a quick review
A Wordle of my literature review for Scirtothrips dorsalis. I am amused to note that et al displays with as high a frequency as it does.
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September 30, 2008
September 29, 2008
exchange of fate
This weekend proved more exciting than initially expected.
What should have been a simple walk to the Seventh Annual Hollywood Clambake on Hollywood Beach turned instead into a battle for survival against nature and the elements. Perhaps I exaggerate, but decide for yourselves.
It began innocently enough. A two mile walk in the sun along a concrete trail that edges up against the mangroves and wetlands that have been allowed to prosper in the interior coastal waterways of Fort Lauderdale. Chasing crabs into their burrows. A quick trip to the farmer's market for groceries, followed by a quick bite to eat. At this point, the skies had begun to darken and a light drizzle was falling, so we decided to start heading home.
In retrospect, it probably would have been a good idea to call for backup or a ride. Sometimes I am too stubborn for my own good.
By the the time we made it to the main road back, there was a respectable rain falling. By the time we made it over the first bridge, it had become a torrential downpour, and we were drenched. The one umbrella we had was quickly rendered useless and torn apart under the driving force of the rain and the wind. There were no more covered areas, and no turning back. Ten minutes later, I found out precisely how long my water-resistant shoes really were. They withstood the elements just fine - until the water reached over the lip of my shoes, dripped down my legs, and soaked clear through my socks.
And then, over the steady staccato of the storm, we heard the cat.
Most cats are unhappy when they are wet, and I would pity any creature exposed to this Florida Fall storm, but this forlorn beast lay beneath a bush at the base of the mangrove, howling its misery. It was not a happy cat. It also did not appear to be a well cat, or a more sensible and durable feral cat. It did not move itself to better cover. The waters were rising, and it lay there, helplessly broadcasting its sorrow and despair.
Like my father before me, I am a sucker for small creatures in distress.
I hopped the chain-link fence guarding the mangrove, squelched through mud, dug through the thick undergrowth, and scooped up the bedraggled cat. The next half-hour was considerably more exciting than expected. The torrent of water rapidly exceeded the land's drainage capability, and the streets and sidewalks began to flood. We sometimes found ourselves walking through water up to our hips. Electronics were sensibly transferred to one of the grocery bags, and the cat continued to plead for mercy or a dry space.
Eventually, drier land was reached, and then the slim shelter provided by the overhang of nearby apartments. Finally, we reached our destination. After drying the critter off somewhat with an old and dirty towel, it leaned against me pathetically, and I began my cursory examination.
It was in a condition as pitiable as its earlier wailing. Its tail appeared to have been broken in several places, but there had been time for it to heal and ossify into a series of irregular kinks. It had trouble walking, and its hind-limbs were weak and stumbling. The right leg may have been broken. The lower right mandible was raw and distorted, and the upper was inflamed. It was weak from starvation, but when offered food, it ate greedily. It betrayed its domestic and not feral roots once more, for it was particular enough to refuse seafood with tomato sauce on it. This was obviously a domestic cat with some dignity still remaining, and I broke the scallops into tiny bites. There was a horrible grinding as it fed, suggesting further dental nightmares.
I began to suspect that the cat had fallen from a moving vehicle. I will give my fellow humans the benefit of the doubt, and leave open the possibility that it had become excited and accidentally went out a window.
It was offered an old plush cat-bed to sleep in for the night, but it preferred an old box full of shredded newspapers. Perhaps this was for the best, as it had difficulty keeping fluids in, suggesting further infection. I suspect that kitty had crawled under that bush to die alone and un-mourned in the rain.
Now it has food in its belly, and it is warm and dry. It staggered to its feet this morning, and offered a feeble purr while I scratched its head. I am a sucker for a damsel in distress, and while kitty hurt, the cat also knew how to say "thank you". It will have Neil Gaiman read to it later this evening, and tomorrow it will be taken to a no-kill shelter.
Whatever else this cat will know in life, I hope that it will remember that there is still love and warmth left in the Universe, and that entropy has not yet claimed all of our hearts.
September 25, 2008
dispersal
Today, I scored my second photo credit. This time, a representative from Catalpha Advertising & Design contacted me on behalf of their client, "DM Health Systems", and requested to use the above image in promotional materials and packaging for their insect-screening product. While it isn't fame and acclaim, and it certainly isn't a paycheck that will convince me to give all this up to become a full-time nature-photographer, at least it provides another line on my increasingly diverse CV.
September 1, 2008
one born every minute
This rather extraordinary piece of advertising comes from the Ringling Museum of the Circus in Sarasota, Florida. It makes the exotic claim that the:
Ringling Bros' $20,000.00 Animal Feature: Last of his kind, human eyes will never behold another. Last chance to see the last specimen - when he is gone, the giraffe will be extinct. [The] only giraffe known to exist in the entire world. Secured at the cost of a fortune, shown at each exhibition of the largest menagerie on Earth.
Aside from an interesting display of poor font-spacing and selection that will probably never be seen again in modern advertising, this poster made a preposterous assertion - even for the days of PT Barnum. Needless to say, it followed through another very American tradition, and ended up in litigation instigated by the Ringling Brothers' competitors. Rather unsurprisingly, it lost on the grounds of false advertising, and the judge ordered all copies of the poster destroyed. Miraculously, three copies managed to survive the purge, and this print remains on display - an exciting memento of the ridiculous excess of a bygone era.
After all - snake-oil like this would never sell today.
And if you believe that, I've got a rare investment opportunity in the Brooklyn Bridge that I'd like to sell you...