It's Fat Tuesday Baby!

Here we go. Fat Tuesday. The day before Lent starts and we have to give up our vices for 40 days. I'm posting this early because I plan on letting my vices kick in right after I have another cup of coffee, which is a vice in itself. See, it started already.

I've never been to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. This is something I plan to remedy before I die. It's probably best that I've waited. If I had gone in my younger days, there's a good chance I wouldn't be here now. I know Vegas is called "Sin City", but to me New Orleans is at the top of the list. It appears that the city is devoted entirely to all things sinful. Excess rules. Have you seen the size of the heads on the parade floats? If that doesn't tell you that things are out of control, I don't know what will. There is too much drink, too many strippers and whores, too much food and just the right amount of voodoo. Is this Heaven? Well it damned sure isn't Iowa.

I'm going to allow myself some extravagances today. I'm going to drink a little, eat a few extra sweets and put a curse on a few of my enemies. I try to adhere to some old school, guilt driven Catholic doctrine during Lent. I'm not sure if it's because I'm such a spiritual, holy man, or if I just like testing myself to see if I have the metal to endure. I usually do, so there's a good chance that the tests are too easy.

Time to go. I have to put on my flowing robes and crown so I can go out dressed like Bacchus. I've got a pocket full of beads too. You never know when some hot mommy will decide to get in the spirit of things and flash you at Sam's Club. Enjoy! Later...Brian

I'm Glad It's Over

The Winter Olympics ended last night and not a moment too soon. I must confess that I have not followed the games very closely. I think my favorite Olympic moment was when I saw Matt Lauer and Al Roker do a two man luge on the Today Show. Matt had to be the bottom, which I'm sure was not his choice. When Al dropped his chocolaty girth onto Matt's unsuspecting groin, the world held it's breath. Matt was able to squeak out, "Al could you please sit up?", perhaps echoing the sentiment of an entire nation.

I do enjoy the Winter games more than the Summer games. It seems as if there is more potential for serious bodily harm. Nothing is more exciting that watching some spandex clad adrenaline freak hit 100 mph on the skeleton. I did see the ski aerials. That's where a lunatic goes off the ski jump and then twists and flips through the air. It looks cool, but I wonder how they decided to do this in the first place. I would imagine you need to have a lot of chemical or alcoholic help to think that this is a good idea the first time, but to do it a second time is just plain crazy.

I was bothered by the attitude of some of our athletes. The winter games seem to draw a more slacker athlete. Snow boarding and skiing are usually associated with the idle rich or the unemployable. Bohdi Miller is the personification of this attitude. The guy was all talk before the games. He said the man was trying to stifle him and that he was so good he could ski drunk and still win. Maybe he needed a few more cocktails, cause he didn't win anything but my scorn. How 'bout this Bohdi, put up or shut up. Then he supposedly sprained his ankle playing basketball. Basketball? Aren't you there to ski nimrod? Well at least he said he had fun and that it didn't matter if he won. Tell that to the guys whose spot you took on the team This isn't youth league soccer. It DOES matter if you win.

I may have to get one of the spandex suits that the bobsled guys wear. I think "Wife" might like it. It would make me very aerodynamic in the sled if you know what I mean. They also seem to accentuate your junk, which is always a good thing. See you in Vancouver in 2010. Later...Brian

I'm Really There For The Food

I had a meeting in the city this morning. I like to say that because it sounds so important. It was a meeting with an agent, so it really wasn't that impressive. When the meeting was over, I called my friend and he suggested we go to lunch. I hadn't seen my pal in awhile, seeing as he started his own business and now works like an indentured servant, even though he's only indentured to himself. I let him pick the spot expecting some exotic inner city spot where all the hipsters and cool kids eat, but he picked Hooters.

I know I'm in the minority of men when I say this, but I've never been a big fan of Hooters. I find the food over priced and mediocre and I don't fall prey to the feminine wiles of the "Hooters Girl". Let's forget the food for a minute. Who decided that the Hooters outfit is sexy? Are orange hot-pants really what guys lay awake at night having impure thoughts about? Maybe its those industrial strength nylons that give the wearer's leg a weird beige hue. Wait, it's got to be the 80's era white scrunchy socks. Yeah, that's it! I'm moist right now just thinking about it. There are plenty of places I can go see scantily clad women, and I prefer to do it without sauce on my fingers.

