"Shar lee Ebdoe"

"Je suis Charlie". That phrase has made the rounds since the two terrorists burst into the Publishing Company Charlie Hebdo (shar lee ebdoe) in Paris and murdered 11 journalists and 1 security guard.

It means of course “I am Charlie” or I am in solidarity with the freedom of the press, and with those who have been killed for their freedom to publish.
I did not get a “Je suis Charlie” button to wear, because I am not Charlie. Do not misunderstand me. I am beyond angry about what happened. I am more disgusted with gun violence than I have ever been and after Sandy Hook I didn’t think I could be.

I just think that something bigger needs to happen than wearing a button for a week or two. Something has to happen, we have to reach the tipping point where the people of the world say, “no more, we will have no more”. It has to become socially unacceptable to use violence to express your unhappiness or religious views.

I would like the press to refrain from stating perpetrators names in print or over the air. They can be called perpetrators of violence. They don’t get their name even mentioned. Think of the younger Tsarnaev about to go on trial for the Boston Bombing. He and his dead brother have had their names etched in history, made famous and the younger brother will by the end of the trial have had his photo splashed over every news media imaginable. he has a large twitter following for God sake.Two losers in Boston become instant celebrities. Don’t let these miscreants have the 6 months of fame. Let them continue to be what they were before their rampages, anonymous and worthless.

Of course that won’t happen because we have freedom of the press. That is the bitter rub, two losers kill journalists they don’t want to have the freedom of the press. Then because we have freedom of the press they are made internationally famous. How stupid is this?

I don’t want to hear one more story about the Kouachi brothers being disaffected, and poor, with no future prospects. They chose to come to France, and when you think of the many people in the world that have harder lives than they did, I can’t get weepy over their solution to go out in a blaze of gunfire killing as many unarmed people as they could. Poor us ( in both meanings) is a lame excuse, and saying you are defending Muhammad is ridiculous.

Every other God (Christian, Mormon, Jewish, Buddha, Vishnu and more have been lampooned with no rampages. No bloody Christian rampages for Jesus, no gunning down the cast of the Book of Mormon, no killing people for selling souvenir Buddha statues in the gift shop. Even the Pope is satirized and his bishops haven’t raided the set on SNL to blow up the cast. It maybe their justification but to most everyone else their justification is bull shit.

Je suis pour change. Je suis pour an international effort to put Jihad terrorists out of business. No more, no more, no more and keep the presses rolling. “L’esprit de l’escalier,” (Long live the press, print)

"Teaching in New York"

What is it like teaching college in New York? Is teaching college in New York that much different than HS in Ca? If we are talking about students, no. Students are the same everywhere. If we are talking about everything else the answer is definitely yes! Here’s why:

For one thing the two schools I teach at are older schools. Lehman is located in the upper west Bronx and it goes back to the early 1900’s. It was originally an all-women’s college specializing in nursing. The nursing program at Lehman is still one of the best programs nationwide. Lehman was a military base in WWII, and armaments were stored in the large buildings. The school added buildings after the war and went co-ed in the late 50’s. It serves about 10,000 students both full and part time. It is part of the 12 campus City University of New York system. Some of the other schools are, CCNY, Baruch, Queens College, Kings College, Brooklyn College, Hunter and College of Staten Island.

            I love the buildings at Lehman. They are Gothic cathedral type and named after past distinguished professors and school administrators. Carman Hall, Schuster Hall, and Davis Hall are just three of the 7 buildings housing academic subjects. Leonard Lief Library which is one of its newest buildings is pretty state of the art as far as libraries go. The student body is about 60% Hispanic, 30% Africa-American and 10% Asian and white. Those figures mirror closely the race profile of the upper west Bronx. Lehman College has both B.A. and M.A. programs. The English Department shares the third floor of Carman Hall with Economics and philosophy. That is where I work.

The other campus I work at is the College of Staten Island (CSI for short).  What is unique about CSI is how spread out it is. It probably has the same number of buildings as Lehman but on a campus at least twice as big. It wasn't built to be a college. Until the late 1974 it was a State run center for disturbed kids called Willowbrook. Geraldo Rivera did a show about the abuses going on at Willowbrook in 1972 and got the place shut down. Soon after that they discovered that one of the gardeners was a serial killer. They dug up quite a few buried bodies on the grounds. Some say the place is haunted and some teachers won’t teach in certain “rooms or buildings” if you get my drift.

