Dang'd Kids and their Music

This past Saturday, I fell asleep on the couch as will happen from time to time. I woke up about 4am or so and toddled off to my bed to complete my slumbers. Unfortunately, it would be about an hour or so before I finally was able to fall back asleep. Not because I wasn't tired or anything of that nature. No I wasn't able to sleep because of a vicious row that my neighbors were having. Before I go on, a little history...

I have lived in a myriad of locations and apartments. From my parent's house to a dorm room to a student apartment to a studio apartment to 3 different "real" apartments. I've lived in Chicago, Mount Prospect, Lisle, Springfield and now, outside Dayton, Ohio. Up until recently, I have had no problems with my neighbors or the amount of noise that they make. Actually, I'm not including the dorm room or student apartment since raucous behavior and noise just goes with the territory. Nor am I including my parent's house since I like to have some place to stay when I return to Chicagoland. Nope, nothing until I moved out of my parent's house once and for all at the somewhat obscene age of...well, that's not really important to this story.

In my first apartment, a small studio apartment, I had only one incident where I was disturbed by a neighbor's music. I can't recall if I was actually awoken by the music or I was trying to get to sleep after being out (I am assuming the latter for reasons that will be clear in a minute), but I do remember hearing "smooth" jazz. Since there is only one reason that anyone listens to "smooth" jazz that late at night, I wasn't going to go downstairs and complain.

At my next apartment in Mount Prospect there was a single incident also relating to music. This time, my neighbors were having a party and the music was up a bit, but once I got into my bedroom and closed the door, it was barely noticible. The problem was that the host (or hostess - I never actually met the person living right next to me - seems to have passed out at some point and the whatever CD they had on started skipping. Now, one would think that having to listen to the same 5 seconds of a song over and over and over and over for about 3-4 hours would burn it forever into your head, but truthfully, I have no clue what the song was.

While living in Lisle, I had no complaints about music or people walking to loudly, etc. There was one minor irritation, but it's not something that could be helped. It seems that the couple that lived above me had recently had a child - again, never actually met them - so for the first few months, I did have a baby crying at regular points during the night. But, since I was now in a two bedroom apartment (actually a one bedroom with a den) the only time I could hear the baby cry was when I was up really late watching TV or on the computer.

Another thing that you have to understand is that once I fall asleep, there is hardly anything that will wake me up. I once stayed at some friends' condo in Chicago when a building right across the street from the bedroom I was in went up in flames. The firemen, more concerned with putting out the fire than letting people sleep, made no attempt to keep quiet. The fire trucks came tearing down the street sirens blaring and lights flashing, they extended the jacks with a great hydraulic whine, shouted orders and sprayed upteen gallons of water on the house and, generally, made a nuiscene of themselves. Actually, I have no idea if this is what really took place, since my friends had to tell me about it the next morning. I thought they were kidding until they made me look out my window and see the destroyed residence for myself...and damned if there wasn't a fire gutted house across the street! So, you see, I sleep pretty heavily. Although, I will always hear the phone ring. Explain that if you can.

Anyway, back to the main point of this whole entry. The incident on Saturday night/Sunday morning was not the first time that this had happened with these particular neighbors. Now, these neighbors - who I have said hello to - are a couple of 20-somethings who are most definately night-owls (but then who isn't at that age?). Another issue is that their entryway/front room is directly behind my bedroom so I can hear anything above a normal conversation. The first happened a couple of weeks after they moved in. I'm guessing that I wasn't sleeping well because I was woken up at 3am or so by their music. It wasn't bad music - no rap, hip-hop crap or "smooth" jazz - still it was 3am on Thursday morning. This went on until about 5am, at which point I was able to get back to sleep.

You may be wondering why didn't I just go and knock on their door and tell them to keep it down. Two reasons. First, I'm normally able to not only sleep through anything, but also fall asleep through anything. Second, this is not an apartment building, it is a "complex" (for some reason, as I was typing complex my back got a whole lot straighter). In order to go and bang on their front door, I would have to go outside and who wants to deal with that kind of bother.

From the sounds of it, the fight the other night was a doozy. Though, I have no idea what it was actually about. I came into it late and I couldn't make out half of it. My theory is if you are going to wake up the neighborhood with your screaming and fighting at least do it loud enough so that people can hear through the walls. All I got was the a lot of indeciperable words with the occasional swear word that I could recognize - including the "C" word. What took me by surprise was not the use, but the user - she said it refering to another woman. I'm pretty sure that that is illegal.

Maybe I can get them to play classical music next time. That's always nice to drift off to.

Warning - The Material You Are About To Read May Be Inappropriate For Small Children

"Perhaps, just perhaps", I said to myself when first contemplating this entry, "I'm about to reveal a bit too much about myself." Then I realized that my second post was entirely about the consequences of going to the bathroom with cold hands and decided that this is, if not any better, at least no worse.

You see, at some point in the past I seem to have become some sort of mad scientist. This is actually pretty surprising since:

• Madness does not run in my family - cancer, high blood pressure, heart disease and age-related dementia, sure! No madness though.
• I never really excelled in the sciences in school. Even though I somehow managed to get into the honors section of high school chemistry the only way that I actually passed the class was by borrowing other student's lab books and cribbing on the exams.

So with these two facts in mind, even I'm confused as to how exactly I descended into madness and bleeding edge research.

It is now apparent that I have become the Dr. Frankenstein of the refrigerator - trying to create life from lifeless flesh. Unlike the good Doctor, I think that, among other things, I'm using chicken (at this stage it is both difficult to remember or recognize what I started out with) and not human bodies for my experiment. Also, I don't have a trusty, humped-back assistant (Hump? What hump?) named Igor (pronounced either ee-gor or eye-gor, your choice)

The problem is that I only rarely cook so when I do, I generally make enough to have left-overs. Once I have sealed the remaining morsals of the meal into one of those nice Zip-Loc storage containers - this, by the way, is where Igor would really come in handy...he could do the dishes - I gently place it into the refridgerator and....promptly forget about them. Now since I don't cook that often, I don't shop that often, because I don't shop that often I don't generally have anything in my refridgerator, because I know that I don't have anything in the refridgerator I don't look in it for food, because I don't look into the refridgerator for food it any leftovers that I may have so carefully placed in there end up looking like the creeping crud.

Actually, it is a pretty good example of anerobic mold growth. What is anerobic mold growth, you ask? Besides being one of the countless useless pieces of information taking up space in my head for no real purpose (which is kind of the definition of useless), it is a when mold grows in an oxygen depleted state. Okay, enough real science for now, back to my story. Now, I'm not taking samples and putting them through the battery of CSI-esque tests that could reveal not only what type of mold it is, but also where it spent its childhood, when and with whom it last had sex, maybe - just maybe - answer that age old question...well, you get the idea.

I've actually become a bit scared to look in the fridge any longer. I've kept it trapped it trapped in the refridgerator for so long, who knows what a really, really pissed off mold is want to do. I suppose that when I do finally screw up the courage to confront this homicidal mold sample, I shall just have to do it wearing my official protective suit, just like the military wears. If you don't hear from me in the next few days, well, it's been nice knowing you and I'm leaving everything to Natalie...except the porn, which Kevin gets. specifically it's Kevin D who is getting the porn and not Kevin U - sorry, but I don't have any of the porn you like Kev.

Other Thoughts
I watched the entire Democratic National Convention - fine, it was like 2 months ago, but who's counting - and after listening to each of the speakers, including John Kerry, I decided that I'm voting for Bill Clinton again. I don't care that he is constitionally banned - because of the actual Constitution and because his constitituion isn't quite up to after the quadruple bypass surgery the other day - I'm still voting for him. Of course that assumes that I get my Ohio driver's licence and register to vote. I still have a few days.

I also watched President Bush's acceptance speech at the Republican National Convention. Which is really a shame since I missed Zell Miller (a Democrat) lay into the nominal head of his party. Though I guess we still come out on top...they get Zell Miller and we get John McCain. There is no possible way that I could do the President's speech justice...I'll let The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and John Bliss's Your Weekly Reader do it for me in a much smarter and funnier way than I ever could hope to acheive.

Oh, and in case you haven't yet figured out that I will not be voting to re-elect the current occupant of 1600 Pennslyvania Ave, here are a few other Bush related sites that I found very amusing.

Bush Yoga - Yoga Poses by George Bush

Bush Flip Flops

Catch Up

A lot has happened since I last set fingers to keys, so let's not waste any time on pleasantries and get right to it. Shall we?

Whistlestop
I returned to Chicago about two weeks ago for the Chicago Pride Parade. After visiting with my niece (and by default my sister and brother-in-law) on Saturday, I headed downtown to my friend Stacey's "cute" apartment. Anyone who has ever looked for an apartment knows that "cute" is code for small - very small. After she cleaned up the apartment a bit, we headed out to see "Anyone Can Whistle" (an early musical by Stephen Sondheim) directed by an acquaintance of mine followed by drinking at a local bar. This was not our original plan, which called for going directly to a bar without passing go, collecting $200 or stopping in a theatre, but our friend John Bliss called and was able to arrange a couple of free tickets. Stacey hadn't been to see a show in a while and I'm a huge Sondheim fan, so off we went. After the show and two bars, we went back to Stacey's and crashed.

