The Dump

Hi. My name is Manual. Manual Labor. Several times a year I put together an impressive assortment of equipment and I do all our landscaping.
Nine foot ladder? Check. Sawzall? Check. Welding gloves? Check. Loppers? Check. Rake? Check. Big truck and 30 foot trailer? Check and check...
So here I am, getting ready to climb the big ladder.



And here I am, up a tree with a very sharp electric saw:


And here's a picture of the trailer after several hours of cutting and loading:


After I arrived at the dump, I was moved enough to take a photo of the huge metal pile:


I backed the trailer into the "Green Waste" area of the dump, and hopped out with my trusty welding gloves to begin unloading.
Then, "What's this? The last person who borrowed the trailer messed up the tailgate? So I can't actually unload all this stuff?????"
Yeah. Mitch the Bitch borrowed the trailer, bent up the tailgate, said nothing to no one and certainly didn't fix it, and I had to unload 600 pounds of tree limbs without putting down the tailgate. And yes, I have the receipt from the scale. It was 600 pounds. Once again, Mitch the Bitch has found a way for me to be waaaaay less impressed with him!

It took about an hour to unload, when normally it takes about 15 minutes.
Once I got back home, I soaked my sore hands and changed out the overalls so I could go run errands. All the while gritting my teeth, muttering "Mitch the Bitch."
Thanks so much, Mitch.

Liquor License

Good news, we are ready to begin the liquor licensing process for the new restaurant.

Bad news, the process is a lot more complicated than I originally thought.

"Print this, fill it out, get finger printed, take a class, print those results, send in the application with all this, blah blah blah blah, license fee is $100, if your license is approved it costs $2,000."

WHAAAATTTT????????

Chile Rellenos

I believe the translation for Chile Rellenos is "You Will Be A Fat Ass" but I'm not sure about that.

My quest for the perfect C.R.'s started about a year ago. I began "research" by trying the dish at different types of restaurants. Then began looking at recipes on the internet. After trial and error, I found the best way to make them was to ask a restaurant owner and boy did that pay off.

Oh R.J., this is what I was doing while on the phone with you....

First you roast the chiles and then place them in a ziplock bag to steam them for about 20 minutes. I prefer to leave the skins on, because it makes it easier to work with them. But some people skin them. They must like misery.

Then, stuff them with cheese. Like so...


Then dip the chile in a egg and flour batter, roll it in a little flour:

Then throw it in some hot oil:


At this point, my trusty photographer ran off to watch the Family Guy, not realizing that we weren't DONE!!!

After the chiles have been fried for about 1 minute, transfer them to a greased casserole dish, add a little bit of enchilada sauce, a LOT of cheese on top, and bake it long enough for the cheese to melt.

I just happened to make my own refried beans on this particular day, so I served them together. And now we're all just a little bit fatter....

Bikers! Like on Every Which Way But Loose!

While we were on our California Adventure (is that theme park still open???) we noticed a LOT of bikers passing us on the freeway. In Arizona they're highways. In California, we call them freeways.
Anyhooo.. these were not normal bikers. They had incredibly sweet rides, very custom for the most part and we were quite intrigued. Couldn't take our eyes off them. They passed us in groups of about 50, and we lost count after the first couple hundred.
We approached our destination, Santa Ana, and we kidded that maybe all these bikers were going to Steve's boss's restaurant, called Original Mike's.
Then we got downtown, and saw 700 bikes parked at Original Mike's. I guess we were right!

They were there for a fundraiser. This little girl had a medical problem and the bikers were raising money for her treatment. But, it was quite a show for us. We walked around to check out the bikes, and the people. We're so used to our bubble we live in, that it was a real treat to gawk at different people. I did manage to take a picture of one guy who looked like he could play the typical biker in most television shows. Notice the photo is kinda blurry, because I was hurriedly snapping it while he wasn't looking my way:


Everyone was nice to us, I expected to be treated rudely I guess. Maybe it helped that we were walking around with the joint's owner. And he's like a big white Sasquatch...

Who also has a following of very eager cops....

But I certainly need to include some photos of the bikes.






We went to Robert Escalante's shop where Steve's boss has some of his collector cars stored. He also had a couple of his motorcycles there. Steve had to try out the newest V-8 bike;

Wow. What a monster bike!

And then of course I spotted this very classy signage:

Very funny.

Jet Skis, Ugh....

Only once have I worked at a jet ski race where the weather was absolutely perfect. Once. It was in Mexico, it was the FIRST race I ever worked, and it was gorgeous weather. The hotels had no heaters because of the tropical climate, and I remember walking around barefoot on the sandy sidewalks and white beaches in between races. I scored the race with a clipboard while standing in warm, thigh-deep ocean water.
It was no wonder that I took every opportunity after that to work at more jet ski races.

But I've never had good weather, not since then. I've stood in 40 degree water with a very thin dry suit (it's a non-insulated rubber suit that is meant to be worn in somewhat warmer conditions) I've sat on numerous boats with my clipboard, trying to shield myself from the cold wind and freezing water spray. I've burned to a pile of red blistered skin in the 100 degree heat, I've fought rain and snow, and I've done this for almost ten years now. Waiting, just waiting, for that perfect weather again.

Yesterday. Was. Frikkin. Cold.

All last week we enjoyed 80 degree weather. Then when it was time for the 300 mile jet ski race to begin, the wind decided to howl. Out of the north. So that made it quite a bit colder. And we were out on a little boat that was being knocked around by the huge swells on the lake. This race has ten mile laps, and 60 racers who attempt to compete in the rough water every year for the bragging rights to the world's longest continuous jet ski endurance race.

How does one score such a race? We have clipboards, and every time a jet ski, or a "boat" goes by, we record their number. The first "boat" to complete all thirty laps is declared the winner. It takes about six hours for this to happen. Every line we have is numbered, and I remember looking down and realizing at the end of the race that I had recorded over 1,012 racer numbers since the start.

I couldn't take a photo of the start, because our boat was rocking so badly I was afraid of my camera going into the water. But once the water got a little better, I managed to get some great photos:



I made sure to get really good photos of this particular jet ski, because of the number plate. Brandy would probably agree.... That's a 411 if you couldn't tell...


I even got a photo of myself, looking out for jet ski numbers:

Don't I look professional? Looks are deceiving.