Hummingbird Wars

There is safety in the screening of window, cover of darkness and ridiculously small area it takes to have an arial dog-fight when you are a hummingbird. I am an imbedded correspondent coming to you from the front lines of a skirmish at the Western side of the San Fernando Valley here in Southern California. Gathering material from the front lines is simple enough indeed armed with a cool beverage, swim trunks, computer and a good book I can leisurely ponder the maneuverings of the little buggers as they chirp and flutter around like Star Wars Tie Fighters. Today's battle is over a red plastic flower that holds the nectar of the gods. Like a religious warlord there is one who stands guard over the siphon of sugar like an Oracle at Delphi carefully hidden behind a shrub in wait for the next kamikaze wave to come attempt a tasting of the forbidden. Swift retribution is dealt out on the daring, although no contact is ever made between the birds the fear is enough to keep away and try, try again.

From what I have been gathering about my current place in life is that the melee once known as the "record industry" is very much like the combat I just described. The red plastic feeder is the airplay and charts that track them the warlord protectors are the critics and deep pockets that either stub off the creative but weak or fund the good looking and popular acts that promise the most sugar. Hollywood is the patio and music is the air through which they fly actively pursuing a more creative means to reach the goal, a red plastic flower.