            That doesn’t worry me!  I‘ve taught the dead before. I had some 1^st period classes at Poway High School that could be described as the “morning of the living dead”. CSI has beautiful open grass spaces, and lots of trees that are breathtaking in October. What I like about CSI so much is, it has only 8,000 students and so I‘ve never experienced the campus being crowded. One Friday night when I ended my class about 6 pm and began walking to the (shuttle) bus stop there was no one else out walking around. In the chilled twilight I had this big beautiful quiet place to myself.         

College teaching is fun and interesting. No hassles from parents, no counselors begging you to give a good grade to someone that clearly didn’t earn it, and no administrators telling you that data is your friend, testing is your friend. However, before you get the idea that these are perfect jobs let me turn the coin over and show you the other side. The teeth grinding side. 

For one thing my two commutes are not fun. It is 45-50 minutes one-way from Upper East Side of Manhattan to Lehman College on the upper West side of the Bronx. I must walk a half mile to the train station (subway), then stand in the tube with other commuters waiting for the trains. I get the 4 express train (in theory: less stops but in fact just as many) which will take me to Kingsbridge Road. It is not a fun ride. Sometimes I stand; sometimes if I’m lucky I get a seat. No matter what, at 8:30 in the morning it is a crowed “cattle car”. Sometimes I have to listen to Karaoke singers, listen to people asking for spare change (even a penny will do), religious ranting, and bodily noises (not yet identified), people eating smelly food and so forth. Then I walk another half mile from train station to the college. The reverse trip is another 50 minutes.

            At Lehman, professors are on a strict paper count. I can only run 1,000 sheets of paper in 15 weeks. Not per class, in total! I always go through it and have to find other places to run off a class set. Sometimes I have to go to the print shop near my house and pay to have handouts printed. Supplies are nonexistent; I bring in everything from a stapler to scissors. I had to get a bigger rolling bag just to carry everything. I share an office with 2 other professors. But they are tenured full-time professors so they get all the file cabinets and shelf space. Thank God I have my own desk. Finally, the English Department secretary is an absolute troll. She is mean and for some reason doesn’t like me, or maybe it’s just part timers she doesn’t like. I try to avoid her at all costs.

            CSI is an even longer commute. 2 hours+ to get there and 2 hours+ back. At least it’s only one day a week. The Department secretary there is not very helpful but she is pleasant. We can make the copies we need but all other information you need like computer passwords, copy codes are nowhere to be found and when you ask, you get the “look”! My son said it best, “Dad, when you are an adjunct (part-timer) you are on your own”. So true, so true.

            I use chalk boards, and teach in old rooms with wooden floors. In some respects if you took a black and white photo of me at the blackboard, it might well look like I was teaching in the 1950’s.  Despite the commute, the lack of support, the lack of supplies and occasionally being reminded that you are merely an adjunct; I like teaching college here. Most professors are unique characters and students treat you with respect. Most students try hard, and I have the freedom to design challenging classes and fun ways to communicate with students. Maybe the best part is that my Austin, Rebecca and I all teach college and that means we can get together for lunch at Neil’s and talk shop over a spirited bowl of split-pea soup. Thank you for reading.

Changes Coming for The Bailey Post

              

 The Bailey Post says Happy New Year to you and yours. The Bailey Post began in April of

2010 as a way of (me) facing impending retirement. People always said to me, you should write Will, when you get out of full time teaching. But I discovered early on I was NO story teller in the fiction sense. I am not entrenched in academia enough to write books or academic journals so I turned to the one thing I could write and that was social commentary, observations, character sketches, and satire.

            I think I have developed my own style, my "voice". Having said that, just because someone develops a voice it doesn’t mean anyone wants to hear that voice.  I have made people laugh, get angry, get furious, cancel their membership in the Will Club, and on occasion I have gotten people to contribute to the Post. The Bailey Post used one of the most basic blog platforms available without much gloss or glitter. The equivalent of publishing on the backs of grocery sacks and envelopes. It didn't get much improved (except the writing) over the years. So 163 published posts and 4 ½ years later it’s time for changes I am pleased to announce the birth of the New Bailey Post. The New Bailey Post  will have improved style, color, readability and interest. It will make a concentrated effort to add readers and more contributors.

