Ants

Well, it's June, which means that here in Riverside the temperatures have jumped into the high 90's. It also means that the ants are back. They've started in the bathrooms, largely avoiding the kitchen so far. Last year they pretty much had the run of the place. I once asked my roommate/landlord if I should write the rent check to the ants, since they obviously owned the place. It was a losing battle all summer long.

As far as their location, they will eventually invade both the kitchen and the bathrooms. In the kitchen they get in the food. In the bathroom, you're naked. Nobody is naked in our kitchen. At least I hope not. It really is a no-win situation.

Those little poison boxes that we kept using didn't impress me in the slightest. They would take the poison back to their nests, but the queen would not die. I'm pretty sure they've got little ant hospitals down there. Maybe they've developed a vaccine.

This year I will be stocking up on vinegar, borax and sugar, cinnamon, black pepper and a blowtorch. Hopefully they can be defeated. If we cannot defeat them this year, we will have to break down and get some professional help. The ants have become public enemy number one.

Polo Mullet

It's starting to get hot again, and for those of us who can get a sunburn when we just go out to check the weather, special considerations must be made. For the planned outdoor activities a little sunscreen goes a long way. Respecting the sun has been covered in a previous blog, but what happens when you are caught unexpected?

In March, during an unseasonable hot spell, I found myself in this very situation at the Redlands Classic. I was wearing shorts and a polo, walking around the venue, people watching, hanging out, more interested in the scene than the race. I begin to notice that the skin on my neck, which is not quite albino, but the punch-line to many of my darker friends' jokes, is starting to feel like sizzling bacon. If you've ever seen me, you know that I'm not really a collar up kind of guy, but I've got to do something. Going down to the drugstore would be crazy, and let's be honest, show weakness. I realize that I am surrounded by cyclists, who if you didn't know, have chosen to throw conventional style sense to the dogs. This gives me the motivation to break out the polo mullet. Collar down in the front, up in the back. The softness of the polo knit makes this possible without looking like a disheveled mistake.

So there I was--business in the front, party in the back. I gave brief consideration to my scalp, less protected by my thinning hair than it was a couple of years ago, but just rolled the dice on that one and came out a winner. I am pleased to report that my polo mullet saved the day, resulting in no discomfort after the event. A t-shirt might have screwed me, but so far this warm season, it's Zak one, sun zero.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day!

My dad is better than your dad.  Unless you are my dad, then you're the best.  Love you lots.

The more proximally located son is probably making an appearance today.  I will have to wait until next month.  

Rambling on, here is a poem I accidentally found by an unknown author:

What Makes A Dad

God took the strength of a mountain,

The majesty of a tree,

The warmth of a summer sun, 

The calm of a quiet sea,

The generous soul of nature, 

The comforting arm of night,

The wisdom of the ages,

The power of the eagle's flight,

The joy of a morning in spring,

The faith of a mustard seed,

The patience of eternity,

The depth of a family need,

Then God combined these qualities, 

When there was nothing more to add,

He knew His masterpiece was complete,

And so, He called it.. Dad

That's pretty nice, huh?  I've got a couple of issues with it, though.  First, I don't know what the hell the comforting arm of night is.  Second, an eagle's flight may be graceful or majestic, but a grizzly bear is more powerful, don't you think?  Probably a rhyming limitation.

Anyways, happy Father's Day!

What Just Climbed Up the Tree?

What the hell just climbed up the tree outside the front door?  It was about 11:30 p.m., and I'm coming home from the gym.  As I start to go in the door I hear rustling in the bushes.  Curious, I step back out to see what it is.  I look in time to see the back-half of something going up the skinny little tree.  Pretty much all I can see is a white rump and a pink tail.  I figure it has to be either a small possum, or a huge rat (not that there is much difference to me).  Yesterday the roommate says he chased a possum out of the garage, so this seems likely.  

I'm not even sure what I want it to be.  I'm leaning towards possum, so that way I don't have to believe it will come in the house, settling only for a garage visit.  Either way I lose, since I'm not a big fan of night critters in general.

To be fair, the ants have not thoroughly infested the kitchen and bathrooms yet.  They sent millions of scouts for a long weekend or so, but have since disappeared.  They might be back when we get to real summer, but for now we have others.

When I was getting ready to go to the gym tonight I went out to the garage to grab some shoes.  Amongst the pile of shoes there was a cockroach.  It made its way under some shelter before I could smash it with one of his shelter shoes.  Out of the corner of my eye I see a spider rushing down to the shoes as well.  If you know my at all, you know that I hate/fear spiders.  I prefer to kill them so I don't have to worry about them laying eggs in my ear while I sleep, as I'm sure that this is always their secret plan.  I was also unable to kill the spider.  I spent about two minutes, one per shoe, making sure there was neither a spider nor its egg sac present.  Those shoes are not going back in the garage.  There are Black Widows out there.  

By the way, those little electronic bug repellers that plug into the wall don't work.  I should know.

