Flies.
Autumn is beautiful here, no question about it. It is also harvest season, which means easy access to simple sugars for those that crave them the most.
Flies.
They will also return when the farmers put down manure to fertilize the vines. The whole valley will smell richly and deeply of cow dung. The flies simply love this.
There is a cafe where I will sometimes sit and eat lunch in the daytime. It is pleasant. They have the best Cobb Salad on the square. It is really more of an Irish pub, but there is an outside patio that is pleasant enough. The wifi is slow but sufficient.
The flies there seem to be both dumber and more aggressive than elsewhere, in greater abundance. They will perpetually run these miniature kamikaze missions into my face or hair or arms, or anywhere. It's maddening. Their buzzing is much louder than normal flies, like little rednecks in flying pickup trucks. I have caught them trying to make off with bits of my salad. One of them even bit me.
There is a bar there. Perhaps they are drunk. In fact, I hadn't thought of that before. They must be. They are getting liquored-up and flying about, trying to start fights. I at least hope that they are all males. I wouldn't wish there to be indecent females, ruining themselves on drink and song, buzzing guys off, throwing themselves pantiless at strangers.
The notorious California Appletini-fly.
That realization, the likelihood of drunkenness, irritates me almost as much as the flies themselves. I've tried to swat them out of the air and have had only intermittent success. To lose to a perfectly healthy fly, one that is trying to avoid you to stay alive and thrive for another day, is acceptable. To lose to a drunken batshit fly that is trying to start a fight, or flirt with you drunkenly... very shameful.
I'll not tell anybody else, now that I understand the full scope of what was happening.
You can draw your own conclusions. I'm pretty sure that I could take any of them in a one-on-one. But they weren't fighting fair, and had me greatly outnumbered. I wasn't going to risk accidentally swatting a female fly out of the air. That would be shamefully indelicate.
I awoke this morning to the agreeable sound of rain falling on the many leaves of the trees outside and above. The window is over the bed so there is always the sense that the rain is occurring above me when I awake, where it belongs.
Just darkness and the sound of heaven's buzzing to keep from sleeping.
Flies.
They will also return when the farmers put down manure to fertilize the vines. The whole valley will smell richly and deeply of cow dung. The flies simply love this.
There is a cafe where I will sometimes sit and eat lunch in the daytime. It is pleasant. They have the best Cobb Salad on the square. It is really more of an Irish pub, but there is an outside patio that is pleasant enough. The wifi is slow but sufficient.
The flies there seem to be both dumber and more aggressive than elsewhere, in greater abundance. They will perpetually run these miniature kamikaze missions into my face or hair or arms, or anywhere. It's maddening. Their buzzing is much louder than normal flies, like little rednecks in flying pickup trucks. I have caught them trying to make off with bits of my salad. One of them even bit me.
There is a bar there. Perhaps they are drunk. In fact, I hadn't thought of that before. They must be. They are getting liquored-up and flying about, trying to start fights. I at least hope that they are all males. I wouldn't wish there to be indecent females, ruining themselves on drink and song, buzzing guys off, throwing themselves pantiless at strangers.
The notorious California Appletini-fly.
That realization, the likelihood of drunkenness, irritates me almost as much as the flies themselves. I've tried to swat them out of the air and have had only intermittent success. To lose to a perfectly healthy fly, one that is trying to avoid you to stay alive and thrive for another day, is acceptable. To lose to a drunken batshit fly that is trying to start a fight, or flirt with you drunkenly... very shameful.
I'll not tell anybody else, now that I understand the full scope of what was happening.
You can draw your own conclusions. I'm pretty sure that I could take any of them in a one-on-one. But they weren't fighting fair, and had me greatly outnumbered. I wasn't going to risk accidentally swatting a female fly out of the air. That would be shamefully indelicate.
I awoke this morning to the agreeable sound of rain falling on the many leaves of the trees outside and above. The window is over the bed so there is always the sense that the rain is occurring above me when I awake, where it belongs.
Just darkness and the sound of heaven's buzzing to keep from sleeping.
.