The other thing that drives me nuts is the banter that these woman feel they have to have with me. I know it's part of the schtick, but I'm not buying. Guess what, I know a stripper doesn't really like me either. I don't want chit chat with my food, especially when it's served with insincere flattery. Today took the cake. I was with my friend who some would consider a strapping man. While I'm no slouch myself, I do carry some extra girth. The waitress kept singling me out for comment. I know she was thinking, "Oh fatty doesn't get any attention from the ladies, let me give him some for a bigger tip." Not so wing slinger. I get more than enough attention, I just want my lunch. Now go sell it to the other mouth breathers. I tell you what, if you just give me good service, you'll get a good tip.

I've read this over and it seems to make me sound mean and petty. Excellent! Mission accomplished! Now my weekend is off to a great start. Have a great one yourself. My"friend" count is up to 70. Life is good! Later...Brian

I Can't See Clearly Now

My eyes have been a little blurry lately. I'm used to my memory being a tad fuzzy, but I take great pride in my ability to see. If you need to be proud of something, I guess vision is as good a reason as any. My near hawk-like vision has been the stuff of legend among friends of mine. It seemed as though I was equipped with Steve Austin's bionic eye. I could read signs from miles away, even going as far as reading signs that hadn't even been written yet. This gift seems to be intact, it's close up that's giving me a problem.

I know I'm getting older, but I figured that I would cheat the gods of vision and go my whole life without using spectacles. I noticed a few weeks ago, that I was having trouble reading my map and that my arms weren't quite long enough to enable me to enjoy the newspaper. Being as fond as I am of close up magic and slight of hand, I knew I needed my peepers checked.

"Wife" was kind enough to make me an appointment. She knew I never would, but that I would continue to whine about my deteriorating vision until I was like Daredevil in need of a special cane. I know my dogs wouldn't guide me, hell, they can hardly find their own way around. I sat down across from the optometrist, who ironically, was easy on the eyes. (Sorry "Wife", it just fit here so well.) She ran the battery of tests. I had the puff of air in the eye, the which is clearer test, and the your eyes are so dreamy gaze. After all this, I was told that all I needed to do was get some reading glasses over the counter. Relief and horror at the same time. Now I have to go to Walgreen's and battle the geezers for some stylish eyewear. I will have to go under the cover of darkness. I will give in a little to the ravages of age, but hanging with granny trying on bifocals is too much to ask. See Ya! Later...Brian

Seriously?

I know we all look at politicians sometimes and think,"What in the hell are they thinking?", but our President's latest move has me in a quandary of epic proportions. President Bush is supporting an Arab company's bid to control the security at six of our largest ports. The company, Dubai Ports World is owned by the United Arab Emirates and would operate ports in New York, Philly, Miami, Newark, New Orleans and Baltimore.

I'm not a student of geo-politics or some political activist. I'm not a right wing hawk or a left wing dove. I'm just a guy who slings jokes for a living, but this sounds like a monumentally bad idea. I don't know all the details, and quite frankly I don't need to know. I'll just have my usual knee-jerk reaction and if I'm wrong, I'll sort it out later. Didn't we get bombed by an Arab country a few years ago? Aren't we over in an Arab country now killing people and having our own people killed. What the fuck is Bush thinking? Even if this company is on the up and up, it just doesn't look right. Does the term "fox guarding the hen house" mean anything to anyone? You know it's a bad idea when both Republicans and Democrats are shouting it down with equal volume.

Maybe I'm watching too much "24" but I know it only takes one corrupt person to unleash an entire shitstorm. Where did this season's terrorists pick up the nerve gas? The ports, that's where! Talk about art imitating life or vice versa. Yeah, I know! The whole Arab world isn't behind the attacks on our country, but some of it was, and the rest hasn't really been all that helpful. This is just one more bad idea on a list of bad ideas. What's next, Barry Bonds named to head the investigation into steroid use in baseball, Rush Limbaugh giving a talk on racial harmony, Dick Cheney teaching gun safety?

