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summer_jackelRiding a trainer for hours on end in front of this computer also allows me ample time to study the interesting and complicated behavior of my parrots. A couple of weeks ago over at the parrot_lovers community, there was a post asking people to summarize life with birds in a sentence or two, and I think I came up with something like "OMG flying monkeys in the house. You'd better be willing to share your pasta." Parrots just help to make your life just a little bit more interestingly surreal.
So I'm at hour 2.5 on my bike, shooting for 4, fully caffeinated and worked up to that edge of "I can just barely do this but it hurts" and "I have to get off the bike and throw up now." It's actually pretty fun, makes me a much more relaxed and happy person the rest of the time, and is cheaper than therapy. It is far better to drown one's sorrows in the bike than the bottle, and I actually think I came upon a semi-addictive behavior that is actually self-limiting and makes me healthier. That's pretty sweet.
Anyway, as I do this, I'm listening to swing music, which I seem to be doing a lot recently, and one of these old tunes, Cole Porter or somebody, ends with this beautiful, long, drawn-out, syncopated brass solo. Suddenly, Gavin (who's been conuring around on his tree a foot away this whole time, probably wondering how he managed to pick the crazy human) starts calling out in time with the trombone. He's at less than half full volume, and I can tell that he's trying not to drown the music out. After a couple of tries, he gets the pitch right, and proceeds to sing at correct pitch and volume until the song endes. I was, naturally, delighted.
Hey, Gavin is a pyrhurras with taste, a real swinging hep---, ah, bird. And of course conures like trombones; I think the expression is "duh." I'm also remembering my brother telling me that Osbick was chirping in time to his hip-hop the other day. ("Chirp" may be a comfortable euphemism for the actual calls of an Indian Ringneck. Oz has yet to cause the parrot noise problems that would have made me cart his tail off to rescue as fast as I could; note that he still appears to live with me. But he has almost twice the lung power of the other two, and there are moments when he indulges this).
Timothy and I have had this very gentle musical dispute. He loves hip-hop and Reggae, which unfortunately happen to be the very kinds of music, in general, that makes my ears bleed. On his end, Timothy and I had been listening to my ipod set on random for awhile when he asked me, with extreme deference but a kind of dawning horror, something like, "How much of this...slow female jazz singers stuff...do you actually have?" What possible response to a question like that could exist except, "Never enough?"
Timothy has been conditioned to fear me since birth, so even though I regret some of that now and have tried to be fair about it and offer to compromise on the music, as soon as I cross the threshold, the hip hop immediately is turned off. Which is great, and I play my music all the time (at least while riding), but every now and again, Timothy tries to gently convince me that hip hop is actually really fantastic, and wouldn't it be so awesome if I suddenly decided I loved it? There was definitely a flash of hope in his eye and triumph in his voice when he informed me that the bird agreed with him.
No, see, the parrots share my taste in music. They like it better. Surely Oz will get in on it when he develops his ear. I'm just going to be over here pedaling my bike and playing Big Bad Voodoo Daddy to my bird.
So I'm at hour 2.5 on my bike, shooting for 4, fully caffeinated and worked up to that edge of "I can just barely do this but it hurts" and "I have to get off the bike and throw up now." It's actually pretty fun, makes me a much more relaxed and happy person the rest of the time, and is cheaper than therapy. It is far better to drown one's sorrows in the bike than the bottle, and I actually think I came upon a semi-addictive behavior that is actually self-limiting and makes me healthier. That's pretty sweet.
Anyway, as I do this, I'm listening to swing music, which I seem to be doing a lot recently, and one of these old tunes, Cole Porter or somebody, ends with this beautiful, long, drawn-out, syncopated brass solo. Suddenly, Gavin (who's been conuring around on his tree a foot away this whole time, probably wondering how he managed to pick the crazy human) starts calling out in time with the trombone. He's at less than half full volume, and I can tell that he's trying not to drown the music out. After a couple of tries, he gets the pitch right, and proceeds to sing at correct pitch and volume until the song endes. I was, naturally, delighted.
Hey, Gavin is a pyrhurras with taste, a real swinging hep---, ah, bird. And of course conures like trombones; I think the expression is "duh." I'm also remembering my brother telling me that Osbick was chirping in time to his hip-hop the other day. ("Chirp" may be a comfortable euphemism for the actual calls of an Indian Ringneck. Oz has yet to cause the parrot noise problems that would have made me cart his tail off to rescue as fast as I could; note that he still appears to live with me. But he has almost twice the lung power of the other two, and there are moments when he indulges this).
Timothy and I have had this very gentle musical dispute. He loves hip-hop and Reggae, which unfortunately happen to be the very kinds of music, in general, that makes my ears bleed. On his end, Timothy and I had been listening to my ipod set on random for awhile when he asked me, with extreme deference but a kind of dawning horror, something like, "How much of this...slow female jazz singers stuff...do you actually have?" What possible response to a question like that could exist except, "Never enough?"
Timothy has been conditioned to fear me since birth, so even though I regret some of that now and have tried to be fair about it and offer to compromise on the music, as soon as I cross the threshold, the hip hop immediately is turned off. Which is great, and I play my music all the time (at least while riding), but every now and again, Timothy tries to gently convince me that hip hop is actually really fantastic, and wouldn't it be so awesome if I suddenly decided I loved it? There was definitely a flash of hope in his eye and triumph in his voice when he informed me that the bird agreed with him.
No, see, the parrots share my taste in music. They like it better. Surely Oz will get in on it when he develops his ear. I'm just going to be over here pedaling my bike and playing Big Bad Voodoo Daddy to my bird.
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no subject
Date: 2009-05-23 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-24 03:12 am (UTC)I also love your icon.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-23 11:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-24 03:17 am (UTC)It's worth mentioning that Kaya has yet to respond vocally to music, and she's more closely related to Sunshine than Gavin is. Are the laid-back small African parrots less musical than zany conures? I don't have a large enough sample size to come to any real opinion.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-24 11:04 pm (UTC)And if you think lovebirds fit "laid-back" in any way.... hahahahahahahahaha. :D She's seldom still, and almost never quiet, unless she's sleepy! I'm sure she could give Gavin a run for his money!
no subject
Date: 2009-05-24 11:29 pm (UTC)It's that 'almost never quiet' thing that made me consider lovebirds only briefly. They are incredibly cute and spunky, but that constant, high-pitched chattering...!
no subject
Date: 2009-05-24 12:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-24 11:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-24 11:25 pm (UTC)...I cannot even imagine an aria sung by a grey, an amazon and two large macaws. Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude. Bloolark has some pretty awesome highly successful crazy-bird-lady pwn-age on us all. ;)