A Very (Subdued) Didgeridoo Halloween....

Happy Halloween! We're doing nothing, but I did decorate the yard and front door:

(Ignore the tape, which you might not have noticed if I'd kept my mouth shut.)

(A little bite of reality.)

The Didgeridoo Four-Leggers have holiday attire, natch. Here's Totsi the Dog sporting hers:

Jupiter Jones? Well, Didgeridoo Boy is trying...

It's Foot Foot's old rain slicker, but a glorious pop of inspiration brought me to the understanding of how it could transform Jupiter into none other than the Gorton's Fisherman.

Here. He's not in it, but you get the idea, right? He's near it. That counts for something in my book.

I'm off to have candy and hot chocolate, and there's talk of a living room campout complete with a tent and ghost stories this evening. Enjoy your holiday!

Goooooooood....whoa!

Casa Didgeridoo Morning Routine:

Totsi the Dog wakes. She wakes me, usually by knocking the covers off me with her nose, sitting or laying down upon me, and grunting repeatedly. We get up and leave the bedroom, where we find Jupiter Jones waiting outside the door. Totsi runs down the hall with Jupiter following. Totsi asks to go into the back yard for a bit, and while she's there I refill the food and water dishes and dole out the morning treats. (Totsi always has her morning treat waiting for her when she comes in. It's what we do.) Totsi and Jupiter play while I am making my coffee.

(Didgeridoo Boy always sleeps through this.)

This morning, the routine was amended:

Totsi the Dog did her usual. We left the bedroom as usual. Jupiter Jones chased her down the hall as usual. Totsi went to the back yard, and food and treats were distributed. Yep, per the norm. Totsi and Jupiter began playing while I was making my coffee - - yatta yatta yatta. I walked upstairs to get some ibuprofen to rid myself of the reminders of yesterday's dental work. Heard very loud thunder. Odd, that, considering the sun. Started walking back downstairs, and glanced down into the foyer just in time to see a ball of dog surrounding another ball of hissing, poufy-tailed cat roll end-over-end into the foyer and slide across the parquet floor, hit the little rug in front of said door, and slide sideways from there almost into a hope chest. They both got up and trotted off as if nothing had happened. I made my coffee.

(And all while Didgeridoo Boy slept.)

(Enjoy your weekend!)

Crowned...

So - I needed the dental variety of crown. Got to start the work on that today, and it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I've been through a root canal, so this? This was a plate of cookies. Sure, I was nervous about the shot, but luckily my dentist is very generous with the pre-numbing gel. So it was okay. Learned a couple of things, though:

First, don't open your eyes during drilling. I got a piece of tooth in my eye. They offered me, and I am not making this up, safety glasses after I got it out.

Second, don't try to be all cute and put on lip gloss right after your dental visit, while you're sitting in your car selecting music for the ride home. You might think you can rock lip gloss application without a mirror when your face is numb, but you might wind up with it all over your chin.

Ah - there's a third thing! You might absorb the second lesson by realizing the lip gloss is all over your chin after you've driven all the way home.

Enjoy your afternoon. I'm off to run some unexpected errands and treat myself to ice cream.

The day that went missing...

What the hell happened to today? Where did it go? Granted, Didgeridoo Boy woke me up at about 3.30am with another Jupiter-Jones-fueled laundry crisis that then went even more haywire, and then I overslept, but - still. I had a day here, people, and it's gone.

Highlight so far: Bought Didge a NOS energy drink because he asked so nicely, and walked into the living room to find him getting down to the techno soundtrack of a carnival ride video. Since we're a single-computer household at the moment due to Didge's computer whoopsie (laptops don't like being dropped), and I'm very protective of my Mac, hearing its speakers blaring that loud did freak me out a tad. But then the dancing....

