Ate me some keys

After eating some sweet tuna salad sandwiches and finishing off Chuck Palahniuk's Diary, I had about 10 minutes left on my sweet Allegheny County Government paid lunch break.

Rather than walking around the block and enjoying the unseasonably delightful weather, I decided to waste my time playing Pac Man.

The result: 166,220. Level 17.

My brothers and sisters, I have seen a land where 5,000-point keys are available for gobbling every 20 seconds or so.

I have seen a land where eating a power pellet has absolutely no effect on the ghosts who tenaciously seek your implosion.

It's true. Why would I lie?

It is an incredible land wherein you survive by your wits, nimble fingers and Bruce-Lee-like instincts. I was one with my Pac Man.

And it was 166,220 times rewarding than walking around in the November 60-degree heat wave. That warm spell represents a terrible lie. It's an illusion. It's a trap to make you lower your guard. You decide you don't need a coat, you walk around breathing deep the unseasonable warmth, and inevitably you're left with a debilitating cold.

Pac Man is my vitamin C.

Hey-la, Hey-la...

It's been a little over a week since the animals tag teamed my wife and I to silence her clock radio and steal my sandwich.

To date, my wife has yet to replace her clock radio.

This astounds me, especially because I'm a man who really appreciates a good clock radio. And I have the track record to prove it. The brown and black General Electric AM/FM Alarm Clock/Radio that's currently sitting on my nightstand is the same one that's been sitting next to my bed for the last 17 years.

I remember it was the summer before fourth grade when my parents finally allowed me to have *gasp* some form of media in my room, and that's what I picked out (my options were pretty limited -- actual stereos were completely out of the question).

I remember plugging it in, and turning it on. The first station I found played oldies, and the first song that radio played was "My Boyfriend's Back" by The Angels. Why do I remember that? I'm... not... sure. But I do.

I remember listening to B-94 throughout elementary school. I remember sitting next to my radio with a tape recorder. I would listen to the "Top Eight at Eight" and preserve all of the late 80's and early 90's pop songs in analog form. In particular, I remember my sheer delight when I finally captured Bell Biv Devoe's "Poison" on tape. The old addage, "You can't trust a big butt and a smile," is as true today as it was back then.

I've always had sleep issues. When I was younger, I needed to hear music to fall asleep. In high school, music kept me up. So I switched to talk radio and sports. Monday was always great, because I could listen to the second half of Monday Night Football on a local AM station. I don't think you can do that anymore. Hockey and baseball season were always nice, especially when the Pens and Pirates made a west-coast swing. My absolute favorite, though, were the rare Olympic Games. In Indiana, PA, where I grew up, you could get the Johnstown, PA NBC station at the bottom of the FM dial. There's no better sport to fall asleep to than figure skating.

The NBC thing helped me out when I got to college as well. On those days I had to get up particularly early, I was always able to listen to the Tonight Show with Jay Leno. I can honestly say, nine times out of ten, I never made it all the way through his monologue. What a funny guy.

Anyway, my clock radio and I have been through a lot together. The buttons: Snooze, sleep, wake, hour, minute, (then a lever) on, off, radio, alarm, then a volume nob followed by the AM/FM toggle -- They're all burned into my kinesthetic awareness. I always joked that if I ever knew a woman as well as I knew that clock radio, she would be a lucky woman indeed.

I feel awful for Jen, who will soon have to start a relationship with a new clock radio. No wonder she's putting it off.