               The New Bailey Post will enable you to subscribe to the post and when you do, new posts will be sent to you automatically. It will have links to twitter, Facebook, the web, dribble, slobber, upchuck, puke and other social media sites. It will have photos that I hope will be submitted by (you) the readers, and I will retain a soothsayer, palm reader, psychic, and astrologer on staff to satisfy “all your throw your money away” needs.  Since I am back teaching full time (what possessed me to do that?) (Oh yeah, boredom) I can’t write as many blogs but until the day I put down the chalk and eraser for the final time; I will endeavor to write a blog about every three weeks. 

               So, my friends and loyal readers it's also time to refresh my readership list.  Let me know if you want off the mailing list for the New Bailey Post. We will still be friends. No one is required to stay on the mailing list. This is not a Prison Blog. I would like to get each of you to think about contributing one article for the post sometime this next year. You don’t have to be Ernest Hemingway to contribute to this blog and by the way trust me Ernest Hemingway will NOT be contributing to the blog. 

Keep your eyes open for the  first edition of the New Bailey Post.

PS:         On a personal note, I am still battling a 3+ week upper respiratory virus, my son Austin got married to his sweetheart on Dec. 29^th, (pictures soon)and I made Merry (not Mary) over Christmas.  I finished a grueling (for me) full semester teaching and enjoyed most of it. I’ll teach three classes again this spring. Two at Lehman College and one at College of Staten Island. Austin finished his first semester of PhD studies and Rebecca successfully taught 3 college classes. 

"My Kinda Town"

What’s New in Old New York?

 

Mayor Bill de Blasio, an ultra liberal, has:

 A new hands off policy for cops and the people. No more stop and frisk of potential suspects. Deemed to be too racially profiling. This took effect in January. Crime In certain areas of the city has risen by 25% as has the number of arrested people carrying firearms.

A more laissez-faire attitude about things like cars honking their horns. Mayor Bloomberg told the cabs and cars to stop honking their horns all day long. It was the first thing I noticed when I moved here, how quiet the streets were.  The horn honking has begun again.

The New York Sports teams have really gone in the dumper. The Yankees had their worst season in 15 years.  The Mets, perennially middle of the pack or worse ended up a bit below the middle of the pack. I prayed the Knicks would not resign Carmelo Anthony, a prolific scorer but not a team player or leader but they brought him back. He gets his 30 plus points a game and the team loses. Par for the course. The Nets new splashy first season in Brooklyn last year (they still have the classiest unis) has given way to inertia and indifference this year. The Rangers (hockey that game played on ice) made it to the Lord Stanley Cup championships last year but this year they are off to a yawn of a season

and the Football Giants and Jets are the equivalent of really, really ugly twins. Thank God for my favorite team playing well the New York Islanders. They are in first place in the National Hockey League Capitol Division (they are a hockey team you know that game played on ice).

Philip Seymour Hoffman died in Greenwich Village of a drug overdose. The East Village and Greenwich Village (neighboring communities in Lower Manhattan) are the places of choice for celebrities that do themselves in.

Horse drawn carriages in Central Park are about to be a thing of the past. The Mayor pledged to get rid of them for the sake of the horses.  Where will “Mr. Big” and Carrie go for that rich person’s romantic interlude now? The horses (not breed horses, nor recreational animals) will go to the glue factory. Well, at least they won’t be exploited. By the way the horses were not consulted on their future.

Fares are soon going up on the subway (locals just refer to the subway as “trains”) and buses from 2.50 per ride to 2.75 per ride. That means my monthly ridership will jump from 65.00 per month to 70.00. I spent more on gas in San Diego in 2 weeks than that. The most used mode of transportation in Manhattan and some outer boroughs continues to be walking.

An elderly Chinese-American man was pushed in front of a train in the Bronx for no apparent reason.

The alleged perpetrator  (although the camera videotaping the assault made his positive identification easy and along with that a positive identification that the perpetrator is dumber than dirt); a black man was accidently shot in a stairwell in Brooklyn, a rookie cop’s gun went off when he had the adrenaline rush of busting down his first door. Also, the perfectly executed (in more ways than one) choke hold on a man on Staten Island that was selling cigarettes from his car, did the trick. They don’t call it a choke hold for nothing. He choked to death.

