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The wife surprised me with one of these when I walked in the door from work today. I was quite pleased. No, it doesn’t smell wonderful and, no, I don’t need a vase or water to keep it alive. But, you know, flowers of the pedal kind aren’t my thing. Cool pieces of technology — now that’s some horticulture I can rally around.

Word to the wise: know how to keep your man happy. Women aren’t the only ones who appreciate the unsoliticed gift now and then, even if it requires a TV to bloom properly.

The wife and I attended the annual Wine in the Woods a couple of weekends ago and we noticed that Brood X was just beginning to make themselves known. Shells were beginning to litter the trees as the restless insects streched their legs for the first time in 17 years. I returned home and inspected the tree in my backyard. No cicadas were found.

Shortly afterwards, I began to hear the serenade of the cicadas as I pulled up at work in the morning. I remember the first morning I heard them clearly. The weather was nice and the T-tops of my car were in the trunk. The spaceship landing behind the building made an impressive amount of noise. I returned home in the evening and listened for their mating calls. There was nothing to hear.

This weekend the wife, my child, and I attended the birthday party of a friend’s daughter in Howard County. A walk to their newly purchased swing set brought the crunches of shells under my feet. A sea of red eyes stared at me from the treetops. A multitude of shells cut Cambell’s playtime a touch short. I didn’t fancy him playing in a sea of bugs. I returned home anxious for their arrival. The woods nearby remain quiet. My trees remain bare.

At first, I was a little disappointed by this turn of events. In an odd sort of way, I’ve been looking forwards to seeing the little buggers. I’m a bit fascinated by the phenomenon. I remember their last visit faintly. The prospect of bugs (friendly bugs, mind you) on a biblical proportion sounded interesting.

But that’s begun to change (and not just because of the first hand experience I received at my friend’s home). I’m finding it strangely silly that I’ve seen literally zero cicadas at my house. It’s like there is some kind of protective basket around our neighborhood, shielding us from the plague that much of the neighboring counties are experiencing.

I go to the mall, I hear them rustling. I open the windows on the beltway and I can hear them calling. I come home and all is quiet.

I’m starting to think that Glen Burnie might want to place some advertisements in the Sun and maybe change their name over the summer months. “Tired of cicadas? We’re right next door.”

We’ve wondered about the cause. Our neighborhood was built in the seventies, so it couldn’t have been a recent turnover of the soil. We’ve joked about the possibilities, including scenarios with government officials walking around in white lap coats (Come to think of it, why does the mailman wear a radiation suit?). But I’m mostly perplexed. I’ve started to invite friends over just to offer proof.

Of course, we are braced for the inevitable. We don’t expect this string of luck to last. They’ll be by soon enough, more than happy to take over one of the last vestiges of the state. While it lasts, though, I’ll continue to think of it as a reverse theme park. In this case, the thrills are outside the gates.

This whole internet thing is a busy place. I’d like to capture all the interesting happenings around the web in a jar, like so many buzzing bees, and find the time to both form an opinion on them and write that opinion down. But, alas, that isn’t going to happen.

To compensate, I present a couple of short shots at some of the interesting things I’ve been reading about lately. Now, I’ve heard that doing this short form of communication is often called “blogging” but breaking all of this up into separate posts isn’t really my style (if, in fact, I have a style at all). I’m long-winded, even if I need to combine many short thoughts to form one longer, and likely incomprehensible, one.

So here it is, all in one big bunch, my short jabs of the week.

Just Desserts
This is incredibly disgusting as well as awfully stupid. That’s a perfect combination.

Kids
I love the quote that Hope, over at the Appalachia Amulni Association, left about children.

The rest of her day leaves me with something to look forward to. I know the wife will appreciate this one.

Talking Football
Shannon Sharpe will be leaving the football field for the broadcast booth. Oddly enough, he’s quite likely to make more money talking about football than playing football. I was fan of his during his two year tenure with the Ravens — his easy going style and flair for smack talk was never anything less than amusing — and even I didn’t appreciate the incredible career he’s had. His big mouth will one day be enshrined in Canton.

Say Something Good for a Change
At the bottom of yesterday’s Bleat, James Lileks chats about the positive aspects of the Iraq war, noting that we only hear about the negative.

And he champions a possible solution, which includes a radio show he in which he participates.

Well, I’d like to have that. Let’s get rid of one or two of the useless, rehashed interviews on CNN and replace them with something a touch inspirational. I’d guess that something positive is happening over there but you wouldn’t know it if you watched TV … or read the newspaper … or listened to the radio.

In the Stop Making Us Look Bad Department

This sign says it all, really.

Father’s Day
Now I don’t want to make a habit of begging for presents, but I absolutely love this shirt. It’s unapologetic, kind of like me.