Maybe I'm wrong, but sometimes it really is better to be safe than sorry. I'm gonna blow a call into Jack Bauer at CTU just to be sure. Duck and cover! Later...Brian

I'm Ready For My Close-up

I'm very excited today. I'm about to embark on a new adventure. From time to time, clubs that I'm working ask for video tapes for promo purposes and new bookers want to see them so they can sit in cramped offices and cast judgment on talent that they themselves will never posses. That's a bitter rant for another time however. Today is a day of looking forward.

I taped my shows in Milwaukee last week and for the first time, got tapes I can actually use. Normally, whenever I try to tape a show, something bad happens. Either there is a heckler, no audience response or I fall down. This time the stars aligned and I'm ready to send out great tapes. Problem is, it's 2006 and now everybody wants things on DVD. Time to do battle with the techno-monster again.

Today I bought software that will allow me to download and edit my digital video on the computer. After stressing to the guy at Best Buy that I needed something a monkey could understand, I left with a program, firewire and discs. I know it seems odd that a guy who can barely type is now preparing to be a cyber Spielberg, but stranger things have happened. I'll let you know how it turns out.

I realized again that I really need to watch what I say in certain situations. After Best Buy I was in the drive through at the bank. I was talking to "Wife" on the phone and sending my money through the very cool Jetson-like pneumonic tube. I was joking that now "Wife" and I could make some home made porn and I could edit in fun effects, when the speaker crackled with "Ok, well...Thank you." I forgot that the teller was listening. I looked over and she was staring at me with a horrified look. I can just hear her now. "The guy at the drive through wants me to be in a porno. " I'm sure one look at my balance will deter her. Later...Brian

What A Gyp

I'm home from Peoria safe and sound. The weekend went well and I got to meet some nice people. I was able to parlay my minor celebrity into some VIP treatment at a local restaurant. It's amazing what a little recognition can get you. The best part is when you don't even ask for it. I could get used to being treated like a big shot, but I don't think I'm in danger of that happening.

It's President's Day and "Daughter" is home from school. I remember how much fun it was to get a day off from school. Remember the unlimited possibilities? Any way, I need to keep this short, because I'm going to try to be a cool dad for once and take her out to lunch. It's a big decision. I'm letting her pick and the pressure is getting to her.

So what do you think George Washington and Abe Lincoln would say if they knew that their birthdays had been combined into one half assed holiday? I would hope they wouldn't mind, seeing as they were great men and all, but I doubt it. Guys who are that powerful have big egos, and would want to have their own day. Hell, I'm not that powerful, but if you tried to combine my birthday with one of my brothers, I'd issue a proclamation that would be heard for four score and seven. This is a lame holiday anyway. Half the people still have to work, the weather isn't good enough for a cook-out and I don't get to blow anything up. The only benefit I see is that I can save big money on sheets and towels today.

I gotta go. "Daughter " is crumbling under the weight of a lunch time decision. Happy President's Day! Later...Brian

I Am Fascinating!

If I may quote country music superstar Toby Keith, "I like talkin' about you, you, you, you usually. But occasionally I wanna talk about me." I'm feeling kind of silly today and was thinking, "Hey, I bet everyone would love to know what I've been up to since I got to Peoria. I'm sure they're hungry for all the details of my fabulous life and are longing to share the details." Damn right you are. So today instead of a stinging social commentary, I'll let my ego run amok and weave a tale of wonder involving all things me.

I was hoping you'd be gone by now so I could stop typing and take a nap. I'm beat! Last night was the first show at the regionally famous Jukebox Comedy Club. It was also "Pro-Am" night with me being the only pro. I had the honor of following FIFTEEN open mic comics. We all started at open mic nights. The one thing I came away from last night learning is that guys in their 20's are really pissed off, and for no apparent reason. It seems to stem from a lack of oral loving from the "bitches." If I heard one more drunk, hat wearing guy talk about his "junk" I think I'd have to remove mine as an act of solidarity with the ladies. I thought I was an angry guy, but these kids made me look like the sugar plum fairy. That is until I got on stage and had to dismember a girl for talking on the phone while sitting in the front row. She couldn't understand why I was giving her a hard time. I guess common courtesy wasn't taught in that particular trailer park.

This morning I did two radio interviews. I was on a classic rock station for a short bit and then onto an "Urban" station. I had a great time doing both, and if I do say so myself, I was fabulous. One of my favorite things is to do radio with people who want to have fun. I just get on a roll and we go from there I want to give a shout out to "Big D and Steph" at Power 92. I never gave much thought to loons before today, but now I'm obsessed with them.

