June 29, 2006

A Story of Patriotism
The misses and I sat down to dinner last night (I made vegan BBQ tofu!). While devouring the tofu love, I noticed that Gabby The Cat was sitting in the window with a very quizzical look on her face. All throughout the meal she looked slightly odd. Towards the end of the meal, I asked Kelly to look at the cats food dishes and see if they had any food (the cat dishes are in the corner behind her chair). She glanced down, and then simultaneously dropped her fork and shrieked loud enough to send Gabby running from the kitchen.

The wild scene which ensued nearly beggars description. In the next few moments I discovered that the cat's food bowls had become a Feed-Lot for ants. The bowls were clearly overrun, taking on a mirage like quality as the ants moved in waves over the pottery. An ant super-highway led from the screen door to the cat bowls; a wide and dense populated trail of ants moved with speed.

"They must be stopped", I bellowed as I dashed off to retrieve the vacuum from the hall closet. Armed with suction, I quickly entered the fray stabbing my vacuum hose wildly like a daft bucuneer. I sucked up hundreds of ants. The misses, having recovered from her initial shock was busy at the sink preparing a mixture of chemicals and water. Soon, the cat bowls were removed and the floor was being chemically scrubbed.

Completing my vacuum duties I opened the screen door to the kitchen patio. I needed to track down how and where these little buggers were getting into the house. A thorough search of the perimeter revealed little. A few ants here and there but nothing that could have led to the scene inside. I was baffled.

Several minutes passed and I knew I had failed to find the source that led to 'The Great Ant Attack of 06'. I turned toward other matters - getting the trash and recycling ready for today's trash pick up. It just so happens that we keep a recycling bin outside on the kitchen patio so that we don't have to go very far when tossing out recyclables. I picked up the plastic yellow tub filled with cans and bottles. What caught my eye underneath the recycling tub was so horrific and terrifying that I became paralyzed save for my hands which had involuntarily dropped the recycling tub. Thousands! Tens of thousands of little brown ants were having an orgy over whatever sauces and jellies had formed underneath the recycling bin.

I tapped the glass of the patio door. The misses walked slowly across the kitchen to door. Without saying anything, I pointed down at the orgy. Her face became pained with disgust and fright. She shook her head. A head shake that seemed to mean, "how could we have let this happen?".

I too could not believe it. Only moments ago I was taking delight in my vegan dinner. Now, I was planning an epic animal massacre. My hypocrisy blazes like a scarlet letter.

I must tell you tho, as I began to unravel the garden hose and bring it 'round to the side of the house, there was no inner moral battle taking place. There were no pangs of guilt in my stomach. I knew what I had to do, and with the nozzle attachment fitting set to 'JET', - I drowned them all.

June 28, 2006

Buy It Broken
Survived a wallop of a heat wave that recently blazed a path through town, scorching lawns and boiling sidewalks for three straight days. With temperatures hovering at 100 degrees, the town was in a panic. The neighbors to the South and to the West both broke out massive lawn pools and filled 'em up with toddlers and tadpoles from all the neighboring villages. Sitting at my desk yesterday, I was caught between the vocal volleys of all these wet chickens. One little moppet, who I have given the name 'The Repeater', latches onto a specific phrase or word and becomes his own echo chamber symphony, complete with a never-ending coda. But fuck, the Repeater is nothing compared to his friends who just scream all day. All. Day.

It's funny. I wonder, at what point (age) do we learn in our development that screaming (even if short squeals of joy) is slightly irritating to other people within earshot? How do we learn this?

I think I want to do an experiment where I scream with Kids.

Now, before you call Child Protection Services on me, let me explain. I don't mean to scream at kids. I want to use the same high pitched vocalizations and squeals to celebrate any minor victory (getting the BBQ to light!) just like a child. What I want to know is, do kids think it strange if an adult is squealing (even if not in anger)? My hypothesis to this experiment would be; an adult who suddenly begins to squeal happily in the presence of children (for whom this is their native tongue) would stop short and react with equal parts confusion and fear. Discuss amongst yourselves. Let me know if you have any insights.

Last night I went to Old Navy to buy some new pocket t-shirts because mine have become old and frayed with many holes where there shouldn't be holes. Turns out that the fashion du jour in pocket t-shirts is old and frayed with holes where there shouldn't be holes. Sweet! I walked right back out the store happy in the knowledge that I am ahead of the fashion world in my own laziness and shoddy wardrobe. The fact that places like Old Navy have convinced a nation of kids that "planned obsolesce" is the new black, has to be counted as one of the single greatest maneuvers of Capitalism ever.

June 23, 2006

Hablad Más Lentamente, Por Favor.
I think my Spanish is actually coming back to me. I've logged a tremendous number of hours at Univision over the last couple of weeks. Their announcers for the World Cup outshine the ESPN guys by a thousand watts. Even though I don't understand 80% of what's being said, the emotion and personality make the matches come to life in a way that the sleepy US announcers can't match. Somebody has to tell those slow US announcers that back here in the states we are watching these games at incomprehensibly early hours. You are not talking for whole stretches of time! Coupled with your 'Bueller...Bueller' monotone approach, you lull me back to sleep in minutes. And now with the USA team out of the cup they seem even more uninspired. On the flip side, the Spanish announcers make every pass, every header and tackle seem like it has major geopolitical significance.

My team - The Men in Orange - Team Nederland is still in it. Even after a disappointing draw against Argentina I think they're going to be the ones on top. My prediction for the final four: Holland, Argentina, Italy, Brazil.