The twisted and tangled branches of my family tree and that of my wife mirror each other in many ways. For example, we both have a sister named Deb and a brother Jim. Both trees sport marriages and remarriages, blurring the line between sister and half-sister, brother and half-brother until the difference isn’t always apparent and never important. One of the more interesting coincidences is that we are both the youngest sibling of our family by far.

When I say by far, I mean it. My closest sibling is seven years older than me (hey Deb). My wife’s closest sibling is eleven years older than her (hey Jim). From the perspective of human dynamics (and, incidentally, the wife and I met in Human Dynamics class), we are considered only-children. That is, during playtime, we played pretty much all by ourselves.

At the same time, our brothers and sisters were born much closer together. They grew up together. They went to the same schools. They used the same sliding boards and fought over the same box of Cheerios.

Now I don’t want anyone to get the impression that either my wife or I aren’t close to our siblings. In fact, I believe my wife and I are probably closer to our siblings than they are to each other. It’s just that our childhood disagreements were less likely to be about playground equiment and cereal than, say, who stole a peek at their brother’s Playboys.

Before anyone starts to feel sorry for me, I turned out just fine. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want a brother or sister with a birthday a little closer to mine. I might have been willing to relinquish the role as the youngest for a little brother or sister. It always sounded like a good idea to have a younger one around to teach and protect (much like my sister did with me), rib and amuse (much like my brothers did to me).

Now that the chances of getting a younger brother or sister are pretty slim (what do you say, mom?), all of this takes a different perspective. It’s no longer me waiting for a play buddy. It’s my son. He’s the one waiting and he doesn’t even know it.

Well, he won’t have to wait long.

A second little Wootton is about six months or so from completion. A new little son or daughter awaits the wife and I. A new little child awaits his or her first meet and greet with their big brother.

To say we are looking forward to number two is an understatement. We have our trepidations. We worry about diaper duty times 2, we worry about finances, and we worry a lot about Cambell having competition for attention. But mostly, were pretty excited that the family is expanding.

See, I don’t look at it as sharing the spotlight, although Cam is sure to think that at some point or another. That sounds like something is being taken away. I look at it as a present. He gets a friend for life — a friend with a bond that only comes with family. We, on the other hand, get another shining light and toothy smile in our lives. I hope we keep plenty of Cheerios handy.

I can’t believe I’m still watching Survivor. Like millions of others, I dedicated my Sunday night to watching the finale of this season’s Survivor. Somehow I’ve managed to see them all. I’m almost ashamed that I enjoy the spectacle of it all so much.

But I do. The harsh conditions, the interesting cast of characters, and the emotional turmoil that results is entertaining. And let’s not forget the bug eating. Yum.

It’s a guilty pleasure made worse by the fact that each season tends to end the same. A bunch of grumpy jurors with major chips or their shoulders confront two finalists that used nefarious means to get to the top. It’s a classic setup, in that the favor of the disgruntled losers plays a very big part in the eventual winner, and I’m very much surprised that everyone hasn’t gotten the memo.

This is a game. In fact, it’s a game about betrayal. Your exit from the tribe is never going to end anything but badly. You didn’t want to leave. You were forced out, not only by the two folks in front of you but by everyone to your left. Don’t look so dismayed. I know you want to place blame. I understand that you might want sympathy but quiet the sour grapes.

I believed that this season, being the one with the cast of all stars, would be different. A second visit would surely clear these details up. I was wrong.

Lex couldn’t believe a friend could betray him after betraying two of his own buddies, throwing his tribe into a losing spiral in the process (oh, the irony). Cathy couldn’t believe good old Boston Rob would sell her out. Look around. You weren’t the only one. Tom couldn’t imagine that he would be set up. Surprise, surprise.

But the spectacle still bemused me, enough so that both the wife and I voted in the contest for the second million (I should note, that my vote went to the winner of this second bundle of dough. Now go buy another shirt.). Maybe I should compete. I’d love my chance at a finale speech. Put away those self-serving glares. I’m here because I lied, cheated, and betrayed; I played the game. Any questions?

The wife and I purchased a brand new potty for the little one today. It’s pretty snazzy, if I must say myself. It’s sports a cute little transformable stool for him to stand on (no, not that kind of stool), a pee shield, and works in either a standalone manner or as part of our bigger, much more adult-sized toilet. We’re a little excited.

Now we are quite aware that we (and, ahem, quite possibly Cam as well) is ahead of schedule but he’s been giving us unmistakable signals that he’s ready to start leaving the whole sit in my feces things behind. For example, today he peed in our toilet 4 separate times.

The great thing about it is that he has such a good time doing it. Congratulations rain down from his parents as he gets up, flushes the toilet, and waves the pee pee goodbye. A good time is had by all. Don’t worry. The festivities are bound to be more subdued in about twenty years.

We’re pretty realistic about his chances of success with his newfound toy — we’ve read a bit about the normal timetable and we haven’t really approached the whole subject of number 2 quite yet. But, hey, I have no trouble getting the party started a little early, especially when that party could signal a temporary stoppage of my diaper changing duties.

