June 19, 2009
A 2,500-year-old bird's nest has been discovered on a cliff in Greenland. The nesting site is still continually used by gyrfalcons, the world's largest species of falcon, and is the oldest raptor nest ever recorded.
Whoah the back rent on that is going to be killer.
Jesus Christ, that nest is older...than uh, Jesus Christ.
*orders two 1000 year eggs over easy*
way seriously kooooool!
The male Gyrfalcon is called a gyrkin?
. . Are they aware of this?
Hey, pete! How are you?
Actually, while that may be true that a male is called a gyrkin, it's going to take incredible restraint on the part of Monkeys to refrain from the obvious comment...
I'm glad I read your comment, BlueHorse, because I almost said it.
Wait, I thought we were trying to avoid a pickle joke.
Don't push it fishy.
You know, thinking of it with a harrrrrd "G", as in gerkin. The small pickle. Because size is important in matters of pickles.
Nothing to do with raptor sweaters at all.
One day a male gyrfalcon :: upon a ledge was lurkin',
A jar of pickles he had found :: and munched upon a gherkin,
"It's Canada I come from :: I'm gladly not A-merkin"
"So say my name, as if my chain :: you happily were jerkin'".
Lovely po-em, TT!
Yes, fishy. We know gerkin has a harharharrrrrrd "G".
And we know gyrkin bears a resemblence to gerkin.
And we know gerkin and jerkin' are two words that rhyme.
And let's leave it at that. OK?
I wonder how it would taste double-boiled with rock sugar?
I Am Listening To Istanbul
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
First a breeze is blowing
And leaves swaying
Slowly on the trees;
Far, far away the bells of the
Water carriers ringing,
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
A bird is passing by,
Birds are passing by, screaming, screaming,
Fish nets being withdrawn in fishing weirs,
A woman's toe dabbling in water,
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.
I am listening,
The cool Grand Bazaar,
Mahmutpasha twittering
Full of pigeons,
its vast courtyard,
Sounds of hammering from the docks,
In the summer breeze far, far away the odor of sweat,
I am listening.
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
The drunkenness of old times
In the wooden seaside villa with its deserted boathouse
The roaring southwestern wind is trapped.
My thoughts are trapped
Listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
A coquette is passing by on the sidewalk,
Curses, sings, sings, passes;
Something is falling from your hand
To the ground,
It must be a rose.
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
A bird is flying round your skirt;
I know if your forehead is hot or cold
Or your lips are wet or dry;
Or if a white moon is rising above the pistachio tree
My heart's fluttering tells me....
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.
Orhan Veli Kanik, trans. Murat Nemet-Nejat
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