Brian Noonan Has No Friends

Sometimes I come late to the party. I still like 8 tracks, rotary phones and roller derby, so it will come as no surprise that I've just become aware of MySpace.

For the uninitiated, MySpace is a site where everyone in the world can set up a little web page. You tell everyone your life story, hopes and dreams and where you got your GED, and then you make "friends." Comedian friends of mine, (the real world kind) have been telling me that this is a great way to promote yourself and build a fan base. Since I prefer to stay in the shadows of show business rather than under its bright light, I shied away. Lately however, I've been craving attention. Sure I could get it from my family or flesh and blood friends, but that seems so last year. I needed some space age pals. You know, the kind of friends you never have to meet, talk to, or bail out of jail.

So I went on MySpace. It's easy, so easy that I was able to figure it out. My profile was all set up, I put my best picture on the site, and now all I needed were some friends. This is where things went terribly wrong. You have to go and solicit friends. I'm antisocial by nature, so the thought of having to ask people to be my friends bothered me. I did what I used to do in high school. I retreated to the corner and mocked the cool kids. I saw people with hundreds of friends. Showoffs! For the first couple of days, I would log on and be greeted with the happy sight of "Brian Noonan has no friends." Oh the horror. It's bad enough to suspect something, but to see it in print is a whole other matter. I was talking about this to some of the staff in Toledo who were big MySpace fans and they said they would be my friends. Thank God!

I think it's kind of pathetic for a grown man to be searching out friends on the web. Shouldn't we just venture out into the big bad world if we want to meet people. We are pretty isolated as a society and this kind of thing makes it even worse. People have lost the ability to communicate on an inter -personal level. Oh who cares? Please be my friend! Later...Brian

Monday Madness

I have so much on my mind today it's hard to focus. I got home from Toledo yesterday. It was a good week. The shows went well, people bought CD's and I had a few Manhattens. The only real downfall was Friday night at the late show when some slack jawed yokels were having a hard time understanding sarcasm. They may have been having trouble understanding English for all I know. I couldn't make out any of their alcohol slurred ramblings. I guess that's why they call it work. Sometimes things go well and other times you have to break a sweat.

My wife, "Wife" was very excited to watch the red carpet coverage of the Screen Actors Guild Awards last night. I don't understand our fascination with all things celebrity. Except for the chance of a wardrobe malfunction, I don't see the point. I'm a member of SAG and I vote in the awards, but I still don't care. I hate seeing these people show up and take themselves so seriously. You're an actor. You entertain people. That's a cool enough gig. Be happy and don't think that we need to hear your opinions on world issues.

I believe that there is a special ring of hell reserved for Ryan Seacrest. I think he's holding Dick Clark hostage until he is the host of every lame countdown show or event on TV. This guy couldn't be more plastic if he were a shrinky dink. Come to think of it he's about that size. When he's interviewing people, it looks like a chapter out of Gulliver's travels. I guess the world needs top of the line ass kissers, I'm glad I don't have to take the job. I read that he had Kathy Griffen banned from the red carpet because she had said something mean about him. Listen pee wee, the whole world is saying mean stuff about you, you're just not high enough to hear us. Get step stool. Noonan out! Later....Brian

Too Many Fatties

There was a tremor in San Diego yesterday. Not the kind that comes from deep in the earth's core, but the kind that comes from the beefy decending on a community. The NBC show "The Biggest Loser" was supposed to hold auditions for the next season of their show at a Dave and Buster's in San Diego. After about 1000 plumpers waddled on to the premises, the restaurant cancelled the auditions.

The restaurant claimed that the show's producers hadn't provided enough security or outdoor bathrooms and that it had created an unnsafe enviroment. Let's face it. They just didn't want a fistful of fatties ruining the appetites of the paying customers. The sight of the morbidly obese queing up for a shot at national television humiliation is enough to put anyone off their chicken fingers. As for the outdoor bathrooms, I see their point . I can't imagine what it would be like to see legions of tubbies, their elastic waist pants around their ankles, trying to rid themselves of the 18 slim fast bars they ate for their "healthy" breakfast, squatting behind the shrubbery.

