I recently had my annual two-week sabbatical from family life. Tammy and the kids flew out of Chicago on July 24 for their stay in Vermont. The possibilities for guilt-free debauchery and unrestrained revelry were endless.

Boring and Domesticated

Upon returning home from the airport, how did I spend my very first moments of freedom? Did I get on the horn to friends, planning that night’s poker party? Did I go online to check fares for an impromptu junket to Vegas? Did I at least plop down in front of the TV with a bag of fast-food savories?

No, the first thing I did was make all the beds and empty the dishwasher. If there were indeed membership into dudedom, mine clearly would be revoked. Bachelorhood is wasted on the domestically inclined.

My lone night on the town came early. And as with last year, included the discovery of a very cool band. Last year I saw the Whigs in St. Louis. This year it was Daikaiju from Alabama who played Bar None. I can’t describe their music any better than they describe it themselves.

Daikaiju (die-kie-joo)

Who is the Daikaiju??? Premium action heroes deliver most high rocket music! Special reverb skill combo for full impact! Loud sonic boom for earful pleasure!

Beautiful radiation of hyper-dimensional springy sound creates divine psychic wind for your special protection.

Worship Psycho-surf band Daikaiju daily for good luck and health!

Well, that was about as much nightlife as I could handle so I turned to other interests to occupy my evenings.

Friendless and alone, I went to Family Video for something to occupy my emptiness. I selected East Bound and Down, the HBO baseball-themed comedy series. I was looking for a few laughs to delude myself into thinking that there was joy in the world.

Later that evening, when the silence in our home – no longer really a home but an empty shell -  became haunting, I put the show in for viewing. I’d read good things about the show and was looking forward to being entertained by it.

To my dismay my enjoyment was delayed as I was forced to consume a lengthy preview of a large number of HBO offerings. I wasn’t allowed to access the selection menu nor could I fast forward through the unwanted footage. All attempts to navigate pass this commercial proved futile. My free will had been hijacked.

If HBO wants to lend me their programs for free then I’ll abide their marketing messages. But when I buy or rent a movie on DVD, I should be able to put said movie in a movie playing device and immediately proceed to the main attraction. Same goes with Disney and Pixar. I believe that I’ve forked over enough cash to those studios to merit full preview immunity.

Not only did I have plenty of time to be annoyed with DVDs, I also found time to become peeved about traffic issues.

Circumstances generally keep me on the southern and western periphery of the city. As such, I seldom find myself impeded by railway traffic. That’s good because few things are more infuriating.

Last week I left work on the west side to join my parents and uncle for dinner at Red Lobster. I originally planned to stick to said periphery and take Veterans to I-72 and around to Dirksen. But then I thought, "what the hey?," I can probably make decent time going through downtown.

Ha!

I just barely escaped the Amtrack pulling into the station while traveling Washington, beating the gate by mere fives of seconds. But my luck ran out on South Grand where I arrived just in time to view all 3,000 cars of a train moving so slow it was in danger of tipping over like that old guy riding a bike on Benny Hill.

They can talk all they want about beautifying and bloomifying the city, but it won’t amount to hill of posies if people are trapped for 10 minutes at a time while a graffiti-ridden locomotive lumbers by.

Unlike the wait for the train to pass, the two weeks sans family flew by. Unencumbered by social invitations, I was free to paint the deck, get the van serviced, buy the kids’ school supplies and take on a couple of freelance assignments. Life was sweet.

Yesterday I returned to O’Hare to bring the family back home.

Not wanting to be late for the pickup, I arrived at the airport 90 minutes early. I walked almost the entire time, familiarizing myself with the baggage and check-in areas in all of the terminals. As per usual, there were many good-looking foreign chicks walking about. That’s always nice. And then I spotted an origina’ G – Ghostbuster, that is.

I’m not sure if I would have recognized Ernie Hudson had he not been standing next to a guy holding a sign that said "Ernie Hudson and Michael Hogan." Later research revealed that the two were in town for Chicago Comic-Con.

Anyway, this Hogan character hadn’t arrived yet so Hudson was hanging out in the baggage area. Several local collectors had anticipated his arrival and surrounded him with stacks of pictures, DVDs and other memorabilia to autograph. One of these leaches was a dead-ringer for the Comic Book Guy.

Anyway, Hudson was a good sport about it, but eventually said enough was enough and politely shooed them away. After they dispersed I thought about going up to him and asking him to sign my copy of Life in the Time of Cholera, which I had brought along to pass the time. I wasn’t sure if he’d get the joke, so I decided to leave him be.

Not long after I spotted Tammy and the kids. Truly a sight for lonely eyes. And the long-awaited return to normalcy had returned.

Maybe next year I’ll sneak off to Vegas.

*There’s a connection between this title and something else referenced in the text. What is it?