All things are right in the world. Ross and Rachel ended up together. We always knew they would. Friends could end no other way. Friends couldn’t end any other way. The final episode left things just as they should be.

Still, I can’t feel a little bummed. Good television shows are dropping like flies. Almost half the shows I regularly watch won’t be coming back around for another run at my TV.

First, it was Ed, my favorite show of the last few years. While it isn’t entirely official, Stuckeyville looks like it will be an empty place from now on. It’s a shame, really. While it stuck around for four years, it never really grabbed a huge audience outside of the wife and I. By far, this is the show I will miss the most.

Then it was Sex in the City, one of my wife’s favorite shows. Both the wife and I were late arrivals to the City, at least in the sense of watching it on a regular basis. I’m normally in charge of the TV watching in our house but this was one show that turned the tables. The wife will miss Carrie more than I. After all, I have Deadwood to take its place.

And now, it’s Friends which, in my opinion, was one of the most consistently funny shows for its extended lifetime. An author over at the Slate used the term soapcom to describe it. That sounds about right to me. The soap style relationships and ongoing storyline is what I believe made the show special. It’s a model that I’m surprised hasn’t been copied more, or with at least more success. Scrubs is probably the closest thing to Friends on TV right now in that sense. It’s no coincidence that it’s one of my favorite shows. I only wish that NBC would give it Friend’s old time slot.

With Frasier closing up shop this year, I’m losing a fallback option and there really isn’t much left. Outside of HBO’s new content, not much has grabbed my interest. There’s only so much CSI I can watch. There’s only so much reality TV I can stand.

Don’t get me wrong. My TIVO is in no danger of drying up for content (I am, after all, 4 episodes behind in this season of 24). It’s just that the departure of so many shows leaves a gaping hole in the quality of my TV schedule, particularly in terms of staying power. I’m more than pleased with all the happy endings but I guess I’m a touch wistful about saying goodbye to old friends, particularly when I have to do it all at once.

Well, apparently I continue my habit of being remiss with my blog updates. To compensate, let’s see if I can fill in the blanks all in one post. Let’s start approximately two weekends ago on the weekend of April 24th.

On April 24th, the wife threw a birthday party for me on account of me turning 70 and all. The timing of this event was appropriate, as it took place during my birthday weekend which is itself part of my longer birthday week celebration. I had a grand time, which was unsurprising. There’s not much to complain about when people are celebrating me. In any case, I had a couple of side notes:

* – First of all, I really have to thank everyone who attended. Your presents rocked! By last count, I received $0 in cash. I’m not quite sure if my recent purchase of a camper made my wants apparent but the result was that I now have a bunch of cool stuff that I didn’t before. Thanks.

* – I know I didn’t get around to everyone but that’s the nature of the beast. Hopefully, you got a tour of my new toy, as my brother convinced me to open it and show it off. Hopefully, your child (if you had one) or you (if not) got a chance to run through the tunnel a couple of times. If not, there’s always next year or, if I can help it, a summer cookout on the way. At the very least, let’s hope you found the cooler of beer. A couple of dark green bottles of Yuengling were available to help you forget the horrors of it all (this applies to those I did get around to greeting as well).

On the following Sunday, I attended the simultaneous birthday parties of both my stepfather and stepsister. I’ve never been a huge fan of simultaneous celebrations myself (as my birthday is mine, Mine, MINE) but the rapid-fire nature of their special days and the logistics of getting everyone together definitely favored the event. They didn’t seem to mind — no one blew out the other’s candles, for example.

Fast-forwarding to last weekend, the weekend of May 1st, a friend and I took off to Greenbrier State Park. A weekend of fishing, hiking, and generally being mountain men was ahead. Our wives and children were left home to tend to the fort. Here are a couple of short notes from that trip as well:

* – Take it from me. You don’t want to learn you are traveling in the wrong direction by inspecting welcome signs from adjoining states.

* – The answer to the question “How far are we away?” is not “Two thumbs.”

* – Thank God the weather help up. It was striking to find the park so empty on days as wonderful as Friday and Saturday (at least until nightfall). The beach was entirely empty. Note to self: make a reservation for this time next year.

* – A fishing trip is not considered a failure when all you catch is pity fish. For the second straight fishing attempt, my rod and reel remained almost entirely silent. However, the nice elderly gentleman who literally dropped three 12 inch trout in our lap kept our spirits up. A couple of fish decapitations later, our stomachs agreed.

* – It’s nice to get away. It’s nice to have a forum to express manliness between bottles of beer. It’s nice to know that two men can feed themselves for a weekend sans their wives and sans a stove.

* – It’s also nice to return home. It’s great to feel the welcome of warm arms and hear the giddiness of a couple of shrieks. Hey hubby. Hey daddy. Welcome back.

Ok, now I feel all caught up.