I am happy to report that the sky didn’t fall, the earth didn’t swallow us, the sun didn’t burn out and aliens didn’t invade the earth and vaporize everyone in their path (at least not as far as we know), and we did deposit our one and only child at Baylor University last week, where she will spend at least the next four years. I’m not saying it was easy or anything, but the world didn’t stop revolving.

Guessing from the number of emails I’ve received about the subject, apparently a few other parents found the process of helping their college bound kids leave the nest somewhat traumatic. One told me that she thought she was going to die from grief when she helped her daughter matriculate last week. I would die if I were involved in something like that. I mean all I did was move my child into a dorm. If she had started matriculating, I don’t know what I would have done. I only had one towel and I don’t have any medical training. What? Oh.

I don’t know how much the rest of you folks cried, but I only cried one time and that was just a little. Unfortunately, it was captured by the local CBS affiliate, KWTX in a story they were doing on my daughter’s return to Central Texas, so everyone and their dog saw it if they looked closely enough. Don’t bother looking at their website either, I’m sure they took the story down by now. I mean, really. My wife cries every day for a month, but somehow remains composed during the interview. I let out one tear and a camera is there to catch it as though I’ve been a puddle of parental goo for the last year.

We made it just fine on the thousand-mile-trip home, thanks to satellite radio. We sang to a channel that played bad ‘70s music most of the way. I am ashamed to tell you that I still remember the words to such radio cow patties as “Run Joey Run” and “Life is a Rock, but the Radio Rolled Me.” Suddenly we were at home and boy was it quiet.

We’ve got to find something to do with ourselves. We used to watch Jeopardy together at mealtime, but without my daughter there, it’s not really a challenge. I could do yard work but…okay, I never really considered that. I wanted to redecorate her room, but the counselors at the university told us not to. They said that it was unsettling to new college students to come home to find that their familiar surroundings had changed. I had dreams of setting up some sort of football watching cocoon, but apparently, we have to treat that room like Uncle Mortimer died in it and we’re showing respect.

I’ve heard from enough parents to know that this is a significant problem that is not addressed by our society. We need support groups, government programs, 12-step classes, and infomercials. We need help. Well, wait no more; here are some helpful hints on what to do with your extra time now that your house is childfree. I have taken some of these from helpful readers, and others from knowledgeable sources, such as the guy who bagged my groceries.

1. Take up a new hobby with your spouse – This could involve anything from mountain biking to poker, to hiking or knitting. I’ve selected carnival barking. I’ll let you know how it works out.
2. Adopt a foreign student – Our daughter threatened not to come home if we did this one. I think she’s afraid her room would end up smelling like some exotic vegetable or something. Still, it’s a valid choice, what with my language skills and all.
3. Pretend she’s still there – I’m not kidding. One family actually made a cardboard cutout of their child and put it in the family room, the bedroom, the dinner table, etc. That family reads this column, so I’d like to say that’s a great way to stay mindful that a valuable member is temporarily away, but is still very much a part of the family unit. It’s not creepy in any way and you are definitely not in need of special attention from some people who would love to visit with you if you would give me your physical address.
4. Re-enroll in college – One mom told me that the process of moving her daughter in to the dorm got her thinking about resuming her own education now that she has the time to do so. As luck would have it, she picked the same major as her daughter, and the same college and they same….wait a minute. Buck up lady! Get a hold of yourself. We’re all going to make it just fine. Get away from the backpack… now!

In the pioneer days, and I must admit most of my research came from watching “Little House on the Prairie,” the trip to the store was a pretty straightforward thing. First of all, there was no stopping by Walgreen’s to pick up something on the way home. If a wife told her husband to run by Walgreen’s back in the pioneer days, it was tantamount to telling him to get lost because not only would her headache be gone by the time he got back, but the kids would be grown and she would have had at least two other husbands. Trips to the store happened about twice a year for many pioneers. They would load up on things like grain, salt, seed, corn, molasses and cloth. What they did not purchase were things like lighted bras and talking urinal cakes, which fortunately are the topics of today’s discussion.

While you were busy last week reading about the snowstorm in the Northeast, or the astronaut who taught us all how to drive from Houston to Florida without taking a potty break, some interesting news items crossed my desk. Because of the kind of people who read this column, those items are seldom about news events like global warming or congressional hearings. No, they are usually about things like lighted bras.

One alert reader actually sent me a link to a website which displayed, in living color (www.enlighted.com/nervebra.shtml) the newest trend in foundational fashion for ladies who want to be noticed – from distances of up to a mile. The “nervebra,” so named because, let’s face it, you’d have to have a lot of nerve to put one on, features an intricate pattern of flashing, multi-colored lights, which flash in several sequences depending upon your mood, I suppose. What the website does not divulge, is exactly what occasion this particular undergarment is appropriate for. I can imagine a few that it would not be appropriate for, such as the boardroom. “Mrs. Salinksy, are you wishing to contribute to the discussion, or are you just experiencing a fireworks display in your blouse?” The company in question here, Enlighted, wants you to know that it didn’t stop at the bra. It has multi-colored light displays for just about any garment, including an entire suit. They just highlighted (no pun intended) the bra because it was apparently the perfect gift for Valentine’s Day (see last week’s column). Ours is supposed to be here in time for the big day. I guessing it will go into that drawer that ladies keep for all the Valentine’s outfits their husbands give them. At least this one will stand out.

