Hey, did you know that yellow jackets can fly almost as fast as a grown man sprinting around a swing set? I do. Now.
It all started last week when I was having a fence installed in my backyard. The existing one did not resemble wood so much as it did thick cardboard. General rule: If a 10-pound dog scratches at a fence board and it comes apart like shredded wheat, it may be time to get some new fencing.
I considered doing the fence myself, but then it occurred to me that I did not want the top to look like an EKG line, so I should hire professionals.
As they were preparing to rip down the current fence, I glanced out the window and saw them standing about 15 feet from the fence. One was on a cell phone. This didn’t seem like the best way to put up a fence, so I went outside to see what was going on. Turns out, they had found a yellow jacket nest right near one of the fence posts. Angry yellow jackets. Angry yellow jackets who were quite content with the fence where it was. Both of the guys had already been stung. Not a lot of joy in the backyard.
I went and retrieved some wasp spray from the garage. It’s one of those ones that shoots a stream of chemicals about a quarter mile, so you can stand safely away and attack. “Fellas, your problem is about to be solved.” I located where the nest was and proceeded to empty the can. Take that, you winged devils!
Pitching the can aside, I began to stride inside, a little cowboy swagger in me, knowing I had just ruled this duel.
I headed on to work, confident that my picture may very possibly go up at the fence company’s HQ, under a banner that read “Our Hero.”
A little while later, I swung by the house to check on the status. Both men were getting in the truck. They told me they were going to the store to get some stuff to kill the yellow jackets. I reminded them that I had bravely launched a chemical attack on them. That, it turns out, only made the yellow jackets angry. Or, angrier, as it were.
Fast forward to lunch. I stopped by to check again. They had tripled my attack efforts, and made them triply mad. I peered over at the fence and could see a small cloud of yellow jackets. I told one of the guys that it was clear the nest was in a leaf pile, and if I could just dig some of that out, we’d be fine. He looked at me in much the same way as my wife when I say to her, “You know what would be awesome? A pinball machine in the kitchen.”
I decided it was time to armor up and take the fight to the ground. I went inside and put on a heavy winter coat. In the garage, I found a pair of work gloves and safety goggles. I donned the coat’s hood and pulled the draw string tight, leaving no skin exposed. When I walked out, pitchfork in hand, I glanced at the fence guy. I was expecting a slow clap for my bravery. I even considered walking in slow motion, like I was heading to the space shuttle or something. “They stung through blue jeans,” he said. I think the implication was that I was somehow not in the ideal protective gear.
Never mind. This was clearly foolproof. I went around the fence and approached the nest. There was still an angry posse hovering above the ground. I figured a quick thrust and pitch would open up the nest’s mouth, thereby clearing the path for an easy and final assault.
I drove the pitchfork into the ground and went to heave a huge chunk of leaves and dirt. I have no idea where the leaves and dirt went, as a giant plume of yellow jackets came billowing from the ground, an incredibly loud buzzing soundtrack accompanying it. Instinct took over, and before I knew what was going on, I was sprinting the other direction.
“THEY’RE ON YOUR COAT!!!” I heard him shout.
So there I was, sprinting across my backyard, trying to knock yellow jackets off my back with a pitchfork. (Haven’t we all been there?) Eventually, I dropped the pitchfork and shed my coat and goggles, still shooing away some that are still in pursuit.
Eventually, I made it clear of them, and the fence guys pretty much decided I had ended that day’s work. I ended up going to a professional, who wisely assessed the situation wearing a beekeeper’s outfit. When he went to treat it, he hit the nest a little, and the yellow jackets – who are in serious need of some psychological treatment – began to swarm again, leaving plenty of stingers in his outfit. He had to wait for about an hour for them to settle down before he could complete the mission. When he finally dug the nest out, he found it was four layers deep, and contained, by my estimate, every yellow jacket on the planet.
When the fence guys returned the next day, they were pleased to see that the nest was gone, and they could complete the job without risk of death by a billion stings. While I did have to call in some backup, I’d like to think my picture will still go on the wall.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Troll attack
Curious thing, the Internet.