I've seen a few episodes of the show, and the results are amazing. I gotta say though, I'd have those results too if I were sequestered in a compound with other eating machines and being trained by a hottie like the one on the show.

As a side bar, I have to give a shoutout to Panera Bread. They have free wireless internet which is making today's post possible. They also have great food and free refills on their coffee. I encourage anyone reading this to patronize them. Then we can all stuff ourselves silly and go join the misshapen in an attempt to get on TV. Have a good weekend. Later...Brian

The Glamorous Life

I'm sure you've heard the old joke about the guy who picks up after the elephant in the circus. Someone asks why he doesn't quit, and the man, confused by this query answers, "What, and give up show business."

I love what I do. I get to travel, meet new people and get drunk in exotic locales. Nothing compares to hearing a crowd explode with laughter or having someone tell you that you made their day because they really needed to laugh. Somtimes however, it sems like you're carrying a big shovel and the elephant just finished six chorizo and egg burritos.

Sure, the public thinks that this is a glamourous life and that I'm hob-nobbing with celebs on a regular basis. I try to perpetuate that myth as much as possible. I tell them I'm driving my SUV because the leather in my Bentley is being buffed with a fine chamois, and that Paris Hilton was going to meet me at the Waffle House, but she's jetting to Denmark with Carrot Top. Only I know the truth and I'm going to share it with you. If you don't want to give up the dream, click back to whatever you were looking at last, and in the immortal words of the Wizard, "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain."

Good, are they gone? It's pretty sweet. I just don't want a lot of people to know because I've got my wife and family convinced I'm working. I do work hard, for an hour a night, two hours on the weekend. The only bad part is being away from home. Sometimes the accomodations aren't the best. I'm in a hotel this week. For legal reasons, I won't say which one except to tell you the roof is red. The room is so small I feel like a veal calf awaiting my piccata. I think Spike has more room in his pen at home. There is mystery condensation on top of the air conditioner that refuses to stay gone despite repeated drying.

I can't complain. As Tony Soprano said, "This is the life we've chosen." The free time just makes it easier to write longer posts and see the sights. I'm off to explore exotic Toledo. Maybe I'll hook up with Usher at the Chinese buffet. Later...Brian

On The Road Again

Greetings from Toledo. I know this is late in the day, but I was having trouble finding a wireless connection. Well, to be honest, I found one fast, but I was too cheap to pay right away. I'm still getting the hang of typing on this notebook, so this is taking a little longer than usual. My big ham fists and sausage fingers cover the entire keyboard.

I drove here on the beautiful combination of the Indiana Toll Road and the Ohio Turnpike. I don't mind these toll roads. You get a ticket when you get on and you pay when you get off. The road that is. The Illinois Tollway has stops at what seems to be every mile. They have introduced the FastPass, which lets you zip right through. I get worried using this. As you know, I'm a fan of "24", so I know that somewhere in a dimly lit bunker the "man" is keeping tabs of my travel habits. Perhaps when I'm trying to covertly transport things, I'll have to stick to surface streets.

Can I go out on a limb and say I hate trucks? Well too bad, I just did. I don't get it. I'm in the left lane, doing my customary ten over the limit (try to catch me copper), when one of these CW McCall singin', monkey partnerin', meth freaks pulls his rig into the lane and slows down. He then proceeds to pull along side some other Smokey and the Bandit reject and sit there for about twelve miles. What the hell are they doing? Are they making that arm pulling motion we did when we were kids trying to get each other to honk their horns. Pick up the pace Claude Akins, there's a rest stop up ahead for you to pick up some "commercial beaver" or have some unholy rendesvous with your horn honkin' pal.

