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.