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.

Happy Easter to you! I hope you are having a fun weekend wherever you may be. I’m sure that I am having fun, although I have no idea exactly what I’ll be doing when you read this.

I am not here, you see. Well, I am here now, but I won’t be here when this is published. I set the blog to automatically publish on Easter. So by the time you read this, I will be visiting my family – or at least a big chunk of my family. (We couldn’t all make it, alas.)

The above eggs are some of the first that my nephews’ chickens laid last summer. Aren’t they beautiful? The photo doesn’t truly capture the lovely shades of blue and green in their shells, but I thought it would be nice to see some natural Easter eggs. They were actually laid by hens who were Easter gifts to my nephews for Easter 2009.

It’s been a busy winter/spring transition on my end, and I have neglected my blog, and even worse, have neglected to read all the blogs that I love. I look forward to coming home and getting nesty like a hen, incubating new ideas, and hatching some of the plans that I have been feeling so broody about for so long.

Until then, have fun! See you in the blogosphere… soon!

There are battles being fought in my sister’s kitchen. There’s constant combat,  and heavy weaponry. Military strategy abounds. I never know what to expect when I visit – except some interesting new tableau on her counter.

My sister loves to decorate for holidays. To the insurgents, of course, this merely creates advantageous cover.  Meanwhile, I have become a domestic wartime journalist documenting guerilla attacks in the midst of all this cheery decor.

War is never simple, but there is a mastermind behind all this – my youngest nephew. The photo above is a counter tableau created by me explaining how to turn the coffeemaker on in the morning since he is always the first one up. After all, you know how it is during wartime. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do to get your early morning brew.

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!

Isn’t it nice to know that you’ll be able to send tweets from the next service you attend? Or perhaps the caskets are equipped with high speed internet in an updated take on Edgar Allen Poe’s, ‘The Premature Burial.’ I really don’t know what to think, but I was glad to finally grab a shot of this billboard with its odd implications.

On a different note, the weather report calls for thunder storms tonight. I know from experience that these Texan electrical storms can be real window rattlers at 3 a.m.  They also goof up my cell phone service. Then, in a day or two, we are supposed to get another dose of snow!

The cold weather coming makes me even more glad that so many birds have found my little feeding station. I’ve got a passel of regulars, including a male and female cardinal, who visit every day. As soon as I get decent photos, I’ll post some here.

Trouble with little birds is that they don’t sit still very long, which makes it hard to get a good portrait. Makes for a good challenge, though.  I’ve set my desk up so that I can see out to the feeding area, too. It’s a great view to work by. I always do better when I’m near nature. Hmm, that reminds me, now that it’s dark, I should clean the windows so that I can take clearer bird shots…

A few days ago, 12 inches of snow fell here in north Texas. Dormant spores in our next door neighbor’s soil hatched a fleeting snow cowboy, a rare phenomenon, indeed. The chilly fellow was eager to party, however, and invited us all to a barbecue. His tiki torches, alas, failed to properly light.

Looking down the street, it was sheets of snow and pick-up trucks for as far as the eye could see.

Except, of course, in our driveway, where our little hybrid huddled beneath a heap of snow. Brr!

The band Men at Work recently lost a plagiarism suit involving the flute riff in their 80’s hit, ‘Land Down Under.’ Unfortunately, the flute part sounds like, ‘Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree,’ a ditty we used to sing at my Girl Scout camp. In fact, the song was written by an Aussie girl guide back in 1934. Although she died in 1988, Larrikin Music (who apparently made a recording of the song) successfully sued the group.

You can listen to clips of both songs and hear the similarities if you read this article – which also explains what the song lyrics mean. So now I finally know what ‘chunder’ means, not that I’ve been pondering ‘chunder’ for the last 2 decades. I do, however, wonder why it took so long for the suit to go through.

While I actually had noticed the similarity to the song’s flute bit and the Kookaburra song, I never felt it was a rip off. The lyrics and main melody of the song are original, and while the flute is a nice adornment, it is not the defining aspect of the song. Rather than being plagiaristic, the flutist’s riff on the Kookaburra song struck me as a cheery nod to Australia, which, after all, is what the ‘Land Down Under’ is all about.

The Australian courts felt differently, so there is going to be a big payout. Makes me curious how the lawyers argued this case. I wonder if they mentioned big hits that truly yanked their melodies from other sources, and got away with it. Elvis did this at least twice. His song “Love Me Tender,” was originally the folk song, “Aura Lee,”  and his dramatic “It’s Now or Never,” has the exact same melody as the famous Neapolitan folk song, “O Sole Mio.” Talk about melody-lifting. Rippety-doo-dah-day!

Back to mere riff-stealing, take a listen to Barry Manilow’s song, “Mandy.” If you ever took piano lessons, you’ll realize that Manilow’s intro is a Chopin prelude. And who can forget Vanilla Ice’s, “Ice, Ice Baby,” which completely swiped the bass line from Queen’s “Under Pressure”?