Wow, this must be a scintillating read. I do lead an awfully full life on the road. Now it's nap time and then a little dinner. Where will I eat? What will I order? Will I wear pants? All good questions, but I need to keep a little mystery between us. I hope to remain something of an enigma. But don't worry. My ego will get the better of me in the future and I'll tell you. Oh yeah, my MySpace "friend" count is an even 60. I guess I am fascinating. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

I Need Me Some Book Learnin'

I was reading a study today that listed the top paying majors for college students entering the work force. I have been on the periphery of the work force for some time, but I hold out great hope for "Daughter" so I actually tried to digest some of the information.

The top three highest paid majors are.... Chemical engineers who start at $55,900, electrical engineers at $52,899 and mechanical engineers at $50,046. It doesn't take an engineer to see the pattern. On the flip side, the lowest paid majors are Liberal Arts and Social Studies majors who star out at about $31,000. I have what could be considered a Liberal Arts degree. Most of my friends who got the same degree are doing very well, but I guess average is average. Nowhere on that list is stand-up comic. I realize that there is no major for that, but considering how I lived in college, I should have an advanced degree. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had put down the beer bong and picked up a protractor.

"Nerds " have taken control of the earth. Computers were just coming on the scene when I was in college. There was no such thing as a laptop. (I'm not that old, it was only 20 years ago.) Now technology and the people who create it are as much a part of our lives as breathing. Nerds have made it possible for you to be reading my mindless ramblings. I hope "Daughter" is a nerd. Not the broken glasses and pocket protector kind of nerd, but the smart, funny, socially adept kind of nerd.

She is very smart, and sometimes seems embarrassed by that fact. I think that is common with little girls. They want to be popular and if you stand out too much for being a brainiac, people look at you funny. "Wife" and I always tell her that being smart is a great thing, and that it is possible to be a "Cool Nerd." We also tell her that the people who look at her funny for being smart are mongoloids and that she'll be able to hire them to clean her toilets when she's older. We don't mess around when it comes to putting down the intellectually challenged. It seems like she has a good start. She has no desire to follow in my footsteps and hit the road peddling yuks to the drunken masses. She says she wants to be a Marine Biologist. Fine, but get an engineering degree too!

I'm off to Peoria, the "Jewel of the Midwest." If you're in the area, I'll see you at the Jukebox Comedy club. Later....Brian

Good Grief

Thank God Valentine's Day is over! So much pressure. As I said yesterday, I'm not the most romantic of guys, but I think I did OK. "Wife" liked her gift very much and was wowed by my thoughtfulness. Now I can breathe easy. I don't have to get her another gift until her birthday.

Last night I saw the Charlie Brown Valentine's Special. Charlie and I have so much in common. We're both balding, have a unique fashion sense and have never drilled a forty yard field goal. I was reminded of how painful Valentine's Day used to be. Back in the day, if you gave out cards at school, you were able to just give them to the kids you wanted. Great for the popular kids, lousy for the rest of us. The teachers used to have us put our heads on our desk, and close our eyes while other kids passed out their valentines. I would just go to sleep, and pray for an early death. I knew what was coming when I opened my eyes. An empty desk, that's what. I can understand Miss "I sprouted breasts in fourth grade" getting tons of cards, but how 'bout a little love for the chubby kid with the cutting sense of humor and bleu cheese breath? Thankfully, "Daughter" doesn't have to worry about these kind of injustices. Our PC world now decrees that if you bring a card for one kid, you have to bring them for all. This is one rule I can abide. The unpopular will have plenty of time to come to grips with their station in life. Let them have their false moment of joy as they clutch their Sponge Bob valentine.

Another thing Charlie Brown and I have in common is a crush on a little red haired girl. In high school, I had the biggest crush on a red head. She was a twin, but I had no interest in her sister. There was something about a redhead that made me crazy. Maybe it was the fact that being Irish I knew she'd be able to drink with me. Anyway, one Valentine's Day I bought a card for her. I filled it out, expressing my undying affection for her and put it in my backpack. Not being the confident man about town that I am now, it stayed in my backpack for the whole day. Another Valentine's Day down the crapper. I don't know why I never gave her the card. If I had five cents I could see Lucy at the psychiatrist's booth and get analyzed. Ah, the memories. Later...Brian

My Valentine's Massacre

Valentine's Day is here and with it the endless pressure to do something romantic for the one you love, or at least the one you're trying to woo into the sack. While not a romantic at heart, I am a slave to advertising and a sucker for peer pressure, so I have to partake.