Perhaps most curious is the notion that every single thing on it must be for every single person’s interest and entertainment, and if somehow it does not appeal to you, you should lash out with unfettered anger and criticism, the likes of which you would dare not do if someone knew who you were or, much less, was within arm’s length.
I base this on a few comments I have read of late, in particular some directed at me. Now, first let me tell you this: I have incredibly thick skin. You don’t get into this business and stay for long if criticism is your kryptonite. But it still struck me as odd when someone decided to line me up in his sights. For a couple of weeks, someone who is a clearly big fan of the newspaper and me has posted some commentary on our website regarding my column. I can’t print the quotes in their entirety, as SOMEBODY uses words not fit for a family newspaper. But I will address the main point: I don’t recall my column ever running on the front page, nor do I recall asking the reporters to stop gathering news so we could gather ’round the campfire and hear Uncle Mike spin a yarn or two ’bout the young’uns.
Another comment was on a YouTube posting of my kids on Christmas morning. The post read: “Y do I wanna watch ya’ll on christmas day.”
Now, I am not sure who asked this. However, I am fairly certain it is not Grandma, Grandpa, Nana, Pop, Gran or Granddaddy, for whom the video was intended. The main reason I am sure of that is my parents and in-laws know spelling and capitalization and crazy things such as that. (You + all = Y’all. Proper apostrophe placement is key. Otherwise, it appears you are doing a contraction of “Yay” and “Ill,” which I guess means you are celebrating someone’s poor health.)
The grandparents liked being able to see their grandkids, at the time ages 4 and 7, open what Santa brought them. I should hope you would not want to watch this if you do not know them. There are no doubt thousands of Christmas morning videos online, and I can safely say I have watched one: my own. Should I come across someone else’s Christmas morning video, I will simply, gee, I don’t know – maybe not watch it? I certainly won’t take the time to comment on it. A quick keyword search on YouTube reveals plenty of videos I will neither watch nor comment on:
-- How to make butter
-- Paint drying
-- Jerry Lewis impersonations
-- Eating Ramen noodles
-- Bea Arthur singing in the Star Wars Holiday Special from 1977. (OK, that one is worth watching.)
The amazing thing is each of those videos have plenty of comments from people who sat and watched them and then shared their very personal feelings. What in the world is it about the Internet that drives someone to watch or read something they don’t like and then make their feelings so known? I have a few theories:
1. It’s finally a chance to throw out a controversial opinion, when you know that in real life offering up silly (or profane) commentary would get you publicly rebuked, privately chastised or, most likely, sensibly ostracized.
2. You haven’t the courage of your convictions. Otherwise, you’d have no problem attaching your name to something.
3. You’ve been on the receiving end of countless wedgies, nerples, swirlies and noogies, and you are finally channeling some of that anger in a new and unhealthy avenue.
Whatever the reason, it sure seems like people could do better things with their time than watch or read things they don’t like. I could sure think of something better to do. Such as watch Bea Arthur sing.
Perhaps most curious is the notion that every single thing on it must be for every single person’s interest and entertainment, and if somehow it does not appeal to you, you should lash out with unfettered anger and criticism, the likes of which you would dare not do if someone knew who you were or, much less, was within arm’s length.
I base this on a few comments I have read of late, in particular some directed at me. Now, first let me tell you this: I have incredibly thick skin. You don’t get into this business and stay for long if criticism is your kryptonite. But it still struck me as odd when someone decided to line me up in his sights. For a couple of weeks, someone who is a clearly big fan of the newspaper and me has posted some commentary on our website regarding my column. I can’t print the quotes in their entirety, as SOMEBODY uses words not fit for a family newspaper. But I will address the main point: I don’t recall my column ever running on the front page, nor do I recall asking the reporters to stop gathering news so we could gather ’round the campfire and hear Uncle Mike spin a yarn or two ’bout the young’uns.