Then there’s the whole “cryptomnesia” aspect. Maybe the flutist wasn’t even thinking of ‘Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree,’ when he came up with that part. It could have been accidental. Remember when George Harrison got sued over his song, ‘My Sweet Lord,’ because it was so similar to ‘He’s So Fine’? Harrison used cryptomnesia as his defense, meaning that he was not consciously aware that he was stealing another song’s melody. Although I tend to believe Harrison (after all, he was a Beatle, it’s not like he needed the money), his defense flopped and he had to pay out over that one (after all, he was a Beatle – he was loaded!)

Oddly enough, I’ve even noticed that Men at Work seem to reprise their own riffs. The songs ‘Who Can it Be?’ and ‘Overkill’ have basically the same sax riff. The notes are played in ascending order in one song, and descending order in another. (If you don’t believe me, just listen to the first few seconds of each song, and hear for yourself.)  I don’t think they were trying to imitate themselves, but I have noticed that many artists (Sting and Bjork, for instance) have their own signature melodies which pop into their work over and over. It’s rather like the way in which people have pet phrases (i.e. ‘you know what I mean?’) that they fall back on in their speech and writing.

At least you can’t get sued for ripping your own self off. Unless, of course, you have a litigious clone. Now that would really make me want to chunder.

Need a gift for the chronically daydreaming research scientist in your life? Me neither, but apparently knockout rats are ideal.

Up until yesterday, I had never heard of a knockout rat, although the name is reminiscent of both fainting goats and a litter of narcoleptic puppies I once saw in a documentary. There is an ad for knockout rats on the back of Science magazine, you see, and that was the last thing I saw before falling asleep last night, so all day today I’ve had the phrase ‘knockout rats’ kicking around my brain pan. Knockout rats, knockout rats… It makes for a catchy rugby squad mascot or band name, don’t you think?

Back when Tex and I first start talking to each other, I told him that I didn’t want a romantic relationship, but if he wanted a friend, blah, blah, blah… (he probably quit listening at that point, anyway.) Undaunted by my typical chick disclaimer, Tex’s response was to shower me with gifts: chocolates, flowers, romantic dvd’s, books, and even a subscription to Science News.

At that point in time, I was only home a few nights a week, and we got into the habit of eating dinner together via Skype on those evenings. Tex called these virtual dinner dates, but I would always hasten to remind him that I did not want a boyfriend, so it wasn’t technically a date… although the gifts sure were nice. Still, if things seemed too flirty, I could always bring up an article in Science News to switch to more platonic ground.

Well, that was then. Here I am now, living in Texas. Naturally, we forwarded the Science News subscription. It was kind of funny when Tex called, because when the operator noticed that the new address matched his billing address she blurted, ‘What’s going on? Is she living with you now?’ To which he replied, ‘Yes. I blinded her with science.’ ‘That is so romantic,’ the operator replied, ‘I don’t hear that very often.’

I still love that magazine, both online and off, but I have a new nickname for it: Science Snooze, because I can put Tex out-like-a-trout and snoring in under 5 minutes when I read it aloud to him in bed. Kinda makes me wonder if I missed my calling as a hypnotist, or a golf announcer.

At any rate, knockout rats or no, I am never going to stop daydreaming. It’s way too fun, and I am way too good at it.

If we write to taste life twice, as Anais Nin once suggested, then why do we blog? Perhaps it’s to give others a little taste of our own lives. I wonder how many bloggers were active diarists before going online. I wonder, also, how many of those who made the transition from pen to pixel have quit keeping an offline diary.

I love blogging, but I also enjoy keeping an offline journal. I certainly write differently here than there. My offline diary serves many purposes; besides recording memories, it is a place for me to dissect and digest experiences. I don’t care if it makes sense or hops from topic to topic. I don’t even care if it’s whiny and boring. It’s been a lifelong friend, and we love each other unconditionally.

Do any of you keep diaries, either online or off? If you keep an offline journal, do you ever find yourself conflicted between writing it out by hand versus tapping away on a keyboard? I do! As I mentioned here before, I am fond of carrying little notebooks around with me. I love to sit in nature, or at a cafe and jot thoughts down. However, I also love a program I found a few years ago called iDailyDiary by Splinterware. It’s super snazzy! Not only is it easy to search through, but you can make it portable by putting it on a thumb drive.

One of my favorite things, though, are the sticky tabs you can make in iDailyDiary. They make it real easy to quickly file and keep track of ideas for various projects. (For instance, ladies, I keep track of my menstrual cycle in its own tab. Makes life less surprising, but in a good way.)

But enough about me; how about you? Are any of you chronic diarists, like me? If so, what’s your journaling style?