The Squirrel of Carbs

Many years ago, to compost stale food I would throw the offenders off my balcony into the field behind my apartment. I figured the bugs and animals could do better work than a landfill. One day, I launched a quarter loaf of bread into the yard. I went back inside to check on the laundry, and then grabbed some damp clothes to hang outside. As I’m hanging the shirts, I noticed the loaf is missing in the field. I scanned the space and saw a squirrel grasping the sizable loaf in both his claws. He was hugging it, spooning it, owning it, and just wrapping every ounce of his being into this yeast-infused treasure. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the scene. I returned to my chores without realizing the impact I made on that squirrel’s diet--nay, life.

Click for full-size squirrel on loaf.

As I was locking up my apartment a few days later, I heard a screech behind me. A squirrel was hissing at me. His body tense, his voice shrill--it was the squirrel from the yard! I wasn’t sure how to process the situation, so I left for school knowing I gave that squirrel a taste for bread that couldn’t be sated any longer by weekly scraps. He was addicted to his newfound wheat belly, and I was the dealer responsible for his unnatural desire. The next day, I explored the balcony and found that the squirrel--let’s call him Carb Squirrel--took up residence in a little hole in a brick pillar. What’s better for a critter than a second-floor loft next to an irresponsible human that recklessly flings biscuits out their window?

A couple months later, Carb Squirrel charmed a lady squirrel into moving in with him. Such a sweet story if you remove the part where this doubled the amount of squirrel screaming. As far as terrible neighbors go, I figure two animals that harass you daily for not serving them food ranks pretty high. Eventually, they stopped berating me since I no longer hurled food into the yard after I saw the effect it had on Carb Squirrel.

I suppose that’s the lesson. I went from someone that didn’t think twice about throwing food away in my backyard, to someone who now makes a conscious effort to reduce waste and to properly compost whenever possible. I live clear across the country now, but I wish nothing but the best for Carb Squirrel and his companion. I’m sure they had squirrel babies and told stories of the giant, unfurred gluten dealer that caused their father’s diabetes. But more likely, rest with pieces of croutons, Carb Squirrel. I hope your legacy of doing a bread shotgun lives on in that backyard.

A Collection of (Rough) Cinquain Poems

My stuff
Where is my crap?
Ugh, you lost the damn thing
Customer service does jack shit
Not pleased.

Frozen
More Lean Cuisines
Spruce it up with rice, cheese
Tastes like a fancy feast to me
Cat food.

Red light
You drove through it
Pay heed to your own life
If not that, the ones around you
You suck.

Three words
Two hearts lay still
Thousand meanings between
One moment arrested by time
Gone... Gone.

Brie cheese
That creamy funk
I eat the rind, of course
Too lazy to put on crackers
Still good.

T Bell
What is this shit?
Tacos shaped like canoes
The beef is like a donkey paste
Let’s go.

Author's note: Five out of the six poems are based on today's events. Food is my muse.

Go Fly Yourself

No. I never enjoyed flying kites. Well, I mean, the only kite I ever flew was a rickety, plastic number from Kmart that broke on its maiden voyage. What’s the joy in watching something else fly—let alone watching it suffer for mere minutes before crippling itself after reaching street light altitude?

As a kid and still today I love riding roller coasters. I feel such a rush going fast, going up high; I want that feeling to last, I always want to fly. (Ahem.) I guess you can say I want to be the one in the sky hovering above the land below. Of course, I have no wings or sails or wind to assist with this desire. Also, I don’t believe a hot air balloon home above Seattle will ever be a possibility. Despite these current limitations, humans are resourceful beings; and where’s there’s profit in recreation, corporations are sure to find a way. So, I have a goal to do at least two of the following three activities to scratch that flighty itch:

• Skydiving - This is the most likely of all three activities. I know plenty of folks that partook with rave reviews. You get the safety of a trained specialist tasked with yanking your (parachute) chain along with a backup sail. Not to mention a video that captures the inevitable screaming and laughing only you will appreciate.

• Bungee jumping - This seems unpleasant. You want to feel like you’re helplessly falling thousands of feet before halting and ricocheting back up like dead weight? Go for it. I get that feeling every time I play a 3D Mario game. I get 10 inches near a ledge and I clench so hard I could suffocate the dust mites in the air.
• Parasailing - Now, this is the ultimate human kite experience. This seems perfect for a tropical beach trip. I have nothing bad to say about parasailing. What a lovely prospect! (“You won’t fly the kite, kid… You’ll BECOME THE KITE!” That's the concept for a terrible Bruce Lee-inspired Netflix movie starring no one notable.)

The year is ending and I would prefer to not dive through the sky accompanied by freezing rain, so I’ll look into skydiving in the spring. I have to do it soon while the heart’s still functioning properly. If my mom is any indication, a spoon falling from the counter to the floor will make my heart skip several beats in about 30 years. As for kites, thanks for inspiring me to fly hopefully better than you.