And Kindle was its name-o

I'm looking at John Steinbeck. He resembles 20% of the men I'd see on Seattle's trendy Capitol Hill. His hair is lightly floofed, his expression is slightly pompous, and he's mustachioed. Don't ask me on a date, John Steinbeck. Do, however, stay on my Kindle because you're a delightful screensaver.

What? Oh, yeah, I have a Kindle. I'm one of thoooose, and I love it. Here are the books my teensy weensy machine has awaiting:
-Moby Dick
-War and Peace
-Poems by Emily Dickinson
-BOSSYPANTS! Booya!

(I ended with that last one by Ms. TINA FEY! Booya! for two reasons.
1. It makes me sound like less of a d'bag than those first ones did. I have no no problem sharing my appreciation of old, snooty books, but I do have shame about listing books to sound awesome. I listed them because they're big and my Kindle is small. Plus, they were free. So it's cool. And anyway, I have about 15 other books like those, and I didn't even tell you about them. 2. Bossypants will transform you into Peepants. I cannot count the number of times it has made me cackle aloud, and my counting skills are above average. Truth. Ask me to count something.)

I also use my Kindle to lose at chess (it keeps me humble), distract Hamb with the word jumble (it keeps him from interrupting bad TV shows I like), and stay up on the terrible, free books that are released every day (it keeps me from being a productive member of society).

I'm not an electronics nerd, but this thing has made my life wonderful. Owning a Kindle + knowing Tina Fey exists and continues to write = the happiest lady on this couch.

Pileated Pal

It's a good thing gray skies don't stop the Walden, because if they did, I would have never made a new bird friend. Yes internet-users, today I saw my first Pileated Woodpecker. "Ain't no thang," you say? You think it's just a bird? You're silly. Look:

The Pileated Woodpecker is funny! It has a red fan head, a gangly neck, and pecks dead trees like there's no tomorrow... or maybe there will be a tomorrow, but all the dead trees will have vanished by then. Either way, the Pileated Woodpecker is a manic with the beak.

I saw the goober today in Carkeek Park. Harper Dog and I were huffing and puffing up a hill (that, if I were in better shape, would not be huff-and-puff-worthy) when I saw a massive, flying, hunk of feathers zoom in front of me. It soared like this other creature did once right before Hamb said, "That was a Pileated Woodpecker that just flew by! Did you see it?" And I was like, "Hamb, you weirdo, you can't tell what the bird was just by how it flew!" But I was wrong. It was my biannual mistake. He could tell what kind of bird it was.

I know this because today when I thought, "Whatty what what... that flew like that other thing Hamb said was a Pileated Woodpecker. Could it be?" I snuck up the trail because I didn't want to scare it away, but it wouldn't have mattered it anyway. It was a Pileated Woodpecker, and it didn't give a Spotted Owl's hoot that I was watching it like a creeper. That bird flicked sawdust this way and hopped that way and totally owned that tree.

It was a thrill, and it didn't even matter that I hadn't brought my new binoculars (a gift from my future in-laws who tricked me into liking these rascally, winged beasts) because it was only fifteen feet away. If Hamb were there, he could have stretched out his freakishly long arm and poked it.

Way to be in my life, Pileated Woodpecker. Also, thanks for coming along after I had already locked down an awesome man so that it doesn't matter if my excessive nerdiness scares of future mates. I don't need them. Just give me my Hamb, my pup, my park, and more goofy-looking birds.