I was walking to my car the other day (I park half a mile from work), half day dreaming, half watching for suspicious individuals, when I looked down and saw a dead pigeon. My immediate reaction was, “This is fascinating!” and after looking at a for a few seconds, I realized why pigeons have such a terrible reputation. The thing was mangy and decaying before it even died. Or as a friend would say, it was really “beat.” I once accidentally touched a pigeon – I was in Paris – the foul things are everyone – when it flew right into my hand. Let’s just say I haven’t been a fan since.
But when I saw the dead pigeon, I was mostly disappointed that I had not brought my camera. I’m sure everyone would love to see the daily encounters in LA, especially since no one apparently walks here. I find the warnings about the “dangerous streets” rather hilarious after living in Berkeley, where there were times when I was more than a bit worried walking around. There was the skirt lifter. And then an armed robbery at Caffe Strada, the cafe I used to frequent every day my sophomore year. Then there was the time I accidentally went through a not so savory area of Edinburgh and saw a few too many sex clubs and prostitutes. And there was also a time I was on the bus in Oakland and happened to pass by the scene of a shooting minutes after it happened. Crime happens in cities, but here, in this case, I’ve never felt unsafe when I walk in broad daylight in a busy commercial area, where there are lots of people walking around.
I guess I forgot to take a photo of the finished jam. It was all kinds of amazing.