The point of this column, if there had been one, is that we have come a long way since the pioneer days when we had just enough money to spend on the basics, and perhaps a piece of hard candy for Christmas. I’m not yearning to go back to those times, mind you. I have grown quite fond of indoor plumbing for instance, but if pioneers heard about some of the things we classify as “must haves,” they would laugh so hard that they’d spew their tepid, curdling milk through their nostrils.

Speaking of indoor plumbing (I did, didn’t I?), news outlets all over the country reported on yet another newly developed device that not only puts the lighted bra to shame, but has a public safety use as well. If you guessed, talking urinal cakes, you are not only right, but you should seek the care of a mental health professional immediately. That’s right – talking urinal cakes. According to KOAT in Santa Fe, The State of New Mexico, which apparently has a drinking problem, has ordered this nifty invention to place in bars so that when male patrons make that last pit stop before hitting the highway, they can be reminded verbally by the urinal cake, that they should not drink and drive. Two thoughts spring to mind.

First, I’m not sure we want to place a guy with a snoot full in a situation where he hears a urinal cake speaking to him. Although it might cause some people to wisely quit drinking right there and then, it might also push some over the edge. Secondly, I would love to be at the talking urinal cake company, where they had such high hopes for their invention several years ago, only to find that there was really no demand for conversational toilet parts. I picture the last true believer sitting in a wrinkly suit in a warehouse by the telephone with dusty boxes of talking urinal cakes stacked all around him when finally, the call comes in. “Hey, this is New Mexico. You still have those talking urinal cakes? We’ll take 500 off your hands.” You got to love progress.

Some very encouraging news crossed my desk last week. It appears that the Hip-Hop scare of the late 20^th and early 21^st century may be on the wane. Record company executives are reportedly alarmed that, for the first time ever, sales of Rap and Hip-Hop CDs declined dramatically at the end of last year and the trend continued into this year. It’s too early to tell, but industry analysis indicates that two factors may be at play in the stunning trend. One, the most obvious, is that when artists continue to kill each other, the stable of marketable product is likely to decline. Secondly, Rap music, which in case you didn’t know, is primarily formed by shouting song lyrics with the same tone a parent uses when he discovers his four-year-old has used his $120 Mont Blanc pen to stir mud pies, has been linked by scientists to poetry. That’s right. Young people are learning in increasing numbers that songs that contain words but no actual singing are in fact, poetry – the same junk Mrs. Jenkins makes them read in English class. If this trend is something substantial and not a mere bump in the marketplace road, I’d like to suggest that we replace the departing rap with another form of popular music – Rock.

      Oh, but we have rock music, I hear you saying. I would beg to differ. If you take away what is classified as Classic Rock on the radio (Lynyrd Skynrd, Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith with one other random artist inserted each hour) and then remove new rock and roll songs performed by 60-year-old guys who used to perform rock, you are left with two distinct categories. I will call the first genre of today’s radio rock music, Soy Latte Rock. I won’t mention any specific bands, so as not to have my email box clogged with death threats, but you get the idea. These records are made by people who wouldn’t know a power chord if one jumped into bed with them. They have taken rock music and stripped it of its muscle, adding numerous notes, instruments, and worst of all, chords, which render songs unbearable to those of us who really can only handle three chords at a time. To make matters worse, these artists don’t sing about cars or the process of losing/getting a girl. Instead they sing about colors and other concepts. We let Led Zeppelin and Rush get away with that, but only because they used power chords, not harpsichords.

     The other kind of new rock is classified by some as speed metal or death metal. This is because you have to be on speed to tolerate it and it makes most listeners yearn for death. I’ve tried to listen to it on many occasions. I even like that song that goes, “yeershh kleep mufft mufft yaaaaang kill,” you know the one. However, it doesn’t take long to get your fill of a musical form in which every song sounds like my uncle did when he passed that kidney stone last year.

     At this point, you may have correctly identified me as a “dinosaur.” I’m willing to accept that moniker, but I have tried to keep up. You have to admit, however that there is a shortage of really good rock music. Take any other genre, bluegrass, Celtic, country, soul, R&B, folk, and even jazz, and you’ll find stuff that people in their teens and people in their 40s like. The arena rock many of us grew up on, however, is in short supply. By now, some of you are wondering, “Am I a dinosaur too?” Here are some ways to know for sure.

1. Have you ever gone off the road because playing an air guitar solo simply could not be accomplished without taking both hands off the wheel? You are probably a dinosaur.
2. Do you ever sit awake at night and wonder when it became unacceptable to use a Moog synthesizer in a song? One year everybody used them, and the next year, they were gone. I blame Emerson, Lake and Palmer. They did go a little overboard.
3. If you stop with your family on a vacation for directions, and someone says to “head east,” do you immediately start singing, “Save my life I’m going down for the last time?” I’m here to pull you out of the tar pit.
4. Did you quit smoking 20 years ago, but still have your last lighter because you used it to show your approval during a Bad Company show? Your fossils just turned up in the Mojave Desert.
5. Did you spend a day last week in an unexplainable funk because that guy from Boston died? That was a Jurassic bummer.

     Maybe, just maybe, it’s all coming back around. If not, I’ve discovered that iPods play Dire Straits just as well as Coldplay.