I named him Pesto.

Hypocrisy is a funny thing. It can be something simple, like telling your kids not to eat cookies in bed when you know full well you munch on crackers and cream cheese in your own bed. It could be something a bit bigger, like telling your kids not to have sex before marriage when you know full well you've been having an affair with your boss's secretary. (Neither of these examples are taken from personal experience of any kind. FYI.)

Today, I found myself facing an odd sort of hypocrisy: cruelty to animals.

Ever seen those pictures in commercials or on the internet from Greenpeace or whoever showing images of poor, dilapidated animals covered in oil from oil spills compliments of Exxon Mobil or Royal Dutch Shell? They're supposed to have white fur or feathers or something, but they're completely black from being soaked in oil?

Any time I'd see one of these pictures, I wouldn't really think much of anything.

Today at work, I saw a minor version of this in real life. I was working a 767-400, real big plane, so big in fact that the normal air-conditioning hose wouldn't reach to attach to the outlet on the bottom of the plane. (We hook up a massive AC hose while the plane is still operating on ground power, before it powers up itself.) Instead, we had a portable AC unit parked near the port-side engine.

As we were moving it in preparation to push the plane out, a pigeon hopped out from underneath the AC unit and nearly got run over. I had to shoo it out to keep it from getting smooshed.

And after the AC unit was gone, it just sort of sat there. I tried to shoo it a little more, but he just kept coming back. He couldn't fly very well and, on closer examination, looked a little blacker than most pigeons.

A little like this:

Only not quite so covered in oil. I felt really bad for the little guy. He didn't look injured exactly, but it was clear that he wasn't in the best of health. He hopped away gingerly under a nearby truck, and I hoped he would keep going after we'd left.

An hour and a half later, we'd already had another plane come in, turned it, and sent it on its way. I headed over there again, just to see. Sure enough, there he sat, now entrenched under the water cooler furiously drinking up as much as he could.

I decided to name him Pesto. That would make him named after this guy:

Good ol' Pesto. Always making Joe Pesci-esque threats.

Anyway, far as I know, that pigeon is still there, hiding underneath the Gate 15 jetway. I really feel sorry for the little dude. He seems petrified to go anywhere else, and from what I can tell he looks like he might've been doused a little in oil from the AC unit. Not a lot, but the AC unit was there overnight, so he might've been there overnight as well.

It is here that we come to see the apparent hypocrisy I'm finding myself experiencing. Those pictures of baby seals covered in oil? Never meant anything to me. Still doesn't, really. I mean, we need oil. If we're going to get around anywhere in this society, we need oil to put in our vehicles. Right?

Then I see this pigeon. And I kinda hate pigeons. They're annoying and everywhere. But this little guy is ailing, seems terrified to even breathe, and my heart goes out to him. A pigeon!

So... apparently I feel bad for animals that I can actually see in front of me, but animals halfway across the world that I merely see pictures of... not so much. That makes me feel good.

Meh. I'm not really depressed about it or anything. Just... introspective, I guess. Thought I would share.

In other news, hypocrisy is a really weird word to spell. Just look at it. The "hypo" part I get. But "crisy"? Come on, English language, throw me a freakin' bone here!

Song stuck in my head: FNT - Semisonic