A brief history...Valentine was a Catholic priest in the third century. The Roman emperor Claudius II decided that single men make better soldiers than married ones, and so he outlawed marriage for all young men. (Where are these type of forward thinking leaders today?) Valentine thought this was crazy, so he defied Claudius and performed marriages in secret. When he was discovered, he was arrested and put to death. (Harsh? Maybe, but defiance has its price.) Valentine was said to have sent the first greeting to a young woman that he had fallen in love with while in jail. (See, Catholic priests were always in some kind of scandal.) He sent her a note before he died and signed it "from your Valentine." I can't believe I did research for this, but I strive to educate as well as entertain.

I saw a news report that the average American spends $101 on Valentines gifts. That's a lot of chocolate. You'll need to spend more than that on acne cream and a gym membership to work off your treats. I try to be unique on Valentine's day. I don't give "Wife" flowers or chocolates. I try not to even give her my usual hard time. I hate being a cliche, so we didn't get engaged on Valentine's like thousands do, I waited until the Mexican holiday "the day of the dead." I told you romance wasn't my strong suit.

I also am not a fan of guys getting things on Valentine's Day. This is a holiday for the ladies. Every woman should know there's only one thing we want, and it comes in a scantily clad package. For a guy on Valentine's Day, chocolate should be dripped over....Well you get the idea. I would like some of those little candy hearts though. I enjoy reading the messages and pretending that some factory worker is making them just for me. "Choose me", you bet I will, now take off that hair net and get over here. Happy Valentine's Day! Later...Brian

Mind Your Business

Well, it's Monday and that means I'm back in the flat lands of Illinois leaving all that is cheese behind me. I had a great time this weekend. The shows went great and I really only had to mentally destroy one woman who decided that we would all be better off hearing her drunken ramblings than my mindless ones. She was wrong!

Yesterday we went a callin' as the hillbillies like to say. Friends of ours had twins in December, and enough time had passed for everyone to get settled so we loaded up the truck and took our goodwill on the road. The babies were cute. I know that's what you're supposed to say, but I mean it. If they weren't, I would have come up with something different to write about today. Some things can never be forgotten, and mocking the looks of a friend's new baby has to rank right up near the top of that list. I held one of the kids for about twenty minutes. I realized it had been awhile since I held something so small and fragile. Babies look even tinier when they're engulfed in my monstrous mitts. I think I have a way with babies. She just lay there, and made little grunting noises. I think babies and small children can sense that I'm on their level mentally and so they're not afraid.

We have one child. "Daughter" is a great kid as I've mentioned in the past. We're pretty happy the way things are. Others seem not to be. This has been happening a lot lately. (Not yesterday for the record). People are always saying things like..."Oh, just one kid? What's the matter? Are you going to have more?" How the hell should I know? It's as if something was wrong with us because we only have one kid. Why do you care? People ask so many rude questions. What are we supposed to say to that? "I've got video tape that shows we've been trying." Not really, but hey, Valentine's Day is tomorrow. Just enjoy what you have and think before you talk. Later...Brian

Just Shut Up

I'm a little late today. I did a radio appearance early this morning. It was on a classic rock station in Milwaukee. I was the first comic they ever had on the show and you could tell. I was my usual charming self and bulldozed the hosts. It was funny and they didn't feel violated when I was done with them. When I got back to where I'm staying I made the mistake of taking some night time cold medicine and it was sleepy time. Now I'm rested and ready for two shows tonight.

Yesterday I went to see Oscar nominated film "Capote". If you're in the mood to see some great acting, give it a whirl. Be prepared to pay attention though. It's character and story driven and not too much stuff gets blown up. Except of course for the heads of the family in Kansas. I wish someone had warned some of my fellow viewers about paying attention.

I love going to the movies, at least I used to. One of the great things about my job is that I'm free during the day. This means that I can usually take in some matinees. Nothing makes me happier than walking into an empty theater at one in the afternoon. I always feel like Elvis, and have an overwhelming desire to take off my pants. I don't know why that is. I keep my pants on when I watch movies at home. Maybe it's the cool air and the darkened room.