Gay Pride Parade
Attending the annual Gay Pride parade, which is always the last Sunday in June, has become a tradition among my friends, several of whom, as it turns out, happen to be gay. Sorry, but there will be no long description of the twinks, lesbians, trolls, bull-dykes, leather men, sugar-daddies with their boy toys or preoperative transexual lesbians that were on display. There will be, however, a short digression on the benefits of mixing vodka and Gatorade.

Vodka and Gatorade are the perfect compliments to one another. Vodka, like all alcohol if ingested to excess, will lead to drunkenness, the saying stupid things, and the possibility of hitting on a preoperative transexual lesbian. It will also lead to that ugly feeling the next day know as "The Hangover". While I am generally able to avoid hangovers, simply because I understand what my limit is and switch to water before I get too drunk, there have been times that I have not heeded my body's advice and continued on drinking. One of the hallmarks of a hangover is dehydration and that's where the Gatorade comes in. One of Gatorade's taglines is "Nobody does hydration better" So, theoretically, as you are dehydrating yourself with the vodka you are concurrently rehydrating yourself with the Gatorade, thereby alleviating (or at least reducing) the hangover. Now, I haven't conducted a scientific study on this, but I think the theory is sound. More research will need to be done. Any volunteers?

Back on the main topic...After a short, post-parade recovery period back at Stacey's apartment, we hit the streets in search of additional alcohol, specifically in my case - Corona. Five of us started out originally, but we ran into a couple of friends along the way. About all that I have to say is that we drank excessively, visited several gay bars and I even got out on the floor and danced. All this and not once did I get hit on. Bitches!

Oh, the pain, the pain.
Most of Monday morning was lost to the recovery effort from the night before. We mostly laid around watching various scenes from Kill Bill: Vol. 1. Eventually, I was able to meander back to my car and drive to my parent's house and spend some more time with Natalie.

Speaking of pain, I suppose that now would be a good time to describe two incidents relating to my car, specifically to my back bumper. The first starts about three miles from the exit for my parent's house. I'm nearing the end of a 6 hour drive when a car comes flying up behind me and starts riding my ass. Now, I'm in the middle lane with cars on both sides and another car no more than 50' in front of me, so it's not as if I'm holding up traffic. Does this mean anything to the idiot behind me? No, in fact, it means that he should start flashing his brights. I'm quickly approaching my exit, so spotting an opening, I move over to the right hand lane. Thank God I won't have to deal with that asshole anymore. Oops, spoke too soon. When next I look in my rearview mirror there he is again. Fine. As my uncle used to say while teaching me to drive a stick-shift, "whatever is going on behind you is behind you" or some such stuff. Anyway, as I take the exit off the tollway I can't help but notice that this guy is still riding my ass. As I approach the automated toll booth, I simultaneously start slowing down and looking for 30¢. Suddenly, I lurch forward as this nitwit bumps into me. I pull over to assess the damage to my car (some scraped paint)and the other driver (doesn't carry any insurance) and decide that both I and my car will survive, but not until I have a few cross words with Mario Andretti about his driving habits. With him properly abashed, I get back into my car, pay the toll and proceed onwards towards my parent's. And isn't just my luck, this nimrod ends up going the same way that I am. Only this time, he keeps about 400 yards behind me.

Story Two begins when I am trying to find parking near my friend Stacey's apartment. Parking in her area is no easy task. It is a horrible confluence of issues - too many apartmentt buildings, too many "No Parking" zones and fire hydrants located every 30 feet. Eventually, I see a woman approaching her vehicle making every indication that she is just about to leave. I pull over to the side as much as possible and turn my turn-signal on. Ten minutes later, the tick-tick of the turn-signal is starting to get to me as the woman makes yet another dash inside for some forgotten thing or another, though this time she gave me that universal shrug and smile that says "I'm sorry, but this is the last trip, I promise...really." So there I am sitting waiting for this woman to do or get whatever it is she forgot this time when I notice in my rearview mirror two bicyclists that have obviously had one (or two or ten) too many coming around the corner. The first manages to avoid the huge maroon object that is my car. However, the other, busily trying to finish yet another beer, is not quite so lucky...and neither is my back bumper. With a thump down he goes, in a tangle of metal, flesh and black plastic bag. He lays there, sprawled spread-eagle in a pool of spilt beer right in the middle of the road for a few moments before I decide to get out and see if my car is okay (and,incidentally make sure he isn't dead). Gradually, he stumbles his way to his feet and with barely a coherent word gathers the black plastic bag, which I now realize contains several more canned beverages of the alcoholic variety, and starts to wheel his bike away. His equally non-sober friend, possibly sensing that this incident may not be the last before reaching their final destination, urges him to hand over the plastic bag. No way that is going to happen...if there is one thing that is truly universal, it's the fact that there is just no reasoning with someone who is 30 sheets to the wind. Apparently, crashing into my car had caused his front wheel and handle bars to become un-aligned. I watched as this fool attempted to realign the two by slamming his tire against the tire of a car up the road. This set the bag in his hand to swinging, eventually leading to it slamming into the bike and bursting the cans open. If I hadn't of been seated in my car, I would have fallen to the ground in hysterical laughter. Needless to say, there were many profanities said and an almost equal number of recriminations by the friend for losing the last of their beer.

FIN
That's it for now. There are a couple more stories that need to be told both about Pride Weekend and the Fourth of July weekend, but I've been working on this post for over 2 hours so I think that I'll save them for another day.

Oh, one last thing. July 5th was Musings of a Mis-Spent Adulthood's 6 month birthday. In those 6 months, I've posted 22 entries (not including this one) and written nearly 15,000 words. I've learned recently that several people, besides my friend Kevin D, actually do read my rambling stories. However, he is the only one that ever writes comments. Come on, start a trend, a post a comment today. What is there to be afraid of? It's fun, easy and I promise not to make fun of you in any future posts.

Chronicles of a Ken Doll

This story begins a few weeks ago at a "Welcome to the Team" gathering for my new boss at a local pub (yes, that's right - a pub!) I can't recall the name of it right off the top of my head, but it was Irish...Definitely Irish...I think. Most of that evening seems to have passed in a bit of a haze since the beer was flowing freely because the director of the division was picking up the tab and no expense was to be spared.

Anyway, at some point in the evening, two of my co-workers, both attractive twenty-somethings, turned to me and started dissecting my "look". Needless to say by the time they finished with all the things that are wrong with me, I wanted something a bit stronger than beer. Thank God for Jager! It was then that it was decided that I needed a make-over. Nothing radical mind you just new glasses, haircut & clothes. Like I said, nothing radical.

Now, I have several friends that are gay and ever since Queer Eye for the Straight Guy first hit the airwaves, I've been patiently waiting for them to show up at my door to redecorate my apartment, teach me how to prepare coq au vin, introduce me to the world of couture, show me how to apply pommemade to my hair and...whatever the hell that pixie Jai does. Now mind you what I'm about to say is purely theory so it could be horribly wrong, but I think the reason this hasn't happened is that they are scared. That's right, scared. Scared that they just might succeed too well and I would become the center of attention. No queen wants someone else to be the center of attention. What's the point of a tiara if no one notices?

Originally, we planned the makeover for the Tuesday following Memorial Day. Due to several things, this did not work out so we rescheduled for this past Tuesday. Please let me stress that we did not leave work a half hour early. That would be wrong and I would never condone not putting in the full eight hours that are due to the company in recompense for my paycheck. Again, we did not leave early. But, supposing that we did, we might have started out at LensCrafters. Having just had my eyes examined for this express purpose, all the remained was to look over the selection of frames.

A lot of time was spent looking at different versions. Well, I should say that they spent a lot of time looking at me in different versions. As you may recall, without my glasses I can't see anything but blobs and shapes. It is very difficult for me to actually see what a particular frame looks like on me without squinting really, really hard which just ruins the whole effect.

I do have certain requirements regarding my frames, such as they had to have clip on sunglasses because I really don't care for the idea of having to buy two pairs of glasses and the tint couldn't be bronze. Other than that, I was open. Should the glasses be rimless? No. Should I get transition lens? Another no. How about these round ones? No, yet again. What about these beige ones? An emphatic no. Eventually, we settled on a nice pair of frames that were both to their liking and mine.

Off I went to get the glasses made and off they went to The Gap (for a little shopping of their own). Unfortunately, LensCrafters couldn't fit my prescription into the nice $119 frames that we picked out. Actually, the prescription would have fit fine but the clip on sunglasses wouldn't fit over it. So, with this bad news, I went to find the girls at the Gap. After they tried on a couple of outfits and returned some items, back we went to LensCrafters where we eventually settled on another pair - a $200 pair also with clip on sunglasses but don't clip to the lens. There was a bit of sticker shock since this only was the frames and not even the lens, but then I was reminded that I'd had my last glasses for about 6 years, so assuming that these last as long that works out to $33 a year or about 9 cents a day. Plus, I have vision insurance, so I suppose I could handle that.

I've looked around on the 'net and can't find a picture of the glasses. Surprisingly, LensCrafters doesn't actually show any of their available selection - guess it's because that selection will vary by location. I tried everything that I could think of, from the model number to various keywords on Google. In this case, Google was Garbage. Perhaps, I shouldn't type that what with having only recently re-established my #1 position with the "musings adulthood" keywords. Oh well.