The rookie cop said he was sorry, he got so caught up in his first “Miami Vice” like take down he lost count on how long to keep choking the criminal. He begged forgiveness of the citizens. He promised to do better with his next choke hold. The Reverend Al “Sharpy”, Sharpton of course was on the scenes of the grieving families declaring everything an “outrage”. Everything that is except himself. Oh by the way he didn’t get to the grieving Chinese-American family because he said he has to confine his outrages to black American families that get on TV due to time constraints with his own outrageous TV appearance schedule. He also said he did feel sorry for those people in the Bronx for whatever it was that was upsetting them, but he hoped they would still be able to keep their laundry business going.

New York, my kinda town

My Golden Years

“My Golden Years” by Mary Scanlon

Are you still working? The first time I heard that question, I thought how odd.  I mean, doesn’t everyone work, at least at something?  I began to learn that there is an invisible line between those who work and those who are retired, those enjoying the “golden years” where all they have is time, time and more time.  At least hopefully they do.

I heard rumors about the impending Golden Handshake, as many teachers in my district did, early in the 2008-2009 school year.  Those of us who were close to retirement immediately began figuring and figuring and figuring out whether or not it made enough financial sense to move into those golden years if the district in fact decided to give us a year’s salary as an incentive to retire.  The district needed to downsize our staffs in the middle of the Great Recession.  Pieces of paper with numbers all over them started to appear everywhere in my home and in my classroom and I hate to admit it even  in my car  (calculated during red lights).  Could I do it?

I was 59 years old and would be 60 by the end of that school year.  Because I had spent tens of thousands of dollars buying back almost five of my Massachusetts years, I would have thirty years credit by the end of that year.  I wasn’t old enough (62) to earn the highest percentage of pay possible in my pension, but the CAL-STRS representative who set my mind at ease affirmed that my pension would be higher if I continued working, but it would be enough if I accepted the handshake.

What, no more vocabulary quizzes floating around the back seat of my car? No more weekends tormented by essays to grade and lessons to be prepared? No more cold, 

“Are you still working?” backbiting school atmosphere?  I had left my home school two years previously, hoping to find an exciting new challenge in a reform-minded small school, only to be greeted by hostile students who were unwilling to work (I did eventually win them over), while I was faced with ten to twelve hour days including most Saturdays, and a cold as ice principal who had no compunctions about changing grades as she harassed those staff members who refused to comply.  What was there to miss?

I will never forget the principal’s reaction to my news.  The ice cold air conditioning was warm and inviting compared to her stare. She grimaced as she warned “Everyone HATES retirement! They all want to come back! You won’t be able to afford the medical expenses! You will be bored and lonely!”  I felt as if she were cursing me so that I would always regret leaving her school.  Before I left, she gave me an address book (an obviously re-gifted item) with her address scrawled inside, as if to say let me know how miserable you are….

Needless to say, leaving that toxic environment was such a welcome change.  I was thrilled when I received my pension check the very first month. I wasn’t used to being paid in July and August! The summer seemed normal other than that as I was used to summers off.  That September, I wrote on my Facebook page:  Mary is not going back-to-school shopping this year.  Then: Not returning to school tomorrow feels less strange than I thought it would. I feel so fortunate to have learned from so many amazing students and dedicated teachers for so many years -- and I want to keep those connections! I'm looking forward to traveling, etc., but also to discovering my next endeavor..... 

Little did I realize the twists and turns that journey would take.  The first Monday I didn’t have to work, I decided to go to Costco. No lines! No crowded parking lot! Zipping through the store! I hopped in the car and thought about what I wanted to buy.  On my way I had to drop off some letters at the post office near my home so I turned down the street to the post office.  Suddenly traffic came to a standstill as I watched elderly people trying to maneuver in and out of the parking lot.  I waited patiently as I started to inch toward the mail boxes.  First one driver then another couldn’t reach the mail slot from their car, so they had to get out, put the mail in the slot, get back into their cars and mosey on.  The third driver dropped her mail on the ground so she too had to get out of her car and put the mail into the slot.  A quick errand turned into ten minutes in a parking lot.

Ah, but Costco was waiting for me! I gleefully pulled into the lot right before ten o’clock, opening time for the store.  I didn’t realize the new coupon book had just come out.  The parking lot was surprisingly full.  I found a cart and prepared to move at my rapid pace through the store.  As soon as I entered, I was blocked by slowly moving carts manned by white haired people with canes and walkers.  An occasional scooter followed them. Maneuvering through the store was slower than the day before Christmas! Wait: were these people now my PEERS?  Then it dawned on me: being retired meant GETTING OLD!!! WHAAAATTTT???