Oh, my head. THEN Jupiter Jones nearly knocked Didge's beverages over onto the keyboard. (Folks, don't leave beverages near a computer, especially when you have an adolescent cat going through his explorer phase.) Didge had left the computer to take a phone call. Just let me tell you the extent to which I would have died had that mega-cup of Mountain Dew or can of energy drink wound up soaking my computer. I've taken it back. My nerves can't handle any more. I swear they're sizzling - much as my computer might have been had...I'm stopping. I am not thinking of it anymore.

So now I'm holed up in the bedroom, getting ready to tackle some pre-studying for yoga teacher training. I hope.

Offroading with Mom...

Apologies for not posting at all yesterday - after a weekend of house rescue/fall cleaning, a full day of errands with Mom, and an epic fit of wheezing sneezies I was beyond out of it. Plus, until yesterday afternoon, all that had been going on was the aforementioned house rescue - I'm kind of enjoying it, but who wants to read about me reorganizing the kitchen drawers and our laundry closet? I was actually out of material.

But then yesterday afternoon's errands happened, when Mom became a trailblazer. No joke - we were pulling out of a drugstore parking lot and she jumped the curb and went with it. Mom's car is *huge*, so I suppose backing it down and off the curb would have been a nightmare (I certainly wouldn't have tried it), and the patch of road we were trying to get to was only a few feet away. And, you know, in this economy we can't be wasting fuel. So forward we went, across the land like that was what she had intended all along, right down a little incline that was just steep enough to make her huge car lurch about in amazing ways. We looked like regal bobbleheads - Mom's a champ at maintaining poise under pressure, and I do my best to imitate her. (In hindsight, I wish I had put my hands up like I was on a roller coaster and mimed dramatic screaming.)

The fun didn't stop once we made it to the pavement, oh, no. The car lurched and then, I swear it, rocked from side to side like it was doing a victory dance. Mom waited it out with perfect aplomb, pulled right into the lane she needed to be in, and got an Altoid. I lost all sense of how a lady behaves in public, laughing so hard I brayed like a donkey while somehow turning myself upside down in the passenger seat. That I was told to sit up right didn't help matters, and neither did the fact that I remembered turning upside down in my seat laughing at a movie my parents took me to see when I was nine years old: "Smokey and the Bandit". (PLEASE tell me you get it, too.) By the time I recovered, my mascara had run, I'd gone wheezy, and dizziness had set in. The incident itself was amusing enough, but I almost passed out when I made that connection. "Eastbound and Down" has been stuck in my head ever since, doing a fine job of not helping matters.

Six hours later I was still laughing so much that that getting to sleep was difficult. I'm giggling about it now, enough to where writing this has been a challenge and I need to regroup before diving back into today's domestic hijinks. It'll be a long time before I can hear this song and not collapse.

The irony of spelling it like you say it...

Canopy, when spelled like you say it: CAN OH PEE. Or even, CAN....OH! PEE!

I have just taken a shower of such strength and velocity that it could have decontaminated me of radiation picked up since birth. Jupiter Jones, our precious little orange and white hellion of a white-mittened kitten, found something he thought made a fine toilet. BUT - I don't know how this thing got to where it was.

The black canopy that used to be in the bedroom (taken down because I want a white one and plan to use the black one in my office/closet/yoga room that I've yet to officially name) was in a plastic trash bag. Said bag had been secured, and the whole lot of it had been stashed out of the way in the storage room. I don't know how the canopy, in its secured bag, got on the floor in there. Didgeridoo Boy and I have both looked for things, but it's not even like Didge to leave something like that in the middle of the floor where it could be stepped on - or worse. Worse happened.

Jupiter Jones peed all over that bag, and then clawed it to bury what he had done. This made holes, allowing what he had done to seep all down into and through the canopy. Why I decided to wash it in the bathtub, I don't know. It can be done in a washing machine. It's hanging to dry now, free of the godawful smell that (here's what led to my Friday afternoon decontamination) - - got all over me. In my ticked off frenzy, I didn't think of that possibility. Excuse me while I go run around and roll in a bed of salt and potpourri (that seems less harsh than diving into a vat of bleach).