Glasses out of the way, it was time to tackle the hair, which included any and all hair that happened to be on my head. My guides to a brand new me had made a 6:30 appointment so inevitably it was about 6:50 before I was led to the chair with them trailing not far behind. I told my stylist, Janice, that the women were in charge and to do what they said. I figured what little of my hair remained would grow back eventually no matter what they asked for. It turns out that I basically got the same cut as I normally get (see my previous entry about habits). The only twist was the introduction of "product". Yep, the only difference between the old and new me is a dab of gel - who knew it would be so easy?

Au contraire, mon frere. The worst was about to come - not because of the result, but because of what I had to suffer to get there. After getting my beard trimmed and my moustache slightly reshaped, it was decided that the "skunk" look that I normally sport (not by design, it just grows in darker on the sides and lighter in the middle) just wasn't appropriate, so out came the hair dye.

For the next 50, GQ filled minutes I had to sit in the chair as the hair dye did its job. For those of you who haven't had their hair colored, the smell of the dye is nothing short of caustic. Generally, the dye is applied to the hair growing out of the top of the head and not to that growing right beneath the nose. Just as I would grow accustomed to the smell, Janice would come around and "freshen up" the dye..."just to be sure we got everything" was her reason. I suspect it was because she took a certain sadistic pleasure in seeing a grown man cry.

All told, everything came out well. Due to length of time that was required for the coloring, the girls abandoned me so we never made it to the clothes portion of the makeover. We were going to go today at lunch but one of the two was out sick today. I don't know exactly if/when we are going to go but there will definitely be another entry.

The big unveiling at work went well. I was a few minutes late, but now that I have apply product, I blamed it on that. Everyone likes the new glasses and the consistent color of the facial hair. One weird comment that I heard a couple of times was that I looked more tan. That took me aback a bit especially since I don't tan - I red. My sister got all of the Italian genes from the pool, which left me just the German. And Germans are not well known for their olive skin. About the only thing that I can figure is that the combo of the new, smaller glasses and the dyed moustache/beard somehow gave my skin the appearance of a deep, rich, George Hamilton tan.

Oh, one last thing. There are some before and after pics of the transformation which I will post once I get them. Until then, remember the immortal words of Fernando Lamas..."it is better to look good than to feel good." And man, do I look good - everybody says so between fits of laughter.

What If This Is As Good As It Gets (Again)

Once more, and for some inexplicable reason, this page is again the result when you use the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button when doing a Google search on "musings adulthood".

I would like to thank everyone that has made this possible...my parents, my friends (especially Kevin D), my third grade teacher, the academy, the other nominees for not being as well linked as myself and most importantly - God. I'm not exactly sure what He did for me, but since He works in mysterious ways, we won't ever know definitively. Plus, it's always best to throw kudos to a omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent diety whenever possible - just in case.

I Spy With My Little Eye

Today I went to get my eyes checked. I've been wearing glasses, almost exclusively, since the 4th grade. There was a short, 4-6 month experiment with soft contacts at one point, but since it turned out I could only wear them comfortably for about 8 hours, I went back to glasses. There was also a two, pain-searing, torture filled minutes when I tried hard contacts, but I would rather not discuss how I screamed like a little girl, thank you very much.

It turns out that I'm a bit blinder than I was 6-7 years ago, which is the last time I had my eyes checked, but not by much. I am still near-sighted and probably won't need bi-focals for another 10 years or so, but I will definitely need them eventually according to my eye-guy [he went to the Illinois College of Optometry which is apparently in the Hyde Park area, but I'm not sure if he is an opthamogolist (Dr) or an optometrist (grad school)].

As a side note, for some bizarre reason I'm usually confused momentarily as to if I'm near-sighted or far-sighted. You would think since the description of type of sight you have is also the common name for the condition (as opposed to myopia or hyperopia) this would not be such a problem. But my mind likes to play tricks on me and reverses the two. Of course, I still have to think about which is my right and which is my left hand, so...

I also learned that my astigmatism is considered oblique, though I'm not why the direction is important. Again, according to my eye guy, most astigmatism are either vertical or horizontal. Well, I do like to be unique in a mass culture kind of way. For those who aren't up on all the latest optometric terminology, an astigmatism is:

A condition in which the cornea of the eye is asymmetrically curved, causing out-of-focus vision.

Quoted from MedlinePlus Medical Encyclopedia

Basically, this means that I need my glasses to correct focus so that I can read. So, I won't be traumatized when the time comes for getting bi-focals.

Now, before I saw the eye-guy, I was pre-screened by an assistant. The pre-screening included such optical favorites as:

- Read the Smallest Line (Right & Left Versions)
- Which Figure Appears to be Floating? (Special appearance by the Polorized Glasses)
- What Number Do You See? (Are You Color Blind?)

and of course, everyone's all time favorite...

- Puff the Magic Air Ball

That one always gets me. I know that it is coming and yet, like a horror movie, I jump every time.

I have to say the worst part of the whole vision testing rigmarole is that until they start flipping around the various lens to figure out your prescription, I was nearly blind. That's right, the bastards took away my glasses. Don't they realize that I am wearing glasses for a reason? I can only see blobs and shapes; I can't focus in on anything. Jerks!

So there it is - my trip to the eye-guy. Oh yeah, one more thing was mentioned, as it is by every medical professional that I have seen since college, I should quit smoking. He says that there is a direct correlation between smoking and macular degeneration (which is basically a form of blindness). Aren't there any benefits to smoking? Surprisingly, yes there are.

Oh and one last vision related note. I noticed the other day that my garage door opener is blue. I've had the dang'd thing for nearly a year and only just noticed it was blue. Granted it is a dark blue and since I tend to glance at it when putting the garage door open or down it is possible that cultural inertia took over and my mind just decided that it was black like 99% of the rest of them. Then again, I still have to think about which is my right and which is my left hand, so...

The Ants Go Marching in One by One

Well, not ants but cicadas. Cicadas are the insect du jour here in Dayton. Or, more appropriately, insecte de l'été, which means "insect of the summer" for anyone who doesn't have either a nodding acquaintance with French or isn't a crossword fanatic. The way people are talking about them, you would think that this is one of the ten plagues of Egypt. Of course, if people start breaking out in boils then there may be something to it.

Cicadas are big, nasty looking bugs with that "song" that sounds like a rattlesnake hopped up on cocaine. Not sure what I'm talking about? Well here is a very nice page on cicadas, including sound files put together by the University of Michigan Museum of Zoology. According to them,

Cicadas are flying, plant-sucking insects of the Order Hemiptera; their closest relatives are leafhoppers, treehoppers, and fulgoroids. Adult cicadas tend to be large (most are 25-50mm), with prominent wide-set eyes, short antennae, and clear wings held roof-like over the abdomen. Cicadas are probably best known for their conspicuous acoustic signals or "songs", which the males make using specialized structures called tymbals, found on the abdomen.

All but a few cicada species have multiple-year life cycles, most commonly 2-8 years (de Boer and Duffels 1996). In most species, adults can be found every year because the population is not developmentally synchronized; these are often called "annual" cicada species. In contrast, the cicadas in a periodical cicada population are synchronized, so that almost all of them mature into adults in the same year. The fact that periodical cicadas remain locked together in time is made even more amazing by their extremely long life-cycles of 13 or 17 years.

Yep, Brood X (as it is affectionately known) has burst forth from their extended juvenile period and sucking plants dry as we speak. And up until last week they were far enough away that I could go about my life without having to worry about actually seeing one. You see for me, the best kind of bug is one that is dead and pinned to a display board - though the display board is not necessary. I know, I know, bugs are an important part of the ecosystem and if they were gone we would all die. Bullshit. I'm sure that there are enough Twinkies, SPAM, and hot-dogs currently out there to feed the entire planet at least until I die a cantankerous old man (if all you had to eat was Twinkies, SPAM and hot-dogs, I bet you'd be a tad pissy as well). After that, what would I care? But I digress...

Not far from where I live - across the road, actually - there is a stand of trees that has been home to these flying hell-spawn. Unfortunately, they have begun to migrate over to my apartment complex. And just what should happen to be right outside my apartment? A tree. Yessiree, the bugs have landed. Truthfully, they're really not such bad neighbors. They don't are only really active during the daylight hours, most of which I'm at work, and the rest of the time we just ignore each other. Perhaps there is something to be said for having to spend your formative years underground.

When the Cat's Away...

Normally, I don't write entries while at work but my boss left for vacation about 1pm today. I held back from writing an entry right away since bosses can be sneaky and suddenly reappear when least you expect them.

Oh, what a happy circumstance! Even more so because my boss sits in the cube right next to mine. I have a couple of projects to work on but now there is no rush. I can dog it for the next 10 days...come in late, leave early, take 3 hour lunches, have a mid-afternoon siesta, keep a cooler of Corona under my desk - no problems. Does anyone know someone in Brazil? I was thinking of taking up Portugese and what better way to learn a language than to speak it with someone all day long?

Weekend Recap...Several Days Late

Sorry to make you wait for this post, but it was too late on Sunday to sit down and write everything and well...as for yesterday, I figured you'd waited that long, what was another 24 hours?

Before I actually tackle the weekend, there are a couple of house-cleaning chores to be done and both come from my Memorial Weekend post. First, I mentioned the town Paw Paw, Illinois early in the post and said that I would get to it later but then never did. The interesting thing about Paw Paw, besides being what my family called my great-grandfather, is that it is now the home to a very large wind-farm. As I was driving up I-39 to get to my parent's house from camping, I came around a bend in the road and what should I see but a field of windmills. These were those sleek modern windmills - not those that you see in paintings of the Dutch countryside. Believe me, there is just something awesome about seeing, what seemed to be, over 100 of these all together. I'm not suggesting that you take a road trip specifically to see them, though if you find yourself in the vicinity of Starved Rock, it might be a nice little side trip.