Another comment was on a YouTube posting of my kids on Christmas morning. The post read: “Y do I wanna watch ya’ll on christmas day.”
Now, I am not sure who asked this. However, I am fairly certain it is not Grandma, Grandpa, Nana, Pop, Gran or Granddaddy, for whom the video was intended. The main reason I am sure of that is my parents and in-laws know spelling and capitalization and crazy things such as that. (You + all = Y’all. Proper apostrophe placement is key. Otherwise, it appears you are doing a contraction of “Yay” and “Ill,” which I guess means you are celebrating someone’s poor health.)
The grandparents liked being able to see their grandkids, at the time ages 4 and 7, open what Santa brought them. I should hope you would not want to watch this if you do not know them. There are no doubt thousands of Christmas morning videos online, and I can safely say I have watched one: my own. Should I come across someone else’s Christmas morning video, I will simply, gee, I don’t know – maybe not watch it? I certainly won’t take the time to comment on it. A quick keyword search on YouTube reveals plenty of videos I will neither watch nor comment on:
-- How to make butter
-- Paint drying
-- Jerry Lewis impersonations
-- Eating Ramen noodles
-- Bea Arthur singing in the Star Wars Holiday Special from 1977. (OK, that one is worth watching.)
The amazing thing is each of those videos have plenty of comments from people who sat and watched them and then shared their very personal feelings. What in the world is it about the Internet that drives someone to watch or read something they don’t like and then make their feelings so known? I have a few theories:
1. It’s finally a chance to throw out a controversial opinion, when you know that in real life offering up silly (or profane) commentary would get you publicly rebuked, privately chastised or, most likely, sensibly ostracized.
2. You haven’t the courage of your convictions. Otherwise, you’d have no problem attaching your name to something.
3. You’ve been on the receiving end of countless wedgies, nerples, swirlies and noogies, and you are finally channeling some of that anger in a new and unhealthy avenue.
Whatever the reason, it sure seems like people could do better things with their time than watch or read things they don’t like. I could sure think of something better to do. Such as watch Bea Arthur sing.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Cart conversion
It was a shameful confession. She wouldn’t even make eye contact with me. A friend of mine, head bowed, said that she was “that person.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant. Vampire? Cannibal? Auburn fan? No, far more shameful. She admitted that, on occasion, she was one of those people who leaves the grocery cart sitting in the middle of the shopping center parking lot.
She decided to plead her case. Sometimes you’re juggling kids and the weather looks rough and it’s just a harried day and you have to just get in the car and get rolling, leaving collateral cart damage behind.
Donning my powdered wig (what, you don’t have one?) I ruled swiftly: GUILTY!
She again tried the argument, which had been previously struck down in the Court of Mike: The argument that returning the cart would be next to impossible, as the children were acting like jackrabbits on speed. It seems valid at first. One child is busy trying to take off a diaper while the other one is trying to eat through your recently purchased loaf of bread.
The weather is clouding up, and the heavens are going to open up any second now. You’ve got a small window to tether your children and throw the groceries in the back. No time for marching all the way over to the cart corral, right?
However, the reason this argument does not allow for cart abandonment is that you should have strategically parked from the get-go. Immediately upon entering the car lot, pull right up beside a cart corral. That way, when you leave, your cart is already home.
You can even give it a cool little hip bump to send it the final few feet, just to show what kind of happenin’ person you are.
And I know the counter arguments to this:
1. “What if it’s raining? Don’t you want to park as close as possible?” Answer: If you are a parent, you are most likely covered in drool, Cheez-It crumbs or the remnants of the melted Nerds you just sat in, so a hardy downpour might do you some good.
2. “What if it’s hot? That’s a long walk.” Answer: Let’s be honest – if we were to find the largest parking lot at a grocery store and park at the very end, it would never be considered a long walk. Consider it your daily cardio.
3. “But what if I am pregnant and want to park in that parking space with the little stork sign that reads, ‘Expectant Mothers only’?” Answer: I have never had that problem.
