Fire In The Hole

The Fourth of July weekend is upon us. Even though the actual Fourth isn't until Tuesday, the festivities are starting, and by festivities, I mean people setting off fireworks. Every night for the past week, the sounds of explosions have ripped the night air. I would imagine that on some level this is what it sounds like in a war zone, only without all the pesky death and destruction. We have even seen the night sky lit up with displays from mysterious locations.

I love fireworks. Even as a kid I would take any opportunity to sit and watch a fireworks display no matter how extensive or how lame it might be. When I was younger, I always longed to have access to the black market explosives that some of our neighbors were privy to. My parents, being both law abiding and chicken, never let us near any. We had to settle for sitting on a blanket and watching from a distance, all while getting malaria and blood- loss induced shock from the millions of mosquitoes that were feasting on us.

When "Wife" and I were first married, we lived in a town that bordered Indiana. That's not something I brag about, but during the early part of the Summer, it gave us unparalleled access to fireworks. Fireworks are legal in Indiana. You can probably come up with your own reasons why. We would cross the border under cover of darkness and bring back our illegal stash via some circuitous route, sticking to back roads and trails like modern day moonshiners. Technically we were breaking the law, but if you've ever been to a border town, you know they are fairly lawless. As long as you didn't shoot a bottle rocket directly at a police car, or drop a gross of M-80's into your neighbor's sweet above ground pool, you were OK. I took a perverse thrill in shooting off wild aerial displays that until then I had only dreamed of. I also found out that pyromania was a long hidden submissive gene that ran throughout the family. Suddenly every one I knew wanted to blow things up. I will confess to being a stickler for safety and security. There were always a couple buckets of water handy. I don't know how much they would have helped. Maybe it would have been a convenient place to put your bloody stump until the paramedics arrived.

Every year, I look forward to the inevitable news coverage of some backwoods fireworks factory/storage facility exploding. If you've ever been to a roadside fireworks stand, you know that quality control may not be at the top of everyone's list. I know most good explosives are made in China, but nothing says American independence like buying home made explosives from some three fingered ex-carny and his pregnant old lady while his blind, rabid, dog and seven kids look on. The owners of these factory/store house always seem surprised at the carnage. Hey Cletus, maybe that Lucky Strike dangling between your tooth- less gums has something to do with it.

I don't want to sound like your dad, but have a safe holiday. Remember pour water on all your duds before picking them up and chasing your nephew with them. I gotta go. It's time for me to practice all my "Ooohs" and "Aaahs" for the big night. Have a great, trauma free weekend. Later....Brian

Where Did The Day Go?

Another day is slipping away before I had a chance to post. I didn't think I was that busy on a regular basis, but what do you know, I am.

I got up at the crack of dawn today to take my mom to the doctor. Her appointment wasn't until ten, but I was up at 6:15, which is way too early for me. Why so early, you ask. Well, it's Summer in the City, and as such, all main roads are under construction. This means that even the shortest trip requires four times as much time. I had to pack provisions, get the car greased and oiled, and file an itinerary with the Department of Transportation. On top of all this, it's rush hour, so add in all the yahoos drinking coffee, reading the paper and putting on make-up, and you know I had a fun time on the road.

My mom is having her hip replaced, and this was the pre-op appointment. I guess mom wanted someone in the office with her to hear what the doctor had to say. This was a god idea, because usually the report my brothers and I get regarding mom's doctor visits usually involve her telling us how handsome the doctor was and how nice he seemed. She then gets a little sketchy on the medical details.

I hope I never need to have my hip replaced, but after seeing the cool new hip my mom is getting I was a little envious. It's shiny metal and space age plastic. It seems like you'd move so much better with these parts than with plain old bones. Maybe they could give me a titanium spine and some high powered shock absorbers for legs. I could be a real live "Transformer." It sounds good, but it would probably be a bitch at the airport.

On a different note, I received a couple of comments on yesterday's blog from a disgruntled Southerner. Apparently he took offense to my mentioning of the Klan and accused me of never having been to South Carolina. Now I could go off on a rant about the South, dating relatives, moonshine and bad dental care, but I won't. Well I might, but only when I feel the time is right. I will say this. I have been to South Carolina and the rest of the Southern US many times. I've had a good time and met many nice people. You may think I was using stereotypes, but isn't South Carolina the state that refused to take down the Confederate Flag from over the State capitol? Yes it was. Also for the record, I didn't slam NASCAR. I actually said it was more honest because the advertisers were in plain sight. I know this may be a tough concept for a lot of folks (both in the North and South), but read before you have a knee jerk reaction. Leave the crazy arguments to me. That's what I'm here for. Later...Brian

Double Shot Of Rock

Sometimes I see a story and it makes me laugh out loud. Today I saw one of those stories. Legendary rock group KISS opened a coffee house today in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. That's right, now Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley can go toe to toe with Starbucks and Jaun Valdez for your caffeine addicted dollar.