The other item in that post that I need to clarify was this line...

Watch this space in the next day or so for another exciting installment. I don't want to give too much away, but let me just leave you with this...two cute, young women are involved.

That particular outing has been postponed until next week, so just keep your pants on. I promise it will be well worth the wait.

Okay, that out of the way, let's move on shall we?

SATURDAY
There I am barely awake at 9:30 or so, when my cell-phone rings. Bleary-eyed, I go stumbling around the apartment trying to figure out 1) where the hell I left the damned thing and 2) who would be calling me? I actually had a suspect in mind for the second question and all too soon my suspicions/fears were confirmed....it was my Uncle Bob. Most weekends are the same - between 9 and 10am (usually on Sunday) I will receive a call from my uncle asking me what I'm doing and extorting that it is "Project Day". I remember a simpler time when Project Day meant making a turkey by tracing my hand on construction paper and decorating it using tissue paper, safety scissors and some Elmer's All-Purpose Glue. Today, Project Day has more sinister overtones...I will actually be working. Perhaps working is not the right term, it's more along the lines of hard labor - you know, the stuff they make criminals do on the chain-gang.

The last several Project Days have included such fun activities as pulling out the stump of an apple tree or moving a holly bush 8" so that it is centered on a window or installing a retaining wall. That is Project Day and now you know why I live in fear of my phone ringing on the weekend. You may be saying to yourself, why doesn't the idiot just say no? First, who are you? [NOTE: Originally there was a joke about Nancy Reagan here, but given the passing of our 40th President, I've decided that it may be in bad taste - unlike the $900 per place setting china that she bought for the White House] More importantly, he knows that I really don't have anything else to do and I'm not that much of a lazy slob that I would feel comfortable telling him to F-Off because I want to lounge around the house all day. I have really got to find some friends!

This weekend Project Day wasn't too bad, that is if spreading two truck loads of mulch is your idea of the perfect summer activity. Ahh, mulch. What can I say about it except that it is extremely aromatic (and not in a good way) and that it is surprisingly warm. I guess decaying plant material will be like that. The work wasn't that difficult - pitch the mulch from the truck into a cart attached to the riding mower, drive to the bed that needs mulch, pitch mulch into the bed, spread the mulch, rinse and repeat. However, I really would have preferred to be in my air-conditioned apartment flipping through the channels looking for anything even half-way decent to watch.

When we finished, my cousin Dean and I went to see Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, which we both rather enjoyed. It was not nearly as slavish to the book as the original two movies and the series is definitely taking darker turn - kind of a reverse of the Batman series. Maybe I'll post some additional thoughts about the movie later, but I can see that I'm really starting to run on a bit and there is still aways yet to go.

SUNDAY
Another phone call. This time it wasn't until about 11am and it wasn't my Uncle - it was a guy that I know from work. Actually, it would be hard not to know him since his cube is directly opposite mine. In any case, he owns a boat and a couple of Jet-Skis and I had been letting him know that I would enjoy going out on either in as subtle a manner as I could muster which basically breaks down to me saying something along the lines of "When are we going out on the boat?"

It wasn't the boat, but the Jet-Skis this weekend. This was the first time he was putting them in the water for the season and he wanted to know if I wanted to come along. Fearing my Uncle would call and I would end up putting sod down in his entire yard, I quickly said yes.

Who would have guessed that within about 25 miles of my apartment is a rather large lake. It's no Lake Michigan, but it does just fine for a couple of Jet-Skis. After a quick safety briefing, we donned our life vests and away we went.

In my head, I am not afraid of anything. In the real world, however, I find that I'm a bit of a chicken. I'd been on a Jet-Ski once before about 15 years ago so I had a passing knowledge of the Jet-Ski - basically, if I would recognize one if I went past it. Now, since he owns them, my friend is a bit more experienced on the Jet-Ski than I and he kept trying to teach me how to do quick turns to soak someone, as if this is a skill that I really need to master. In any case, I did manage to get the Jet-Ski up to 50mph on a couple of occasions, but (and this is where the chicken part comes in) there is something about becoming airborne when hitting a wave or wake, even if only for a millisecond nor any higher than a centimeter, that made me more than slightly nervous. I don't know that I can really explain except to say that thoughts of being dumped off the back and somehow snapping my neck kept replaying in my head. Pleasant, huh?

In any case, it was still a lot of fun tooling around at about 25-30mph. Plus, I only fell off twice - both when trying to make those quick turns my friend tried to teach me. Going right, no problem. Turning to the left, on the other hand...well, let's just say I should only travel clockwise on a Jet-Ski.

Whew. As ever, I have just gone on and on. There was going to be a whole section on D-Day plus 21915 days, but I think that it is time to hang it up for the night. Talk with you soon.

Big Day

There is a lot to write, but it is nearly midnight and time for me to go to bed. It has been a busy weekend so I thought that I would jot down a few notes for me to flesh out tomorrow or Tuesday. In brief, my weekend included:

Working at my aunt & uncle's
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Jet-skiing
D-Day (plus 60 years)
The Tony Awards

I'll just let you stew on that for a while.

Don’t Know Why There’s No Sun Up In The Sky

Two posts in one day? Madness! In defense of my sanity, the post "Unwept, unhonour’d, uninterr’d he lies!" was very nearly finished when I saved it early last week. All it needed was a bit of spit and polish and...voila! Now, this has the potential to be a bit of a blogging week (as I will explain below), so I figured it is best to try and keep as current as possible. So, without further ado...The Memorial Day Weekend!

As I had mentioned in a previous post, I was going camping with a bunch of friends at Skydive Chicago. This is the second year in a row for me and the third year for some. I don't know if it yet counts as a tradition or is just something we kinda do. In any event, that's not important.

THURSDAY
I half-heartedly cleaned my apartment (for reasons that will become clear in a while), washed the clothes that I knew I was taking and packed.

FRIDAY
I decided earlier in the week that I would make every effort to be on the road by 2:30pm (EDT). I was mostly successful, having gone to K-Mart at lunch to pick-up some additional supplies (sandals, snacks, 2 cases of bottled water and some OFF! insect repellent). The only thing that prevented me from making my self-imposed starting time was the fact I needed to get my oil changed. Oh well, 25 minutes and $33 later I was on my way. Now normally, when going to Chicago, I will take 1-70 into Indy and then I-65 towards Chicago. As I like to say, the drive to Chicago would be fine except for the part in Indiana. I-65 is nothing but fields on either side of a relatively straight highway. This tends to get a bit monotonous after about 15 minutes. Anyway, instead of I-65, I took I-74 out of Indy. This route had several things going for it...I drove right past the Speedway (you know where the Indy 500 is run) which I had never seen, it was a faster route to Skydive Chicago than actually traveling through Chicago and it was brand new boring. It was basically the same as traveling I-65 (straight and fields to the left and right), but I've never traveled that interstate (at least that I recall).

While I was driving, Stacey called not once, but twice to remind me to pick up firewood. I'm driving through the middle of corn and soy fields - where the F*** am I going to get firewood? The answer? The IGA in El Paso, IL. Who even knew that there was an El Paso, IL? There is also a Paw Paw, but that comes in later in the story.

I arrived at the campsite about 8:30pm (CDT) and we pitched the tents, started the fire, and basically sat around catching up. We finally drifted off to our tents about 12:30/1:00am. That night it got a wee bit chilly - somewhere in the mid-40s. I usually borrow my father's sleeping bag since he only uses it when he takes his annual fishing vacation in Canada. But because I didn't go anywhere near my parent's house, all I had was a flat sheet and a blanket. As I stated before, I rarely get cold. Stacey and Jeremy each put on about 14 layers of clothes in preparation for the night, I put on a pair of thin house pants and a tee-shirt. This would have been fine, except for the fact that I kept waking myself having to go to the bathroom. Our campsite was about 300 yards from the pavilion where the bathrooms are, but I kept rolling over and trying to go back to sleep, only to wake up a little bit later. I finally had enough, put on my shoes and made the trip. I would have selected a local tree, but other campers had come in after dark and I wasn't exactly sure where they were and didn't want to end up relieving myself on a bush that they had backed their tent up against.

SATURDAY
We got up around 8:30am or so. After some general dilly-dallying around the campsite and Stacey making about 42 calls to various family members, who were going to join us in the afternoon and evening for the Serilian show. Oh, did I ever mention that this is basically the reason that we go camping at Skydive? Yep, Serilian has played there the past three Memorial Saturday's as part of some deal-o that Skydive does. There is a whole story about Kevin, Stacey's brother and bassist for Serilian, but you have to know him for it to be funny. Let's just say that in the morning he was complaining of Ebola infection or something but come the afternoon he was fine and ready to start drinking. After the morning calls were all made, Stacey, Jeremy and I went in search of more firewood, having burned through (literally) the four bundles I brought the night before. We managed to stockpile a nice stash and then went to the Wal-Mart for some additional supplies. I purchased a sleeping bag and a queen size air mattress. I didn't really need the air mattress for this trip, but I didn't have one should anyone actually visit me in Dayton and they were right there next to the sleeping bags.

