It was the sound I’d been anticipating, as I began a late afternoon May stroll on a golf course somewhere in East Tennessee. Thousands of cicadas, their wings furiously rubbing together, signaling that yes, they had emerged from their nymph-like states, climbed trees, shed their skins and were ready to state their existence for the next five to six weeks.

The previous sentence was brought to you by National Geographic and Wikipedia.

Unless you majored in entomology, your knowledge of cicadas is probably similar to mine. You know the bugs are very loud, but you also know they only appear every 17 years. During their short time alive they mate and, well, that’s about it. The sounds you hear are actually the males saying they are “in the mood” and the females responding with, “Great, I’m over here!” The nymphs produced by their shared passion fall to the ground, burrow under the soil, feast on tree root sap and emerge 17 years later, proudly carrying on their parents’ traditions.

I‘m Starring in My Own Cicada Musical

In high school I was cast in Brigadoon, a musical about a Scottish village that appears for only one day, every 100 years. Two lost American hunters were fortunate enough to stumble into the village on the day it emerged from hibernation. They quickly found themselves part of a town fair, a bachelor party and a wedding. One hunter even fell in love with Fiona, a Brigadoon lass.

In short, Brigadoon residents were the cicadas of Scotland: Wake up, party hard, and then take a lengthy, well-deserved nap, oblivious to the outside world and all its problems.

I could do that. Correction … we ALL could do that. Let’s all be cicadas.

Imagine falling asleep in 2007 and waking up, totally refreshed, in 2024? Sign me up! OK, I would have missed the Cubs finally winning the World Series in 2016, but that’s a small price compared to other events I slumbered through. And, because my time on Earth is extremely limited, please don’t try to catch me up once I awaken. That means I don’t need to hear about the Virginia Tech mass shooting or the iPhone’s introduction, both of which occurred the year I pulled the covers up to my neck and turned out the lights.

Maybe I stirred once or twice during the next five years, but I was certainly not coherent enough to glance at my bedside iPhone (remember, I don’t know what that is) and read about the stock market crash, Hurricane Sandy, this weird social media app called Instagram, swine flu, or more school shootings. So, no need to try and explain any of them. I might pump you for a little information about this Obama guy but make it quick. Remember, I’m on the prowl for a mate, so you have 20 percent of my attention, at most.

Who’s The President? Who Cares?

I’m guessing I was in Stage Three, the deepest level of sleep, between 2013 and 2018. I know, you feel I HAVE to know about The Apprentice, a show I actually remember, and how the guy who hosted it somehow became our nation’s president. Skip that. Ditto for the death of Nelson Mandela, continued Middle East unrest, Brexit, #MeToo, frat boys marching through the streets of Charlottesville, Virginia, “armed” with patio tiki torches, the discovery of water on Mars or more school shootings.

In 2019 I probably glanced at my bedside clock and realized that pesky alarm would be sounding in five short years. But I rolled over and managed to doze through George Floyd, #BlackLivesMatter, two impeachment inquiries, the January 6 insurrection, COVID and more school shootings. Good thing I have room darkening shades.

Which brings us to 2024. I am up, showered, dressed, full of nourishment and ready to have sex. I don’t have time to hear about Caitlin Clark, Travis Kelce or Scottie Scheffler. If you’re worried that TikTok is dominated by Chinese spies, stop using it. Yes, I’m sure you’re blown away that this Trump guy is still around, but please share your concerns with somebody else.

Just point me to the women and I’ll do the rest.

See you in 2041.