4. “I am special. Little people will gather the carts for me.” Answer: No you’re not. Put your cart back.
I know that I harp on this one issue a lot, but I have to be honest with you: This affects each and every one of us far more than something like social security or a natural disaster in a country we are not entirely sure how to pronounce.
But, Mike, you say, how is that? To which I answer: Stress. It is estimated by me just now that 95 percent of all deaths in the U.S. are stress related. And think about the number of times you go to pull into that prime parking space, only to have to slam on the breaks when you see the lone cart (or, even worse, several of them, huddling together in a “Lord of the Flies” grocery cart commune).
And think about what you mutter under your breath. (Nice language, by the way.) I don’t want you to become a statistic. Imagine a world in which every prime parking spot is just that – a wide open swath of asphalt, just waiting for your SUV to ease into. What’s that? Bluebirds chirping? Sounds like serenity to me ...
Alas, I will conclude with some good news. Shortly after my friend’s confession, I received an e-mail from her. It read “At least for today, I am not ‘that person.’ I strategically parked and returned my cart to the corral!!!”
One convert. A billion to go.
I wasn’t sure what she meant. Vampire? Cannibal? Auburn fan? No, far more shameful. She admitted that, on occasion, she was one of those people who leaves the grocery cart sitting in the middle of the shopping center parking lot.
She decided to plead her case. Sometimes you’re juggling kids and the weather looks rough and it’s just a harried day and you have to just get in the car and get rolling, leaving collateral cart damage behind.
Donning my powdered wig (what, you don’t have one?) I ruled swiftly: GUILTY!
She again tried the argument, which had been previously struck down in the Court of Mike: The argument that returning the cart would be next to impossible, as the children were acting like jackrabbits on speed. It seems valid at first. One child is busy trying to take off a diaper while the other one is trying to eat through your recently purchased loaf of bread.
The weather is clouding up, and the heavens are going to open up any second now. You’ve got a small window to tether your children and throw the groceries in the back. No time for marching all the way over to the cart corral, right?
However, the reason this argument does not allow for cart abandonment is that you should have strategically parked from the get-go. Immediately upon entering the car lot, pull right up beside a cart corral. That way, when you leave, your cart is already home.
You can even give it a cool little hip bump to send it the final few feet, just to show what kind of happenin’ person you are.
And I know the counter arguments to this:
1. “What if it’s raining? Don’t you want to park as close as possible?” Answer: If you are a parent, you are most likely covered in drool, Cheez-It crumbs or the remnants of the melted Nerds you just sat in, so a hardy downpour might do you some good.
2. “What if it’s hot? That’s a long walk.” Answer: Let’s be honest – if we were to find the largest parking lot at a grocery store and park at the very end, it would never be considered a long walk. Consider it your daily cardio.
3. “But what if I am pregnant and want to park in that parking space with the little stork sign that reads, ‘Expectant Mothers only’?” Answer: I have never had that problem.
4. “I am special. Little people will gather the carts for me.” Answer: No you’re not. Put your cart back.
I know that I harp on this one issue a lot, but I have to be honest with you: This affects each and every one of us far more than something like social security or a natural disaster in a country we are not entirely sure how to pronounce.
But, Mike, you say, how is that? To which I answer: Stress. It is estimated by me just now that 95 percent of all deaths in the U.S. are stress related. And think about the number of times you go to pull into that prime parking space, only to have to slam on the breaks when you see the lone cart (or, even worse, several of them, huddling together in a “Lord of the Flies” grocery cart commune).
And think about what you mutter under your breath. (Nice language, by the way.) I don’t want you to become a statistic. Imagine a world in which every prime parking spot is just that – a wide open swath of asphalt, just waiting for your SUV to ease into. What’s that? Bluebirds chirping? Sounds like serenity to me ...
Alas, I will conclude with some good news. Shortly after my friend’s confession, I received an e-mail from her. It read “At least for today, I am not ‘that person.’ I strategically parked and returned my cart to the corral!!!”
One convert. A billion to go.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)