When Arizona hands you scorpions, make lemon juice or something

Note: This column appears in the 7/14 issue of The Glendale Star and the 7/15 issue of the Peoria Times

Many thought it wasn’t possible, but here is how you go to the same store four times in the span of about two hours.

We had just returned home from an extended holiday weekend, and there was no food in the house, so I went to the grocery store. When I got there, I realized I had forgotten my wallet. The good news was that it was only 118-degrees outside with 90-percent post-monsoon humidity, so getting back into the car I just finished driving for seven straight hours because I am an idiot was a very appealing and exciting thing for me to do. This was my first trip.

I got my wallet and went back to the store. I did my usual thing that I do at the grocery store, where I walk around confused and buy things and forget stuff. I was almost done when my wife called to see where I was. She was wondering if I could come home asap—she had just been stung by a scorpion.

Had she not sounded so relatively calm and composed, I probably would have reacted even more panicked. As it was, I rushed my cart to the front of the store, located a girl who was bagging groceries, and said something along the lines of, “My wife was just stung by a scorpion. Here’s my cart.” She looked at me with the concern of someone who had just told her, “Today is Tuesday,” and said, “Are you coming back?” I yelled, “I don’t knooooowwww …” as I ran out of the store. This was my second trip.

This was a nice welcome back to Arizona—insufferable heat and scorpions, the latter of which we thought we had rid ourselves of. Freakin’ scorpions. My wife, thank God, was okay. She was well and brave enough, actually, to be upset with me for leaving all the stuff at the store. Chivalry is overrated when it’s time for dinner. I was going back, but because encountering one scorpion makes it seem like you’re under attack, I brought my daughter with me.

They left my cart in the floral refrigerator. After making a scene while exiting just minutes earlier, no one seemed overly concerned about my situation until the cashier looked at my daughter and said, “Is she the one who got stung?” I was like, really? If she just got stung by a scorpion do you think I’d be here buying fish sticks right now? Man. This was my third trip.

My in-laws were concerned, obviously. While video chatting with them shortly after I returned from the store, my father-in-law urged my wife to drink a shot of lemon juice mixed with garlic and honey to ease the pain. The lemon juice with honey and garlic combination is my father-in-law’s cure-all for everything. He has it in his cereal every morning, just in case. If he ever saw a leper, he would douse them with this combination and say, “Don’t worry—you’ll feel better soon.” We didn’t have any lemons, and my wife felt bad that I had already been to the store three times. She asked my father-in-law if the lemons were necessary, and he became increasingly upset at the idea of compromising his cure-all as a result of laziness.

I went back to the store to get lemons. This was my fourth trip. The cure-all made my wife feel better. She is a trooper. I canceled our bug guy and called a new one. It’s good to be back.


This works, too, ironically.

Iced coffee, cookies & HD: America’s hard work pays off

Note: This column appears in the 5/27 issue of The Glendale Star and the 5/28 issue of the Peoria Times

My wife and I have been watching this really great series on the History Channel called “America: The Story of Us.” The show traces our nation’s history chronologically, and does so in such an interesting way. It delves deeper into historical events that we haven’t thought about since the seventh grade –- and thus, never had a full and mature understanding of –- and tends to focus also on certain influential details of both major and seemingly minor events that many of us probably never considered before.

It is an enthralling series to watch, but it has also been a humbling experience for me. Because it has reminded me that I am not necessarily carrying the torch of those great Americans before me.

For one, being reminded of the realities and gruesomeness of warfare never ceases to make me squirm. Not only because it’s gross, but also because it reinforces the fear that if someone were ever running at me with a musket that I would respond by running the other way. And then there are the aspects of war that we rarely consider –- the weather, lack of food and clothing, and disease. Having to endure just one day in minus-10-degree weather on the warfront with a bunch of smelly dudes who just gave me smallpox would be the one thing that would prevent me from running away from a musket. I have, after all, written whole columns complaining about a 24-hour stomach flu.

The western expansion part of America’s history also hit home for both my wife and I, as it’s been almost three years since we moved here from back east. I remember how stressed out both of us felt from packing and making the necessary arrangements for a cross-country move. As I watched reenactments of early settlers embarking on the same trip, except with different stresses –- like, “Are we going to get eaten by lions?” and “Where are we going?” –- it made me extremely thankful that braver people than us blazed this trail.