I feel better now. Well it's off to get ready for the show. Later...Brian

I Feel Dirty

Readers Digest just published a report listing the fifty cleanest cities in America. They based the study on a number of factors including air and water quality, hazardous waste and sanitation. Chicago came in dead last. Oh Joy! Now we're not only the fattest city, but also the dirtiest. To quote Dean Wormer, "fat drunk and stupid is no way to go through life."

I was very excited when I saw the story saying Chicago was the dirtiest city. Visions of strippers, adult book stores and lusty nights filled my perverted noggin. Imagine my dismay when I realized we were all living like Oscar the Grouch in a flithy can. What bothers me is that we finished behind, Detroit, Cleveland and Los Angeles, three cities that I have visited and found quite disgusting.

It's time to turn my thoughts to more pressing mattters. I'm leaving town tomorow for Toledo. I'm not sure how clean it is there, since they weren't ranked. I haven't worked at this club in a while, so I'm looking forward to the shows. It's nice to be on the road for a few days. i get to sleep late, eat what I want and generally be a goof. That feeling lasts about two days, and then i miss my bed, my family and and my soft, quilted toilet paper. I'll talk to you from the road. Later...Brian

There Is No Lollipop Guild

It's Monday, so that means getting my nose back to the grindstone, or in this case fingers back to the keyboard.

Friday night was quite an adventure. It was supposed to be a pretty simple night of networking at a few of the comedy clubs in the area. I just moved back to Chicago and I was touching base with some of the people I used to work for. I was joined on my big night out by a friend of mine. In the interest of privacy discussed here earlier, I'll call him "Load". I like to consider Load part of my entourage, crew or posse if you will. He takes offense to that and wants our time together to be called "time spent with friends." What a chick.

Anyhoo...Load and I drove by a bar and he told me that this place was well known because it had a midget bar inside. You heard me right, a special short bar staffed by midgets, complete with tiny chairs and wee waitresses. Now you can't tell me something like this and not expect that to be the next stop on our party train.

We ventured in and were greeted by a burley security guard who quickly demanded our IDs. I always love getting carded, especially by guys who aren't really that good at math. It took the incredible Bulk about three minutes to do his cypherin' and let me in. There it was, back in the corner, a real live midget bar. On paper, this sounds like a great idea. In reality, not so much. I was expecting happy little people like in the Wizard of Oz. Maybe some festive costumes. What I got was a woman who was so tiny, she could barely reach her little cooler and then couldn't get the tops off the beers. It wasn't joyful at all. It made me kind of sad and I felt a tad dirty. I did dance in a cage with Load for a minute, but that's a story for another time. I'm hoping to find an Amazon bar next week. Real big chicks don't make me feel so bad. Later...Brian

Frivolous Doesn't Begin To Describe It

New York Knicks forward Antonio Davis was suspended for five games and is being sued for one million dollars because he went into the stands the other night during a game against the Chicago Bulls. Notice I said went into the stands, not went in and kicked the ass of some weasely guy who was swearing at his wife and kids.

The details are sketchy, but it seems like some guy was yelling at the refs or the players and Davis' wife said something to him. The video shows her going up to the man and saying things before Davis came on the scene. Mrs. Davis appears to touch the man's shoulder lightly. That's the only contact until the security guard hustles Antonio back to the floor.

Where to begin? Davis shouldn't have gone into the stands. Sure that's what most sports writers say and that's what the rules say, but what married guy wouldn't rush to help his wife if he thought she was in trouble. Every guy would if he ever wanted to partake in his marital lovin' again. That's why you should never bring your wife to work. Leave them at home. You never know when they'll get mouthy and cost you 700 grand.

But what about the "fan"? I'm tired of being at events and having small minded idiots shouting obscenities in front of kids. Save it for your lodge meetings or Hooters. If someone asks you to tone down you rhetoric, do it. I'm reminded of something my freshman English teacher said..."Profanity is the linguistic crutch of the ignorant." F'in right it is. What kind of spineless, shifty, cry baby sues for a million bucks because some woman yelled at him? Grow a pair you baby! If I sued every time a woman yelled at me, I would be broke fifty times over. He is suing for battery and defamation of character. Take a good look in the mirror sir, it's obvious you have no character. Later...Brian

Jack Is Back!