I learned that day not to go shopping at Costco on Monday morning. I also learned very soon after that not to go into the ladies’ locker room at the gym right after the water aerobics class let out (same group more or less as Costco, just NAKED this time!!!)   I spent that first year exercising, hiking, and traveling to Hawaii, Utah, and Italy (separate trips).  That spring I decided to add a relationship to the mix and so began my online dating fiasco I mean experience.  

Besides learning that I was barreling toward old age, I also began to see that work had provided me with a strong sense of purpose and a community of caring friends and associates that I saw Monday through Friday.  The removal of work meant the removal of those two very important aspects of my life.  I also had to manage my own schedule which turned out eventually to be the thing I like best about retirement but also was the part that brought me the most challenges.  I was confronted with questions like what do I like to do. Who am I?  For so long I had defined myself as mother and teacher and others’ needs almost always came first.  Now my son had disconnected from me in a very painful way so I had no work and no connection with him.

I became involved in a relationship with a Latin (like my son) not quite yet divorced guy who had adopted two Latin babies with his wife (like I had adopted Alex, but on my own).  I thought it was cosmic to meet him and hoped it would attract my son back to me.  I pushed down my own preferences and habits and adapted to his and maintained a visor like grip on our relationship even though after a 37 year marriage he made it clear he was single in name and in spirit.  I continued to exercise and travel, this time to China, Ireland and Italy for a second time.  I also reconnected with my son during this period, much to my relief and happiness.

After the inevitable break up with the happily single guy, I experienced a great deal of pain as I tried to adjust to so much time alone.  The end of the relationship was my focus as I drank wine and listened to old voice mail messages over and over, but in my heart I knew that was not the real problem.  I had to confront who I was now that my roles didn’t define me. I had to find new purpose and create new community. I had to move on to the next phase of my life.  And I had to accept growing old.  

Luckily, my good friend Carol retired from her teaching job and we shared our struggles with retirement while we cycled and worked the weight machines at the gym.  We recounted days of wondering what to do next, of being tired of house projects, of needing and wanting more.  She is married but she listened patiently as I described all of the men I was meeting online, kissing (or to be more accurate, not kissing) many frogs as they say.   We shared stories and occasional tears about our journeys toward a fulfilling retirement.  

I realized from observing my other retired friends that we each branched out in different ways.  One became immersed in political action, another in quilting and volunteering to teach quilting to elementary students, another in spending time with her grandchildren.  I mentored student teachers and first year teachers for three years, but then realized it was time to break away from education.  I acknowledged that balance was most important to me since it was so hard to achieve balance when I was a single parent and teaching high school English for so many years, so I used that as my goal in designing my retirement. I knew I had to force myself to walk into rooms of strangers as I branched out into new adventures but also I had the option of picking and choosing what I would get involved in and how long I would stay.

Now I exercise most days a week, take writing classes at UCSD and belong to a writing group where we share and critique our work every two weeks. I enjoy plays, movies and dancing to live music, and meet up occasionally with new and old friends on both coasts.  I also enjoy being home alone sometimes. I have joined Rotary and participate in volunteer activities through that organization.  I have abandoned online dating but my circle of friends continues to expand.  My travels seem to be mostly to family on the east coast but Barcelona is definitely on the to do list.  Best of all, my son, his wife and my two grandchildren are stationed four hours away and they are very much a part of my life.  I have recaptured who I am and what I like to do.  My activities may change, my face will continue to wrinkle, but I no longer break out in a cold sweat if I go to Costco on a Monday morning.  I still do not, however, go into the gym locker room when the water aerobics ladies are there.

"The 2014 NYC Summer Pigeon Conference"

                Recently I was able to get some pictures of the annual New York City Pigeon Conference in Manhattan. All five boroughs of New York were represented as well as the northern most section of Manhattan, Harlem. I hadn’t realized it before this year but once a year in July the Pigeons converge on the Upper East Side to enjoy a luncheon (see pic) and then discuss (sometime contentiously) the various issues all pigeons in New York face.