Then there’s the literal construction of this country, which I have always marveled at. Last week the show focused on the construction of something I had never thought about before – the Statue of Liberty. I knew it was a gift from France, but had always assumed that they just floated it across the ocean. No. They dropped it off in hundreds of pieces, and we had no money to put it together. (Side note: Thanks, France.) Realizing the work, money, and sacrifice –- many construction workers, suspended on beams with no support, died –- that went into this American landmark reminded me of the dread I feel at bringing home a box from Ikea.

It doesn’t help that we typically watch this show while drinking iced coffee and eating cookies, which kind of adds to my embarrassment. Nevertheless, this series has given me a whole new appreciation for our country. And while it’s true that each generation faces its challenges –- what’s more difficult: building your own house or programming a Blackberry? Tough to say -– I’m happy and grateful that I grew up in this one.

Besides, when they re-film this series a hundred years from now, future Americans may marvel at my own bravery. “They still had the stomach flu then?” they will say in amazement. Yes. And scorpions.

Seeing scorpions? There are specialists for that

Note: This column appears in the 4/22 issue of The Glendale Star and the 4/23 issue of the Peoria Times

The last time I discussed scorpions here I mentioned how my wife and I had resorted to hunting for them outside with a black light at night, collecting them in a jar, and then releasing them on the concrete at which point I would kill them in the most panicked and effeminate way you can imagine –- with my flip-flop, while screaming.

Believe me this was not the ideal way we wanted to go about ridding ourselves of scorpions. The dread of reinitiating that summer night routine had remained in the back of my mind, as was the reality of scorpions in general and the fact that we have, though not yet officially, a family now. But one day a few weeks ago while walking back from the mailbox, I noticed a truck parked in front of our neighbor’s house that read, “Scorpion Specialists.”

So I talked to the guy, Chris. He said the Scorpion Specialists seal your home, inside and out and completely, to the point where, along with regular spraying and being aware of what you bring into the house, the chances of seeing a scorpion in your home will be reduced to virtually zilch. I said, “Let’s do this.”

It was an investment no doubt, but considering that I would pay a million dollars to never see a scorpion again –- or, better yet, to hire an arsonist/hitman to set fire to every scorpion in the universe –- it was a bargain. (I want them to die by fire, fyi.)

They sealed the foundation and screened off and caulked every exterior vent, including those on the roof. They sealed the garage, easements, and put new sweeps on every exterior door. They foamed and/or caulked every outlet, light fixture, crack, sprinkler head…everything. They sealed things I didn’t even know we had. We’d be doing a walk-through around the house, and Chris would be like, “You got a high-compressor air chamber vent in this closet?” and I’d be like, “What? I don’t know. No. What?” And he’d open the door and there it was. This happened like a dozen times. I barely know where our hot water heater is.

I told Chris afterwards that had I known specifically about all of the nooks and crannies that allow scorpions to get inside, I never would have been able to sleep at night. As it was I was having bizarre scorpion-related dreams at least weekly. (I didn’t tell him that part.) So I was glad I found them, to say the least.

Which brings me to another point. Part of our lament regarding scorpions is that it seems to us that everyone here dismisses them or is just indifferent. The omnipresence of scorpions is like the elephant in the room of Arizona. But you would think that, with all of my documented frustration with scorpions that someone –- anyone! –- would have been like, “Hey, you know there are desert-proofing services like ‘The Scorpion Specialists,’ right?”

But no. I found out about this because I walked to the mailbox. So thanks, everyone. For nothing.

Still, I write this for anyone as concerned about scorpions in there home as we are. Do what I did. Drop the flip-flop and black light, and pick up the phone.

Classic card of the week

Luc Longley, 1999 Upper Deck

Let us begin:



With three championship rings on his fingers

He probably doesn’t wear them all the time. You could just say "With three championship rings..." because, ya' know, we're aware of where rings are supposed to go. I am very irritable today.

After only seven years in the league,

Weird thing to say considering the three titles had just happened, all in a row. Why even mention the four non-championship years? That would be like me winning back-to-back-to-back fantasy baseball championships and then bragging, “Hey, I’ve won three titles this decade,” instead of just calling myself three-time defending champion. (Which I’m not, in case you’re wondering. It’s just a hypothetical example, starring me. Although I have won three titles this decade -- well, last decade, I guess -- which is something I’ve been dying to casually mention somewhere without coming across as self-serving. So there, I think that worked.)

one might expect the Bulls’ Luc Longley to lose his inner drive to reach new heights.