So - yeah. I'm finding that spelling-as-said thing REALLY ironic right now. Have some music, enjoy your weekend, and send me strong wishes that my nose forgets this freakin' horrible smell.

He's getting to me. I swear...

Right now, I'm trying to write an entry, and Didgeridoo Boy is sitting right beside me saying that he for certain saw Totsi the Dog in news videos today carrying an AK-47 and wearing a scarf across her face. "She had a clipboard with some maps on it and sh*t, pointin'." "She was placing her RPG teams on the ridge." Naturally, I can't remember what I was going to write - it had something to do with the fact that part two of the Halloween door entry will be tomorrow, but beyond that, it's just *gone*.

But at least Didge sitting beside me and spinning such a derailing tale helped me realize where a completely effed up, out of nowhere thought might have had its beginnings. We were just at the grocery store, and I as I was turning to go down an aisle my eyes landed on something that tickled me: A can of corn big enough for me to use as a step stool.

The idea of standing on it isn't what I'm referring to - actually, that's kind of a good idea, now that I think about it. The next time I'm shopping and and can't reach something, I'll go grab one of these. What I am referring to is what entered my head out of stone, cold nowhere, just after I looked up. "I could bowl with that." Do what now? When the hell did I start thinking of bowling with giant cans of corn? And along with that, there was the crystal clear image of the giant can of corn rolling right smack into a rolling display rack that contained little boxes and packets of seasoning stuff. The can, rolling, would push it. It would roll right down into the next one. What might happen if I bowled that giant can of corn? I actually stopped in my tracks.

You know how a thing that is about to malfunction will begin to sputter and cough? That is what my mind is doing, I think. I've shut myself in the bedroom to regroup. Didge? He's out in the living room saying, "Papakimaroo? Papakimaroo.", cranking the volume on the television to try to bait me back out of hiding.

I need some description of pill.

Alarming decorations...

For less than twenty four hours, the entrance to Casa Didgeridoo looked like this. Meet Didgeridoostein and GoKittenWitch:

Didgeridoo Boy added himself to the decorations at one point, hell bent on making it into a picture:

But that's not what makes them alarming. Oh, no. That credit goes to the decorations themselves, as they began curling up and moving around once steady rain and wind kicked in last night. Our alarm kept chiming as though a door was opening; over and over it chimed, with Didge and me running around trying to figure out what was making it do so. Didge thought the back door was popping open, and since I had noticed the code being displayed was the one assigned to the front door, we thought something was very wrong. So I took to entering the alarm code over and over, trying to reset the system or turn the stupid chime feature off.

Nothing worked. It simply would...not...do. So I made an executive decision (ahem) to call ADT and get some technical help. The nice gentleman I spoke to had me enter my code a couple of times, and then asked if that was the one I had been using. I told him yes, and he said that was not the code. Have you ever felt like a bucket of DUH has been dumped over your head? I said, "Ohhhh, my word, I've been using my ATM PIN!" And then, miraculously, the correct code vanished from my memory. That did it. The ATM rep and I spent a little while giggling, and I called Mom for the code. Entered it, and solved the problem.

I forgot to turn off the chime, however, and some time around dark thirty this morning it started going off again. It was as I was turning it off that I realized: Cardboard curls, paper streamers move, and I've got those very things taped up all over the inside of the storm door. BINGO! Problem solved.

Didgeridoostein and GoKittenWitch are laid out on the bedroom floor right now, waiting for me to decide what to do with them. When I went to take them down, I discovered that one of his arms had come loose, and that she had come completely undone and basically sat down. So, yes, it looked very much like he had been picking on her and she declared an eff-it moment. I meant for them to "be" us, but damn! He's completely unfazed, and she's looking rather worse for wear (I couldn't possibly make this up), so I don't think they'll be going back where I had them.