The news footage showed the amusement park style shop complete with a gigantic lighted KISS logo. The opening was attended by hundreds of fans from as far away as Colorado. I bet they had to drink tons of coffee to stay awake for the trip. The KISS faithful were done up in makeup like the band (I would have thought that hot coffee would wreak havoc on that grease paint) and sported various KISS tattoos and outfits. I wish Gene and Paul had followed the fan's lead. Man, these guys are ancient. It kind of ruins the illusion that they are still leather clad, hard rockers when you see these senior citizens shilling another product while trying to keep their second and third chins from sagging. Paul stood in front of the crowd and said, "man does not live by bread alone, and he can't just live to rock, so we decided we'd give him something to eat and something good to drink." Oh no! I was just living to rock for all these years. I better head to South Carolina for a KISS "rock-a-chino." He also told the fawning crowd that Myrtle Beach was the "best place to get the party started." Damn straight! When I think party starting capitols of the world, South Carolina pops right to the front of my mind. Wait, that's only if I were starting a Klan party. I also don't know how to do the Shag.


Here's the thing. When I was younger, I was a huge KISS fan. While I was never drafted in the KISS army, (a "recruiting" booth is at the coffee house. I don't know if that can get you deferment from Iraq, but I bet the uniforms are cooler.) I did enjoy the music. Now however, all I see when I look at these codgers are guys who'll sell their names to anybody and let them slap it on any product for a buck. Last year, Kiss announced that they had lent their names to a company that makes caskets. What better way to go to the afterlife than being sent there in a "Love Gun." When I saw the coverage of the coffee house opening, all I could see was death in their eyes. These guys should just rent themselves out like NASCAR drivers and let people put stickers all over them. At least then they'd seem more honest. Do you think KISS really knows or cares about coffee? Why do you think they put it in South Carolina? I'll tell you why, because then they'll never have to see it or hear of it again and in three months when it closes, they'll be somewhere else with their shill-nanigans.

Maybe I'm just mad because I won't be able to get a cup of "Demon Blend" and a Detroit Rock City scone for my morning commute. I'll just have to settle for going to the Huey Lewis and the News Pancake House for my Hip To Be Square skillet. Later...Brian

"You're An Awful Parent!"

An awful parent. That's what "Daughter" called me yesterday. I guess in her eyes, I was/am, but in the big picture, I think I was right.

Lately "Daughter's" attitude has been terrible. She talks back to "Wife" and I on a regular basis, has frequent melt downs, and has been acting, to put it bluntly like a spoiled brat. Yesterday was the last straw. She started talking back and I didn't want to hear any more. I sent her to her room and told her she was grounded for the day. No friends, no TV, no computer, nothing. Just lots of time to sit and think about what she had done. This was coming on the heels of a two day period of no bike because she "forgot" hers at a friends house. How do you forget that you rode a bike somewhere and then walked home? Don't your feet remind you? "Hey, we didn't have to work this hard a few minutes ago."

Daughter didn't take the grounding well. There was a brief episode of her screaming like I was hanging her by her ankles and hitting the soles of her feet with a cane. It was during this time that my parenting skills, or lack thereof were called into question. Other people didn't take the grounding well either. My mom called, and when the conversation turned to "Daughter" she was appalled that I had the audacity to punish my own child. How quickly people forget. This outrage was coming from a woman who had once broken a plate over the head of one of my brothers when he got mouthy at the table. My best friend was also shocked that I had grounded "Daughter". "She's a good kid." Yeah, I know. She's a good kid who's acting like she's possessed by the devil.

Am I the only person who still thinks it's OK to discipline their kids? I didn't beat her or resort to psychological torture, I just sent her to her room. I let her come out to eat and use the bathroom. Part of me wanted to send her in a bucket and just slide some bread under the door. My mom thinks it just might be her age. Well, if she's not careful it will be hard to reach the next age. I don't know much about girls entering puberty or the mystery of the "tween" years, and quite frankly, I don't want to know. It's scary enough having to deal with "Wife's" mood swings, throwing "Daughter" into the crazy hormone mix scares the hell out of me.

I tried to explain to "Daughter" that part of being a parent is doing things that your kids don't like, and that discipline is one of those things. I know I've got a long road ahead, but I'm not giving up. Someday, when "Daughter" has to ground her own kid, maybe she'll see that I wasn't so awful after all. I won't hold my breath. Later...Brian

Stabbed In The Back

If I were a hot blonde in a mini-skirt and stiletto heels, I couldn't have teased this story more. Let's hope that after all the build up, it doesn't disappoint. Thursday I went for what is known in medical parlance as a "procedure". If you're a loyal reader, and why wouldn't you be, you have been treated to the ongoing saga of me versus my spine in a battle for dominance and a pain free life.

