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We always say "the mosquitoes are bad tonight," but never "the mosquitoes are good." That sounds like they're helping out with the chores — or at least saying please and thank you. It's either "bad" or there aren't any.
Because we have reached that time of year when the bugs are engaged in their annual evening-ruination maneuvers, I went to the store for some spray. It comes in two scents: "Breeze Off the Superfund Toxic Waste Site" and "Personal Wipes." It works, but you have to keep spraying, and if you miss a half-inch of your ankle, that's exactly where the skeeter goes. Tomahawk missiles aren't that accurate.
At the Cub I saw a display for scented anti-skeeter candles. One scent was "S'mores," but one sniff told me I would want s'less. There was Pine scent, in case the skeeters came back at Christmas, and Campfire. That's the one I got. You know how your sweater smells in the fall after you've been around a bonfire? It's like that, except it smells like you burned the sweater.
The candle, as far as I can tell, is effective if you perform the following acts exactly as I describe: 1. Light wick 2. Place candle on lap 3. Dip shirttail into the flame 4. Sit still until totally engulfed in fire. Otherwise, it doesn't do much.
Ah-ha, here's something new: an ultrasound device that emits a sound mosquitoes can't stand. What, a Justin Bieber song? No, it's a faint, high whine. It's like a tinnitus simulator.
I strapped it on my wrist, turned it on, and waited. Aaaaamaaazing. No mosquito bites at all. Well, now let's try it outside.
By the way, when I turned it on, I wasn't thinking about the dog on the floor. From his reaction, I apparently had activated the Canine Emergency Broadcast System. "This is a test, Scout. This is only a test. OK, I'll get a mop."
Here is my report on using the device at dusk:
8:23 p.m. A mosquito just went into my ear. The ear that could hear the high whine of the device. Of course I slapped the side of my head, which made my ear ring even louder.
8:27 p.m. A mosquito landed on my arm right next to the device. What, do I have it set on HOMING SIGNAL? Is this some perverse joke? Is it sending out a mating call? But the mosquito did not bite. Maybe it was the device. Maybe it looked at the menu and thought nothing looked good.
9:04 p.m. A mosquito landed on my right arm. I watched it, waiting for it to clap its legs against its head and throw up, or something. But it bit me. I dispatched it to mosquito heaven — also known as human hell — and checked the effective radius of the device. Six and a half feet. My arms are not 6 feet apart because I am not a sumo wrestler.
9:10 p.m. I took off the device and placed it in my lap to ensure full-spectrum ineffectiveness. A mosquito landed on my right arm. I moved the device toward it; it flew away. I'll count that as a success.
9:14 p.m. A mosquito bit me on the forehead. To be fair, I wasn't thinking about the device at the time.
So it's going back to the store. Looks like I'll have to rely on the one thing that eliminates mosquitoes 100 percent of the time, without fail. It's called "October."
james.lileks@startribune.com • 612-673-7858 • Twitter: @Lileks • facebook.com/james.lileks