And the moment something is said is the moment the greatest idea this side of the Wizard of Oz hits. Oh, hell YES, darlings. Consider this one a "to be continued....". See you tomorrow!

And as he slept...

Let's flash back, shall we? Go here. What we were scrying for is happening. I'm hopping around ticking off to-do's while listening to an album that still gives me chills in its entirety over and over. Other than that, today seems dedicated to building itself up into a normality crescendo - it's strangely too calm, y'all. And the fact that a Stone Roses reunion has been announced at the same time Casa Didgeridoo has drifted into one of these strangely too calm periods does not bode well for normality lasting out the day.

Why do I say that? Well - Didigeridoo Boy has an earache, noseache, and throatache. He is not a happy camper, and has made a burrito of himself in his favorite blanket in highly indignant protest. Totsi the Dog and I are staying out of the way while Jupiter Jones sits over Didge, staring at the spot where an ear might be under the mass of snuffling pillows and zebra-striped blanket that is his daddy. I would take a picture and post it, but Didge is good at retaliation - winding up online looking an absolute eyesore isn't my idea of cool. When the kitten isn't sitting and staring at where Didge's ear might be, he's crouching and hiding in the foyer.

And it's happening when The Stone Roses announce a reunion. This is too almighty a convergence to not have some significance.

I'm sitting, waiting, with the video camera ready to go.

Roll out the barrel...

Didgeridoo Boy and I went to the fair yesterday.

At the fair, there was a funhouse.

Didgeridoo Boy does love a funhouse.

In the funhouse, there were many things to play on.

Didgeridoo Boy does love to play.

One of the many things to play with was a rolling barrel thingamajig at the end of the funhouse.

Didgeridoo Boy has a special place in his heart for the rolling barrel thingamajig at the end of the funhouse.

Directly at the end of the rolling barrel thingamajig was a sign.

Didgeridoo Boy, caught up in the mirth of the moment, did not see this sign.

The sign said, "NO HANDSTANDS IN BARREL!"

(My a-ha moment of the day: "Oh! It's just called a barrel!")

Didgeridoo Boy dropped to floor of the barrel, scrambled about like a lanky crab, and executed a nearly perfect cartwheeling handstand.

I performed an excited hopping dance and told him he wasn't to do that.

He did it again.

I told him again.

He did it again.

And then the man operating the funhouse came over and told him what I had been telling him.

He didn't do it again.

Whoopsie...

Didgeridoo Boy dropped his laptop, knocking out the display. If the mood strikes, however, he can hook it to a television to view Facebook at a glorious 42 inches. OoooOOOOOOOoooooooo! Anyway, we're waiting to find out if the computer will be replaced *or* if we'll need to get a new display for this one.

In the meantime he's found "Survivors", a BBC series, to occupy himself. Starting Wednesday night, he watched every last episode - - and just started it all over again. He's upset about the lack of plans for a third season, but is *happy*. I haven't seen Didgeridoo Boy this stress-free in an age.

He smiled when he woke up this morning. Didge smiling when he wakes? Do what now? After checking his messages quickly on my computer, he settled back down and began planning out the sound system for the home theater/Hall of Obsolete Technology, calm and happy.

Last night, he walked over to his wounded computer and looked at it, at which point I said, "I know you're bummed -- we'll know something soon, and a new display isn't expensive at all." This part is where I need you to sit down and take a deep, cleansing, calming breath. He said he did not miss it at all.

(I know! I know!)

Enjoy your weekend! I'm going to enjoy having my happy, stress-free husband back.

Precious Jupiter...

Oh, Jupiter Jones. Cute, sweet, precious little tween of a cat. Darling little thing. Runs to me like a dog would, chirping and whirring in his peculiar little way. Puts his toys in his food dish. Displays a downright human range of facial expressions. Oh, he's so cute. So, so cute.