Trade Sanchez

The San Francisco Giants need to trade Jonathan Sanchez, before it's too late.  What success the Giants have had this year has been largely due to the strength of their pitching staff.  Their anemic line-up will at some point necessitate a trade for a bigger bat, inevitably requiring them to give up a pitcher.  I think Sanchez has filthy stuff, when he can find the strike zone (no "Dirty Sanchez" jokes, please), but I believe he is ticking time-bomb, with the potential to follow the career path of Mark Prior.  

Examine the following pictures.

Both pitchers come through a similar impingement motion during their deliveries.  Mark Prior is a knuckle-head who refuses to do anything about his motion, which was at one time hailed as the most biomechanically perfect motion in the game.  His motion is/was obviously not the best in the game, but was his demise.  

There are, of course, anatomical variances from pitcher to pitcher, but from a biomechanical perspective, Sanchez worries me.  Matt Cain, for instance, avoids this impingement motion, and will probably have a much longer career, with fewer injuries.  Randy Johnson has a safer motion, and is currently pitching in his 60's (not actually true).  

So, I think Sanchez has a much smaller number of pitches left in his big-league arm than his age would indicate, and since baseball teams are often ignorant of such things (Prior is the perfect example), the Giants should be dangling him as trade-bait at every opportunity.

The End.

p.s.

Dodgers suck.

The Belly Dancer

Tonight, all my planning backfired on me. Tonight, as we frequently do on Friday nights, a few of the fellas headed out to the O.C. to grab some delicious Persian food. The events usually play out the same each time. We arrive, then shortly afterwards a not-quite-right belly dancer does her thing. After the belly dancer comes the guitarist, who is good enough, but a couple of my friends (who have been frequenting this restaurant for many years vs. my one year) seem to have developed an awkward connection with him, if not an actual weird relationship. I almost forgot, the hostess is worth the drive by herself. Amazing.

Well, tonight we arrive at the restaurant, only to be greeted by another hostess. She is attractive in her own right, but we still missed our regular girl. We are seated right away, and I take my choice seat - facing the corner, my back to the dining room. I will sometimes try to face the entry way, especially if our hostess is in action, but with her gone I figure it will save me uneasy eye contact with the belly dancer.

I have a hard enough time knowing how to look at the belly dancers as it is. I have a patient who does some belly dancing, and I have questioned her as to the etiquette of watching the dancers. I have been assured that we are to be looking at their bodies, but with the well-lit room, I feel like I'm in a spotlight, and feel like the lights should be dimmed like a strip club.

Some people seem to be afraid of clowns (coulrophobia), but this restaurant has made me afraid of belly dancers. It has nothing to do with the dancing, but the two dancers who are usually there have good enough bodies, but also have these plastic faces, and they look at you with these weird smiles that make me uncomfortable. I found the name for fear of clowns, but if you can let me know if there is a name for the fear of belly dancers, please let me know.

Tonight, after we are seated, a new dancer comes out. She doesn't have the plastic face. She has a very good body. Her dancing is better, too. For the first time I actually want to watch her. She's doing amazing things. Now my seat facing the corner has created a disadvantage. I have my neck cranked around like an owl. I still feel like the lights are too bright. I don't care. I do make conscious decisions to shift my attention back to the table periodically.

Now I have a dilemma. Do I face the room or the corner? It used to be an easy answer. Now I'm not so sure. It's really rolling the dice next time. At least the excellent food is a constant.

Hey, has anyone ever seen a clown belly dance? That would be really freaky.

F*@k It!!

You dirty bastards thought I was saying... oh, never mind. Fork it. That's right. I hereby defend my preference for eating various hand-foods with a fork. I have often been ridiculed for eating pizza with a fork. What some of these people don't know is that I also will occasionally eat burgers with a fork. I wouldn't go as far as to eat a Snickers bar with a fork and knife, but there are times when it makes perfect sense.

If you ask me, hot pizza always calls for a fork. Thin crust, thick crust, Chicago style--hot = fork. Chicago style will, of course, always require a fork. Regular thick or thin crust should be eaten with the hands if it is cold. It would just be absurd to eat cold pizza with a fork. Seriously. Warm pizza is a bit of a can't lose proposition. Eat it any way you like, and it's perfectly acceptable.

Burgers. Of course burgers are hand-food, except for that as the author of this blog I can make up the rules any way I please. Homemade burgers, Grillers (best ever), drive-thru burgers and the like should of course be eaten by hand. This is not debatable. However, if you are at a legitimate restaurant, the fork is almost required. The Hillstone restaurant group makes ridiculously amazing veggie burgers that would be a disaster if eaten with your hands. Factor in that you will more likely set the burger down makes it even more appropriate for forking. If you don't know any better and make the mistake of thinking TGI Friday's is a really good restaurant, then you are wrong. Most of their food sucks. It's not a good restaurant. Neither is Red Robin. Garbage. You should know by now how I feel about In-N-Out. Make it Taylor's Refresher and it's an amazing hand job. Perverts. You just eat it with your hands. The whole blog title put your mind in the gutter. You should get help.

This isn't really mind-blowing material. I just had to get it off my chest, to defend my forking in spite of repeated head-shaking when my hand-eater friends see me eat. That, and I've been in the middle of a month-long creative block. More blogs coming soon.