Indeed, after the 1997-98 Chicago Bulls had won their third consecutive title, and sixth in the previous eight years, the major storyline around Chicago and also nationally was: Will Luc Longley lose his inner drive, which will prevent him from reaching new heights? You could not open a newspaper or turn on the television without seeing some feature that aimed to speculate whether or not Luc Longley would lose his inner drive, rendering him unable to reach new heights. Those new heights being: something better than a championship? It’s difficult to say. The point is: He did not lose his inner drive. Or did he?

The 1997-98 season proved once again, however, that this couldn’t be further from the truth.

First of all, the 1997-98 season was one of those championship years, so it really only seems warranted to question Luc Longley’s inner drive after that season. For what it’s worth, Luc Longley’s points-per-game average dropped almost three points during the 1998-99 season. Was he drunk off success? Probably. He also could have been wearing his rings, which makes playing basketball more difficult.

With the big Aussie in the middle, Chicago can expect to once again challenge for the NBA crown this season.

No they can’t. And I say that regardless of the potential of Luc Longley being able to reach new heights, but it should be mentioned that Longley himself was not even a member of the 1998-99 Bulls. Where did this card get its info from, Wikipedia? Speaking of:

Longley spent two lackluster seasons with Phoenix, where he gained less attention for his play than for being stung twice by a scorpion while sitting on the floor of his home sorting through his CD collection.

Damn scorpions! That's what you get for alphabetizing your CDs, ya' big Aussie.

In December 2009 Longley, who had participated in marine conservation efforts before, named a newly discovered shrimp species Lebbeus clarehanna after his 15-year-old daughter, Clara Hanna Longley.

New heights? Reached.

Did you know?
Longley, always modest, once kindly and partially credited his teammates with playing a small role in the success of the mid-to-late 90s Chicago Bulls.

Good morning Arizona

Note: This column appears in the 8/27 issue of The Glendale Star and the 8/28 issue of the Peoria Times

I had an interesting morning a couple of weeks ago. Would you like to hear about it? No? Well too bad.

It was Wednesday morning and I was up at my usual time of whenever our seven-month old foster son decides to get up. So who knows…4:30am? I have not woken up with the sun in five months, so all I know is that it was dark.

I embarked on my daily morning routine of bringing our foster son downstairs with our dog Mac happily following in my footsteps. I put the little guy down on the carpet so I could feed the dog. Then I let Mac outside so he could do his thing. As I approached our foster son and got ready to pick him up, what did I see resting on the nearby tile floor trying not to be noticed? Yes. A scorpion.

So that was cool. A scorpion. In our house. Just feet away from a toddler. I celebrated this early morning surprise by smashing the scorpion to bits with my sandal. I smashed it so much that there was nothing to clean up, and I can only assume that the remaining particles of this particular scorpion are now embedded into the bottom of my sandal, along with the particles of other scorpions that have died similar deaths.

Now I’m all flustered. Few things in life make me feel as angry and yet helpless as seeing a scorpion. I’m still shaking as I turn our foster son over to change him. He attempts to take my mind off of things by diverting my attention towards the other surprise he has left in his diaper. But then my attention is diverted towards something else.

There is a golden rule in our house: whenever you don’t know where Mac is, and you can’t hear his chain jingling, he is getting into trouble.

I hadn’t heard Mac’s chain from outside this whole time.

I scooped up the little guy and rushed to the screen door that leads to our backyard. It was just now starting to get light out, which allowed me to see Mac lying happily on the ground with a dead bird in his mouth.

Now, it must be mentioned here that my wife hates birds. Despises them. Thinks they are all rats with wings. If scorpions could fly, she would still hate birds more. It’s irrational, but very real. We have tried to trace the roots of this loathing, and it may stem from a youthful and impressionable viewing of the Alfred Hitchcock movie. Or the time she was inadvertently left in a cage filled with birds while on a family trip to Italy as a child. Either way, she will literally turn around and go back from whence she came if there is a pigeon in her path. It's a miracle she graduated from NYU.

I’m not a huge fan of birds myself –- especially dead ones –- but I knew, for my wife’s sake, I had to resolve this issue before she awoke.

