FUMIGATION, THE SEQUEL

I LOVE EMAILS WHERE PEOPLE TELL YOU TO DO SOMETHING REALLY annoying in like three words flat with no punctuation or capitalization, like the one I got this morning from our building manager Lesley regarding today's exterminator visit.

"9-12 clear the kitchen"

Last week she told me this was a gel job. If you're now telling me I have to move half my house ten feet to the left in the next eight minutes before noxious fumes coat every surface in my home, it would be nice if those chubby fingers tapped out a few extra words to soften the blow before grasping for your third piece of coffee cake.

I also love it when people call you and instantly launch into a long monologue, then get huffy if you try to turn it into a two-way conversation with a point and a duration that allows you to swiftly get back to what you were doing before you unwittingly assumed the role of agony aunt. Janet has commandeered building management to fix, among other things, the shininess of her bathtub and the angle of her kitchen counter. Plus, she's known as a particularly particular person by most standards. So I think I can be forgiven for harboring the idea that she may have been overreacting when she ordered the entire building fumigated last month (see Fumigation Day At The Mayoral Compound), a job brazen in its naked half-assedness. I had never seen more than a handful of roaches (imagine that) in my unit until we were fumigated. Now they're everywhere. And from the facial expression on the Mexican Mafia member with the spray gun who I left in my home this morning, today's round of poison shouldn't do much more than give my place that Cellular Holocaust smell that makes a home so inviting. So Janet, I love you like that Persian dish with the boiled limes, but I don't feel like hearing the person who sent roaches to my home complain about the roaches in her home. I'm a pawn in a chess game between two sociopaths: one who doesn't talk enough, and another who talks too much.

Sorry if I'm grumpy. I just had to move my kitchen for a bunch of roaches that will be back next week. Plus I just heard famous atheist Christopher Hitchens has throat cancer, which doesn't bode well for atheism.



Getting some love on my new song with Gotham Green. Check it out at ChinkyeyedLA. "I got some farmland in Turkey that keeps my mama's back furry."

Spye and Yoshe doing the honors this Thursday at our new weekly at Bamboo Restaurant. Mojitos and ceviche, whaddayant.