I know I posted something about TV yesterday, but my interests are limited, and quite frankly, sometimes TV is more interesting than anything else going on. What do you want me to do? Should I make a "Brokeback Mountain" joke like everyone else?

Last night, thanks to the miracle that is TiVo, I watched the first four hours of "24". I love this show more than "American Idol." If you've been living under a rock, "24" follows the escapades of counter terrorist super agent Jack Bauer and his never ending job of saving the USA from insidious threats. This season started out with a bang literally when former president Palmer was assassinated and our hero Jack, who was presumed dead at the end of last season, was framed for the murder. During the next four hours, terrorists took over an airport, Jack threatened to kill a teenager, the First Lady exposed her breasts, the body count escalated and Chloe got laid. Then it was revealed that nerve gas will play a large part in "Day 5". How does one catch their breath after that kind of ride?

I was so giddy, I almost wet myself. You have to give yourself over to the show. Forget the fact that Jack always has a cell signal, never has to go to the bathroom and can disarm a nuclear bomb with a paper clip. Revel in the gravely voiced threats, like "you're going to tell me what I need to know, you just have to decide how much you want it to hurt." Damn, Jack is all man, and I don't mean that in a "Brokeback Mountain" kind of way. There..I made the joke, are you happy now?

Our favorite Jack threat here at the casa is, "I don't want to have to kill you, but I will." God damn right he will. We do a shot every time he says it. By the end of the season, we're drunk, but the world is once again safe. Later....Brian

The Grand Delusion

All right, I'll admit it, I love watching American Idol. The season debut was last night and I was hooked again. I love the first couple episodes of the season. That's when they show all the American Idiots who want to be idols doing their auditions. This is like televised crack for me. I can't get enough.

Again, Chicago got to be at the forefront of idiocy. The show opened with an aerial shot of Soldier Field surrounded by the tone deaf hopeful vying for their chance at stardom. I don't know where to begin. It was all so delicious. One disturbing image stands out. A scary bearded guy dressed like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, pony tailed wig and all singing "Lady Marmalade." It was as if I was watching an audition for some underground fetish porn movie.

What always amazes me is the utter lack of talent that most people present. Am I the only person who strives to be a little self aware? These people are, to quote a friend, "aggressively untalented." I love the fact that they get so upset when the judges call them on it. They can't believe that the caterwalling they just subjected the country to is not worthy of a record contract. I really enjoyed the 16 year old stripper in training with the Sunkist orange fake tan who flipped the judges off after they dismissed her and then "sour graped" the whole proceeding while standing next to her trashy mama who shared her affinity for too much eye liner.

I don't want to discuss everything today. It's a long season and my focus is drifting. Paula looked liked she was staying on her meds. I guess that will keep her from "helping" another contestant.

So much to mock, so little time. I'll be watching, but in the meantime, I better go work on my rendition of "Mandy." Maybe I'll become deluded too. Later...Brian

Don't Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em

Yesterday morning, Chicago instituted a no smoking law. It's very convoluted, but basically it says that there can be no smoking in restaurants, office buildings , or public transit stations. You also need to be at least fifteen feet from the entrance of a building to smoke. Bars have two years before they have to comply.

I'm torn about this. I am not a smoker. I fully agree that smoking should be banned in restaurants. I think this stems from my childhood. My dad smoked and didn't care where he did it, the dinner table, a closed up car with the heat blasting, church. He would finish his dinner and then light up. My mom, my brothers and I would then finish our meal in a cloud. It was like eating on the Scottish moors every night. It's a miracle that all our lungs don't bear a striking resemblance to a coal minor's. Smoking and non smoking sections don't work. I've had the good fortune of sitting on the other side of the velvet rope that is supposed to keep the smoke out of my section. I even get no smoking in an office building. I wouldn't want to be sitting in the cubicle next to some hacking chain smoker. Not to mention the fire danger when some secretary's Aqua-Net goes up in flames ala Michael Jackson.

