So it's hot, and the crickets in the front yard are chirping so loudly and so rapidly, a few seem to be in danger of igniting and bursting into flame.

Chirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirp.

Crickets have started to creep me out. I opened the garage door last week and the floor came to life, all antenna-waving, hopping, crawling life.

Chirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirp.

But tonight I'm safe inside. I'm about to head off to bed, and I'm in the foyer and I'm turning off the porch light. As soon as the switch flips, the crickets outside -- all of them -- fall instantly, eerily, deathly silent.

Chirpchirpchi--

A dog barks in the distance. After a second or two, a few hesitant crickets start up again.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirpchirpchirp.

And in thirty seconds, they're all back, and the whole bunch of 'em is going gangbusters again.

Chirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirpchirp.

I turn the light back on.

Chirpchirpchi--

"Hee," I think. "I'm playing with their tiny minds."

And I spend the next five minutes flipping the switch on and off, until I realize that the neighbors might be watching.