exact same place from which is departed, and the humans lumber back to land. No sooner do they leave than another batch of humans arrives.