So, I almost ran over a chicken on my way to work this morning. Seriously. I haven’t quite figured out why, but it seems like everyone and their brother randomly has a yard full of free range chickens. And it’s a recent thing too–in fact, just the other day on the way home from the store, I had to caution the hubs, “Watch the chicken on the side of the road!” There’s a sentence you don’t except to say very often. At least, not in the reasonably metropolitan area we live in.
Why do all these people around here suddenly have chickens? I mean, yeah, In This Economy we all have to do what we can to save money. But chickens? Honestly, I did give this some thought. Chicken is mighty expensive. But can I really see myself roaming out to the yard, picking a fowl, chopping its head off, and plucking it? Negative.
My only other conclusion is this whole Doomsday Preppers nonsense. Mayan Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse, whatever thing is supposed to happen in December. The world explodes, computers eat us; I don’t know, it reminds me a little too much of the Y2K hysteria from back in the day. But yeah, I guess if there’s a Zombie Apocalypse on the horizon, having a stock of chickens would be a good start. I guess. My friend and I took stock of what we have in our desk drawers that could be used in case of a Zombie Apocalypse and came up with a suspicious amount of Splenda packets and an empty water bottle. Our new plan was just to be taken down in the first wave since, really, Splenda packets and an empty water bottle will only get you so far.
But yeah, I’m still on the fence about the whole chicken thing. It seems to be the hip thing to do these days: pets you can also serve in a pinch if company shows up unexpectedly.
In other news, tonight I watched the 1992 movie classic Newsies with my two-year old son. When Jack Kelly came on-screen for the first time, I looked at my son and said, “that’s Christian Bale. He’s a professional.” Overall, after a few missteps, my son seemed pretty pleased with the movie and even consented to a brief moment of dancing. I seem to embarrass him these days with my song and dance outbursts. Because he’s two. And he’s a professional.
Novel writing progress for this week? That’s a negative, ghostrider.