The Elusive Cover

Honestly, Sometimes I Just Make Stuff Up.

BirdNerd Quarterly. It really doesn’t matter how many times you’ve been there before, there’s just something special about getting the cover. Books, magazines, brochures, even corporate annual reports. Covers in general come with extra cool points and a proper measure of that delicious clout, envy. But a BirdNerd cover… Well, you vainglorious, f’ing bastard! Congratulations and all that, ya’ nerdly maestro! Bravo!

Bravo and Huzzah!

Life, meet ‘About to Change.’ As in, about to change, big time!

Some of you may doubt me. “Oh, piffle, you fame-randy cob!” you may say. Or, well, something, something, doubtful snicker.

Need proof? Go ahead, show your latest cover to the local barkeep and he’ll probably only charge you the going rate for your beer. No ‘p-i-t-a’ (pain in the ass), tax tacked on for you. Not tonight, ma’am. No sir. No more Mr. Tough Guy, doin’ the laird’s work, keepin’ ya humble, just like Sarah Huckleberry Sanddollars sez ya’ should be. Like her kids keep her and like those sad, evil, childless cat ladies’ cats obviously don’t keep them.

Show yer’ latest Birdnerder cover to the local barista at Moonbucks and well, she just might not charge ya’ fer that extra shot of dreamy, sweet, Madagascar vanilla syrup in yer’ seven dollar, no-foam, soy, vanilla latte. See what I mean? Definitely big time!

And once you’ve got all that new clout, now that you’re a big shot, bird world influencer, well who the hell knows? Maybe they’ll finally run that story you’ve been pitching for two years now about teaching math with White-faced Ibis… Can You Count In Ibis? is such an evocative title! I mean the sky is your only freaking limit now, girlfriend.

(Clickety-click to see ‘em bigly.)

One ibis, two ibis, three ibis, four. White-faced Ibis (Plegadis chihi). Can you count to four in Ibis?

Or what about your very brief, but ultimately, intimate interview with Frank the Ferruginous Hawk?

“Can you seriously not see that the sun is about to set and that I am still rabbitless, you bothersome, nearsighted git? Buzz off now with your lenses and questions, and don’t let that car door hit you in yer sad, featherless ass!”

I mean, yes, he was a bit rude when you rolled down your window and started asking questions, but surely inquiring bird nerds everywhere would treasure any glimpse of the world through his razor sharp eyes. Maybe now, with a cover under your belt, they will get the chance to begin to understand something of the world as he sees it.

You see how it goes, don’t you?

That elusive cover is a big-ass deal. Even if you had to make up the magazine and embarrass yourself by pretending you were this issue’s rising star.

“But Davey,” some of you may ask, “why the hell are you playing the fool like this? And why are you wasting our time with it? Isn’t that disrespectful of us? Don’t you think we have better things to see and read, and do?“

Well, uhhh, hmmmm …maybe. But maybe today, too, just one of you remembers the profoundly serious work of lying on your back and seeing the animals hidden within the clouds drifting past, overhead, or forgetting to ask “mother may I” before hopping forward five times on your left foot. Maybe, today, one of you gives yourself permission to play for the first time in a long time. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Look, I know there’s an absolute shit-ton of stuff to be worried about and to focus on, but maybe you can trust your serious self enough to take an occasional, therapeutic break to just play. Goof off. Imagine something outrageous. Invite the inner kid you almost never listen to anymore to plan a picnic, make up a game, imagine something absolutely nonsensical. Then do it. Just the way that shy, mostly ignored kid in you imagines it. It doesn’t have to make sense or be the least bit practical. Laugh with her. Listen to him. Begin rebuilding trust. Small steps. It probably won’t be like flipping a switch, but it will be at least a faint whisper to that kid that you haven’t forgotten her, haven’t completely outgrown him.

That you, you see is still listening, still waiting to be chosen to play on your team, nervous and eager to be handed the ball, called up from the bench and into the game.

Go ahead. Try it. Make some shit up.

You can always return to regular programming in a minute. It’ll be ok. I promise. And oh will that smile feel good again.

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