Last night he lost it. Didgeridoo Boy, Totsi the Dog, and I were sitting on the futon cushion on the living room floor in front of the television. We heard a thud and a chirp, and there on the balcony was Jupiter, staring down like a little orange and white gargoyle. He whirred. Didge said hello. He leaned down and prepared to jump. Didge and I had a collective coronary, and I ran to base of the stairs to call him down. He ran to me like a dog, and frolicked into the living room.

A little while later, we heard another thud and, yes, another chirp. Lo and behold, there was Jupiter on the balcony. All three of us stared up, and Jupiter stared back. He prepared to jump down again, and I ran back to the base of the stairs to call him. He ran to me like a dog, again. And, just as before, he frolicked into the living room.

Only this time, he shook things up a bit. Didgeridoo Boy has his futon cushion sitting in the living room floor - I should probably mention that we can't assemble his futon until we've finished moving some things out into his Hall of Obsolete Technology. (I think that's what he's calling it.) We had blankets and pillows piled up on it, because we do love a living room campout, and Jupiter walked to a particularly snuggly spot.

He sat down right beside Didge, where he looked so precious I thought about taking a picture. But then Didge exclaimed in a way that indicated distress and confusion, saying, "Hnahhhhhhh!". I asked what was wrong, and he shouted, "HE'S PEEING!" And, yes, he was. And he peed for quite a while, with us bearing agape witness and Didge actually saying that he was going for a very long time. (What the hell is it with us and peeing cats?) That pretty much cleared the room - Didge went to the couch, I put the blankets in the washing machine and cleaned the futon cushion, then Totsi and I went to the bedroom. Jupiter? I don't know. I wasn't able to look at him at that time.

He's just so darned cute.

Pride...

Isn't he a marvel?

Just look at him beam, would you? Look at him. Didgeridoo Boy does love the makings of a sandwich. Two days' worth, even!

He also loves to do things like this.

Those two things are as disconnected as my brain is today. I need some quality time with my yoga mat - *now*.

Woooo, boy...

Note: I haven't proofread this, and I don't think it comes across as finished - - but our internet service keeps passing out for reasons unknown, and I'm jotting it up while I have a chance.

It's that time, folks. We are edging up on the middle of October, which means big things are about to happen. Big things that swoop, turn upside down, flash lights, and occasionally turn Didgeridoo Boy into a madman:

It's fair season.

We get a few in a row, starting with Oktoberfest at Fort Gordon, then one in downtown Augusta, GA, moving on to one in Aiken, SC, and finally one conveniently close to our home in Evans, GA. We go, I take pictures and ride old favorites, and Didge? Didge roams constantly, refusing to sit while consuming gallons of energy drinks and ragging me about the fact that I really just don't like flying around upside down anymore. (Maybe it's age, but I don't want to throw up on my shoes in front of total strangers.) He goes absolutely maniacally serious, walks in six-foot strides, adhering to a plan no one knows and that he won't share. Me? I jog. I jog along behind him and take snapshots, and am granted occasional breaks to ride my old favorites. Sometimes I get to sit down. In the end, it's great fun, but after last year I am approaching it all with sincere trepidation.

I won't go into detail as I don't want a migraine, but a friend saw us (Didge storming, me jogging along behind) and told us later he started to say hello, but that Didge looked like he was on a mission. He was, but I don't know what it was, since he just circled...and circled...and circled. He reminded me of Jaws. That day was potently *bad* until the crowd thinned out, with Didge caffeinated to the gills and grouchy from extreme overwork (he was coming off a week of back-to-back doubles), and five billionty unruly tweens on dedicated missions to barrel into us and push us out of lines. I nearly suffered a breakdown standing in line for vinegar fries, but, hey - I got to eat as many of them as I wanted due to all the jogging, right? I'm all about a silver lining.