The other people who get to see movies in the afternoon are the senior citizens. My God do these geezers have a lot to say. They never shut up. I moved once yesterday because two bitties had to have a running dialog about their intestinal problems. I even saw one old timer shush another couple of koots. Do these people think that because they lived so long they need to get all their thoughts out in case their time is coming to an end? The seniors aren't the only ones who talk, I just think they should know better. I hold my elderly to a higher standard. I can't stand people talking during movies. It seems as though no one has the attention span to sit quietly and give themselves over to the experience. I have a theory that the dumber you are, the more you need to talk because when you're quiet , the lack of things going through your mind scares the hell out of you. While I'm all wound up, leave your five course meals at home. Nothing is more distracting than hearing a family of misfits tearing into the suckling pig and taters that they brought to the theater. Maybe I'm getting to be an isolationist. I'm getting to the point that I hate being in public because of all the rude behavior. I should just rent a movie on Pay Per View, take off my pants and watch a movie in the privacy of my own basement.

BTW...I now have 33 MySpace friends, and I don't think any of them are predators. Jealous? Have a great weekend. Later....Brian

Yah Hey Der

Greetings from the dairy state. I drove to Wisconsin yesterday to begin an exciting week of shows. Sure! Last night I was in Fon Du Lac. Insert your own joke here. Anytime I feel too big for my britches, I take a one nighter at a Holiday Inn and I'm brought right back to Earth. Nothing says "I've made it in show business" like standing on a plywood riser in the middle of a dance floor in a hotel lounge. At least they turned the dart machines off before I started. The first guy wasn't so lucky. The show went fine and the rest of the week I'm working in Germantown, a suburb of Milwaukee. The club is nice and there have always been good crowds when I was here before. Keep you fingers crossed and if you're in the area, come to Giggles.

I like Wisconsin. A lot of people think that all that's here are cows. You couldn't be more wrong. Wisconsin is full of fun things. Let's see...There's cheese shops, taverns and roadside porn. You can't drive a mile without passing 16 taverns and an adult bookstore, and the parking lots are full at all of them. Well, I guess when you talk to cows all day, you need some type of human contact. Maybe that explains why al the people seem so friendly. It could also be that they're drunk most of the time.

The other thing you see here are people who enjoy their meals. I think it has something to do with the weather. It's cold here a lot, and you need to keep a layer of insulation on you. I'm not casting stones. I fit right in. I like any place where loose clothing is the norm. I think I'll go have lunch now. Maybe I'll have a traditional Wisconsin feast, bratwurst, fried cheese curds, fried fish and a twelve pack of Lieny's. Where's my big sweater? Later...Brian

Keep The Change

In one of our Christmas grab bags, I received a 25 dollar gift card from Best Buy. I'm a fan of the gift card. It allows me to get something that I really enjoy and not have my holiday joy rest in the hands of someone who seems to have no idea who I am. Yesterday I decided to use the card, realizing that it wasn't a savings bond and would not accrue interest the longer I kept it.

I'm sure you're wondering what a cool cat like myself would blow 25 clams on, so let me tell you. I picked up the two disc set "The Essential REO Speedwagon". You read it right. That's how I roll bitches! Old school. I'm not talking about the sappy REO, I'm talking about the rockin' REO. Who can forget the power chords of "Golden Country" or the crazy guitar/man interplay of "157 Riverside Avenue"? We're all keenly aware that we can tune a piano but we can't tune a fish. I loved REO back in the day. I remember sitting in my red Torino in the parking lot of the old Chicago Ampitheater, with a twelve pack of Strohs cranking my 8-tracks waiting to see 38 Special open for the powerful Speedwagon. I also got my dirty bits rubbed by a girl for the first time while listening to "High Infidelity". Oh the memories.

Back to Best Buy. My two disc trip down memory lane cost a whopping $24.77. I figured they'd just hand me the twenty three cents. No way Jack! It stays on the card for future purchases. Are you kidding? I found out from "Wife" that "Daughter" has one cent on a card from Borders. What a scam. These stores know that you're going to toss the card if it has less than a buck left and they pocket the difference. Well I will not be conned. I'm saving my twenty three cents. Nobody gets the better of me. Well, it's time for me to fly. I'm back on the road again, it's time I leave you now. Remember, if you're tired of the same old story, oh, turn some pages. In the words of Kevin Cronin..."You're beautiful people!" Later....Brian

Where Have All The Good Toys Gone?

