I’m in the midst of significant upgrades on this server, including the operating system, the web software, and the blogging platform (note this also affects xenogere unseen and all other hosted sites on this hardware).

That said, don’t panic if you see an error from time to time.

Then again, if said error doesn’t disappear, please contact me.

Either leave a message on this post or, if that fails, send an e-mail to jason …at… xenogere …dot… com.

A month ago I began an informal series of posts showing some photographs I captured during the first walk I took with my new camera, a Canon S5 IS.

Now quite some time after that first post, I’m finally getting to the second part (and who knows how long it will take to get to subsequent installments…).

My lack of timeliness notwithstanding, however, I hope you enjoy seeing the fruit of my initial experience memorializing moments of time with this great piece of photographic equipment.  The more I use it, the better the results, yet I couldn’t have been happier with what it accomplished on our first walk together.

A simple view of the lake with the sun rising behind me.

A small covert of American coots (Fulica americana) foraging on shore.

A beautiful, large male muscovy duck (Cairina moschata) keeping himself
between me and his lady friend standing just behind and to the left of him.

Four American white pelicans (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos), two
preening and two beaking (which is how these large birds establish
and maintain their pecking order).

Two ring-billed gulls (Larus delawarensis) in flight.

An American crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos) hunting for breakfast on
the wet floodplain.

I promise to get back to this set of photos soon so I can complete this series before 2015…

[Prev | To be continued...]

I’ve tried to be patient with Zooomr.  Promises of a return to excellent services with the 2008 launch seem to have been empty.

Since Kris and crew announced the migration and upgrade to be complete, I’ve continued having nothing but problems.

Photos come and go.

My entire account vanished for several days.

All photos disappeared, followed by a rolling blackout of images.

The site is intermittently available (even now it returns either “500 - internal server error” or “502 - bad gateway” messages, and all photos are offline).

I have about 1,700 pictures hosted by Zooomr, all of them linked and/or displayed from this blog or xenogere unseen.  Migrating all of them—including having to edit each and every post—is a daunting challenge at best, and a black hole that will suck up every bit of free time I have in order to get it done.

But what other choice do I have?

Zooomr is useless if it can’t provide the one service it claims to offer: image hosting.  Since the Mark III debacle last year, it has failed utterly and miserably, and the migration to Japan along with the 2008 upgrade seem to have further crippled the service, making it essentially one large empty promise that delivers nothing but frustration.

I can continue hoping Kris somehow gets Zooomr back on track.  Meanwhile, I’m left with a very ugly choice: Do I begin migrating photos or do I continue waiting in hopes they can get their act together (all the while letting an incapable service randomly disable thousands of images across thousands of posts)?

Moving to Flick would be arduous at best.  It can be done though.

Still, I’ve never liked Yahoo!, and I like Microsoft even less.  If they’re able to acquire the former, Flickr becomes yet another Micro$haft mess that feeds the monster.  As someone who has vowed never to purchase MS products again, a migration could force me to migrate yet again at a later date—and to what?

Ugh.  The entire situation seems dire and hopeless.

I just wish Kris Tate and his Japanese Zooomr crew would focus on making the service what it’s supposed to be, making it stable, making it work, and stop focusing on bombastic assurances that are as insubstantial as their service has been for quite some time.

So says Kazon.

The juvenile squirrel came back today.

Quite surreal.

It strolled through the patio fence and toured the area.  Not hurried.

al-Zill followed closely, perhaps within a meter/yard of her at all times.

He seemed intrigued.  As did I.

My astonished gaze followed them along the living room windows, then I leaped from my chair and ran to the bedroom.

As al-Zill sat patiently and watched, the squirrel looked through the doors, scampered around the cat carrier, and went on with her investigation of the patio.

Then the squirrel walked up to al-Zill, stopping for a moment with one front leg held up and nose outstretched like an English pointer.

The pause was momentary, yet the two were no more than a hand’s width apart.

The squirrel turned and walked back through the fence.

al-Zill followed.

Up into the photinia bushes the little rascal climbed, and all the while the curious cat watched.

I can’t be certain what it was consuming, but the squirrel sat in the shrubs for some time eating and grooming.

The feline?  A short distance away lying under the tree, ever watchful, always listening, never threatening.

Then the squirrel climbed down and leisurely marched around the outside of the patio fence.

Marched right by al-Zill who looked on.  He easily could have reached out and touched the passerby.

Once the rodent turned the corner, the hunter stood and followed.

Neither ran.  Both walked.

I ran around the other side of the house to watch.

This peaceful encounter went on and on.

A bit of chase followed later.  Not hunting so much, at least not that I recognized, and little physical contact was made.

Then more walking, more following, more watching and being watched.

The squirrel eventually climbed a tree, a casual, unhurried climb, and perched withing leaping distance of the cat who lay below.

One groomed briefly while the other watched.  Then vice versa.

Bored or disinterested, or both, al-Zill eventually got up and walked away, after which the juvenile rodent climbed up until it disappeared in the dense cover of the treetops.

From start to finish, the event lasted more than an hour.

