The University of Pennsylvania has a pretty campus — so pretty, in fact, that you might be tempted to take a picture.
By all means, go ahead: capture on film our vast array of architecture, the deciduous rainbow of Locust Walk or one of the 429 statues of Ben Franklin.
But please, as a member of the Penn community, I implore you — do not take pictures of the squirrels.
Yesterday alone I stumbled (literally) over no fewer than three members of the squirrelerazzi. Rather than chasing their subjects through the streets of LA and New York, the squirrelerazzi can be found crouched low, waiting quietly for the perfect shot with their zoom lenses suction cupped to their eyes so as to capture every flea buried deep in Scrat’s matted fur. (I know you saw Ice Age).
My own walking safety is not the real concern here, my problem with the myriad photos of members of the family Sciuridae is their resulting inflated egos. Each image further solidifies their position as the sought-after socialites of the rodent world, Squirrelis Hilton if you will.
These pictures are not taken in an attempt to produce Jacob Riis-esque exposes of the horrors of squirrel life in University City. Quite the contrary; they are gratuitous photos of bushy-tailed rats living the life of the rich and famous.
Glamour squirrels preen and pose for the camera with their hips jutted out, lips pursed and eyes smiling (Tyra’s trademark). Their sense of entitlement sends them diving gleefully through the finest trash cans like they’re at some kind of designer sample sale. They work Locust like the red carpet, or sit perched on benches like Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen front row at a Karl Lagerfeld show.
My suggestion for those of you who insist on getting up close and personal with Penn’s squirrel population is to use them for something besides a photo op.
Might I suggest an afternoon snack? They’re pretty plump and juicy this time of year.
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