Irish pennants of the mind
When I was in the Marines, we’d often have inspections in our utilities, the work
clothes that are camouflage-colored in combat zones, green elsewhere. They’re
what made us lean, mean, green, fighting machines. To avoid getting our asses
chewed out by the inspecting officer, we made sure to clip off any loose threads.
We called them Irish pennants.
Since those days, I’ve used the phrase to refer to loose threads in my head: bits of
unrelated information that stick to my brain, some valuable, some questionable.
Last night, for example, the crawl on CNN announced “Kanye West introduces new
line of scarves.” What the hell am I supposed to do with that tidbit? What affect
will it have on the Arab Spring? Is bin Laden’s death no longer newsworthy?
No matter how inconsequential Kanye’s sartorial ventures are to me, I’ll carry that
meme to my pyre. Similarly, I know that the capitola of Ecuador is Quito, but that
is likely of no value to me unless I’m on “Jeopardy!”
I do have three items of interest, though. First off, Jude and I have had to restrict
the outdoor activity of our cat Ollie. He’s been on a killing spree. For several days,
our house looked like an episode of CSI. Feathers and partial corpses were strewn
about as Ollie strutted around like a sociopath. Here’s one of his crime scenes:
A few times we were able to chase him out through the cat door with the spray bot-
tle, but he got increasingly elusive. Yesterday he hurdled my arm as I tried to block
him on the stairs to our bedroom.
He knew that once he got upstairs he could hide in the storage areas. We keep the
doors to them open so he can hunt mice at his convenience. Inside rodents don’t
seem to be enough for him anymore, though. He did recently bring in a shrew, but
he won’t eat them. Some species are venomous.
Secondly, the swallows who built a nest at one end of our roof eaves last year are
now in dispute with some larger birds for that space. We gave the former tenants
preference and blocked off the contested area. We put up a triangle of wood with a
1.5″ hole drilled in it. Jude researched it. It worked. The swifts are getting in, and
the bigger birds can’t. It’s like they’re trying to fit into last year’s bathing suit.
Lastly and bestly, one of my boyhood idols — Willie Mays — turned 80 yesterday.
No one lit up baseball like Willie. Happy birthday, Say Hey Kid. I bet you could
still play for most major league teams, including the Giants again.
