When I was in the seventh grade, we began studying music appreciation. Most of my classmates hated this class because everyone was into the Top-40 music that we heard on the radio. I enjoyed the class because I always liked new and interesting things.

Slowly, but surely, we learned about all the different instruments that comprised the orchestra. We listened to individual instruments on a phonograph so we could recognize them when the orchestra played in unison. These music appreciation classes continued through the eighth grade. As a result of these classes I have had a life-long love of classical music. In the eighth grade, we listened to Igor Stravinsky’s The Firebird and his music made a lasting impression on me. It’s funny how this association with Stravinsky’s Firebird always connected me with other Firebirds.

When I was at Divine Heart Seminary, I used to go to the library for study hall and listen to The Firebird on the phonograph with a headset. For driver’s ed, our first car was a 1971 Pontiac Firebird! It had a four-speed manual transmission. Our first day of actually driving in a car, we got to drive on U.S. 30 Highway at 70 miles per hour. We weren’t allowed to play the radio in the car, but I kept imagining Stravinsky’s The Firebird playing while I drove the driver’s ed Firebird on the highway. This was one of my greatest driving experiences ever. The Stravinsky’s music accurately described the Firebird’s forward motion on U.S. 30. The Pontiac Firebird was my fantasy car throughout high school.

Until I was eighteen and I worked at Derby Foods. Despite not wanting to work in a factory as a manual laborer, I made the best of a bad situation. I earned enough money to buy my own car. So, I bought a brand new 1975 Pontiac Firebird.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough money to buy the souped up Trans Am version. But I was the only student at my high school with a brand new sports car. It was Buccaneer Red with white interior. I remember it well. I immediately regretted the white interior because it got dirty very quickly and it was very tough to clean. This was during one of our many previous gas crises (Americans just never seem to learn from the past), so the speedometer only went up to 85 mph since the national speed limit was lowered to 55 mph.

Suddenly, a lot of girls started talking to me because of my car. I ignored the ones who were suddenly attracted to me because of my car. My friends thought I was really cool because of my car. The only thing the car lacked was an 8-Track Player! Well, I drove all over the Midwest in my Firebird with my friends, and later my girlfriend whom I eventually married. That is still my most memorable car. I always think of it whenever I hear Igor Stravinsky’s The Firebird.

I like to listen to music while I sleep. I’ve been doing it since high school. But I stopped while I was married. My ex didn’t like to hear the music while she slept.

Now that I’m sleeping alone again, I get to listen to music while I sleep. I like to listen to the classical station, 98.7 FM WFMT, because most classical music is very soothing while sleeping.

For a while, I had a girlfriend who liked to listen to music while we slept and didn’t complain if I tuned in to the classical station. I guess she was different than the rest. She always loved telling me stories. She was an English major and used to call me “sire” during those intimate moments. She insisted I was the only one she ever called “sire.” When she started repeating her stories, she left me and I never saw her again. She was the only one who liked listening to classical music with me.

In high school, I used to listen to 8-Tracks while sleeping because they would play continuously throughout the night. I especially loved listening to Led Zeppelin. I started listened to CDs soon after they were invented because they would play continuously, too. I never listened to the radio because I didn’t like the commercials. The classical station doesn’t play very many commercials at night.

I like rolling over at night while I try to fall back asleep and hear the music. Sometimes I wake up a little if I recognize the music. When I was in in high school, I once made the mistake of listening to a live rock concert while sleeping. What a mistake! I woke up suddenly when the 8-Track started playing the obligatory drum solo! I couldn’t sleep with all the pounding on those drums, cymbals, and cowbells, but especially the cowbells. That lasted about fifteen minutes. I guess that’s why they call it percussion.

All the floods in the Midwest have got me thinking about how lucky I am to live in Chicago where the last major disaster we suffered was the Chicago Fire in 1871. But I didn’t suffer any traumatic experiences from it and I now live a normal life despite the Chicago Fire.

Oh, yes, we also had the Chicago Flood in 1992 caused by a pylon driven into a utility tunnel beneath the Chicago River, but that only flooded some tunnels under downtown Chicago and not many people were ever in any real danger. However, a few people lost their plum city jobs because of the incident.