So I rushed outside with the little guy in my arms, with no plan of action. Mac, knowing this, simply ran away with the dead bird in his mouth, and into the house thanks to the fact that I had carelessly left the screen door open.

He ran upstairs towards our bedroom. “She is going to die,” I thought.

Luckily, Mac had dropped the dead bird on the stairs. At this point, my wife had walked out of the bedroom to see what the ruckus was. “DON'T LOOK!” I screamed. But her eyes had already witnessed the dead feathered creature on the stairs. She cupped her hands over her mouth as if to throw up and ran back into the bedroom on the verge of tears.

I had to get a small garden shovel to scoop the dead bird into a garbage bag. When I first touched it with the shovel, it fluttered a little bit, scaring the living crap out of me. One last dying breath.

Then I got stuck in traffic.


The circle of life

The scorpion: Because then everyone would want to live here

Note: This column appears in the 7/16 issue of The Glendale Star and the 7/17 issue of the Peoria Times

When we informed our family over two years ago that we were moving to Arizona, the reaction was predictably mixed. They were happy for us, but sad to see us go. It was my uncle however, that had some practical advice: Watch out for scorpions.

This advice has proven to be invaluable, especially considering that every single person we initially asked about scorpions upon moving here reacted indifferently. I have come to believe that this is a vast conspiracy, and that every person who lives in Arizona privately acknowledges not to make a big deal out of scorpions when newcomers ask. The state brochure should read, “Arizona: What scorpions?”

I cannot tell you how bonkers it drives me when people do not react with the proper indignation when it comes to this subject. Arizona is home to the bark scorpion, which Wikipedia -- my source for all social, spiritual and scorpion-related information -- describes as being the only species “capable of causing lethal reactions in humans.” Hey, no big deal! It’s just death…what are you gonna do, ya’ know?

When we came across our first scorpion –- a bark scorpion, in our closet, thank you very much –- a few weeks after moving here, my wife and I reacted as if we were both on fire, and I eventually ended up smashing the thing with my flip-flop until the particles of the scorpion were no longer distinguishable to the human eye. There have been other encounters, several of which have resulted in me leaving panicked voice mail messages for our “bug guy” at midnight on a Saturday.

Can we blame this on the economy? Actually, yes. Due to the real estate crisis and foreclosures resulting in vacant houses that aren’t treated, we have seen more scorpions this summer than ever. All bark scorpions of course. Feeling frustrated, defeated, and more concerned now with two foster kids and a small dog at home, we decided to take matters into our own hands, vigilante-style.

My wife and I became vegetarian hunters.

Scorpion hunters.

Based on the recommendation of a friend with similar concerns, we took drastic action. I purchased a black light online (blacklight.com). It’s called – no joke – The Arachnid. Now, before we go to bed at night, we take The Arachnid, a pair of pliers, a glass mug, and whatever courage we can muster outside and we hunt scorpions.

First of all, you cannot believe how The Arachnid illuminates a scorpion. Totally exposes it in florescent green. Then I grab it with the pliers, ideally crushing its insides, and drop it into the mug which it cannot climb out of (because they cannot climb glass, and because I just cut it in half). Then we transfer it to a closed container and leave it there to die and think about the harm it has caused by being a scorpion.

(It should also be mentioned that the black light illuminates other things as well, most notably paint stains. Because we have several paint stains on the rocks outside, and on the carpet in our bedroom, I have almost had about twenty heart attacks as a result of shining the light on one of these stains and thinking a gargantuan and impenetrable-by-pliers scorpion has taken over our property. The same stains do this to me every night. Also, because we do this right before bed, I have had nothing but scorpion-related dreams for the past two weeks. The other night I dreamt I had a scorpion dentist. Needless to say, this entire endeavor has been an exhausting assault on my senses.)

We caught six scorpions in the first five nights, including a baby that I showed no mercy to. And that six isn't counting the two that got away (into our neighbors yard...sorry, buddy!) I think the fugitives have spread the word to the others, as activity has slowed. But we remain vigilant.

Eventually we would like to attach The Arachnid to a hardhat and wear Dickies suits and goggles and film a realty show. If anyone important is reading this, call us.

Oh, and if any of our family is reading this, come visit us! It’s awesome here! What…scorpions? Pffttt. They’re no big deal.


When we put the black light on these guys, they hissed and ran away.