More on Mice
Even after an LJ vacation of not posting a single topical entry last week, I can still not come up with anything intriguing to say. I was not absent from LJ; in fact, I posted a lot on communities and other people's journals and was involved in a heated discussion in one of them.
I have lots I could write about, but they are controversial, complicated things for which I want to have the time to write something well-thought-out.
One would think that since the Atrocity Known as Daylight Savings Time[1] is over, I would have extra energy to write. Granted, I feel wonderful today, in part due to the extra sunlight in the morning, my writers block still persists.
I considered reposting an old entry on Fall that I posted almost exactly a year ago[2], but I cannot bear to stoop so low as to repost something. (Summaries do not count, of course….)
So I am left with nothing but reporting another[3] crazy true story about the mice in my life….
Last Friday, on the way home from work, I am walking along the brick-paved sidewalks of Hopkins’ (not "Hopkin's" ) campus, when I noticed the person walking by glance down at the ground near his feet and look back with a look of surprise as he continues past. I see what looks at first to be a little leaf or stone in the very center of the path, before I realize that it must be a little animal. Sure enough, a little mouse is standing on his or her hind legs staring rather blankly at the sky. Now every mouse I've ever met A) does not stand still for more than a picosecond and B) scurries at the first sound of a human being. This one just stood there looking cute… and rather stupid. So what do I do? Well, I do what any normal human being would do. I try starting a conversation with it. Well, this of course invokes the stares of all the students walking by. "Why is there a mouse in the middle of the sidewalk, and why is a graduate student trying to carry on a conversation with it.” Hey, I like little animals; leave me alone! Anyhow, ignoring their thoughts, I continue. Mouse does not seem to follow my logical reasoning that it is really in his or her best interest to not stand in the middle of the sidewalk motionless, lest he or she be stepped on or run over or snatched up by some bird. But Mouse just stares at me, trying to stretch its nose up to sniff me I think. My arguments having failed, I have to resort to gentle force. I end up nudging Mouse into the brush. Mouse resists, but my foot is significantly larger than his entire body, so obedience occurs at last. I would not be surprised if Mouse later disobeyed after I left, but I left happy that I had helped a fellow creature make a wise decision.
I have lots I could write about, but they are controversial, complicated things for which I want to have the time to write something well-thought-out.
One would think that since the Atrocity Known as Daylight Savings Time[1] is over, I would have extra energy to write. Granted, I feel wonderful today, in part due to the extra sunlight in the morning, my writers block still persists.
I considered reposting an old entry on Fall that I posted almost exactly a year ago[2], but I cannot bear to stoop so low as to repost something. (Summaries do not count, of course….)
So I am left with nothing but reporting another[3] crazy true story about the mice in my life….
Last Friday, on the way home from work, I am walking along the brick-paved sidewalks of Hopkins’ (not "Hopkin's" ) campus, when I noticed the person walking by glance down at the ground near his feet and look back with a look of surprise as he continues past. I see what looks at first to be a little leaf or stone in the very center of the path, before I realize that it must be a little animal. Sure enough, a little mouse is standing on his or her hind legs staring rather blankly at the sky. Now every mouse I've ever met A) does not stand still for more than a picosecond and B) scurries at the first sound of a human being. This one just stood there looking cute… and rather stupid. So what do I do? Well, I do what any normal human being would do. I try starting a conversation with it. Well, this of course invokes the stares of all the students walking by. "Why is there a mouse in the middle of the sidewalk, and why is a graduate student trying to carry on a conversation with it.” Hey, I like little animals; leave me alone! Anyhow, ignoring their thoughts, I continue. Mouse does not seem to follow my logical reasoning that it is really in his or her best interest to not stand in the middle of the sidewalk motionless, lest he or she be stepped on or run over or snatched up by some bird. But Mouse just stares at me, trying to stretch its nose up to sniff me I think. My arguments having failed, I have to resort to gentle force. I end up nudging Mouse into the brush. Mouse resists, but my foot is significantly larger than his entire body, so obedience occurs at last. I would not be surprised if Mouse later disobeyed after I left, but I left happy that I had helped a fellow creature make a wise decision.