I edited this image with Jasc Paint Shop Pro. Notice that the population is still 10. Amazing.

I was cleaning out all the pictures on my phone the other day when I found this. I took the picture somewhere in Wyoming last summer as Sarah and I were driving through. Sometime during the trip, I'd accidentally deleted the photo I took with an actual camera, so I thought I'd lost all record of my discovery of the nation's smallest town. Turns out, I still had a shot on my phone and was able to email it to myself via the phone. In case you're interested, the 'town' consisted of two houses and three barns.

I haven't been sleeping well. It really does seem to be a cycle: a month or two or three of keeping normal hours, and then, bang! The old internal clock says, "Hey Dufus! How about you start getting up in the afternoon? Not going to do it huh? Well how about if I don't make you tired until 5 AM? What are you going to do then? Huh? What." In related news, I'll be staying up all night tonight.

As promised, Fire! (look closely, and you'll notice that there's a firefighter in the dumpster)


So on Friday, Sarah I were hanging out in the apartment and watching TV; I was doing something in the kitchen when I caught a wiff of burning plastic. It was odd, but Sarah wasn't cooking, and I wasn' t intentionally burning anything, so I didn't think all that much of it. I returned to the couch, and, a few minutes later, the smell intensified. More curious than alarmed, I looked out the nonchalantly. The smell was definitely more concentrated in the hallway, but I still didn't see any signs of an actual conflagration and went back inside. Later, smoke alarms started going off, so I headed back to the hallway; there, I found people running around shouting things like, "Fire!" and "Call 911!"

Interesting. Someone was already on the phone with 911, and many other people were taking care of the requisite panicked yelling and running, so I continued my nonchalant investigation. What I found was a large dumpster fire in the room where everyone dumps their trash. Apparently, someone didn't put out his (or her) cigarette before throwing it away. Oops. In any case, while someone exhausted a fire extinguisher in the vicinity of the blaze, the complex's security guard sprayed the wrong side of the wall of the trash room with a fire hose. By the time the firefighters arrived, the blaze, despite the best efforts of my inept, but well meaning, neighbors, had burned itself out.

What did I learn from all this? 1) If there is ever a real fire, my neighbors will panic and not be able to put it out, 2) Firefighters will arrive after considerable damage has been done. Comforting.

Regarding my last post (see, Bees!), Minnie called and said she had a bee's nest in one of her bushes. Remembering the traditional wasp/hornet's nests that are commonly found, and easily eradicated, I went to the hardware store and bought a can of insecticide. When I arrived at Minnie's, I won't say that I actually considered that I'd wandered into some sort of cartoon, but I think I may have wandered into some sort of cartoon. You know the type, some goofy looking fella (i.e., Goofy) spies a bee hive and decides he wants some honey, then promptly has his entire face covered by living, moving bees. He tries to run away and the bees form a question mark in the air, then an arrow pointing to where Goofy went, then a rocket that jabs Goofy in the butt. In any case, what I found when I neared Minnie's bush was a basketball-sized mass, composed entirely of bees! No wax. No gunk. All bees. I quickly realized that these were not wasps or hornets, they were bees. Here in Orange County, we have three types of the little critter, one of which (the so-called Killer Bee, which is actually an africanized variant of the Eurpean Honey Bee) likes to try and kill people who approach their nest. Since I was near the nest and not dead, I assumed these bees were of a type that could kill me but wouldn't (i.e., not killer bees). Turns out, I was correct. Not really knowing what to do about the bees, I decided to do what any homeowner might consider when unwanted creatures (e.g., neighborhood kids) invade the front yard: I turned the hose on them. While I was spraying their mass, the bees seemed agitated (but not at me, just the water) and left. Fortunately, they decided to relocate. Unfortuantely, (especially for the neighbor), their new home was a tree in the middle of the yard next door. The neighbors called an exterminator and the bees were gone by the next day. And by gone, I mean dead. So, it was a happy ending for all. The picture below, shows (some of) the bees who were in the process of relocation; keep in mind, all bees, no gunk.



On tap for tomorrow: Fire!

Bees!

Just when I thought I'd gotten the best of it, my hay fever seems to have returned. It's not nearly so bad this time (my eyes didn't really change colors), but I am beginning to wonder if a skin transplant might be an option. The itch seems to travel on some sort of sadistic whim: yesterday, it was the front of my neck; today it is my arms (and the front of my neck). Tomorrow, who knows. Let's just hope it's hay fever. After all, I'm not a doctor; I just play one in real life...