Bars are another story. I'm all for keeping my vices together. People don't go to a bar to drink milk and read the bible. They go to have a few pops, have a smoke, and hook up with a willing floozy. I say let the drinkers smoke. Hell let's start putting gambling and hookers in all the bars too. At least that way no one could complain. You know what your getting when you walk in the door. Later....Brian

A Cloak Of Disappointment

I almost took today off in honor of Martin Luther King Day, but somehow that didn't seem right.

I spent the whole day yesterday attending the Chicago Bears Playoff game at the new and improved Soldier Field. The day couldn't have started out better. It was sunny and 40 degrees, which for Chicago seemed like a miracle. We all took that as a sign that good things were going to happen and fortune, like the sun would shine on the Monsters of the Midway.

My brothers have season tickets and I was able to score one. They always have kick ass tailgate parties and yesterday was no exception. Food, beer and laughs were in good supply and the crowd was buzzing with anticipation. "Super Bears in the Super Bowl" was the favorite cheer in the parking lot. There were even more women in attendance which always makes the scenery brighter. As we made our way to our seats, you could feel the energy from the crowd. This was going to be great.

The problem was that the Bears decided not to show up. I guess our number one defense was starting to believe their own press. Unfortunately, the Carolina Panthers don't read the Tribune or the Sun Times and didn't realize that the Bears defense couldn't be beaten. Did the guys think that they could knock the Panthers over with press clippings? I'm also calling for an immediate audit of punter Brad Maynard's bank account for any unusual deposits. I don't believe anyone can kick that badly without financial incentives. I guess I can see the wisdom of having a rookie cover the Panthers best receiver. Who am I kidding that was the worst decision I've seen since I decided to buy those blue and orange Zuba pants in '85.

The offense did score three touchdowns. That gave rise to the old standby of Chicago sports fans...."There's always next year." Later....Brian

My Sweet Ride

This week has been filled with car repairs at the casa. What gets me is that it is a continuation of last month. I had to take Debbie's car in for some crazy sound that the dealership had supposedly fixed before Christmas. So the sound gets fixed, some belt thing they tell us, only to have it return. Now something else was leaking and the sound is back.

As for my car, right before Christmas I took it in because I kept hearing a banging. They pulled the transmission, replaced something, and proclaimed my ride fixed. Fast forward a week and now my four wheel drive won't work and my car makes a sound like I've got a cat caught in the fanbelt when I'm in reverse. "That's normal" the service guy tells me. Really? I have never heard it before.

We are at the mercy of these car repair guys. They know it, we know it and we all try to ignore it. It's kind of like Richard Simmons sexuality. I have learned to be very vague when explaining my problems to the mechanic. I used to try to describe the sounds I was hearing from the car, but I finally realized that I was just putting on a show for the entire garage staff. I sounded like a pre-school class full of cavemen grunting at fire.

What's a guy to do? I need my sled to cruise for the ladies. It's like I tell my wife, sometimes you've just got to lay back and take it. GO BEARS! Later...Brian

It's The Parents Fault

Last night I apparently had nothing better to do and caught an episode of Nanny 911. This is a show that follows one of it's cape wearing, Mary Poppins shaming, uber nannies into the home of some ultra dysfunctional family.

This episode hit close to home because it happened close to my home. Some couple in suburban Chicago has four sons. The kids range from 4 to 13. The dad is a doctor and the mom stays home. These kids were out of control. They played video games for about six hours a day and fought non-stop. At one point the oldest kid was thrown down the stairs by the younger ones.

During all these delinquent antics, the parents did nothing. They disregarded the Nanny's suggestion to limit video games. They rolled their eyes at the idea of spending time doing things with or talking to the kids. "I can't spend my time playing with them. I'd have no time to get the things done in the house that I need to." That was Mommy dearest.

