Ornithological Notes on The Hobbit

I finally saw The Hobbit, despite my earlier difficulties.  One thing that stood out to me was the use of CGI songbirds, particularly in association with the wizard Radagast the Brown (who, I found out in researching this post, is also the seventh Doctor Who).  I thought that I would share some ideas on the identification of these birds, although in all likelihood someone somewhere else has probably done a better job of this already. 

The birds that live under Radagast's hat looked like House Sparrows (Passer domesticus).  I also seem to remember that they were both males, but I'd have to watch the movie again to be sure.  

The bird that alerts Radagast to the location of the Necromancer is very clearly an American Robin (Turdus migratorius).  I found it somewhat disconcerting to see such a characteristically North American bird in the setting of pseudo-European Middle Earth.  

And the bird identified as a thrush that flies to the lair of Smaug at the end of the movie actually is a thrush, though I couldn't identify the exact species.  

Radagast the Brown's talent for communicating with birds was acknowledged in the world of paleontology in 2002, when his name was applied to Paraortygoides radagasti, a fossil bird from the Eocene.

Remembrance of Dragons Past

My friend John alerted me that there is a new website where one can purchase pdf downloads of out-of-print Dungeons & Dragons publications.  As a former D&D player, the site generates a great deal of interest in me.  Part of it is nostalgia for items that I remember from my younger years.  But a bigger part is curiosity about all the things that I have never seen before, because evidently there was a lot more published for D&D than what I could find at the local Toys R Us when I was in sixth grade.  

My attempts to play D&D never seemed to work out the way that I wanted. (Playing a full and enjoyable D&D campaign remains an item on my bucket list.)  In my experience, the problem with Dungeons & Dragons is that, in order to play it in a satisfying manner, one needs both maturity and free time, which vary in inverse proportion over the course of one's life.  I started playing D&D in middle school, when my friends and I had lots of free time to play, but very little maturity; as a result, our games tended to fall apart or break down into pointless arguments.  I played some in high school, when people were more grown up, but it was harder to find time to play And I even played a little in college; at that point, the other players and I were mature enough that I felt that I was finally playing the game the way that it should be played.  But the responsibilities and opportunities of college life took up too much of our time to allow for much D&D; our gaming group only got together two or three times.  

I wonder if, in thirty or forty years, we'll start seeing people in nursing homes playing Dungeons & Dragons, in the way that today's nursing home inhabitants might play bridge.

As Always, Blogging Is Hard

There are a lot of things about which I want to blog—The Hobbit, ornithology, The Hobbit and ornithology, Christmas, paleontology, Dungeons & Dragons, the Beatles, and probably some other things that I can't recall at the moment.  Unfortunately for the last few weeks I haven't had the energy to write any blog entries.  I am going to try to post of these entries in the next few days, but there is a very real chance that I will fail.  

Slimy Distractions

My friend Josh e-mailed me a while ago saying that I should change the name of the blog to Slimy Distractions and make it all about slugs.  This was because of all the pictures of slugs that I had posted.  I actually hate slugs; I only posted the computer-drawn pictures because slug pictures had worked out well in my post about how to get a slug out of your house.

I like almost all animals, with a few exceptions. The animals that I don't like generally fall into two categories.  

The first consists of slimy terrestrial invertebrates, specifically slugs and earthworms

The second consists of animals that want to drink my blood, such as ticks and mosquitoes, or otherwise bite me in a way that will leave me itchy.  

And then there are the leeches, which combine elements from both categories. 

Christmas Season Wrap-up Part I

Christmas and New Year's Day are gone, but I notice that even at this late date some people still have their Christmas lights up.  It seems to me that at this point Christmas lights are essentially mocking us.  Before Christmas, Christmas lights remind us of all that we have to look forward to, the presents and parties and time off from work. And during the period from Christmas to New Year's Day, the lights are part of the fun that we're having.  But after January 1st, when most of us are back at work or in school, Christmas lights are a reminder that we don't have anything to look forward to, because the holidays are gone, and they won't be coming back for a long, long time.  

How I Spent My Christmas Vacation

On the Saturday night before Christmas, I went with my friends Andrew, Adam, Kevin, and Brian to see The Hobbit.  We attended the latest possible screening, and were thus alone in the theater as we enjoyed the adventures of Bilbo Baggins. 

Our enjoyment of what we saw in the film was overwhelmed by our surprise at what we found when we left the theater.  While we had been watching the movie, the snows of Christmas had come early.  The snowfall was prodigious; it was piled to our knees, and glistening flakes continued to fall. The roads had vanished, disappeared under the thick blanket of cold white.  No one was to be seen anywhere, and we could find no reason to think that anyone would be stirring again until well after Christmas.  

As we contemplated the seeming impossibility of returning home, we noticed a dark object moving high in the sky. When it came closer, we saw that it was an ornate sleigh pulled by deer; it flew down through the snowflakes, and slid to a stop in the street before us.  The red-clad man driving the sleigh, the man who could only be Santa Claus, addressed us.

"Ho, ho, ho," said Santa, "What are you boys doing out here in the blizzard?" 

"We just got out of the late showing of The Hobbit, and now I fear that we are stranded," I replied, "But we could ask the same of you.  What are you doing out three days before Christmas?"

"The sleigh needs testing, and the route needs charting," laughed Santa, "It would be foolish to travel without rehearsal when a world is depending on my prompt arrival.  You, though, look as if you may not be traveling at all; come, I can offer you passage, there is always room on my sleigh."

And so we climbed onto the sleigh, and it launched into the sky.  We conversed with Santa, and, spurred by talk of the movie that we had seen, he spoke of the long-gone days before he had become Santa Claus, or Sinterklaas, or even Saint Nicholas, when he himself had lived under another name among the peoples of Middle Earth.  He recalled times spent with the elves, the dwarves, and the hobbits, and how his counsel had been sought by Gandalf and other wizards. He told us wild tales of orcs and trolls, of dragons, and of magic, as all the while we soared through the falling snow, high above the lights of the city, high enough to see the dark mountains to the west, and the dark waters to the east.   

And then, when his store of stories was exhausted, Santa brought his sleigh back down toward the ground, and returned us all to our homes, where we had nothing to do but rest without a care and await the joys of Christmas.

* * * * * * * * *

Okay, none of that happened.  I did try to get some friends together to see The Hobbit, but it proved more difficult than averting the Fiscal Cliff, and after three weeks of negotiations things broke down at the last minute.  

And needless to say it almost never snows here in the DC area, especially on or near Christmas.  

Also, Santa Claus doesn't exist.  Middle Earth doesn't exist.  I might not even exist; that is still controversial.  

. . . and I Feel Fine

Today was supposed to be the end of the world as we know it, but as of this writing we seem to still be here.  The idea that the world would end came, of course, from a misunderstanding of the Mayan calendar; someone assumed that the date for the ending of a large-scale cycle within the calendar was instead the date for the ending of everything.  

Beyond the misinterpretation of the Mayan calendar itself is the question of why anyone would think that an ancient civilization could correctly predict the end of the world.  And even if one does think that an ancient civilization could accurately make such a prediction, why limit oneself to the opinion of the Mayans?  Did anyone ask what the Incas thought?  Or how about the Aztecs? Or what about the Sumerians? Did anyone consult them? Or maybe . . . I don't know . . . the Carthaginians . . . or something . . .