I needed a toy bow and arrow. Curious yet? I was taping an episode of the hit cable show "Psycho Babble" for a friend of mine. I was playing Cupid. You can conjure up whatever mental picture you want of my cherubic face and body stuffed into a diaper as the god of love, but nothing will match the reality of my portrayal. As we all know, Cupid's weapon of choice is the bow and arrow. With this he can shoot the unloved, or unloveable, and create the magic. Some people need to be left unshot, but that's another story. Since I didn't want to bring any real implements of death with me, I headed to Toys R Us. (Sorry, but there is no way for me to type the cute backwards R that they use.)

I try to stay away from TRU as much as possible. It's the Bermuda triangle for children. The times I have ventured in with "Daughter" to buy someone a birthday gift or to spend one of her gift cards, it has turned into a three hour tour, that's right, a three hour tour. I thought this would be an easy task. We zip in and zip out. To quote Bill Murray, "it's like going to Wisconsin."

Things have changed at TRU. The political correct police are now in charge of inventory. I remember as a child, going to TRU, then called "Bargain Town", and finding row upon row of toys that could kill or injure me. There was also an entire row devoted to nothing but toy guns and other weaponry. That was my favorite part of the store. You could get any caliber weapon you desired to act out your childhood fantasies. You want to be a cowboy, here's your six shooter, wanna be a soldier, here's your machine gun, wanna be a Crip, here's your 9. It used to be OK to play games like that. You could play cowboys and Indians if you wanted. Well guess what....Not any more.

There are no weapons to be found at TRU, unless you want to be a pirate, a Ninja Turtle, or a Jedi. Not a bow and arrow to be found. No costumes for cowboys and Indians. The only toy guns were bright orange and shoot sponge darts. I'm probably over reacting to this. The bleeding hearts will tell me that guns kill and that children don't need to be exposed to pretend violence. Please! I played with all kinds of toy weapons and to my knowledge have never shot anyone. Have you ever been hit with a Hot Wheel track? What should we do next, outlaw race cars? Let's toughen up a little. How 'bout a nice game of Jarts? Later...Brian

No More Mr. Nice Guy

I was going to write something light hearted about the Super Bowl, or some other benign subject, but then real life stepped in and set my blood a pumpin'.

As you may have read a couple weeks ago, I've been having problems with my car. I have four wheel drive. Well I do in theory and on the sticker anyway. I thought that would be a smart thing to get, since I live in a potentially snowy and icy part of the world. Every time I try to use this feature however, I get a flashing yellow "Service 4 wheel drive" warning light and a sound that reminds me of the time I ran over that family of cats. (I'm not sure it was a whole family, it could have been just a small gathering.)

In the last month and a half, I have had the car to the dealer six times. Each time, they replace another part and they assure me that all is well. Low and behold, Suzy Snowflake dropped by Saturday night and I decided to use my newly, repeatedly repaired four wheel drive. I don't need to tell you what happened. I was at the dealership at 8 this morning. The "service rep" saw me, and tried to flee, but being as fleet of foot as I am, I got him. "How's it going?" he stammered. Well how do you think it's going jackass? I'm not back here because I missed the smell of car exhaust and cigarettes. He then tried to tell me that I was probably doing something wrong. I tried to remain calm and explain to this grease monkey that I'm not retarded and I know how to read an owner's manual, and that maybe, just maybe, his crew were the ones with the head injuries.

I know it's not nice to yell in polite society. Over the last six months I've been trying to control my temper. I know my fuse is non-existent and that if left unchecked, homicides and other felonys are a distinct possibility. It just seems to me that some people go out of their way to push your buttons. How 'bout just once, somebody just apologizes and accepts responsibility. I don't want to hear your excuses, just fix my damn car. Look, now I'm all wound up and I've only had two cups of coffee. I'm off to take on the world, one jackass at a time. Happy Monday! Later...Brian

Here Comes Speed Racer

I was watching the news last night in an effort to stay as misinformed as possible. I was hoping for some leftist slant on a right wing conspiracy, or a storm team pile on about possible drizzle affecting our morning commute, but I got more, so much more.

