I’m starting to suspect that my new bird book was ghost-written by Monty Python. I simply can’t read the author’s description of the Painted Bunting’s various calls without hearing the droll delivery of John Cleese in my mind:

• tida day-da tida day teetayta tita
• witee wi witato
• wee sittee, wippity, pickity, snickity

See what I mean? I’ve got a good imagination, but come on!I’m not going to argue with classics such as chick-a-dee-dee-dee, bob white, and caw, but wippity, pickity, snickity? Maybe there is fine print somewhere explaining that this is how a Painted Bunting sounds . . . after a hit of peyote.

My theory is that when describing bird calls, a certain amount of Jungian projection comes into play. Call it the aural equivalent of a Rorschach inkblot test, if you will. My parents, for example, have a bird book which I’m convinced was written by a lush. This fellow uses such phrases as, drink three beers, dry martini dry, and chug, chug, chug, to describe the calls he hears. He probably uses the term “bird watching” as code for “hitting up the best happy hours.”

All snickityness aside, putting a rhythmic phrase to a melody does make it easier to remember. It’s a trick song writers use when composing melodies that don’t yet have lyrics. The Beatles’, “Yesterday,” was actually called “Scrambled Eggs” until McCarthy came up with words for that classic tune.

I am slowly learning all the classic tunes of my  backyard’s frequent fliers lately, since Texas is warm enough for me to set up my office outside. Not only does it quench my tremendous need for nature contact, but watching birds gives my eyes a break from staring at the monitor.

Speaking of staring at the monitor, I’ve got a new writing gig with PlanetEye Traveler Magazine. I’m writing about the Dallas/Fort Worth area of Texas now. The tone of the magazine is more straight-faced than I can be on this blog, but I am having fun. You can check out my stuff by going here. If you like something, feel free to “like” it on Facebook, or leave a comment. Feel free to “friend” me on FB, too, if you’d like, I’m Tui Cameron.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should admit that I’ve never heard a Painted Bunting in real life, so perhaps wippity, pickity, snickity, is apt. Personally, though, I’m still leaning towards the Monty Python theory.

Not surprisingly, I see a lot of churches here in Texas, but I found this one quite intriguing. Did you notice the barely legible ‘no trespassing’ sign on it? Inside there were folding chairs in rows, a lot of cardboard boxes, and a chainsaw sitting on a crate. It smelled like a garage.

Across from the church was a little place called The Diner where we grabbed some fried chicken. We got it to go because the tiny place was packed. There were 7 men in total, and 5 of them were wearing cowboy hats as they ate. Guess it’s not considered rude to keep them on.

Of the 5 cowboy-hatted men, 4 of them also wore Bluetooth headsets. This put the phrase “Bluetooth cowboy” in my head, which somehow morphed into the song “Rhinestone Cowboy,” which flitted through my brain for much of the day. I was too chicken to whip out my camera and snap a photo in the diner, but I wish I had now. I’ve gotta get better at that.

The tiny parking lot was jammed, too. I’m not sure who was driving what, but there was an interesting assortment of vehicles. The Hummer seemed nearly as big as the interior of the restaurant.

Across from The Diner, and just around the corner from the church, was this porch, which – if I’m counting correctly – has enough chairs on it for at least 8 people to sit and rock simultaneously. I wonder if there is ever a sunny afternoon during which this porch experiences full rocking capacity. That’s something I’d like to see.

We eventually made it to Possum Kingdom, even though our British-voiced GPS lady made sure we took the long way. Must be how she gets her kicks. I did not see any mink-robed rodents on thrones in PK, alas. I did spot a black helicopter on our way back. Turns out there’s a Vietnam War museum/Meditation Garden somewhere along the way.

I have since found a song titled ‘Possum Kingdom,’ which was released in 1995 by a Fort Worth band called The Toadies. You can watch their eerie video for it here. According to an interview with the lead singer, the lyrics were inspired by the tall tales he’d hear around campfires and at bbq’s growing up about vampires and other creepy goings on around Possum Kingdom.

Overall, it wasn’t the best day for taking photos. The sky mostly glowered and spat, keeping the best light to itself. Even so, I am still curious about Possum Kingdom, and hope to return when it’s sunny.

Tomorrow I’m heading to Possum Kingdom as Tex’s official helper. I’m not sure what this will entail. Maybe some painting, or just general gophering. In any case, it’s a road trip – yeah!

No one seems to know how the place got its name. To me, Possum Kingdom conjures up a Beatrix Potter scenario with a regal possum wearing a crown and robe whilst sitting upon a throne made out of an old cedar stump. So that’s exactly what I’m expecting, talking possums who live like medieval kings and queens in quaint, yet lavish, oak forest castles.

Tomorrow will also be my first big outing with the DSLR Tex and I got for Christmas. Every time I pick it up, I still feel both excited and uneasy, like someone just handed me a newborn and I might drop it. Once in hand, however, I am reluctant to put it down or let anyone else (poor Tex!) have a turn. Since the new camera brings out my inner OCD Hobbit so acutely, we’ve taken to calling it The Precious.

My bird feeding station has become very popular with local avians. At least a dozen different species swing by every day. After such an uncharacteristically cold winter, I feel even better about having the suet and seed out. I also hope it encourages them to nest in our yard.

