On Ducks

Most of my life is lived in a kind of normal way where I say stupid things, and do strange things, and have funny stories to tell. Then, every once in a while, I have a light-bulb moment where I remember that I am a college graduate and have a brain and can think deeply about things.

The most common time this epiphany of academia hits me is after watching pop-movies.  I like to sit down and pick the plots and characters apart with Ashley. By the time I get done with these discussions I feel that I understand the movie so well and know all its weaknesses and strengths that I should become a movie director and leave my drab life behind. I should at least be a film critic. —Or screenwriter. Or director.

Other times I read books and then find myself writing essays about them—in my head, actually writing things out is completely overrated. A book has to really annoy me to get me to the point where I'm actually typing out my critique. Although I did once write a mini-novel review of a book I loathed and posted it to goodreads (because that is where serious humanity majors post their critiques). Why is it that essays are hard to write, but I can think up 3,000 words on a fiction title that bugged me in a matter of minutes?

And then . . . there are the times I have my brilliant epiphanies about things that are not at all scholarly, or even have the slightest potential to make me seem remotely wise.  I had one of these false epiphanies the other day about ducks.  Yes, ducks.



I was driving home from work, thinking random things intermittently while I belted out the lyrics to whatever pop song was on the radio at that moment when I saw a small flock of ducks flying over my head.  This incident brought to a fact to my recollection: ducks fly south for the winter—and that is where most normal mental tracks would end.  However I continued.

It's spring. Which way are the ducks flying?

If ducks fly south for the winter, do they fly north for the summer? (These ducks were flying east and so were obviously confused by all considerations.)

If ducks fly south for the winter how are there ducks in the north? And if they fly north for the summer do ducks just disappear from around the equator during the summer months?

To make things even more complicated, on the other half of the world wouldn't ducks fly north for the winter and south for the summer?  Strangeness!

I made the mistake of voicing my concerns to a friend, who, thoughtfully, told me that the ducks did indeed follow these strange travel patterns and, in fact, there were no ducks south of the equator because they all flew north for the summer.

Two truths and a lie item: I have pondered deeply the condition of ducks and their migratory patterns. 

I am not sure why I became obsessed with the plight of the ducks, but it makes me feel somewhat pathetic and somewhat brilliant to have thought about it enough to be concerned. Just think of all the people in the world who go through life without even wondering about this kind of stuff?  I bet some people have never even wondered if ducks fly north in the summer. *shocked intake of breath*

I will probably post again sometime on something deep and philosophical.