It’s today. National Pigeon Day.
Worst. National day of recognition. ever.
… UPDATE (from d): I’m going to respectfully disagree with my esteemed colleague here. When I was living in Boston for a summer in the late 1990s — unemployed, supposedly working on my dissertation, and wishing for nothing more than to be flattened by a bus — I spent countless hours feeding the pigeons in a small park tucked behind Mass Ave and Boylston. I smoked then, and I’d console myself every afternoon by puffing away dejectdedly while meandering through several bags of cheap white bread, which the pigeons gobbled with immense appreciation. Those pestilent little bastards got me through the summer, and for that I’m grateful to the entire species.