The Nicest of all Possible Birds?

Through his many years on our planet, Old Ken has found that certain types of objects prove inextricable from the fabric of one's life. This might lead to morbid reflections of a certain philosophical sort; but, on a cold day such as this, it befits A Man From A Place to take a moment to celebrate one of these inescapable entities—an object that keeps popping up and, no less, has given name to this humble blog. I can speak of none other than the inimitable "nice bird."

Similar in its size and tactile appeal to an Ipod, this nice bird was given to yours truly at a young and (evidently) impressionable age. What particular bird species do we have in hand here? The pale powder-blue plastic exterior yields few clues. Perhaps a blue jay could be a reasonable inference, were we to judge from coloration. Yet, no gesture is made here to the jay's characteristic crested tuft and elongated beak. In their stead, our plastic friend seems to be something of a cyclops—its singular eye denoted by an iridescent, vermillion paint that has been applied into the bird's scored profile. Old Ken has always felt like he could feel something of a smile creeping across the bird's blunt, snout-like beak; but perhaps these are more the prejudiced sentimentalisms of a devoted friend than the rigorous observation our experimental project demands.



As we rotate our avian amigo to expose "its" (that is, Old Ken has thus far not been able to identify any markings, outward signs of genitalia or other traits that might enable the specimen's gender assignment) "soft white underbelly" (or, in this case, hard plastic side), we find a key to understanding the nice bird's elusive charms. For there, we may note a row of four, spring-action buttons. Once the nice bird has begun to "sing" (a delight induced by sliding forward a switch mechanism on the back of its head), alternating pressure upon these buttons yields pleasing variation to the creature's exultant song.



Old Ken should note that mellifluous as these songs are, they only render the question of species-designation more problematic. For, once activated, the standard sonic operation of our feathered friend is a sharp, stacatto "chirp." Rapid and menacingly repetitive, this singing can plausibly be borne by the human ear for no more than approximately 10 (ten) seconds—so this experimentalist would conclude. By pressing the first of the keys (i.e. that directly below the creature's beak and astride the upper reaches of its wing), the incessant chirping abruptly transforms into an elogated, descending pierce of sound whose most ready analogy here would be to the throbbing tone of an alarm clock. (Any musicologists out there who would like to do a proper study, please let me know). When the second button is pressed, meanwhile, the song becomes a more plaintive warble, almost in waltz tempo. The penultimate button seems to have no discernible effect at all; this may be by the design of the manufacturer, who wished to share as much of the beautiful "normal tone" as possible with the world, or may simply be an artifact of the age of the nice bird specimen under examination. Further testing will be necessary to resolve such queries. Finally, the fourth button renders a sound seemingly even more sharp, piercing and shrill than the others. I imagine this as a kind of "kissing sound" as made by a small, blue mechanical bird.

But kissing what? Might this last point suggest that the variations of bird sounds are so many attempts to simulate different moments in the life cycle of the target species? That is, the object produces the desperate hungry chirps of the infantile bird; its juvenile warbles; its normal, adult conversational chatter; and, finally, its "love song" or mating call? However you do it, nice bird, you can call me anytime!