Folks, I've got some high dudgeon going on. And not just because I'm stuck in a meeting about stuff I learned on my own about four years ago. Oy, the boredom. I can't even doodle, because we are a small group and our discussion leader is a bit squirrelly about attentiveness. My only saving grace is that I can keep my laptop open, because I am a star when it comes to looking busy. If blogging existed when I was in high school, I'd probably still be there.
Do Japanese scientists really think pigeons are smarter than three-year-olds? Please. Why compare an adult bird to a decidedly un-adult human? Because you know what? I'm almost certain I'm smarter than an egg. If you put me and an egg in the middle of Fifth Avenue, and some crank-addict taxi driver bore down on the both of us, guess which one would not end up a filthy smear of albumen? The hominid, that's who.
You can talk all you want about self-cognition, and distinguishing Van Gogh from Chagall (?), but can a pigeon yell "¡Adios pelota!" whenever someone on TV hits a homer? I don't know any pigeons who speak any Spanish, much less in contextual interjections.
You'll be proud to know, however, that I kept my interjections to a minimum last night while the Celtics were winning their 17th title and the other bar patrons were screaming like stuck pigs. That interview I mentioned is tonight at 9pm EST, and my voice is in pretty good shape. So call in, we'll talk, no big whoop.