It’s been a few days. Wednesday night, I stayed up all a night (in an attempt to rectify my vicious cycle of a sleeping pattern whereby I was continually going to bed later each night and getting up later each morning). Naturally, I lost most of the day on Thursday to tiredness; though I did manage to find the willpower to clean the house. Friday was my birthday. I got up early (as per the usual) to play basketball, took a trip to Costco, and enjoyed pizza with Sarah in the evening. Saturday, Sarah and I made a trip to the Santa Monica Pier to see a traveling art exhibit (a birthday present from Peter). We waited in line for an hour and a half to get in. Interestingly, a minor celebrity (16-year-old Camille Winbush, who plays Vanessa on the Bernie Mac Show) cut directly in front of us, as security allowed her to directly bypass the line. It probably wouldn’t have been appropriate to trip her as she went by, but don’t think it didn’t cross my mind. Cutter. Sunday, Sarah and I took Minnie out for lunch for Mother’s Day and then relaxed for the rest of the day. That is all for now…

Hannah (she's the one on the right) begged me to post a link to her new blog (see comment on previous post). I think her postings deal mostly with her work as an assistant accountant for a local sandwich shop; though she might sometimes disucss her problem with recreational drug abuse and her bid to become the first female jockey to win the Triple Crown (leading the MLB in home runs, RBIs, and batting average).

From the amazing comment barrage generated by the last post, I can tell you were all completely enthralled by the in-depth analysis of my golf game. You’re just lucky I spared you the hole-by-hole breakdown. Maybe next time.

Back in the world of doing things other than golf, I haven’t been doing much. For some reason, I’ve really been putting off cleaning the house. I won’t say it’s because we always mess it up immediately afterwards, but it’s because we always mess it up immediately afterwards. I’m still trying to learn Greek but am having to really coerce myself into studying. In truth, I spend most of the day itching myself (the hay fever has progressed to a newer, more virulent form whereby I itch so much that I’m thinking about cutting off my ears; I may be turning into a dog).

I'm still here. I'm still not becoming an astronaut, but it's looking more and more as if I might actually become something. More on that thought later.

I apologize to in advance to those of you who are not interested in golf or sunburns. Turn back while there’s still time. To address the comments, I was moderately satisfied with my game. There was a time when I would have been horrified by my score (92), but those times are not these times. It was my first round since August, so I was actually pretty pleased with the fact that I finished with par-birdie on the front (to save 48) and later ended with a mediocre (but consistent) 6 straight bogies to shoot 44 on the back. My putting was solid (33 total putts), but this was mostly because my chipping/pitching helped me to get close on most holes. My longest drive was actually a pair of 335-yard bombs (a few yards off the green on an easy par 4 and to the 200-yard-marker on a long par 5). The course was similar to others I have played: long, fairly flat, not many hazards, sparse trees around most fairways. I walked. I didn’t feel any earthquakes (incidentally, I don’t think we’ve had any since moving here; hopefully it will stay that way…). Unfortunately, I didn’t do nearly as much talking with God as with the other player in my pairing. The round took so long because the course was packed; things get backed up when a city (Costa Mesa) has 100,000 people and public golf course. It was actually my third sunburn in California; I spend at least 45 minutes outside every day in the evening, and I’ve been lulled into a false sense of security (since I’m always outside, my brain doesn’t stop to think that I’m not tan and will get burned if I go out in the middle of the day), and the burns always sneak up on me. Skin cancer is never a friend.

Yesterday, I played golf for the first time since moving to California. Six hours and a moderate sunburn later, my round was over. Six hours!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! On a weekday!?!?!?!?!?! What is that about!?!?!?!?!?!?! In my defense, the sunburn wasn't my fault, I was out there twice as long as I should have been; I got to the golf course around 8AM and figured on a quick round (it was early on a weekday morning, after all). I was quite wrong. Ah, California.

Today is Saturday, and, as per her usual modus operendi, Sarah is on her way to do some shopping. As per my usual, I'm on my way to avoid going shopping. I have to nurse my sunburn anyway. Ah, weekends.

As it turns out, Sarah does have some restraint when it comes to ice cream. As many of you know, one of her birthday presents was to eat as much of the stuff as she wanted (something she previously has suggested that she dreams about). My only expectation for the adventure was a trip to the hospital (lactose intolerance + love for ice cream + lack of inhibition = death of my wife, and, incidentally, of me [methane poisoning]). I just kept thinking about how a beagle puppy will ignore pain and eat as long as food is present (until its stomach eventually bursts). Sarah, I now realize, is not a beagle. She was actually quite responsible, stopping when Dairy Queen ran out of ice cream and begged us to leave. I mean, when she was full. On my birthday, I'm going to see if I can fit a whole pie in my mouth.

Today is Sarah's birthday!

I think I have hay fever. What tipped me off was when I woke up this morning and found my eyelids to be three times their normal size. Before that, my face had been so itchy that I thought I'd just rolled in something I shouldn't have. Either way, my level of comfort isn't nearly what it was a few days ago...