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Postmodern Village
est. 1999
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Wasting Time on Each Blue Jay
(Six Reasons to Visit the Zoo Near You)

by Hezekiah Allen Taylor

1. you can actually have fun--stupid, silly idiotic entertainment.

sing that "lions and tigers and bears" song in a truly appropriate setting. relax. search the grounds for one sexy, single zookeeper like a singles scavenger hunt (with or without the Crocodile Hunter). actually try to flirt. (i know it's a lost art.) eat cotton candy. be first in line at the petting zoo. throw popcorn at each other in front of the gorillas. (they hate that.) if it's dark in the herpetarium, scream "oh my god! something bit me!" and see what tormoil ensues.

2. there's danger and intrigue--at rest behind hars,

across pits, in cages, but you always remember that story (as you're leaning over the wooden railing of the lion pit--it hits you). you know, the one about the jaguar that escaped, went on the lam through the wilds of Oklahoma City for seven hours, and even though he didn't eat any young children or small household pets, it still sends a little shiver up your spine.

3. you're disgustingly "in love."

there's something about love and zoos. i can't really explain it, but barnyard animals and exotic facades seem to give lovers the desire to swap saliva in front of small children.

4. nothing brings people together quite like dolphins.

don't laugh; i'm serious. (well, maybe not completely.) just look at all the environmental groups that rally behind the cry of aquatic saviors. it's always nice to be reminded that we need a "real" purpose in our lives. And then we can file it away and move on to the simulated jungle exhibit.

5. no one's there to tell you how much you owe on your credit cards.

it's an escape. granted, a temporary one, but still a way out. you can lose yourself in man-made wilds and forget about the car repairs, that rubber rent check you just wrote, the late payment ticking away with interest. for six bucks, you get one day of freedom. it's a good deal, economically sound, and, in my opinion, about six rungs above therapy on the self-help ladder.

6. you can pretend--do your damnedest--to be eight again.

running around with spark guns and plastic crab claws on a stick. it's addictive, youth. my mother says (and yours probably does too) youth is wasted on the young. prove her wrong or prove her right. i dare you. no, i triple dog dare you.

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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