Dino the dinosaur

  • On A Prayer And A Wing (Or Two Wings)

    My dearest friend is on the verge of death and I am praying like mad that she’ll be able to come through with the slim chances she has even though I don’t really believe in magical sky fairies. I’ve always seen 21st century prayer as something invented by the Americans to allow fast-talking charlatans to have multiple wives or closely related spouses; deceive the gullible; subjugate women, the impoverished or minorities; maybe even justify outlandish fairy tales like trickle-down economics, or a Dicktator* making their cuntry** great (grate?) again? There’s certainly not much goodwill in what I’ve seen of American Christianity. But, I digress. I have been hoping beyond hope…

  • Bird Bother Has Us Flying…By The Seat Of Our Pants

    Our dearest–in terms of both emotion and bloody expense–little mate gave us a bit of a shock the past few days as Dino, our rosy faced lovebird, appeared to be petering (ptering?) toward the brink only to slowly move toward recovery. I’m guilty as I’ve been sharing meals (and snacks) with Dino for years now, and she also shares my love for carbs and cheese, making her as fat and unhealthy as I am. You’d never know it, though, as she is vigorous and active, spending nearly all day out of her cage and flying freely throughout our home. But something seemed amiss on Friday when she was clearly in…

  • Happy Bird-thday, You Pterror!

    Today is Dino (the dinosaur)’s third birthday. Our little rosy-faced lovebird has been with us for three years, and has been pretty much a constant companion since the early days of the pandemic. She is my best mate, but at the same time, the bane of my life. She demands ceaseless attention, unless she’s laid a few eggs or found herself some paper. If she has laid, as she did to mark her third birthday, she tends to sit on the eggs in a corner of her cage. If she’s about to lay, the preceding couple of weeks are nearly constantly filled with picking up after her as she will…

  • Craving Procrastination, But Will Procrastinate Tomorrow

    Well, what a bloody awful rabbit hole to fall into. Today was supposed to involved delivering choccies to some cycling associates in Kawasaki. But getting up and about with half an hour or so free before Mrs. Kangaeroo was due to head off to work and hanging out with the dinosaur led to messing about on the computer. Unfortunately, this opened the door to a reacquaintance with Osama, a delightful performer who made his name playing renditions of famous Western tracks mostly from the 1970s in Japanese in a style he calls 直訳ロック (chokuyaku rock, “literal translation rock.”) Didn’t take me long to be rolling around the floor at the…