When we got back from the store, the family had started to arrive and arrive and arrive. There are a lot of people in Stacey's family. Also joining us were our friends Greer and Lana. After the Serilian show, which had all the drunks up and dancing, I headed back to the camp to get the bonfire going. Only, there was a bit of a problem. The wind was really brisk. Okay, it seemed to gust upwards or 30 miles an hour or more. This makes building a fire a bit tricky. I was able to get it going, but the combination of the wind and the fact that the wood we collected was a bit damp, really took the edge off the whole bonfire. Much drinking and merriment ensued! I finally hit the tent about 4am or so.

SUNDAY
Right around 5:45am or so (at least according to Stacey, who apparently was still carousing) it started to rain. It wasn't until a particularly violent thunderclap at about 7:00am that I actually was aware of the rain. If you didn't know, I can sleep through nearly anything. Once I was spending the night at some friends condo and there was a fire right across the street from the bedroom where I was sleeping. According to them the next morning, the fire trucks came down the street with sirens ablarin' and didn't make any attempt to be particularly quiet. They were amazed that I didn't hear a thing. What can I say, I sleep the sleep of the dead. Anyway, it rained on and off most of the morning and so we decided to break camp and head home a day early.

The rest of Sunday was spent at my parent's house doing very little, though I did see Kill Bill, Vol. 1 - which I'm going to have to see at least 2 or 3 more times to begin to pick up on some of the references that Tarintino has put in there. However, I can see Kill Bill, Vol 2. and wait for the Special Edition DVD with both movies on it.

MONDAY
Went by Erika & Nathan's (my sister and brother-in-law) house and hung out and played with my niece. A couple of weeks ago, my sister sent me the following e-mail:

Natalie seems very excited to see you. She asked me on Sunday if Uncle Chris was coming to Natalie’s house tonight. Then yesterday she heard a noise and said “Uncle Chris is here?” She is a pretty funny little girl!

Talk about heart breakers, especially when it was going to be 10 days before I saw her. Leaving everyone else behind in Chicago was nothing compared to not being around as Natalie goes through her toddler years. I still see her every time I go back, but it is not nearly enough. Of course, add to that that I will again be an uncle in November, I'm really ripe for a full on depressive bout.

TUESDAY (Today)
When I moved to Dayton, I asked my sister to return my cable box to the Comcast office in Lisle since they were closed on Saturday. She agreed, but due to the fact she couldn't manage to get both Natalie and the cable box into the office simultaneously, she turned the responsibility over to my father. Mind you, I moved to Dayton in late July, so it is nearly a year ago. I finally returned the box today. The Comcast people were very kind and didn't blink an eye. They simply took it back, asked me to sign a receipt and I was out the door. Then it was off to my Aunt Josephine's for a quick visit and ducking of all the stuff that she offers. My Aunt Josephine is about half a rung beneath Mother Teresa, I kid you not. She is about as saintly a person as you could hope to meet. However, she is a little baffled by the distinction between "brand new" and "never been used". When I went to grad school, she gave me a set of "brand new" plateware that, most likely, had not be manufactured since the late 70's. There is also the Diet 7-Up incident, but that's a story for another time.

I finally hit the open road for Dayton about 10:40am (CDT) and arrived at my apartment about 4:30 EDT - one of the fastest times that I've ever made the trip. There was only one thing left to do...call my Uncle Bob. You see, Erika works from home 2 days a week and so Nathan bought her a new set of office furniture. I'd been eyeing her old desk for some time and so she asked if I wanted it. Because my Aunt & Uncle were going to Chicago for the weekend for a wedding, they agreed to bring it back for me. My Uncle Bob drove it up to my apartment this evening (which explains why I needed to clean the apartment - bet you didn't think that I would ever explain that didya?) and I am typing away on it this very second.

Okay, couple of things..

No, I didn't jump out of an airplane. It was $180 and I could justify spending that much money right now.

Watch this space in the next day or so for another exciting installment. I don't want to give too much away, but let me just leave you with this...two cute, young women are involved.

Until then.....

Unwept, unhonour’d, uninterr’d he lies!

NOTE: I started this entry last Monday, but just got around to finishing it. Originally it was titled, "Cry Havoc! and let slip the dogs of war" from Shakespeare's Julius Ceaser. But since this is a post about the movie Troy, I figured the quote from the Iliad would be a bit more appropriate and appropos.

Last weekend my cousin Dean and I went to see Troy - all 2 hours and 42 minutes of it. Actually, that's the official running time, which I'm pretty sure includes the end credits, for which I rarely stay unless there is some minor actor in the movie that I recognize but can't recall their name, in which case I'll stay through the actor credits. But really, do I actually care who the third and fourth grips are or who provided craft services? No. So, given the scope of the movie and the fact that anyone who is even remotely connected with the movie now gets screen credit (I'm guessing even the guy who empties the Port-O-Lets is credited, but as something more grandiose than shit dumper), we can probably subtract about 20 minutes from the total. Still 2 hours and 20 minutes is nothing to sneeze at.

If you are going to see Troy, you may want to stop reading now, since I'm not a movie critic schooled in the art of not giving too much of the plot away. Also, if you are not familiar with the general story of the Trojan War, I would suggest reading John Bliss's article The Agony and The Iliad.

I must say that I walked out of the movie a bit...Well, I don't know. The acting was okay, the battle scenes spectacular, and just about everything was working but something was amiss. I think there were actually a couple of things. First, I didn't know who I was supposed to like in this movie or even what side I was supposed to be rooting for. Both of the main characters were anti-heros. Achilles (Brad Pitt) despises Agamemnon, King of the Greeks, and only goes on the Trojan expedition so that he will be remembered through the ages while Paris (Orlando Bloom) is a naive coward who, as you would expect, finds redemption for his cowardice late in the final reel. About the only character that you have any real feeling for is Hector, the greatest of the Trojan warriors who, unfortunately for the audience dies about two-thirds through the movie.

Another thing that bothered me was that according to Wolfgang Petersen's telling the whole war took place in about 17 days - 12 of which there was no fighting so that the Trojans could mourn the death of Hector. Contrast that to the 10 or 12 years over which the war is supposed to have taken. Which leads to something that has always made me curious. There were somewhere between 1000 and 1200 Greek ships each of which carried about 50 men. That's at most 60,000 men. How does one carry on a 10 year war with only 60,000 men? Also, how did the city of Troy manage to survive a siege that long without being starved out? It's not as if the Trojans could just order out Chinese every night.

Some of you may know that I am a huge fan of the tracking crane shoot. A really big fan. I think that they can reveal more about a situation in a single shot than 10 pages of dialogue. If you have ever seen the movie Gone With the Wind and can recall the scene at the train depot where Scarlett is tending to the Confederate wounded, we start close on Scarlett with a single soldier and slowly pull back and up to reveal that there are hundreds, if not thousands, of wounded. This scene was the first time that I noticed the tracking crane shot and how effective it can be. Another example that comes to mind are the scene in Henry V after the Battle of Agincourt when Henry walks across the battlefield carrying a page that was killed

All of that was just lead into this...Once the Greeks are underway, we see medium shot of Achilles standing at the prow of his ship, some words are exchanged with one of his crew and then we pull back and up to reveal the extent of the Greek fleet. This would have been even more effective if James Cameron hadn't had almost exactly the same shot in Titanic. About the only thing missing was Achilles crying out, "I'm the king of the world" a la Jack Dawson.

Bottom line...eh. I'd still recommend seeing it, even if only to have a reason to go someplace well air-conditioned in the heat of summer.

Coming Attractions
Okay, one summer "blockbuster" down, several more to go. Here is the current list of movies that I'm waiting to see.

Van Helsing
The Day After Tomorrow
Okay both of these are already out, I just haven't gotten around to seeing them. Perhaps I'll wait for them to play the cheap theater.
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - June 4
The Chronicles of Riddick - June 11
Spider-Man 2 - July 2
I, Robot - July 16
The Bourne Supremacy - July 23
Catwoman - July 23
Thunderbirds - July 30
Alien vs. Predator - August 13

I'm sure that I'll see trailers for some other movies that will intrigue me enough to want to see them, but these are the majors one's for right now. There is one movie that I will not be seeing at the theater, on Pay-Per-View, on network TV, or as an in-flight movie, if I have anything to say about it...Garfield: The Movie.

Now In Lemon Scented!

As you probably noticed, the look of this blog has changed somewhat since I first started it. Blogger, the host of this blog - hence chrisbehnke.blogspot.com - upgraded their service and introduced a whole bunch of new templates. So, I took the chance and made a change.

Now, my friends Kevin and John both maintain blogs as well. Unfortunately, they updated their templates before me. This means that I had to choose something other than what they did since I didn't want to look like I was a big loser and had to do whatever someone else was doing. Granted, not a big fan of the look that Kevin went for on his Candle in the Wind Remix blog, but still...

So here I am with a new template that I'm not completely happy with since I think that the text column is a bit too narrow and I can't for the life of me figure out how to add my links back in. I've spent a good 10-15 minutes looking through the template code trying to see where I can insert my links but so far no go. Maybe one day I will stumble across someone else who is using the same template as I and I'll be able to figure it out. On the plus side, beginning with this post you will be able to write your comments about my entries. There are some additional pluses to the recent upgrade, such as the ability to add pictures and a personal profile, but I haven't yet taken the time to really get those going.

