Video Masha-roo!

This week has been a bit on the crazy side. My brain feels as if it is wrapped in jello-soaked gauze. I don't have much to say...
I feel as if I should share something amusing.
Ready?
Go.
Recently I have been doing Video Mashups - similar to Music Mash-ups. One video is watched with the volume off while audio from video 2 is played simultaneously.

Here is video 1: MIA's "Paper Planes"


- hit pause when the video comes up.

Here is video 2: trailer for "Babies"


- mute/pause "Babies" trailer
- hit play on MIA video
- hit play on the "Babies" trailer
- watch "Babies" trailer while audio from MIA plays in background

the end.

The Birds

Today I woke up to the sound of shrieks.

Liv peeled back my sheets, shook my shoulders.

"There is a bird in the living room!"

I didn't believe her.

"You are being ridiculous."
She was insistent.

Toni, Mom and I went downstairs.

Crouched behind the couch was a small black swallow. It had beady eyes and a gaping, moist mouth.

We screamed.

It chirped.

We screamed again.

We convened in the kitchen.

Toni had an idea.

"Birds like bread. Lets make a trail of bread towards the door and it will eat it and it will leave."

I opened up the refrigerator and took out a slice of Jewish Rye.

We entered the living room again, bait in hand.

Toni grabbed the bread from my grip and started to tear the crust apart. The rest of us shouted instructions.

"You need to make the crumbs smaller!"

"No, no, place the bread closer. He can't reach that far!"

"Put a piece in your mouth first, chew it a bit and then hold it out to him in your palm. But don't let him touch your palm. He probably has mites."

Frustrated and flustered, Toni heaved what remained of the offering at the swallow.

The bird flapped its wings and flew at our morning hair.

We yelled and scattered.

The bird traveled up the stairs and landed on a ceiling light in the hallway.

Mom got a towel from the bathroom and a chair.

Balancing on the chair, she cautiously unfolded her terrycloth net. The bird gazed at her, curious and waiting.

Mom sprang. The swallow jumped too, feathers crashing against a face.

It landed in a bedroom, huddled behind a guitar case.

Red and panting, Mom turned to us.

"If I don't come out in a couple of minutes, call your father."

She entered the bedroom and closed the door.

There was a sharp "eeee," some scraping, shadows flitting underneath the frame, another "ug!" and the clap of a window against a sill.

I walked over and placed my ear to the cool wood.

"Mom?"

I turned the knob.

Mom lay across the bed, spent.
A light breeze rippled through the space.

"Where is the bird?"

One finger lifted, pointed to an open screen.

"Out."