Channel 7 had a report called "Over The Limit." I really enjoy any kind of investigative report, especially the ones that involve black lights and hotel bed linens, or rodents in my chili. This report was about speeding, one of my favorite pastimes. Our intrepid reporters studied six months worth of speeding tickets from Cook, Will, and Dupage counties and found that the average speeder is going 25 miles over the limit, and 80% are doing 20-40 over.

This is shocking! Not because of the amount of speeders, or even the amount of miles over the limit. No, it's shocking because I never seem to see these people. Where the hell are all the speeders? Sure, it could be because I'm leaving all the other drivers in my wake, but I doubt it. I always seem to be stuck behind some mope who has nowhere to go and forgot where his gas pedal is. I have to say I have a grudging admiration for someone going 40 miles over the limit. Dangerous, hell yeah, but come on, there's something a little wild west about doing 65 in a school zone. I know I'm making light of a serious topic, and people have been killed or injured by speeders, but I can't help myself. I'm like Maverick, I feel the need for speed.

On a lighter note. My new total for MySpace friends is 26. I'm so popular now that I shouldn't even be talking to you. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

What Language Am I Speaking?

I've always prided myself on being a good communicator. I make my living talking and usually people seem to understand what I'm saying. There are always some people who don't, but I usually chalk that up to stupidity, drunkenness, or lack of oxygen in the womb. It seems the only place where my message is completely disregarded is at home.

I'll start by saying I love my daughter. "Daughter" is a very smart and funny little girl. I know she is rarely drunk and as far as I know, she received all the oxygen she needed in utero. So why doesn't anything I say register with her? For nine years we've been telling her to chew with her mouth closed, but every time we sit down for a meal I'm treated to a technicolor viewing of her entree. You'd think she'd do what we said just to shut us up.

I know I'm not the only parent in this position. All my friends say that their kids are prime candidates for Miracle Ears too. Is it really that they can't hear us? No! I've had "Daughter's" hearing tested 72 times. It's perfect. The problem is that they ignore us. How many of us have been the recipient of the rolled eyes, or the huff and stomp? I'm at a loss. Yelling doesn't do any good, they just look at you like dogs looking at a fan. I think the only answer is complete humiliation. From now on if "Daughter " ignores my edicts, I'm going to embarrass her in front of her friends. Maybe a tutu and clogs during the next slumber party. People already think I'm insane. I have nothing to lose. She better pay attention, I can paint my face and mime everything at the next parent teacher conference. Later...Brian

The State of My Union

President Bush got his chance last night, now it's my turn. I should probably go over the president's speech point by point, but to tell you the truth, I kept dozing off. I was trying to be a responsible American and listen to what our commander in chief had to say, but something about his dulcet tones always makes me drowsy.

I did hear bits and pieces though so I think I get the drift. Let's see if I've got this right. We won't back down (I think GW should have credited Tom Petty), we need to make more ethanol out of wood chips and weeds, hire more teachers, teach kids to add, give more tax breaks and make sure that the poor and geezerly can afford medicine. Maybe I paid more attention than I thought. This all sounds well and good, but I'm left just wanting to say "Duh!" Of course we all want those things. Why didn't he just have Cheney sprinkle pixie dust over him as he told all of us about the fantasy land he dreams of.

I enjoyed seeing the various standing ovations. I especially like the ones where the democrats stayed seated. We get it! You don't like all the President's policies. Nobody likes all of them, but sitting and pouting like a petulant child makes you look silly. Stand all the time, or don't stand at all. I'm also fond of the way the President smirks every time they stay seated. It's as if he wants to flip them off and say "sit all you want babies, I'm still in charge."

As for me, the question always is, am I better off this year than last. This is a tricky question. Yeah, I'm paying way too much for gas and to heat my home, and minimum wage, jack booted thugs are rooting through my underwear for what seems like an inappropriate length of time at the airport, but I have a nice home, food on the table, and wireless internet. Would I like things to be better, sure. Will they get better in my lifetime? Who knows. But until all our "leaders" can decide if they want to sit or stand together, I'm just going to wait for the pixie dust to kick in. Later...Brian