The only flooding I experience in my house occurs during heavy rainfalls when I get an inch or two of water in my basement. And I don’t suffer any damage because I have an unfinished basement with a stone foundation. Other people in the midwest haven’t been so fortunate. I usually go to the Wisconsin Dells every summer, but the heavy flooding washed away Lake Delton, so I probably won’t go this summer. Homes, businesses, roads, bridges, and other infrastructures have been flooded or washed away in recent weeks, with more flooded expected as more rivers will soon crest with the predicted rainstorms. Tornadoes have also caused plenty of damage across the Midwest.

I lived in California for three years while I was in the Marines. Overall, the weather is very beautiful and much more pleasant than in the Midwest. However, Californians have to worry about earthquakes, brush fires, flash floods, and sandstorms, among other things.

I actually considered living in California after my honorable discharge from the Marines. Two things brought me back to Chicago. Most of my family and all of my friends lived in Chicago. And, I was really afraid of the weather and other natural disasters in California. Sure I could have gotten used to them. But why should I place myself in danger’s way unnecessarily?

Chicago is fairly safe in terms of meteorolgical events. The city itself has never had a tornado. We do live close to the New Madrid fault line and we do experience an occasional tremor, but we really haven’t had actually ever had an earthquake. Sure the tradeoff is that we do have a higher crime rate than most places, but at least you have a fighting chance against a mugger or a rapist. How do protect yourself from a tornado that suddenly appears in right front of you? I presently live in a house that was built in 1879, which is pretty old for a house in Chicago, and I feel safe living in this house knowing that it has survived everything that Mother Nature inflicted on it.

I just got back from seeing The Hulk with my sons. A couple of weeks back I took them to see Iron Man in the evening and they liked the thrill of seeing the movie in a packed house. I always preferred to see movies that way, too, but I usually took my sons to an early afternoon show because it was a lot easier that way.

This time I snuck in some Swedish Fish for us to munch on instead of tortilla chips. I had forgotten that I once took tortilla chips with us to the show until my son Adam reminded me. I really felt like my father when I did take the tortilla chips. All I needed was the jar of salsa. The advantage of seeing a movie in a packed theater is that I’m not the only one laughing at the funny parts.

Usually my sons tell me that I embarrass them when I laugh out loud by myself for too long. In a crowded theater, there’s always someone who laughs louder and longer than me. I then tell my sons that I laugh normally compared to these other extreme laughers.

As I was reading the Chicago Sunday Tribune today, I had many repetitive, random, redundant, and recurring thoughts. First, I started subscribing to the Trib again after a six-month hiatus. They promised me a better delivery service this time. I shall see just how good the delivery is this time.

When I previously subscribed, I hated not getting the newspaper delivered when I was supposed to get it. So, I would buy the paper somewhere on my way to school, and when I returned home, it was finally delivered. Sometimes they didn’t deliver it at all. The only time I received the paper every single day, even the days that I wasn’t supposed to get it, was when I asked for a vacation hold!

Today, I remembered why I liked the delivery. The Sunday newspaper! It’s like receiving a present that I enjoy unwrapping. I genuinely enjoy lazing around the house all morning and afternoon reading as much of the paper as possible and doing crossword puzzles.

As I was looking through the sales, I stopped every time I saw a lingerie or bikini ad. These ads have always captivated me in a way that I’m sure is not natural. Yes, I caught myself staring a few times. There is something very appealing to me about these female models and I don’t know how to explain it.

Well, this led me to recall the time I was in the Marines in California. I was stationed in 29 Palms in the middle of the Mohave Desert, and I met a certain Patrick Connelly who was the oldest Marine I had met up to that time. I was surprised because at 22 years old I was the oldest Marine I knew until I met Pat. He was at the unbelievable age of twenty-seven because few people would want to endure Marine Corps boot camp at that age, but Pat did.

He had previously been in the Army and the Air Force, and he thought he would give the Marine Corps a try. He had grown up in southern California so he always recommended places that we should visit in order that we could say that we really had experienced California. I really did get to see all sides of California because of Pat.

He once recommended that we go to The Body Shop. To me a body shop was a place where you took your car after an accident. “No!” Pat corrected me. “The Body Shop is a very famous California destination for tourists.” I had no idea what he was talking about until he explained that it was a strip club in Los Angeles. I had never been to a strip club, so I still had no idea what he was talking about.

Well, since I wanted to see as many tourist attractions as possible, I tagged along. Actually, I drove us there. I was the only one with a car and they would pay for the gas. Because I had an out-of-state plate, I could buy gas on any day instead of waiting for the appropriate odd or even day according to my license plate.