In Other News
Many of you are aware that I recently applied and interviewed for the position of manager over the group that I am currently a part of. Unfortunately, I did not get the job. I always knew, in my heart of hearts, that I was a long shot for the position. Eleven other people applied for the position and I'm sure that most of them brought more actual management experience to the table than I did. On the bright side though, by applying for the position my new manager and director are aware that I am looking for growth. This has lead to some interesting discussions with both of them, as well as Human Resources, about my future plans and how they could help me along. With both my director and HR I heard that one of my major "problems" is that I only have experience with one product within one division. Thankfully, this is going to change in the very near term. My division has been folded in with some other products to create the CRM (Customer Relationship Management)Services Group. Over the next couple of months we will be picking up 4 additional products to support - all software based. And as many of you know, I'm damn good when it comes to understanding software and making it work (both the way it should and also how I need it to). The downside to all of this is that I'm staying here in Dayton for the foreseeable future.

I will be heading back to Chicago over the Memorial Day weekend to go camping and - potentially - to jump out of an airplane. We're going to Skydive Chicago in Ottawa, IL. A bunch of us went last year and it was a blast. I took the Tuesday after Memorial Day off as well, so I'll be stretching it into a 4 day weekend. Too bad I'll be in a car for 5-1/2 hours.

Anyway, not much else to report for the moment...See you soon!

Hobgoblins Of My Tiny Mind

Towards the beginning of my freshman year at Nazareth Academy, a Catholic high school, I asked my mother why the nuns wore those dresses that they wore. To which she responded, "Habit". I kid you not, that was the actual conversation. It wasn't until later that I realized that I played my mom's straight man.

I, like most people, am a creature of habit. Habits are the comfort food of daily life. They are the meatloaf and mashed potatoes that help us to keep our sanity while the world around us tries to serve us haggis.

What brought this up was that I got my hair cut the other day. It wasn't until the woman asked me, "So! What are we doing today?" and I rattled off "#2 clippers on the back and sides, blend the top and no sideburns," that I realized how much habits can rule my life. I also realized I hadn't written a blog entry in a while and could use it as a topic.

On a completely unrelated note, I also decided that the test of a great stylist is whether or not they trim the hair on my outer ear. No, it's not as if I'm some geezer with a bush growing out of their ear canal, just the light fuzz that grows on the earlobe. And it's not that I can't do it, what with having a beard trimmer and all, but s/he is right there, so why not go the extra quarter-mile?

My morning bathroom routine very rarely varies from the following order: trimming my beard (if necessary), shaving, brushing my teeth, showering (there is also a specific order that is followed there, but I'm not sure that I want you visualizing me in the shower), drying off, brushing my hair and, finally, applying deodorant. Don't ask why or how this particular order came about, it is just how it is.

When I arrive home after work I always put my work ID, wallet (which lays on top of ID), keys, watch and my ring in the same place. If I've worn my sunglasses, they go there as well. On the rare occasions that I don't put one of those items there, I will almost definitely forget it when I leave the apartment next. If, for example, I were to take my wallet into my computer room because I was - oh, I don't know, say - ordering my dad his Father's Day gift and accidentally left it on the desk instead of putting it back, I would be driving to work without a license the next day.

Other habits of mine include:
o Putting down the toilet seat - It was after my mother threatened to slam my manhood (well at that point, my boyhood)in it the next time I left it up that this habit was formed
o Driving on the left most part of a lane - Again, this is my mother's fault. If when you were learning to drive and you had a woman with a terrified look in her eye, slamming on the "passenger brake" while shouting "Watch the RIGHT, WATCH THE RIGHT!" you'd quickly start driving towards the left as well
o Picking at my nails - I used to bite my nails, but when I chipped a tooth doing that one day, I decided that the time had come to stop doing that. Oh, and if I ever told you that I chipped my tooth eating something, well, I lied. Get over it.
o Watching television - See my previous post for an idea of just how much of a habit it is. Actually, I'm not sure if TV watching is a habit or just plain laziness. However since this entry is about habits, I'm making the executive decision that it is a habit.
o Bending off the tab on pop cans if I'm going to drink it from the can

There are a multitude more but you get the idea. Once established, habits are hard to get rid of. They are so much a part of what you do and how you do it, most times you don't even realize that for the past 30 years, you've done it exactly the same way.

I can't tell you how difficult it was to wean myself off of biting my nails. I had tried previously including wearing a rubber band around my wrist and snapping it whenever I bit my nails. About all I got out of that was welts on my wrist, an acute queasiness around anything having to do with wrists and nails bitten down to the quick. Even now, almost two years after chipping my tooth and giving it up for good, I still have to be conscious of it.

I have tried to write an ending for this entry several times and so far this is best that I could come up with....Ahh, habits. They're not just for nuns anymore. Sorry.

Hey Kids! Do You Know What Time It Is?

I've made enough references in my previous posts about my TV viewing habits that I thought that I might explain exactly what they are. I guess the best place to start is with a run down of the shows that, for me at least, are must see TV (my apologies to NBC for borrowing their tag line).

Sunday: Alias (ABC, 9/8c); Crossing Jordan (NBC, 10/9c)
Monday: Everwood (WB, 9/8c); CSI: Miami (10/9c)
Tuesday: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (Bravo, 10/9c)
Wednesday: Enterprise (UPN, 8/7c); The West Wing (NBC, 9/8c); Angel (WB, 9/8c);
Thursday: Survivor: All-Stars (CBS, 8/7c); CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (CBS, 9/8c)
Friday: Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda (Sci Fi, 8/7c); Stargate SG-1 (Sci Fi, 9/8c)
Saturday: No specific programs

So there you go, that's the basic schedule...mostly. Spike (the first channel for men, which is a good thing with Lifetime & Oxygen starting their slow domination over the hearts and souls of all television viewers) has recently begun broadcasting Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Monday through Friday evenings. Also, I watch two programs on TechTV, Call for Help & The Screen Savers everyday. I know, I know, that seems a bit much. When you add it up, that's 27 total hours of viewing. And that doesn't include any channel surfing or movies that might catch my eye.

So how does a busy person keep up with all of this? Well, honestly, I wouldn't know - I'm not a busy person. As I said in my very first post...I get up, get ready to go to work, go to work, work, come home from work, watch TV, eat dinner (when there's food in the apartment), watch more TV, get ready for bed, read, go to sleep. However, I do have a trick up my sleeve that helps to even out the viewing and makes sure that if I were to actually go out that I wouldn't miss anything. Yes, I have a PVR (or personal video recorder, aka DVR - digital video recorder, aka TiVo). Right now there are about 7 or 8 movies that I recorded that I haven't gotten around to watching or been in the mood to watch including Apocalypse Now Redux, Serendipity and The Secret of Roan Inish.

Alright, that's it. Nothing profound or life-shaking. Just thought you should know. Oh, one more thing. For those of you who don't get the title reference just click on it and all shall be revealed

Bored, Bored, Bored

As you might be able to tell from the title, I have very little to do today and I'm not enjoying it. In fact, I was so bored that I watched The Growing Pains Movie. Yes, you read right. I watched a really, really, really bad reunion movie from a really, really, really bad 80's sitcom. Well, perhaps it wasn't that bad at the time, but like the Dukes of Hazard, it just doesn't hold up once you get past the age 12. In any case, that just goes to show exactly how bored I was. And let me just say that I was shocked, Shocked I say, that Leonardo DiCaprio couldn't find time in his busy schedule to put in a guest appearance. For those of you who may not be aware, Leo's career really started to kick into high gear when he joined the cast of Growing Pains for its final two seasons as the poor, homeless kid, Luke Bower (thanks IMDb).

Need another example? Okay, I've got one for you. I bought new pillows. That's right, I drove to Bed, Bath & Beyond and bought new pillows. Sure it was nice to get out of the house, but for pillows?

Actually, I've need the pillows for awhile, I just never remembered to go and buy some. It's one of those things that only occurs to me when I'm climbing into bed and realize for the umpteenth time that there is only about a millimeter difference between putting my head on the pillow and putting it directly onto the mattress. Since I like to have my head elevated when I go to sleep, which has the incidental side affect of reducing my snoring, new pillows were definitely in order.

So I showered, got dressed and headed out to Bed, Bath & Beyond. And since I had nothing but time on my hands, I went ahead and shaved. A side benefit is that doing it today will allow me to use the snooze button one extra time tomorrow morning. Ahh, the snooze button...What a miraculous invention it is.

Found some pillows that I liked, though its really difficult to be sure in the store unless you are willing to make a complete ass of yourself by stretching out on the floor for a test snooze, for about $15 bucks each. I also needed a new mattress pad, so I grabbed one that I thought was $20 and only later realized, as I was walking to my car trying to figure out how I managed to spend $125, actually was $48 (including the 20% discount from one of the B3 coupons that I had managed to horde). Obviously, I will be returning that tomorrow. I'm not about to pay $50 bucks for a mattress pad unless it is going to give me a massage. I also picked up a knife set with block and some cutting boards, both of which I've needed for some time, but just never got around to picking up. It's not like I do a whole lot of cooking, but when I do at least now I'm prepared.

So, that's the extent of the excitement in my life at this time. Of course, it could be worse...I could have stayed home and watched the "Facts of Life Reunion Movie" which was right after the Growing Pains movie, but without Nancy McKeon who was probably too busy with her role in "The District" to make it, what was the point?

