Gaylord Guenin: Turkeys more fun than boob-flashes and Bush
This has been an unusual period of time in Lenado, which is up where I live.
First, I failed to listen to Conan the Toady give his State of the Union address. There is one old political axiom that I have always deferred to: “Know thy enemy,” so I really meant to listen. Now don’t get me wrong. I do not view George W., our compassionate-warrior president, as actually being my enemy, at least not in the same context as right-wing conservatives view liberals. By the same token, I am not particularly convinced that he is my friend.
For instance, I have not received anything in the way of tax relief, and so far not a single stretch limo has pulled up in front of my cabin to drop off even a pittance of that “dribble-down” money I keep hearing about. I did get a tiny increase in my Social Security payments this year, but that was pretty much canceled by the increase in my Medicare payments.
I suppose that if I owned a few oil wells, or a power plant that was belching tons of greenhouse gases into the air, or wanted to cut down a bunch of old-growth forests to protect the nation from forest fires, if any of that were a matter of fact, then George W. might be willing to demonstrate a tad more compassion for little ol’ me. But I am being selfish and I apologize.
Anyway, I did feel bad about missing his speech (which was available to read in The New York Times the following day) but I felt even worse about a rumor that turned out not to be true. A friend of mine who has connections in Washington, D.C., had told me that Karl Rove was actually going to present the State of the Union address. Considering the behind-the-scenes power he enjoys in this administration, such a rumor made some sense. But it was not to be.
So I missed the speech and then I also missed the brilliant “mammary moment” during halftime at the Super Bowl. The showing of a woman’s breast on television seems to have become this year’s cause celebre across our nation. Our president has been extremely reluctant to investigate the intelligence that led to the invasion of Iraq, but just about everyone in Washington wants to investigate the showing of Janet Jackson’s boob.
I am a bit confused.
I missed out on that moment because the first half of the game was rather boring, so I switched over to the Weather Channel and became hypnotized by a zephyr that was heading out of Canada and threatening to engulf the Northeast in life-threatening, subzero weather. By the time I switched back the halftime show was over; the teams were playing again, and the play-by-play announcers made no mention of Janet’s public display of a body part. In fact I didn’t even know about the incident until the late news came on.
Displaying a tit during something as sacrosanct (at least in the eyes of some) as the Super Bowl apparently is akin to gays getting married, a possibility that has caused the religious right to go ballistic. The gay-marriage controversy is something I would love to miss, as it shows all the signs of becoming extremely ugly. I must confess that I am somewhat ambivalent about the issue, believing it is not my place to tell others who they can and cannot love, or, for that matter, who they can or cannot marry. And you can forget about bringing God into the argument, as there is a good chance I don’t worship your god. I suppose by not recognizing your particular deity, I will be charged with being in league with the devil, which may be the case.
The point is that no matter how many sanctimonious, Christian thugs may be out there trying to force the rest of us into accepting their values and teachings, our planet is populated with millions of non-Christians who are perfectly happy with their beliefs. Strange, but writing about fundamentalist Christians got me to thinking about turkeys.
I may have missed George W.’s speech and Janet’s booby display and would love to miss the impending torturous battle regarding gay marriages, but I didn’t miss the wild turkeys that seem to have found a home in Woody Creek.
For weeks I have been hearing about wild turkey sightings in the Woody Creek area. I’ve lived in the valley some 35 years and have seen plenty of wild animals but never a wild turkey, so I had my doubts about the veracity of the reports.
Then, about a week ago, I came around a corner near the entrance to George Stranahan’s Flying Dog Ranch and there were four wild turkeys crossing the road. Two days later, driving down the road from Lenado, I had six cross in front of my car near the old homestead at what is now the Circle R Ranch. I’ve seen numbers of them a couple of times since those initial sightings.
Why are the turkeys suddenly so prevalent? I can’t answer, but I plan to pursue the question.
So I missed Janet’s breast display and George W.’s fussing about gay marriages in the State of the Union speech, but I did get to see Woody Creek’s wild turkeys. I believe I came out ahead on this one.
This is the 301st article in a two-part series devoted to the community of Woody Creek, a place where all sorts of gods are worshiped, including Priapus, who is something of a favorite among the younger set.
Since winning her first X Games medal in 2019 — slopestyle gold — the now 21-year-old Kiwi has become the most dominant force in the discipline.