I love my Human Sexuality class, not because of its contents, but because my teacher, Dr. Skinner, is so lively. He's the guy that hooked me up with the Sea World Killer Whale Watch. Where I got to deeply exploit orca behavior around the clock. Documenting bowel movements, arousal, you name it. So this morning we discussed sexuality in children, or shall we say experimentation in children. Then he put on a video of young boys sitting around playing with their jiblets, and said "Sometimes children will engage in circle jerks." I nearly exploded, all I could think of was John and Guido discussing a band they liked back in the '80s named the Circle Jerks. I'm glad I had this class because I would still be convinced it was a punk band with a funny name, not a name of such substance. Rock on.

These gorillas wake up entirely too early -- cutting into my pre-dawn coffee-drinking and newspaper-reading time. I went to BJ's Wholesale last night and picked up, among many other things, a bag of ciabatta rolls. On the way back I stopped at Heinen's, the local version of a Food Emporium (or what that used to be), and got a dish of prepared broccolini. I got home, heated a roll, nuked the greens, annointed it all with olive oil, and had myself a killer sammich. Washed it down with some Merlot -- Little Penguin, cheap but pretty good. Hear that Leni? We're going to do wine-tasting when you get here -- you're not leaving until you can tell the difference between a chianti and a pinot noir with cheese-blocks taped over your eyeballs. (I'm not sure I can do that myself; maybe I need to do a dry run tonight!)

Vote early and vote often, they say. So that's what I did this morning after leaving Da Chimpz at school. I got to my polling place and after a short wait stood at a Diebold terminal to enter my selections... only to have the machine malfunction before my vote could be cast. I called over some worried-looking poll-workers who voided my completed but not-yet-cast electronic ballot, opened the fritzy-printer mechanism, and directed me to a different terminal that appeared to operate normally.

I never thought I'd be nostalgic for those ridiculously-outdated painted steel behemoths of New York with the little levers and the big red curtain handle.

Cookie wrote in his journal tonight about how he is an election assistant. The spelling made the words almost unrecognizable, but I'm a little surprised that he took it on himself to write something up in his notebook. He's doing very well with reading. Last night we all went to the library (where we did not happen to see Carl Monday with his pants at his ankles) and got them some bedtime books. Last night I read them the story of Perseus slaying Medusa. Tomorrow I'll read about Hercules' to-do list.

A few years back, Al Pacino starred in a movie called "Any Given Sunday". To my sincere disappointment, it turned out to be just another film about football...this is what it should have looked like. We had a blast this weekend with Merle and Jenia, who journeyed to Spumoni South for our local Italian Festival which provided us all with plenty of limoncello and fried ravioli, as well as an endless supply of hysterical people to look at. (We do in fact have pictures to prove the latter, but the public nature of the blog prohibits me from posting). It was also fantastic speaking with Guido on Friday (who we all love and miss), and I hope our Scott Baio story helped break the ice with his ex-celebrity-kindred coworker. Anyway, its just about time for a cup of "cawf" and some pastry that the Vin-man bought at the Feast. Indeed my life is good.

American Airlines? They're slipping. Two days ago I was scheduled to depart from Baton Rouge on American at 3:25 PM. That particular piece of hardware didn't leave Houston until 4 PM! Payback, of course, for TSA not strip searching me. How long did that gushy KY feeling last, anyway?

I suspect that many of us can identify with the bored flight attendant droning on with their well-rehearsed safety briefing. Necessary? You bet. Fun? Rarely.

Two nights ago I flew on that rare, fun flight.

It started innocently enough, with the early announcement that cell phone would have to be turned off when the jet bridge door closed.

Once the cabin door closed things changed for the better. The head flight attendant said, "Those of you still on your cell phones, repeat after me. Honey, I love you, I'll call you when I get to Omaha. Goodbye."

He then said that we'd be flying the 584 miles to Omaha at "33,000 feet and 7 inches" and that "the temperature in Omaha was minue three degrees...," and, after a long pause, "Celsius. That's 28 degrees Farenheit."

He started the seat belt portion of the safety briefing saying, "This is for those of you who haven't ridden in a car for the last 40 years..."

Normally you hear that a sudden loss of cabin pressure causes masks to drop. Rarely do they specifically tell you to, "Stop screaming, put on and tighten your mask, then pull on the tubing to start the flow of oxygen. And if you're travelling with a child, or someone who is acting like one, put your mask on before helping them with theirs."

A newly required announcement, he indicated, was that "The forward lavatory is for the use of First Class passengers only. The rest of us will have to use the two porta-potties at the rear of the plane."

We got the normal warning that they'd turn off the lights inside the cabin before takeoff, but I never knew it was "to enhance the looks of the flight crew."

We landed a little early and he said that we should consider it a payback on previous delays. Of course that didn't make up for the earlier flight that day, so they still owe me. But it caused me to make the later flight, which was more entertaining than most.

The porta potty comment made me wonder if he was one of us.

Just got in after spending a few days in the big, big city. The experience was typical: I tried to time the limo to leave me a safe cushion but we hardly made it a block down Seventh Avenue before were stuck in a snarled Times Square traffic and some nasty cross-town congestion. I began to fear that I'd left too little time. But once we got through the tunnel and into Queens it was smooth sailing to LGA. Got through the TSA disrobe/dress insanity, made it to my gate at around 7:00, and the monitor showed my 7:45 flight as "On Time."

Yeah, right.

The hardware didn't even arrive until 8:00 and we didn't get loaded, belted, and off the ground until about an hour after that. Screw you, American Airlines.