Sitting here now typing this post, I feel confused and fascinated.  I keep taking a mental inventory to see if perhaps I’m high on drugs or drunk on alcohol.

Having done no drugs and having consumed no alcohol, I’m left even more perplexed now than I was while watching this bizarre demonstration.

If the squirrel doesn’t fear cats, it will die soon given the healthy colony of felines here at the lake.

Is it too young to know any better?  Does it have some mental issue that interferes with its normal instincts?  Something else entirely?  I haven’t a clue.

As for al-Zill, he seemed more interested in play and satiating his curiosity about the strange little interloper than he did in hunting and killing it.

Does he need his own pet?  Are his neurological problems partly responsible?  Again, I haven’t a clue.

All I know is this: I witnessed an exceptionally odd interaction between predator and prey, between two creatures normally caught in the grip of a hunter/hunted relationship.

I don’t know what to think about the whole ordeal.

I definitely need a drink…

While perusing tens of thousands of photographs for xenogere unseen, including those taken by me and those taken by others, I find myself caught in the midst of discovery.

Of self.

Many images (a minority in the scheme of things, yes, but many nonetheless) are of me.

While I still intend to exclude (for now) those photos showing enough of my face to be identifying, I have grown to appreciate the artistic value of at least some of these pictures.

So I’m starting a new series on my photoblog entitled “Egodada,” a nod both to self and to the anarchist movement in literature and art that became known as dadaism.

You can expect some irreverence, some creativity, some aggrandizement of the me represented, and some pretentiousness.

Isn’t that the point of art?

Anyway, I’m still filtering through the various photos available, but you should anticipate the first installment of Egodada quite soon.  Afterward, I’ll try to offer bits here and there when appropriate.

Fewer days ahead than there are behind.  When do we admit that?

[Mom & Dad]

What comes is not always better than what came before.

Although we like to think as much.

We want to hope.  We want to wish.

Such trinkets of thought.  Such bobbles of belief.

It can only get better.

How often we deceive ourselves with such gibberish.

We run headlong into plagues of the soul just so we can say we had faith, we trusted in something defined by empty promises and delusions painted in our minds, we let a power greater than ourselves take the reins.

Show me the burning bush.

Show me the booming voice in the sky assuring good from the villainy that besets us.

Show me the miracle not defined by a sunrise, by a breath, or by any other mundane act of nature and existence.

Or show me the truth.

Life is vicious, harsh and ghoulish, a specter coming in both day and night that haunts us with cruel mortality and its splendid gifts of suffering and remorse, of regret and sorrow.

Lay upon the altar of despair yet one more infliction, one more vile assault.

So is the veracity of being.

So is the way of things.

What comes is not always better than what came before.

Sometimes it’s worse.

Much worse.

Scratch previous reports of a polyoma growth.  That word was given to me by mistake as it was confused with the real word.

What are we dealing with?  An inverted papilloma.

Here’s what I just wrote in an e-mail to Mom explaining it to her.

A clear summary of the problem is this: “The local aggressiveness, high rate of recurrences and associated malignancy are the clinical properties of the inverted papilloma that lead most surgeons to advocate radical surgical removal of these tumors.”

The other issue is why it’s called inverted: What you see is often a small fraction of the whole.  These tumors grow inward, not outward, and that’s how they spread—by invading the tissue below the growth as it expands.  One of the biggest issues is “they are notorious for eroding bone and infiltrating soft tissue and vital structures at the base of the skull.”

Early on, as long as they’re removed entirely (hence the need to take so much tissue during surgery), they don’t pose much of a problem.  Keep in mind they generally come back time and again, and they are considered an aggressive tumor that are associated with malignant forms of cancer (especially squamous cell carcinoma).  They’re rare and “the average age of diagnosis [is] 53 with a range from 6 years old to 91 years old.”  They occur in men more often than in women.

Assuming they’ve caught it early enough and remove it all the first time, he should be in the clear.  However, removal might not be the end of treatment if they discover anything during surgery.  Some patients with this go on to have radiation therapy because of findings during removal.  Given his age and overall health, the concern over having it return again is minimal, although that’s highly likely—and soon—if they don’t get it all the first time.

I can’t find much non-medical information on it.  If you look it up on the web, you’ll spend a great deal of time plodding through very technical reports, studies and other information.  Still, that can help if you want to investigate it.

I’d say it’s serious and needs immediate attention; however, I’d also say it’s probably early enough in its development not to have infiltrated any significant structures or tissues beneath it.  Assuming the latter, removing it now (completely) should be the end of the story save the possibility of having it come back.

The next doctor visit is April 4, after which we hopefully will know when surgery is to take place.  Then we go from there.

[previous updates here and here]

Warm evening air greeted me as I stepped outside last night.  These little jaunts to the patio represent the only means of escaping my on-call hell.  Being tied to a computer 15 hours out of each day leaves no room for much else.

Yet feeling robbed of walks at the lake during such times doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy nature.  Living at an urban nature refuge means nearly as much life can be seen roaming about outside my own door as can be seen were I to venture to the lake itself.