All the guys were excited all the way to L.A. because we were going to The Body Shop, especially Pat. I just didn’t get it. I really didn’t. We got there and I asked for a beer. Only they didn’t serve beer. I thought it would be like a comedy club where you pay a cover charge and then must buy a two-drink minimum. In fact, they didn’t serve anything at all. They had a pop machine in the foyer if we got thirsty. There was a state law prohibiting the sale of alcoholic beverages in strip joints.

I didn’t get it. In real life, usually the alcohol flows and then the clothes come off, naturally. All my friends were whooping it up in anticipation of seeing the strippers while they bought their pop. It cost about three times the normal price. I didn’t buy a pop. I really wasn’t thirsty right then and I wasn’t planning on cheering on the strippers, so I really wouldn’t have to wet my whistle later on.

The place was packed, but we found some seats. I sat on a stool with my back up against the wall. Pat was the happiest of all. He kept smiling at us and asking us if we were having a good time. He asked me several times if I liked the place. I was actually glad that I had gone, but when I’m in public, I look the same whether I’m having a good time or I’m bored.

The strippers came out, one at a time, and stripped to the loud cheers of  the audience, mostly men. As I watched the show, I leaned back against the wall. And I fell asleep! That is, until Pat gave me an elbow to my side and asked, “Isn’t she a great dancer?” I said yes, she was, but I couldn’t go back to sleep. I really didn’t understand how all these men could get so into the show.

Maybe that’s because I’m different. I need to be emotionlally involved in order to receive the full benefit of such a performance. I faked it as best as I could and I think I managed to pull it off because my friends were so excited that they really didn’t pay much attention to me.

As I looked at the lingerie ads today, I realized that the lingerie and bikini models are more attractive than those strippers we saw at The Body Shop. Perhaps, that why I couldn’t get into them.

When my brother Joe got married, he had a bachelor’s party. His future brother-in-law called me up several times to make sure that I was going. This was an unusual bachelor’s party considering that the brother of his bride-to-be arranged all the festivities. The future brother-in-law with his long blond hair looked the wrestler Triple H. But he insisted that he wasn’t as tough and as muschular so we called him Double H.

We met at a comedy club and Double H made sure that the emcee knew it was my brother’s bachelor’s party. Of course, the emcee then proceeded to roast my brother.

We enjoyed the comedy show and I thought the fun was over for the evening. But Double H said that we had to car pool to our next destination. He was very secretive about it. He even had designated drivers. I had no idea where we were going, but I got into the car that Double H pointed to. Well, about an hour later, we’re at a strip club. Double H paid for everyone’s cover and we were inside.

At least this place served beer. Double H was so proud of himself for getting everyone to the strip club. He told the club manager that this was my brother’s bachelor’s party, so they brought him up on stage and tied him up on chair. Then all the strippers started to give my brother lap dances. Oh, the look of pride on Double H’s face was just too much! Every time I see Double H at family parties, I thank him for that bachelor’s party. And brother Joe is still married!

Anyway, this also reminded me of one of my former students who was always tired during class. She always apologized for being tired during class, but she didn’t tell me why she was up all night. I never asked because she was an A student. She always studied and did all her homework. Towards the end of the semester a few students recommended that we take a class field trip. They insisted that we go to a place that served alcohol since they were all twenty-one or had fake IDs.

Since I am a Spanish professor, I insisted on a Mexican restaurant where we could eat Mexican food and drink Margaritas. Well, we had fun and everyone revealed a few personal details about themselves, including me. But we all had fun and said that we had to do it again real soon.

Well, the student who was always tired in my class and I were the last two of our bunch to leave because we wanted to finish our last Margarita. We talked awhile and she told me a little about herself. The reason she was always up very late at night was because she was a stripper at a gentlemen’s club. She was doing it because the money was good. She was paying for her tuition and she had no student loans to pay off upon graduation. She also bought her own condo with a 50% down payment. We had an interesting coversation, but I didn’t judge her because of her employment. How did she look? Well, she was attractive, but I don’t think she was beautiful enough to be a lingerie or bikini model.

However, I’m sure she compensated for her deficiency with her dancing skills. And here is a very telling note about our capitalistic society and how much we value different consumer services. She earned much more money as a stripper than I earned as a college professor!