Good To Know

This is a recent e-mail sent to all associates at my company:

Subject: Reynolds Reaffirms Commitment to Safe, Secure Workplace: No Weapons

Through online feedback from associates, a number of questions and comments have been received about the company's policy that prohibits weapons at work and also about a new Ohio law that allows people to carry concealed weapons. (Ohio's law will go into effect on April 8.) NOTE: Reynolds long has had a policy company-wide that prohibits associates from possessing any kind of weapon (e.g. guns, knives, explosives or toxic substances), or brandishing an object that could reasonably be perceived as a weapon, on leased or company property, at company sponsored events, or during any business activity. This includes carrying weapons in a company-leased vehicle at anytime, whether driven for business purposes or personal use. The policy is not new and it applies to all associates, contractors, vendors, and guests at all Reynolds facilities and events. Weapons of any kind have no place at anytime at Reynolds.

I feel so much safer now.

Oh the Humanity...

There is no way to gussy this up, so the plain hard truth will have to do...the corporation that I work for is extremely cruel. No, it isn't the pay (for what I do, I'm actually paid fairly well, but don't tell them that) or the hours or my boss. Nope, none of those. It's the friggin' vendor displays that they allow by our cafeteria.

Normally, there will be some vendor that will set-up shop to hawk their wares about twice a month. Sometimes it's one of our "preferred providers" like Nextel or Chrysler - you know people that corporate has worked some sort of discount from. More often it will be some charity that corporate supports or some small jewelery shop that makes dragonflies out of paperclips and some colored tissue paper. Or perhaps it is yet another in the endless parade of "diversity" installations. I can usually walk by all of these - I would say boothes, but that is entirely too grandiose a word for a folding table and a couple of chairs - with nary a second thought as I head to the cafeteria for my daily fix of moderately priced, moderately palatable food. Today, however, was different. What I saw today stopped me in my tracks, stare in wonder and nearly breakdown in tears. For today, the HDTV's made there way into the atrium.

Yes, that's right we have a new corporate discount partner and they were here showing off High Definition Plasma televisions. I want one...I need one...Damn it!, I deserve one. Of course, I can't possibly afford one so perhaps I should take back that statement about being paid fairly well. On my salary, if I didn't buy food, walked to and from work, never went out with friends and never visited my family, I may perhaps be able to afford on in about three years. Wait, I take that back, we receive a 17% discount on all merchandise purchased through this new discount partner so make that 30 months.

It's not for lack of trying that I still don't have a HD Plasma or LCD TV. I put it on my Christmas list, my birthday list, and I even tried to sneak it onto my mother's Sam's Club shopping list. Still, I sit my butt down virtually every night and watch a standard, 27" television. Is there no justice?!? Have I not suffered enough from not being able to see each and every single pore on Jennifer Aniston's face? Yes, I have. So please, have pity on a poor, addicted soul who's life just won't be complete until a 60" HD Plasma screen is mounted to his wall for all the world to see. If you throw in a surround sound, there's no telling what I might do.

AS IF IT COULDN'T GET WORSE
Right after coming back from the cafeteria (carefully averting my eyes so I wouldn't be tempted to run over to the HDTV display, grab one and try to make it to the door before I was tackled by security) I received another shock. One of my co-workers, who shall remain nameless, wanted to look up some information on some basketball player or whatever...it was sports related so I tuned out. In any case, another co-worker said to go to Google. Well, she is a Yahoo! fiend and doesn't use Google so had a few questions, including what is the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button. I smirked and sauntered over all ready to explain what it was and give a perfect example. So there I am, standing over her desk telling her to enter "musings adulthood" and press the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button, which she does.

It was not this page that came up, oh no. It was some schlock site that hasn't been updated in 2 years but featured a picture of President Bush on one of those "work inspirational" posters about integrity. After the shock, horror and the small fainting spell passed, I went back to my cube and began to see how far I've fallen in the rankings. I scanned over 30 pages of Google results and no listing for this page. I could barely keep myself from crying. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Not even Taco could have felt more devasted when he realized that his cover of "Puttin On the Ritz" was a big as he was going to get then what I felt when I found out that that I was bumped down the Google rankings...way, way, way, way down.

So now it is my mission to reclaim that top spot. I don't know how, I don't know when, and I don't know how many people will get hurt in the process, but I don't care. I want to be #1 again when you type "musings adulthood" in Google and feel lucky. And I get right on it after I've gotten an HD Plasma television.

What If This Is As Good As It Gets?

First, let me confess something...this is not the original version of this post. When the facts below came to light, I was on my lunch break and just quickly threw together the post. I've since gone through and edited it slightly, including giving it a new title. So, if you read this post right after I sent out the e-mail to virtually my entire address book, you may just want to read it again. You didn't have anything better to do did you? Thought not.

My friend Kevin - you may remember him from yesterday as the writer of the Candle in the Wind-Celebrity Remixes blog - linked his site to mine, just as I had done for him. Now the interesting thing about linking is that the more sites link to you the higher your Google score and thusly, the closer to the top of the list you appear. On a lark, I decided to see what my rank was.

Searching for my name was not a wise choice. Do you know how many Chris Behnke's there are, not to mention all of the Chris (Whatever) or the (Whatever) Behnke's. So I got a bit more creative.

Before I get to my flash of brilliance, there is something else that you need to know about the Google search engine. Once you type in the terms you are looking for, you can either press [ENTER] or the Google Search button to bring up the whole list of pages that relate to your search. There is another button right next to the Google Search button called I'm Feeling Lucky. Most of us are familiar with this from doing the Weapons of Mass Destruction search. If you didn't get any of the innumerable e-mails telling you about this site that I did, then it's enough to know that the I'm Feeling Lucky button will take you directly to the first site on the results list, without having to look at the list. Got it? If not, try typing Weapons of Mass Destruction in the search bar and then press I'm Feeling Lucky. Read the resulting page carefully - it is hysterical.

Okay back to me. So, if you go to Google and type in "musings adulthood" and then hit the I'm Feeling Lucky button, guess where you end up? If you answered with A Musing Man, then you forgot the "s" at the end of musings. It's "musings adulthood" not "musing adulthood". And please, if I should ever not be the I'm Feeling Lucky with those search terms, don't tell me. I'm very fragile and it could just shatter my entire world.

That's it. Just had to crow. I know it's not much and the terms aren't exactly something a normal person would enter (if I could figure out exactly how to work Britany Spears into the title, then I'd be cooking with gas), but we all need something - don't we? And right now, I'm Feeling Lucky.


FYI: There are other keywords/phrases that will take you to interesting places if you press the I'm Feeling Lucky button. The other two most notable Google Bombs...miserable failure and french military victories. There are dozens, nay hundreds more, but I'll leave those for you to find.

It's All About Style

Once again, I find that there has been a significant amount of time that has past since my last post. I can't really say that I'm sorry, because if that were true, I'd write more often. I did start a draft of a follow-up to my previous post entitled, appropriately enough, "I Still Know What I Did Last Weekend" but I never got around to finishing it and now I can't find it. No big deal. I would have just rambled on about how I arrived at my sister's house the day after the party to find most people suffering from both major hangovers and rambunctious children. Then, I would have gone onto describe the drive home, which would have been fairly boring if not for the snow that fell in Indiana and Ohio and the seeming lack of snowplows in this part of the country. But enough of that, what is past is past - at least until it sneaks up behind you and kicks you in the ass.

I've decided to write this week about my writing. I have to say that my writing leaves a lot to be desired, at least by me. When I start to write, I have these visions of a printed version of Dennis Miller. You know - all sorts of half understood and obscure references, interesting metaphors, tangents and digressions that actually aren't...that kind of stuff. Unfortunately, I my mind doesn't work that way...I generally have enough trouble trying to come up with a somewhat witty subject line without trying to work in a bizzarre reference to Sister Steve of the Father Dowling Mysteries or Savoire Faire and his dog Malamutt. See even there, where I was specifically trying to come up with bizzarre references, it took a good minute to come up with those two. Perhaps it says something that both are TV references, but that is a topic for another day. No, my mind is not adapted for Dennis Miller-esque writing.

Nor is it capable of emulating Ernest Hemingway and his sparse, direct style of writing. I always seem to have an aside, little tangent or witty bon-mots that I have to put in. Hemingway's style in his novels and short stories is, seemingly, a direct extension of his early years as a reporter for the Kansas City Star. There is very little "directness" in how or what I write. I seem only to be able to get from A to C by visiting most of the other letters in the alphabet first. I will get to the who, what, when, where & how eventually, you just need to wade through some other stuff to get there.

Perhaps it is a matter of practice. But, truth be told, I've come to grips with my style. I write the same as I speak and think. What you see on the screen in front of you is a pretty good reflection of how my mind works. Not pretty is it? It does get the job done though. I'm not saying that I don't edit, by no means am I saying that! I'm constantly editing. I've probably changed the wording of each of the sentences in this paragraph at least twice (this is the third version of this particular sentence). For some reason I could never catch on to the whole idea of "free-writing".

You remember free-writing don't you? It's a technique where you aren't supposed to pay attention to how you are writing, but instead concentrate on putting ideas on the paper. To me, that's an elusive dream. Maybe it's a matter of control or some sort of deep seated need to acheive perfection or even some skewed sense of neatness (though anyone who has seen my apartment when I'm not expecting company will laugh hysterically at that one). In any case, I just can't move on from a sentence that I feel doesn't say exactly what I want it to in precisely the way that I want it to. It can be a bit frustrating, especially since it can take up to two hours to write one of these entries. I once told my sister that it would take me up to 8 hours to write a memo that was being sent out to customers. Granted most of that time was getting it approved, but I had to be as precise as possible so that there wouldn't be any possibility of mis-interpretation. That kind of thing just takes time.

