Why is it that I’m riveted by the carnage inflicted by a shark attack, but wrench the radio dial as soon as NPR divulges details of a hot dog eating contest?
Maybe next year I’ll do a year of daily action for pigs.
Anyway, since I can’t face dealing with the Fourth of July beach traffic, I am postponing my seaside trash cleanup. Like any sane American, I decided to reflect on the meaning of freedom by purchasing something.
I wanted to see what I could do for sharks using just the random change around my house. All the forgotten dimes and pennies I rescued from the cushions of the couch, crumpled cash in the recesses of the desk, the dull copper squirreled away in canisters or lost in the shadowy depths of my bag came to a whopping $40.87
Shark Dreams 