Listen, I'm not father of the year by any stretch, but it doesn't take an idiot to know that you need to spend time with your kids or they'll become demented freaks. I know it's easier to plop the crumb crunchers in front of the TV, but who do we blame when kids can't hold a discussion or read. Parents need to stop being their kids friends and start being parents. Sure it's hard work, but that's the price you pay for the fun of making them. A lifetime of work for 38 seconds of bliss. Later...Brian

Long Train Runnin'

I was racking my brain trying to figure out what to write about today. It's gloomy outside and my mood matches. Storm clouds gather around me. Wow that sounds so stupid. Maybe I need to write romance novels or manic-depressive guides. Just when I thought all was lost, I heard this story on the news and my vigor was restored.

It seems a woman in a Chicago suburb was driving around as women are want to do. She approached a railroad crossing and when she started to cross, the warning gate came down and hit her windshield. Now most of us, the non brain damaged ones at least would have stopped. Not Alice Einstein however. She sped up and was promptly hit by the train. How she cheated death I'll never know.

This seems to be happening with greater regularity. People are getting hit by trains all over the place, and I don't mean out in the country where Old McDonald's tractor gets caught on the tracks. I'm talkin about city folk. Aren't flashing lights, gates and loud ringing bells enough to warn you of Casey Jones imminent approach? Maybe if you got off the damn phone you'd be a little more aware. Come to think of it, drive on. The more of you idiots that nature weeds out the emptier the roads will be for me. Later....Brian

A Million Little Lies

Oprah Winfrey has been trying to take over this country for years. She has been very clever, but I have not been duped. I've watched from the wings as she infiltrated the minds of the American female in hopes of creating her giant like-thinking army. It started when she lost all that weight the first time. "Look at Oprah" her minions cawed, "she's battling her weight just like we do." Sure she is. I could lose lots of weight too if I had a personal chef and a trainer.

Then Oprah begat Dr. Phil. As Marlon Brando said in the "Godfather", "That I will not forgive." The queen of daytime then took it upon herself to usurp Ed Asner and remind us that reading is fundamental. Women, and some weak, whipped men, began to only read what Oprah told them. She had been elevated to ultimate opinion maker. The entire literary world was kissing her ass.

I have no personal axe to grind with Oprah. I've been on her show a couple of times and she seemed pleasant enough. I did take pleasure in the news today that she had been duped. Apparently, James Frey, the author of "A Million Little Pieces", a book that "kept Oprah up all night", lied about a lot of the stuff in the book. I just love when someone who acts so smug and superior has the wool pulled over their eyes.

I'm not sure why this makes me so happy. I'm sure it's a character flaw and if you asked my mom she would surely be able to diagnose me based on an article she read in Oprah's magazine. I feel like a kid on the playground...Nah, nah, nah, you believed the fake felon. Later...Brian

We're Number One!

"Men's Fitness" magazine came out with a study today that named Chicago as the "fattest city" in America. Woo Hoo! Now there's a title I can get behind. They used a whole bunch of criteria to come to this conclusion, one of which was not looking at the actual residents of Chicago.

I'm not sure I believe this study. Have you ever been to Milwaukee? I travel quite a bit and trust me when I tell you, there are lots of fatties everywhere. Go to any mall in any city USA, and you will be treated to a horror show of personal fitness and hygiene. I think the whole country is getting fat. I know, what a revelation, but it's true. Home Town Buffet and it's ilk are stuffing people's gullets with low end, high fat food at reasonable prices. We don't even need to leave our cars to practice gluttony. Pimply faced ne'er do wells just push it right through our windows. Can in car feeding tubes be far behind?

Like just about everyone else this time of year, I've decided to try to lose some weight and live healthier. Keep your fingers crossed. A friend of mine had gastric bypass and has lost the equivalent of a small man, weightwise. I don't think I can go that route. The thought of never having a beer again or enjoying a plate of wings sends shivers down my spine.

For the record, Chicago is full of gorgeous women and handsome dudes. People work out and exercise, but the temptations are great.

