Give It Up
The female squirrels of Seattle must stop playing games and give their males sex. They need it badly, and I’m tired of seeing how badly they need it. This morning, I came across three (THREE!) situations that involved a desperate male squirrel hopping, hoping, summersaulting, hanging by a limb—doing everything it could to get a fleeing female squirrel. And the sordid drama consumes an entire street. You try to move this way, and the squirrels hop this way. You try to move that way, and the squirrels hop that way. You cant get around the damn things, so you have to abandon the street and take the longer way to work. And all I want to do is listen to music and look at houses and buildings. At one moment this morning: I’m just about to relish the beautiful conclusion to Dollar Brand’s “Sathima,” a marvelous work of South African jazz. Dollar Brand is poised to play the melody that expresses the majesty of the Table Mountains, the Cape of Good Hope, the flowers of the African city—suddenly, everywhere, here then there, a male squirrel is trying to get some. And he wont give up, and she wont give in. And I’m totally distressed. I have to go the long way, I have listen to the whole song again (11 minutes). Squirrels get your fucking act together!