I’ve recently developed a hard-on for the jay. No, not my friend Jay. That one’s long-been established. I’m talking about the bird.
You may not know this, but the jay is a diverse-looking bird. It’s got many looks, not just your Toronto baseball-cap-logo-look.
It’s got your “cop-who’s-a-dandy” look. Your “walk-of-shame” look. Your “rumblin’-bumblin'” look. Your “aggressive- Nicaraguan-tranny-queen” look. Many looks.
One of the most beautiful jays I ever did saw was at the rim of Bryce Canyon last year.
As I came up from a seven-mile jog to a viewpoint, I noticed this sparkling bird doing elegant arcs along the rim. Next to me stood an old guy and a younger lady, probably his daughter. Old guy whispered something to the daughter about “tattoos” and “sweat”. These were both in clear reference to my exposed, glistening chest and my friends’ doodles perma-burned into my flesh.
Clearly, the ole feller wanted me to talk to him.
“You know what that bird’s called?” I asked.
“Celestial jay,” he replied begrudgingly.
Well, okay. Maybe the old guy’s kind of a prick, I thought, but at least he knows his jays.
Turns out, he was wrong. In my recent jay-craze, I can’t find a single variety referred to anywhere on the internet as a “celestial jay.” I think he meant “stellar jay.”
Don’t cross me, old dude, with your insults about my possible b.o. and shoddy tattoo work. I (+Wikipedia) will burn you on your bird knowledge. Burn.