I have to note: We went back for a second go a couple of evenings later, and had one of the best times we've ever had. Didge apologized profusely time and time again and bought me all kinds of yummy treats. That evening is what I'll be using as my "happy place" when the going gets tough this year. I'll just close my eyes and go there, and everything will be alright.

Between now and our first foray, I have to make a take-with list that includes Ace bandages for Didge's shoulders (he's trying to break a personal record for riding the Top Spin). We're scoping out the arrival of a train bringing stuff for the downtown event, and planning to head to the one at Fort Gordon on Thursday. Here's hoping Didge carries himself calmly, but that he roams enough to make me jog off all the funnel cakes and vinegar fries.

Common sickness...

So - what was accomplished Friday? Everything but decorating the front yard. I learned that the foundation under the front stoop of Casa Didgeridoo far outweighs our woes pertaining to the bay window (do not ask), Didgeridoo Boy and I fought a mighty battle with a futon and got it in the house, and all the ditdats and streaks of deep garnet paint on white were taken care of. I also got sick.

No, really. I got sick. My first indication of being that way was a slightly woozy, tired feeling that I attributed to not having had enough coffee after hitting the ground running. Then the headache set in, which I attributed to allergies. Everything Didge did started to cheese me right the hell off - which, frankly, is kind of par for the course. He lives for my reactions because he thinks I'm funny when I get mad, but I had a stellar reaction on Friday that surprised even me. We went out to pick up lunch, and as we were within sight of our neighborhood Ton Loc's "Wild Thing" came on the radio. Didge cranked the volume as we pulled in to our street, and drove around the block very slowly with the windows rolled down. I had food in my lap, so I couldn't hop out of the car and storm off (never mind that I started to). Instead, I had to sit and suffer in a state of supreme, exalted indignation. Once I found words, I spat out that such behavior was (get this, now - you'll love it): Common.

"This is just common. Let me out of this car. Stop. This. Is. COMMON."

Didge got quite a kick out of that. Once we were finally back in the driveway, I stomped inside, got my cape, tiara, and scepter, stepped out back to wave in the general direction of the serfs, and then had my lunch. Not really. I did have my lunch, but broke out in a cold sweat and felt my legs go shaky instead of parading about in queenly fashion. Then I got cold. Asked Didge to help Mom with the painting since I was really getting sick, and he plugged into a video game after giving me a smartass look. So I helped with the painting, and as soon as we were finished looked right at my mother and just *sat* *down* on the floor, making my way to a nice, comfy wall to lean against, saying, "Oh, man, this feels so good." I stayed there for a while. Mom ordered me to bed just before she left and told Didge to run the vacuum for me. (There was a trail of stuff from having dragged the futon cushion in.)

Mom and I were to have gone antiquing and to the Greek festival this weekend. Instead, I sat right smack in the bed sipping ginger ale and eating soup, blowing up Pinterest while staring woefully at a stack of magazines I couldn't be bothered to try to reach. Totsi the Dog would not leave me, and did alright until last night, when the boredom finally got to her and she shredded a free weekly after knocking all of her toys off the bed. Didgeridoo Boy stayed in the living room, having set up camp on his futon cushion, and actually let me be still and quiet. (I think he has a touch of this as well, because he has sneezed about fifty times since I started writing.)

Today? I've taken note that it's raining, which makes me wonder where the heck my beloved vintage trench is, and I keep reminding myself that I have a small list of things to accomplish before plopping right back down into bed to shop Chanel lipsticks. Yes, I am slightly drunk from cold medicine. Have a fabulous day, and here's to being a little more with it tomorrow!

Dad gum! Friday?

It's Friday already? Like, right now? It's the day we go pick up Didgeridoo Boy's futon for his man cage (cave - - that's CAVE, GKG...), that Mom and I try to figure out how to paint over the deep, beautiful garnet that somehow got on the snowy white trim in said cage (CAVE!), and that the nice men are coming to figure out whether or not the bay window at the front of the house can be (now, get this) jacked back up. The alternative? It gets ripped down and rebuilt. Fingers crossed for jacking!