There’s a cardinal pair that comes by every day. Since I have a penchant for naming creatures that I see on a daily basis, I call him Monsieur Richelieu and her Betty. I didn’t realize that the males sing so well. One afternoon he and I had a call and response session, since the tune he was riffing on right then was pretty easy to whistle.

Later, I worried that he might have thought I was another male (albeit an odd sounding one) but it turns out that, unlike most bird species in which the male does all the singing, male and female cardinals actually like to sing together. No – not like those cheesy male/female ballads with Meatball crooning and mopping his sweaty brow, that’s not what I want you to envision right now at all!

The other sign, at least, read both ’signore,’ and ‘men,’ so after standing in the hallway for a few baffled moments, I opted for door number one: Uomini. Phew! Not a urinal in sight. It was the ladies room, all right.

On the way out, I asked one of the wait staff about the sign. She just shrugged and said that, ‘It was painted by Mexicans. They kinda guessed at the words.’

‘Well, they guessed wrong,’ I told her.

‘Yeah, but it looks real good,’ was her response, to which, I confiess, I had no snappy reply.

If you’ve read my blog much, you’ve probably noticed that I like to take pix of some of amusing billboards and post them here.

So far, I’ve blogged about the mysterious Hardcore Training Facility, the fact that in Ft. Worth Big Grandma is Watching You, and whether or not you’ve Got Gun?. I even lamented about the ‘ones that got away’ in my Bubbly Clouds post.

I’ve seen these donut ads for a while now, but have been holding out because there is a particular one I wanted a photo of. It shows this donut ad side by side with an ad for the human body exhibit, you know, the one where they have real cadavers on display? Talk about an appetizing juxtaposition!

This billboard reminds me of a conversation Tex and I had a while ago. To kill time while waiting for an order of chicken fried steak with chicken fried grits over at Ginger Brown’s, we drew up a Texan Food Pyramid on a napkin. As I recall, the pyramid’s many layers included chicken fried stuff, steak, bbq, things smothered in gravy, and queso. Oh yeah, I think we had bacon on there – twice – kinda sandwiched in between Ro Tel tomatoes and okra. Makes me feel bloated just writing about it all!

Back to the billboard, though, whatever happened to the “4 Basic Food Groups”? What’s the 5th one, soda? I do notice a lot more donut shops here in Texas. In fact, there are nearly as many donut shops as their are churches. Maybe folks need a good refined sugar buzz to carry them through lengthy sermons.

Don’t let the name fool you, the Dallas World Aquarium is more than just a fun place to see exotic fish. Even the nondescript exterior of this former warehouse belies the lush interior inside. The show begins even before you have bought a ticket; as you wind your way along the side to enter, there is a “Wilds of Borneo” display featuring animals from Indonesia.

You then enter at the canopy level of a humid rainforest environment called the “Orinoco – Secrets of the River” display. Walkways let you meander through the treetops, where several bird species fly through the branches – completely uncaged. I just love to see the birds flying so freely. Footpaths continue to the ground level and even below, where you can watch manatees, water fowl, and fish swim around a 40-foot waterfall. The plants are amazing, too. It’s like walking through a huge South American terrarium.

My favorite part of the Dallas World Aquarium is a long acrylic viewing tunnel which allows you to watch sharks and rays cruise right over your head. Both times we’ve gone, I’ve loaded up my camera’s memory card there. But here’s a tip: go during the weekday to avoid crowds in the view tunnel. It can get really stuffy in there!

While this is obviously good family fun, I think the Dallas World Aquarium is also a great place to take a date. In fact, Tex took me there on my first visit to see him, and in hindsight, I can say that he earned big points that day! There’s just so much to explore; you can easily make a day of it. You don’t even have to leave for lunch; the place has 3 restaurants, plus they serve beer and ice cold margaritas. As you can see from the photo above, it’s a good thing the drinks have lids!

After writing this, I can hardly wait for someone to come visit me so I’ll have a good excuse to go again. Any takers?

When I was a kid up in eastern Washington, I often carried pebbles in my pocket to toss ahead of me before stepping into tall grass. Sometimes I’d hear a rattler slithering out of the way afterwards. My little dog was good, too. She’d run ahead and keep the trail cleared of any snakes. I didn’t realize people ever shot snakes; so when I saw this ad for a snake gun proudly displayed in a shop window, it caught my eye.

The ad amuses me because the guy they drew looks a bit like Hunter S. Thompson. I can just envision a graphic novel penned in Hunter-esque prose about a macho Texan snake hunter. This main character would have a basement armory featuring weapons for all sorts of specialized nuisances, everything from mime attacks to bomb-laden armadillos.

At some point in the wacked out story, the protagonist would be so full of fear and loathing that he’d blurt out some of Thompson’s famous lines, stuff like: “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me,” and “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”

Tex and I ventured into the shop, which was full of interesting knick-knacks, antiques, and post-Christmas deals. The whole time we wandered around, the man behind the counter was on the phone with various people. Every conversation was about guns.

The man behind the counter was still on the phone, blabbing on about firearms as he rang up my purchase, which was not a gun. At one point, however, he set a pistol on the countertop. The barrel pointed right at Tex’s belly. We exchanged nervous glances, before Tex gingerly turned the weapon around.

After he hung up the phone, the man behind the counter apologized, then took a moment to admire the string of beads I’d purchased. “Well, aren’t these just darling?” he remarked, while tucking them into a little bag.

I wanted to ask if he’d ever shot a snake, but I chickened out. Maybe next time.