Last night was just such a moment, an instance when nature came to me.  Albeit under stressful circumstances, and I don’t mean for me.

al-Zill lounged comfortably just outside the fence.  His attention seemed focus upward, toward or into the bushes I thought, although my view was limited and he just as easily could have been looking up into the sky on the other side of the hedges.

I had seen him leaping into the photinia bushes from time to time, something I assumed meant he was chasing one of the many birds or insects or lizards that use the foliage for hunting, for nesting, for off-the-ground transportation, and for camouflage.  The stealthy black feline always returned to the ground in that clumsy way for which he’s known^[1], and always with empty paws and jaws showing he failed to capture whatever he was chasing.

The moment I stepped out the bedroom door and spied him, he turned, saw me, and came running.  This is the usual course of things; to wit, he dashes to my side the moment he sees or hears me, rubbing endlessly against me in an effort to give as much affection as he receives.

After a few minutes of petting and rubbing, him rolling around and giving me head butts the whole time, we had moved close enough to the food and water for him to realize his belly needed filling, so off to dinner he went.

My attention no longer diverted by this joyfully needy and loving cat, I stood, took a sip from my beer, and turned toward the fence.

I immediately saw Psiwa lounging beneath the tree inside the protection of the photinias^[2].

He likewise seemed to be watching the bushes intently.  Too intently.

I felt this warranted a closer look, what with two cats within spitting distance of each other who both appeared enraptured by something, something hidden amongst green and red leaves and the maze of limbs that supported them.

So I scanned the verdant growth looking for…  Well, looking for whatever they were so interested in.

It didn’t take long for me to find it.

Precariously slipping from branch to branch, sometimes stretched to her body’s limit trying to keep herself as high as possible, a juvenile female eastern fox squirrel (Sciurus niger) scarcely bigger than my hand clung to life by a thread, a thread represented by whatever protection the shrubbery could provide.

With two cats already aware of her presence, that seemed little protection for such a defenseless creature.  Felines are patient and skilled hunters.  An immature and frightened squirrel stands little chance of escaping.

I then decided I should intervene.

I went back inside and exited through the front door, walked around to the outside of the patio, and located the poor thing.  Even as I approached, it scrambled a bit, a clumsy attempt to remain unseen and safe.

Despite its small size and cute visage, I knew trying to grab it was a poor idea, yet nothing else sprang to mind.  If I held it in my protective arms, at least then I knew it would not fall victim to predation by domestic felines looking for the enjoyment provided by the pursuit and capture of small darting prey.

But I had no intention of trying to grab it.  There is a great deal of nature that can be touched, from plants to insects to reptiles to arachnids to crustaceans to every other kind of life imaginable.  One need only know what is safe to touch and what is better left untouched.

A young frightened rodent is nothing to be trifled with, especially one who likely has been trapped in a hopeless situation for quite some time.

Yet what chance did a single human have to intervene when two killers had already marked the target, and the target itself possessed none of the skills necessary to escape, not strength or speed or intellect?

I stood silently^[3] as close to it as I could without posing an imminent threat, at least one greater than the cats, and I pondered what course of action I could take.

Thankfully, a timely diversion bigger than me came around the corner, one that could not be ignored.

Someone across the road was receiving a large delivery of plants from a landscaping company.  The truck and its two deliverymen rumbled about making all sorts of noise, the lot of them finally coming quite near where I stood at the edge of the concrete.

The cats retreated long enough for the squirrel to leap from its ligneous hideaway and scramble beneath a nearby parked car.  al-Zill saw it, though, and he followed quickly.

Withing striking distance of the poor thing, me flailing crazily as I tried to divert his attention, the truck rumbled to life one more time to reposition itself for unloading.  That brought it right to the squirrel’s position.

The cat ran back through the bushes fleeing the giant monster, and the little gray visitor ran eagerly beneath the metal giant, out from under the other side, and quickly disappeared up a tree that gave it easy access all the way to the lake (from tree to tree to tree).

Did it survive?  While under my watch, yes.  I can make no other claims.

— — — — — — — — — —

[1] Having grown confident al-Zill does suffer from some kind of neurological damage, he tends to be less graceful than most felines.  Climbing into the shrubs around the patio is relatively harmless in that regard since he can’t fall far and has difficulty getting very high due to the dense limbs and foliage.

[2] I’ve said before that al-Zill and Psiwa get along.  That’s generally true, although not always.  This can be blamed on al-Zill and his mental issue(s).  Sometimes he greets Psiwa like an old friend, sometimes he ignores him entirely as though he’s not there, and sometimes he challenges him similar to the way one might challenge a home invader.  These dichotomous positions remain unpredictable, sometimes occurring within minutes of each other.

[3] Some might have provided soothing words to the poor little lass hoping to calm her racing heart and let her know help had arrived.  Those words, although comforting to human ears, might have been heard very differently by the squirrel.  Domestic cats, for instance, when in distress, are actually frightened and agitated by the soft tones and cooing verbiage we associate with peaceful reassurances.  Most people never realize this, and most people equally never realize those heartfelt gestures mean little, if not the opposite, to species other than humans and dogs.  While each individual will react according to its own personality, most animals receive little if no benefit from such acts.

[title shamelessly borrowed from "Ghost"]