Friday, June 8, 2012


Life's gotta be pretty awesome if you're a falconer. I don't know whether it's the giant leather gloves or the large, predatory bird that you get to carry around on the glove. I mean, I'm sure it's gotta be the bird, but that glove is pretty cool, too. It's probably like 85% bird, 15% glove.

The great thing about the falconing glove is if some old-timey European guy ever challenged you to a duel, you wouldn't even have to wait until dawn to count paces, turn and fire. All you'd have to do is let that guy come at you with his little lace glove. You've seen that move, right? They do the thing where they slap you in the face with the glove, and then it'd be your turn. You'd just pull out that massive leather monstrosity and then five across the eyes - Bam! I bet you could knock a guy's wisdom teeth right out of his nostrils if you hit him hard enough with a falconing glove.

Don't believe me about how awesome falconers are? I understand. How about some photographic evidence:

That's a pretty compelling argument right there. This is a guy who's ready for anything. Look closer. I'll bet you didn't even notice the fact that he

A: Does not have a mustache

B: Not only is wearing he wearing a man-purse, he's actually wearing two man-purses, and just daring you to say anything about it. I'll bet the first purse is to hold his flint-lock pistols, grapeshot and gun powder, because not reloading after every shot is for nancy-boys. The second man-purse is actually just a containment unit for his massive, brass testacles.

I bet if I was a falconer, I'd never have to worry about a cocktail party pissing contest again. People would know that I mean business if I was a falconer. What could anybody ever say that could trump suck a thing?

"Well, I'm in acquisitions, and last fiscal quarter I managed to-"

And you'd just cut them off like, "Dig dude, I'm a goddamn falconer."

They'd probably try to stutter something back, like "Well, even in a down market my venture captital firm did-"

And you'd be like, "I don't give a fuck what you do man, I call down hot screaming muscular death from the sky at will!"


That'd be pretty awesome.


  1. Your post made me laugh. In my last job, in an HR Consulting firm, one of the dreaded-est jobs was writing job descriptions, and to make things fun, they actually showed us a job description someone wrote of a 'bird massager'. It was a simple job- massage the bird so its 'urges' were quietened. I was in the middle east at this time, and on a flight to Qatar once, I saw literally a whoolee flight of guys in their kandooras (traditional dress) with a falcon on their arm, with the bird wings held together and eyes closed with a cloth so they dont try attacking people around them. It was a short flight, but as i left the bus that brought us to the airport... i saw the most bird poo on the floor of an airport bus as one would ever ever.
    Wont call them.. 'happy' memories... but your post just reminded me all that.

    all the best with the book!

    1. Nice! I've often bemoaned the fact that most wild animals never really know whether their massage was going to be of the clinical sort, or if a "happy ending" was indeed somewhere in the picture. I'm glad to hear that at least in the bird world they're getting this lack of clarity sorted out.

      Thanks for dropping me a line and feel free to come back anytime. All the best.