Another thing about my writing is the use of punctuation. Sure I probably use commas, elipses and dashes entirely too much or incorrectly, but then this is my blog and I'll punctuate any damn way I want. Parens are another favorite device though so far I've used them twice in this entry (guess I better get on the ball - ohh, that's three!). I've never quite figured out what a semi-colon is really used for except making "winking" emoticons. All in all, how I use puctuation is pretty close to how I speak. I'm generally considered to be funny, except by my parents, so there are lots of pauses for jokes to sink in, etc. (Do you know how hard it is to be sardonic in writing?) However, there are several puncuation marks that I don't use, specifically [ ] & { } so there is that, I guess.

That's enough for now. I'm going to start writing my next entry...A Trip to Bountiful (or Why food shopping is not for the poor). Oh, one more thing before I go... I'm currently reading the very funny and illuminating book by Al Franken - Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them: A Fair and Balanced Look at the Right. I just got it yesterday and I'd be done with it already if it weren't for the need to sleep and that pesky little thing called work. Okay, one more thing and then I'm out I promise. My friend Kevin has taken up the challenge of writing a blog. His is a bit more specialized than mine though. I think the title says it all - Candle in the Wind-Celebrity Remixes

I Know What I Did Last Weekend

I apologize for being so long since my last post, but honestly, I couldn't think of anything that was worth writing about. However, that changed this weekend when I went home. Before you get your hopes up that there was some grand adventure possibly including some ultra-secret chemical formula that had to be kept from enemy hands, scantily clad women and lots of impossible to believe gadgets, this ain't that kind of story. No for that, you will need to tune into Alias (Sunday 9pm Eastern). Nope, no matter how much I may wish that that were the case, it was just a simple trip to the place of my birth, the City of Big Shoulders, the Windy City, where Al Capone reigned and Geraldo Rivera shredded his credibility, the place of the stinky onion, that Butcher to the World...Chicago. Or, to be a bit more precise the western suburbs of Chicago - the far western suburbs of Chicago. I mean faaaaar western suburbs. Like the last little hiccup of a town before you run into endless fields of corn.

Now, I didn't grow up in this near perfect replica of small town, rural America (the Starbucks sort of ruins the illusion). Not I. I grew up a mere 9 miles from downtown. I could stand on anyone of the bridges that spanned the Eisenhower Expressway in my hometown and see shimmering in the near distance (is that an oxymoron?) the Sears Tower standing silent vigil over the great metropolis - poetic, huh? But never was a city kid. I am the living embodiment of the Suburban White Boy. In fact that was going to be the original name of this blog, but I decided against it since I didn't want anyone who stumbled upon by accident to be offended without first reading some of the posts and then being offended.

Anyway, my boyhood will have to wait for another post. I'm writing about my trip to Chicago today. The reason for the trip was because my neice Natalie turned 2 on Sunday. In my family, birthdays are not something to be taken lightly...there absolutely must be a celebration of some sort. Generally, this is just the family gathering at my Mom & Dad's house, but at least the birthday person gets to choose the menu and there is always a cake. Mmmmm, caaake.

FRIDAY I left work shortly after 5pm Eastern. As ever, I had intended to leave around 4pm or so, but that just never seems to work out. The drive up was fairly uneventful, Normally, I would just drive to my parent's house, but Serilian (see the link on the right) was playing and I thought that I would surprise the normal crew of friends that attend the shows. I've never heard them sound better - the venue was good, they were "on" and there was a actual sound man who could run the mix properly. Five Coronas and two Jager shots later, I was ready to go home. Oh, and just so you don't think that I was drinking and driving, they made me leave the beer at the bar. Sorry, bad joke. Actually, I generally stop drinking at the first signs of a buzz and switch to water. I've basically gotten over the need to be drunk and why suffer the consequences of a hangover if I don't have to? This isn't to say that I don't get drunk, just that it is not that common and usually when I have someplace to crash.

SATURDAY Started out as a typical morning...up at about 8 or so. Normally, I would have slept in a bit longer, what with having rolled in at about 3am, but my parents aren't big believers in suspending their normal routine just because there is a visitor, especially me. Add to that the guest bedroom is right above the kitchen and the fact that my Mom has this obsession with banging pots around first thing morning...well, you can probably see that sleeping past 8am is not really an option.

Most of Saturday morning and early afternoon were spent loitering around the house. I left and headed for the birthday bash around 2pm, since I had yet to pick up a birthday gift. Granted my niece is only 2 and a handful of dirt would amuse her for hours, but I'm not trying to impress her...it's the other guests. Admit it, in your heart of hearts you know it's not just about the giving of gifts, it's about giving the most perfect gift for the person so that everyone is jealous that they didn't come up with it. A quick trip to the Wal-mart, 5 kid vids and $40 later, I'm ready to go to my sister & brother-in-law's house.

Just as I pull up to the house, my cell rings. I take a quick look at the caller ID and see that it is my sister. Oh, this will be fun. She wants to know if I'm at Wal-mart. Nope. Are you going to Wal-mart? No. Where are you? And that's when I step into the house. Yes, I know, it was all very childish and everything, but it still amuses the hell out of me - much like toliet humor.

The party was a variation on a theme. That theme? Chaos. Most of Erika & Nathan's friends had kids right around the same time as Natalie. Six or seven kids (who can keep count) running pell-mell, screaming, crying, and playing does not a quiet evening make. In the kitchen there seemed some sort of contest amoung the adults on who could speak the loudest. I've come to the conclusion that beer in some way inhibits the hearing...why else would people who are standing less than 2 feet way need to shout? By 9pm, I was done and headed back to the new family homestead.

Alright, I think that I'm going to stop here for the night. A lot of things happened on Sunday and knowing how I write, it will probably take as much space just for that day as did for Friday & Saturday. No headlines tonight, maybe tomorrow...

I'm No Expert

I received a call today from a friend of mine. After a brief greeting, she went for the jugular, "Do you know anything about computers?" I opted against saying that I did know some stuff and went for the much safer approach - waffling. "Emmm, I know some. Why? What's the problem" See, this neatly gave me an out should I either A) not know the answer or B) the problem would take too long to solve, especially over the phone. Apparently, I did not waffle enough and the problem turned out to be both. In fact, I'm supposed to be researching her problem right now, but decided to write this entry instead (Sorry, Stacey - I'll get back to you eventually, I promise).

Let me say right here and now, that my hat is off to anyone that provides computer support over the phone. I realize that most of those people are working from scripts (much like I was today thanks to the Microsoft website), but they still have to deal with some amazingly stupid people. You know, the one's who think the mouse is an accelerator or that the CD tray is for their coffee mug. Phone support also requires the ability to visualize the problem the person is having. This is not one of my strong suits so I like to be sitting in front of the computer that I have been asked to fix.

I also like the owner of the computer to be someplace else - preferably Alaska. There is nothing worse than having them look over your shoulder asking questions like "what do you think is wrong with it?" This is mostly because I can't lie fast enough. Given a few minutes, I could come up with some great explanation such as, "Well, you see, your front side bus is out of sync with the DRAM and that is causing your system to (insert appropriate problem here)" It also makes you look like a god if they don't see you crawling under the desk to plug the computer back in from when they kicked out of the outlet. Another reason I don't like people looking over my shoulder - I can call my Dad.

Yep, I call my Dad for the most difficult problems - basically anything that can't be fixed by using Ctrl-Alt-Delete or whacking the computer with my hand. He's the true techno guru of the family, I'm just a wannabe. Oh sure, I can generally get software to work, but when it comes to either the hardware or the operating system, I turn and run like a 12 year old girl. Those two things scare the bejeezus out of me. One small, stray bit of static electricity and you fried the motherboard (done that) or one erroneously removed program and you can't start the computer (Stacey did that). Perhaps it's a matter of practice, but then, I'm sure, so is lion-taming and who wants to step into the cage full of lions for the first time?

I'm getting a bit better though. Perhaps it is the number of hours of TechTV that I watch each week. Eventually, it all just starts to seep into your brain and without warning you can have lenghty discussions on the performace differences between AMD and Intel processors (by the by, don't bother buying a 64-bit chipset, very few programs are optimized for it). Or, maybe, I've just gotten to a point in my life where I realize that fixing someone's computer problem is like playing with my neice. I can wind her up as much as I want then leave and let my sister try to get her to go down for the night. In other words, at the end of the day, no matter what I do, it's still your problem.

Oh and in the future, can you please submit this form before you call me?

FAN MAIL, I GOT FAN MAIL!
The following excerpt is from an actual e-mail that I received.

Another great post today! I look forward to these now, so don't let me down!!

Thanks sis, I'll try.

IN OTHER NEWS

SCORE ONE FOR GEORGE - MAYBE
Danish troops found suspicious shells in Iraq that may contain blister agents. Too bad that they appear to be surplus from the Iran-Iraq war in the '80s.

PERHAPS ALL THE JOKES ABOUT CLEANING UP DADDY'S MESS WEREN'T REALLY JOKES
According to Paul O'Neill, former Treasury Secretary, George was looking for an excuse to invade Iraq before 9/11.

RED ROVER, RED ROVER...
Spirit, NASA's Martian rover ready to leave lander and begin exploring. For pics from the rover, check out NASA - Home.