What should we make of this? I'm a big guy who now lives in Chicago. Was this a conscious choice, or my instincts taking over and bringing me back here? Was it like the mighty elephant who travels to a certain spot to die? Was it nature that brought me here, or a craving for a breaded steak sandwich? I'm not sure, but I think I'll go for a walk. There's a Dunkin' Donuts a few blocks from here. Later....Brian

I Will Not Be Silenced

Over the last couple of days I have gotten calls from some members of my family and various friends questioning the content of my posts. They wonder how wise it is for me to be so forthcoming about certain aspects of my life and my dealings with others. Do they have a point? Maybe, but I think the bigger question is .....What the hell are they afraid of?

I gave their opinions a lot of thought. Then I completely disregarded them. Then I reconsidered. Fine ...I'll try to hide other people's identities better. I asked my wife "Wife" what she thought . Deb...I mean "Wife" said. "I don't care what you say about me. As long as you can vent your feelings there, I don't have to hear them." How supportive.

My stand-up has always dealt with real life. Any potential radio I do will be the same. People who know me better buckle up. I'll keep your names and identifying birthmarks out of my stories, but the events must be told. Did Edward R. Murrow bow to McCarthy? Did Lenny Bruce give in to the cops? Did Chico ever listen to the Man? NO! You can't keep me quiet. Unless of course you have a lawyer or a lot of cash. Later...Brian

Cookie Crazies

Yeah, I missed yesterday, so sue me. There are too many things going on in the family right now. I'm going to make an effort to have this be a priority, but I have a feeling it will be down the list a little.

Anyway...My wife volunteered to be the "cookie mom" for our daughter's Girl Scout troop. I don't care what she gets involved in, as long as it doesn't involve me and heavy lifting. What do you know, this involved both. "Wife" informed me that the cookies would be ready to be picked up yesterday and that she couldn't take the day off. Given my leisurely schedule and SUV, I was nominated to get the cookies. I'm always willing to help "Wife", but I don't like mingling with outsiders, especially the kind who volunteer.

I pulled up to the fire station ready to collect the 137 cases for troop 815. Immediately, some of the other crazy cookie moms started yelling and barking orders at me. Hey, I know you have "troops" and all, but this isn't "Full Metal Jacket", and I'm no Private Pyle. These people lend such an air of urgency to the whole proceeding. Would the whole socio economic base crumble if I missed a box of low fat lemon creams? After being told that each troop had to donate two boxes, I informed the cookie brigade that I was just the day labor and couldn't make those kind of executive decisions. We only live four doors down from the high priestess of snacks, I think they know how to find us.

The house looks like a Weight Watchers wet dream. The Mommies are on there way to pick up their bundles and I'm hunkered down behind a wall of Thin Mints. Later...Brian

It's Over!

Thank God the holidays are over! I've been being so nice lately it's making me twitch. Some of my friends have been reading these posts and asking what the hell happened to the Brian they know and somewhat tolerate. Perhaps I was overtaken by the Christmas spirit, perhaps I wanted to spread some good will or maybe I was trying to get my wife to give me some wild holiday lovin'. Whatever the reason, my heart or my shoes, I stand here in January hating the Who's.

The holidays ended badly. I had to help a friend sign himself into rehab. Some people just can't handle their buzz. This will be an ongoing process, and I wish him nothing but the best, but I swear to God, after sitting with him in a padded room in the hospital for fifteen hours, all I wanted was a drink. Maybe I'll have one for him too.

What's with the people who take their decorations down the day after Christmas. What's the rush? Is the fake holiday spirit too much for them. God forbid you try to keep it going at least until the first week of the new year. Nothing says Happy New Year like all the discarded trees waiting to be picked up by the garbage men. There's always a few strands of tinsel still hanging from the branches, and dead needles all over the driveway. Joy to the world!

I feel better already. All the venom was building up and I was mistaking it for acid reflux. It is a new year, and while I wish everyone the best, let's be honest, there are a lot of idiots out there who are just waiting to piss you off. Happy New Year! Later...Brian