Summit Up 4-6-10: Concerned about scavengers
Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that’s wondering how to get past plastic Easter eggs. As we wind down from the big Easter blowout — all that church and ham and Peeps and chocolate – we’re knee-deep in these dern plastic eggs that replaced real eggs a few years back. In theory, they seem like a good idea, especially considering that, according to the poll we just took in our heads, only 2 of every 10 children like hard-boiled eggs. In other words, if you just were strewing hard-boiled eggs all over the place for them to find on Easter Sunday, they’d be like: “What the heck?! Did I do something bad? Thanks a lot!”
Getting hard-boiled eggs, it would seem, is almost as bad as getting coal in your Christmas stocking. With plastic eggs, you can fill them with money, candy, gold, sauerkraut, microchips – things of real value. But then you’re stuck with all these plastic eggs, which are bad for the environment and which, if shot point-blank with a pneumatic cannon at a sea turtle, will injure the critter.
We found this to be especially ironic in Frisco, a town that prides itself on being all sustainable during the Fourth of July and other events. They use cups that are compostable and plates that can be turned into macrame bracelets and what have ya. But on Easter Sunday, it’s like all that stuff is out the window. Although we do understand the town’s conundrum: They want to do something cool on Easter, they know kids won’t appreciate a bunch of hard-boiled eggs, and no viable alternative seems to exist for the plastic eggs (although we should point out that mankind lived just fine without them for all but 20 or so of the last 200,000 years).
What to do? Well, we’ve got 363 days or so to think about a better alternative. Wooden eggs? Cloth eggs? Any ideas, send them our way at our special address: email@example.com.
We recently drove through the desert and came across a fair amount of roadkill. We also saw eagles and what we took to be vultures or buzzards (what’s the diff?) angling for some-a dat tasty meat. And it occurred to us, as we drove through the desert with nothing better to do than think about such things, that it really sucks for the scavengers when the critter gets it right on the center line. If it’s off to the shoulder, you can pretty much peck away at it at your leisure; if it’s in the roadway, though, you have to really be on your talons to nail a nugget and fly away before that next RV comes roaring down on top of you.
As a consequence of this, we thought we might establish a fund that would hire day laborers to go out in the desert and drag roadkill onto the shoulder so the scavengers could get at it a little easier. But then we decided not to and went on with our lives …
Speaking of the desert, another thing we observed out there, on the barren strip of nothing between Mesquite and Las Vegas, is that 200 mph would be a much better speed limit. Sure, we know it would use more gas, but fer the love of cryin’ out loud they need some kind of scenery out there! Even if they put up some billboards painted to look like distant mountains or something that’d help. We like the desert OK – wouldn’t want to live there – but we’re pretty sure it’d be a nicer place to visit if you could do so in a nitro-burning funny car at, yeah, 200 mph.
It’s Tuesday, folks: Polka! Or go vote – it’s Election Day and everything, so do your patriotic thing.
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