If you look at the two pigeons facing away from the others and not partaking of the catered lunch, they represent Harlem. We know that because they are separated from the group and seem in their own world. They do like being able to cross 110th street and be on the Upper East Side. The three dark colored pigeons on the right, one of them has a green neck, represent Brooklyn. You would know that if you had attended the luncheon because they don’t exactly warble, they voilble. Plus, they stick together just like the Brooklyn pigeons have always done. They still resent the superior- acting pigeons of  Manhattan and Queens. The gray and black pigeons in the center are from Queens. They are very social, but you’ll notice the deference they give to the red one in the middle. The one in the center is from Manhattan. These Queens pigeons are essentially Manhattan pigeon wannabe’s. They present themselves as confidant and unique but that belies the psychic pain they feel deep in their pigeon core that they will never be as sheik and glamorous as the Manhattan pigeons. I mean the pigeons from Queens Fly over CITI Field, the home of the Mets, and they scrounge and act the fools for food at Mets games, but it still sticks in their little pigeon craws that the Manhattan pigeons get to work Yankee Stadium.

                Now notice the three black pigeons in the center vertically. They are right next to the reddish one in the center. Those are the representatives from da Bronx. It’s easy to see why they are from da Bronx; they don’t back down from no pigeons and while they give deference to the Godfather pigeon in the center, notice they have bullied their way into the center too. The Bronx pigeons are crafty, clever, urban jungle, street dwellers. Do NOT try to get clever with a Bronx pigeon!

 Oh, see the one on the far left, the grayish one? Well, he represents the little, almost forgotten, inconsequential borough of New York: Staten Island. It’s so insignificant that they only bothered to send one pigeon rep. He eats in silence and humbleness as befits Staten Island compared to the bigger and more assertive boroughs. One side bar: This Staten Island pigeon tried to sneak his cousin “Steinberg” into the conference. You see Steinberg on the far right side of the luncheon table (not eating). Even though he isn’t allowed to eat at the luncheon, he can watch the big boys and learn how it’s done.   Still and all, Steinberg did manage to get off the island and come to the Big Apple, a dream come true for most Staten Islanders I assure you.

                It’s time to point out the big Kahuna pigeon in the center, the reddish one. That’s the Manhattan blue blood, the Godfather of New York Pigeons, the pigeon that began the Pigeon Union ten years ago after the infamous five year Scrap Wars before which by the way, claimed thousands of pigeons lives. Yes, that’s Carmine, but every pigeon calls him “Big Red”.  Big Red don’t take no crap offa any city pigeon. All pigeon business goes through Big Red.  No pigeon takes a crap in this town without Big Red knowing about it.

It’s an interesting story how he got to be so powerful. He was not elected to the position. Oh no, after the Scrap Wars there was a battle to see who would lead the New York Pigeons. Carmine, as the story goes, apparently won out in a one year 5 borough pigeon bloodbath. Open warfare in the streets, dive bombing, sharpened beaks, warbling threats the likes of which pigeons are still too nervous to openly cluck about.

Well, Carmine apparently (as the pigeon myth goes) faced the last challenger, “Rags” from Broiklyn. While negotiations were still going on for a peaceful resolution to who would run the Pigeon population Big Red and his squadron of  “night birds” (so called because they were jet black and impossible to see) attacked the Brooklyn pigeon stronghold over on Flatbush Avenue just up the street from Ho Chi Minh’s laundry.  My Gawd, the mayhem! I wasn’t there but I’ve talked to several (now much older pigeon) survivors that begin to tear up when they talk about it. Comrades lost, friends pecked to bits, feathers flying, and the squawking intimidation alone caused several of the Broiklyn pigeons to die outright of heart attacks. One veteran of that Pigeon war still tears up today if asked about his lost winged Band of Brothers.

                Well, so much for Pigeon history. Big Red held the meeting after the luncheon. They laid out borough territories for pigeons to operate in for the next year. The discussion on how much to pester tourists came up and it was agreed, that they would pester the shit out of every one of them. Some of the Uber pigeons went so far as to demand they try grabbing food out of tourist’s hands. The Staten Island pigeon rep. Irwin suggested that scaring off tourists was bad for future business but he was roundly warbled down. Most agreed that there never seems to be an end of naive, gullible tourists that want to go home telling a story of how a New York pigeon ate their food, and then dumped a load on their head.

              

By the way the white bird in the upper part of the picture is your classic definition of the New York “outsider”. He's probably from Long Island.