Anyway, I stayed at Guido and Kay's the last couple of nights and it was much fun. We even consult with Frylock last night so we could send Guido to work today with interesting stories to tell co-worker. After talking to Frylock, Guido and I had a very exciting time: we sat up drinking port wine and watching Nova. Black holes: pockets of infinite mass dimpling space-time. I wanted to send the bastard into a black hole this morning when he busted into the bathroom to pour a bucket of ice on me in the shower. Puckered my nebulae like I really didn't need. "You dick!" I screamed and caught sight of Kay in the other room, fixing her hair, shaking her head, perhaps wondering if we were all back in college. Kay and I rode the train together this morning, searching the New York Post for outrageous headlines.

I miss the Post.

Next week, I get back to a more reasonable commute -- journeying each morning from the bed in the next room to the desk in this room. The way it ought to be.

Wow. I feel so humbled and satisfied. We are so fortunate to have all of you behined us during this move. I know there will be razzle dazzle in this one as well. As a matter of fact, I'm almost sure there will be more. Exrazzle Dazzle. I love you all so very much. Thank you again for all of your love and support. Many Kisses.

Well--even if it's a bad song, I would guess that would be better than the no song which is my category. And my guess is that there will be no Alane song. Now if someone did an Alane song, I'm not sure what genre I would like--half of me says that Alejandro Escovedo and Patty Griffin could do some serious lyrical magic and it would be this moody folky piece that leaves you feeling just a little sad after hearing it. The other half says it should be some sort of total nonsensical song like Mony, Mony.

Yesterday was all Saints day. The school the boys attend let the first graders come in dressed as a saint for the mass. So once again, not really thinking things through to well, I opted to dress Cookie as St. Jude Thaddeus. First I did not realize that it would be nay near impossible to find a white sheath like thing to use as the main garment. I did go on line and found a Jesus costume for kids but I just wasnt willing to pay out for it. So therefore on sunday i was madly dashing to target to see if I could find the elusive vestment. Luckily they had a clearance cleopatra costume that I was able to turn into a serviceable white dress thing. I then needed a walking stick--which seemed like it should be easy to find and once again proved daunting. I found a long bamboo stick at a craft store that was suppose to have a flower on the end but it had fallen off. I took it up to the cash register to purchase this prize and the lady just gave it to me. St. Jude is always pictured with this medallion that is suppose to be this piece of fabric Christ wiped his face on and gave to Jude to give to a king to cure himself. So I was in need of a shroud of turin type thing. So at about 10:00 at night I'm cutting up this picture of the shroud of turin john printed for me and attempting to glue it to a paper plate. Which all seemed so wrong--it was just a bit creepy cutting a reproduction shroud and gluing it. I was then frantically coloring the edges of the plate gold to complete this thing. I finally finished about 11:00 and vowed that Joseph would be a much easier saint next year. At least I have the sheath ready to go...
The amazing thing about this whole thing was almost the whole class was dressed as saints, and some of these folks had way more elaborate get ups then cookie. I will have John post St. Jude and his brethren as I am not technically savy enough to do it.

Steve, Adam Sandler's song is about a guy who just doesn't give a rats. I think it's great, that's all you need. Ooh, John gave me a cd with a song called Marlena on the Wall, by Suzanne Vega. Good stuff, I like it, thank you! Unfortunately sometimes Name-song association isn't always a fun time. When I have children, I want to name one of my daughters Lola. I love the name, it makes me happy, shows free spirit, and shall I dare to say...it's feminine. Anytime the conversation comes up someone sings Lola by the Kinks, about a trannie. Makes me queasy. Billy Joel sings a song about Viktor, a Ukranian veteran who gives balloons to kids, it's nice but a little creepy. I'd rather hear about Victor, the Ukranian veteran who carries refrigerators on his back, and eats display fish at buffets, but that could just be me.

I'm working at my desk and in the last hour I've heard "Mandy" by Barry Manilow and "Brandy" by Looking Glass, and I started thinking how first names are viewed by different songwriters. The Mandys and Brandys of the world have an inherent positive association with their name. My sisters are both lucky...there is "Three Marlenas" by the Wallflowers, as well as "Marlena" by the Four Seasons (which by the way has an excellent doo-doo doody-doo refrain), each song depicting the singer pining for a chance to be near her. There are too many pop hits named "Maria", but I'll mention the Ricky Martin and West Side Story versions(although my favorite unquestionably remains the TKA dance classic in where the singer is jealous of the drug dealer shes dating) but once again both songs are a celebration of the title character's beauty and virtue. There is "Oh Marie" by Louie Prima, and even "Vincent" by Don McLean, (albeit a sad ode to Van Gogh ), there is "Johnny Be Good" by Chuck Berry or "John the Revelator" by Depeche Mode, there is "Good Golly Miss Molly" by Little Richard and my personal favorite " Joey" by Concrete Blonde. Everyone in my family has a nice song....except for Frylock. Can anyone think of a single song that paints a nice picture of Steve? There is only two songs that I can think of that even mention my name, and well you decide.....

1. "Lets Talk About AIDS" by Salt n Pepa, in which the lyric goes "Uh oh...Steve forgot the condoms"

2. "Steve Polychronopolous" by Adam Sandler. Heres a verse from that:
"I'll leave your gate open
So your dog runs away I
'll make fun of your pimple
Then I'll grab your sister's ass
'Cause my name's Steve Motherfucking Polychronopolous

Anyway, time for me to return to work. State Buon.