Bonus: A wonderfull collection of international Magnum Football Photos.

June 20, 2006

Sherlock Skelton
We've become a Netflix family again. Over the last couple of months I'd visited the video store on three separate occasions only to walkout 15 minutes later completely empty-handed. The video store: a) has 200 copies of Daddy Day Care and not much else, b) stocks totally useless movies, c) carries crap titles, d) has no selection, oh and, f) smells like crotch. As an alternative, we tried the library. But every DVD that came from the library looked as if it had been used to to polish concrete. We didn't even make it through the opening titles of Six Feet Under before the screen froze into an abstract digital art piece. Thankfully, Netflix has welcomed us back with open arms. It didn't seem to hold any grudge. Didn't even mention our last parting of ways.

They've added quite a large feature set since last I used the service. My favorite being the ability to add multiple profiles under one account. So the misses and I can each have a separate "Queue". This allows me to rent Carmen Electra's Advanced Aerobic Striptease without her ever knowing it. Also, don't tell the misses but as the administrator of our account, when I set up her profile I designated that she's only allowed to rent movies with a 'G' rating.

The first movie to arrive was disc one from the series The Return of Sherlock Holmes. Jeremy Brett is a tour de force as Holmes. Got down to watching the first episode, The Empty House. Close to the end of the episode Holmes and Watson are in what looks like an abandoned house across the street from 221b Baker Street (for those not familiar, that's the den of Sherlock Holmes). They are peeking out a window spying on their own office (the picture above captures this scene). To the direct left of 221b Baker Street is what looks to be some kind of pottery shop with the curious name of 'Skelton' on its sign. Unfortunately, a quick run through the internets doesn't give any information about a shop called 'Skelton' ever existing on Baker Street. It must have just been part of the television set but not historically accurate. I'm going to lodge a complaint with some British society or another.

June 14, 2006

Workbench 1.0
I got busy over the weekend and built myself a proper workbench. The Janktown 9000 model workbench that was built by the previous owner of the home just wasn't up to the task of supporting my home building projects. If you look closely at the 'BEFORE' photo you will see that crap workbench came complete with a plywood flooring that was raised a half inch off the floor. I wish I could fully describe the scene of what lurked underneath the plywood. It was like a spring break party for spiders, slugs and other creatures with far too many legs. The shop vac welcomed them all into the its steely belly.

I won't win any fine woodworking awards for my workbench offering but it feels good to bring some kind of organization to the chaos of the garage. There's nothing more frustrating than turning your garage upside down trying to find a tape measure or a screwdriver. The new bench should also cut down on the number of curse words per minute and the number of things thrown wildly about in the garage area.

Now the real dilemma. What to do about music in the garage (aka The Shop). Do I take the modern approach and continue the Airport Express AirTunes circuit currently taking over the house or should I go old school? I'm thinking the old school approach would take advantage of an enormous cassette collection that has been sitting dormant for a good long time. Perhaps a dirty Boombox suspended on a chain or better yet an old exposed AM/FM Cassette car radio. Tough decisions.

June 13, 2006

Mole Archaeologist
The latest critter(s) to breach the fortified perimeter of The Skelton Ranch is the dirty little mole. This burrowing night-raider is tearing up my lawn with its fossorial forefeet, leaving long trails of winding mini speed bumps and sporadic craters all throughout the backyard. One morning, on a day after I had recently mowed, I went out to find the property looking as if it had been hit by a small aerial attack over night. Completing this half-baked war-torn simile I discovered, sitting precariously on the mouth of one of these craters, the small green matchbox car pictured above. Casualties! I guess the mole had no use for this previously buried toy treasure and offered it up as a testament to its fearlessness and tenacity.

Although the mole is basically blind, he is gifted with an acute sense of hearing. So, I'm going to take a page out of the Pentagons military plan in Panama (they tried to coerce Manny Noriega to give himself up by blasting him with Guns 'n' Roses' "Welcome To The Jungle"). The Super Sonic Molechaser is a little missile shaped stick you plug in the ground. It emits a 300Hz tone every 15 seconds that eventually drives the moles a bit nutty. I don't want to hurt 'em. My ultimate goal is to drive them deep into my neighbors yard (NIMBY).

June 08, 2006

Back With Even More Cuteness
Apologies for the lack of updates. The work load has been punishing me as of late and I have allowed my blogging to slide. For your patience I reward you with a shipyard of cute. First up is a photo I unearthed from my fathers archives. The organ was my grandmothers. The date of the photo puts me at a long blond hair over 1.5 years old. I can tell you that at the time I was going through a heavy Deep Purple phase. While other less hip kids were rocking "Wheels on The Bus" on their Fisher Price Record Player, I was growing my hair out, pulling baby bong hits and learning all the organ parts to Deep Purple's Live in Japan. Of course, I still pronounced it 'Deeb Burble', and I couldn't really make the devil horn sign without using my other hand to push some fingers down but still, the seed was planted for a lifetime of appreciation. Just checkout that concentration!

Fast forward to present day. Baby kittens! Landry & Kim rescued these little tikes from the dump. Yup, the dump. Now, normally I'm anti-death penalty...but I do believe I would make an exception for the individual who threw these creatures to the dump. It's really quite unthinkable and cowardly to the max.

When Landry & Kim got the kittens their eyes were still closed. Kim has to bottle feed these guys every three hours. The one in the upper right-hand corner is named Earl. All three cats are bound for good homes once they start eating.