I would *like* to decorate the front door and front yard for Halloween, having purchased a load of cute seasonal cliches for doing so, but I can't for the life of me figure out where the hacksaw is. The (cough) headstones I purchased need to be trimmed so they don't stand up straight. Anybody can stand them up straight, therefore, mine have to be crooked. I am also in dire need of a large, but ratty-looking, stick and some duct tape. (Caution tape. I forgot the caution tape. Drat.)

Anyway, there you have my Friday in highly caffeinated form. If you hear screams of frustration off in the distance, it might just be me trying to finagle headstones into being crooked or finding out that the front of my house can't be jacked up. Or it could be that Didge is still chasing me around with his computer playing a certain song about how tonight is, in fact, going to be a good night. Now that it's probably on your mind, too, here's something to counteract it:

Enjoy your weekend!

Thank you...

“Almost everything–all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure–these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”

Steve Jobs

(Source)

Yep...

Yes, indeed. I certainly did. Burned that bad boy up in the dishwasher.

Didge is the man...

He never fails me. Not ever.

About thirty minutes ago, I was getting ready for another afternoon of work on Casa Didgeridoo with mom. The whole house was *quiet*, so quiet it was eerie, but there was a very good reason for that in spite of the fact that Didgeridoo Boy was wide awake: he was plugged into Spotify with a set of earbuds.

I had only just gotten used to the silence when I heard, "MEH! MEH! muh muh muh........MAY!" Okay, whatever. Sometimes we don't hear things clearly when we're on the second floor of a house behind a locked door, and I need to learn not to panic immediately when I hear Didge exclaiming. "FUH! NAY! pwwww pwwwww pwwwwwwww....." Perhaps, I thought, Jupiter Jones was terrorizing him again. That was the first explanation that came to mind and I was really enjoying being behind a locked door. I heard something beating on the counter in a fashion not-at-all rhythmic. And then, "DAMN!" I had never heard Didge shout that word so loud, so I dashed to check on what was happening. As I walked over to the balcony to peek over, I heard forcefully whispered, "Ruhhhhhh rah rah rah.........".

Didge was still seated at the breakfast bar, still plugged into Spotify with his earbuds. He waved his arms around over his head before I got his attention; at which point he grinned and took out the earbuds. I asked why he had been yelling, and he said he hadn't.

We stood looking at each other for a couple of seconds. I asked if he had been singing, and he said yes. Then I told him it really sounded like something had been wrong, especially when he yelled DAMN at the top of his lungs. He said, "Oh. That's when I was listening to 'I'm the Man'."

So, here. Have some music, which features LOTS of grown-up language. Had to give you fair warning.

A moment of silence...

Please be silent for a moment. It's for our Atari 2600.

(Pause.)

I'm having a super busy day, but decided that I would like a break, a break that featured a mentally revivifying round of my favorite Atari game: Demon Attack.

(You are still pausing, aren't you?)

(Good.)

I played a little Pac-Man to warm up, then hopped right to the piece de resistance. And I was excited, too; Demon Attack and I had been apart for a while. It was going to be Demon Attack, some Spanish hot chocolate, and a little more Demon Attack before getting back into the swing of things. What better mid-afternoon reboot is there, really, than Atari and Spanish hot chocolate? Right now, I can't think of one.

(Sit still. Pause, damn it.)

And it is one I cannot have, because right when I was getting into my groove, there was a FSSSSS sound followed by the television displaying this: NO SIGNAL.

(Be. Still. Show the Atari the respect it deserves.)

So - - NOW what do I do? This is like wanting chocolate and finding out that the world's supply is all gone. I know it's a little thing, but....well, I'm a type "A" personality spoiled brat. So there.

I'm going to watch that commercial just to hear the sounds.

(You can move now. Thank you.)