My spine has been winning lately. It has armed itself against me using arthritis and bone spurs as it's weapons of choice. The pain has been affecting my life in all areas. I can hardly walk more than half a block, I couldn't stand for more than a few minutes, and then it started affecting my romantic swerve, if you know what I mean. A man can't live without getting his swerve on, so I vowed to defeat my spine and relegate it to it's rightful place, namely holding my big ass up.

After months of therapy and chiropractic adjustment that just seemed to anger my spine and make it sharpen it's bony claws, I saw a spine and pain specialist. After checking me over, he said that the best course of action would be to get injections directly into the joints of my lower back, thus defeating my foe from within. Drastic? Sure it is, but I think I've already illustrated how serious this had become.

So the day came and "Wife" drove me to the hospital. I'm not a good patient. I get nervous and instead of channeling it in a productive way, like say, telling someone that I'm nervous, I explode over stupid things. That way, the people who care about me are mad, and don't care if I survive or not. It may not be Vulcan logic, but it works for me. The doctor was a young guy who seemed to know what he was doing. I had done a little research on him, because let's be honest, you don't want a stranger sticking a needle in you spine. He asked what kind of music I would like to listen to and being the good patient I am, I responded, "Whatever improves your aim."

The problem with being a comic is that once people find out what you do, they all want to be funny. The doc was no exception, except he had taken it to the next level. He had actually done some "open mic" nights at a comedy club and proceeded to tell me how it was his dream job. As you can imagine, I was hoping that being a spine doctor was his dream job, and that he hadn't put Three Stooges video in where the X-Ray monitor should be. I don't want my doctor crafting a knock-knock joke while he should be watching the camera and guiding a sharp instrument into my disc joints.

I was given a local anesthetic and then the fun began. The fist two shots seemed to go rather easily, although I must admit that even numbed, a needle going through you back muscles doesn't feel great. My back must have sensed danger because I was repeatedly told how tight all the muscles were. Then things got difficult. The needle for the third injection wouldn't go into the joint. Between the arthritis and the bone spurs, the joint was being as difficult to open as a baby's mouth when it doesn't want to eat it's creamed spinach. After a few tries, I let out a yelp, because to my chagrin, the anesthetic was wearing off. I was given another pain shot and finally my joint opened and the procedure was over.

It may be to early to call a winner in the war, but I think I may have won this battle. I'm still in a little pain, but nowhere near the amount I was in before. In two weeks I see the doctor again and we'll decide if I need another shot. For now, I just think of my spine as an enemy that may have retreated, but is lying in wait.

There, I told you the story. I think it was worth the wait. Later...Brian

What A Week

It's dinner time and I'm finally getting around to posting. It has been a very hectic and stressful week, so I may keep this short, because reliving all the events may cause me to have a stroke.

As I told you the other day, my mother-in-law was here for a couple days. I tried to go with the flow, but some people do their best to cause waves. In the interest of keeping my marriage together, I'll spare you the details and me the hassles of recounting the entire visit. I'll sum up my feelings in the immortal words of bouncers the world over when closing time rolls around, "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

Wednesday night I was racing home to get to "Daughter's" softball game. I was waiting to make a left turn, minding my own business, signal signaling when all of a sudden.....CRASH! Some punk kid slammed into me without even slowing down. You know how much I love other drivers, and this is why. This 17 year old, pimply faced jackass walked up to my car after sending me into oncoming traffic (which I was able to avoid with lighting reflexes and superior driving skills) and said, "I'm sorry, I only looked down for a minute." Let's not get into a whole thing here, but he must have been looking down for quite a long minute. I hadn't even seen this idiot in my rear view mirror when I had stopped to make the turn. He was driving like a bat out of hell and when he finally remembered that he needed to look at the road it was too late. Thankfully I wasn't hurt, but my sweet ride is now in the custody of a body shop for God knows how long.

Yesterday was needle in the spine day. I'm saving that story for Monday. Hold on. It's not that far away.

Today I became an official member of the WGN Radio family. I went down and got my company ID. It was actually very cool. "Daughter" came with and the head of corporate security made her a pass too. She thought I was the man for about an hour, then her normal attitude came up. Sunday morning from 1-5 AM CST you can catch Laura Hirsch and I as we entertain the country in the wee small hours. I hope next week is a little more subdued. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

No Vacancy

It's a pretty stressful day for me. I'm preoccupied with tomorrow. I'm going to have an injection in my spine to hopefully put an end to my back pain. I'm not looking forward to the procedure, but am eager to see if it works. I also have to take my oldest dog to the vet today which is never a treat. So I have some stuff on my plate, nothing that anyone couldn't handle by itself, but I have another layer of fun thrown on top. I have house guests.

My mother -in-law and sister-in-law are here for a couple of days. I was supposed to be out of town this week , but thanks to a fortuitous turn of events at WGN, I'm here. "Wife" knows how any house guests makes me crazy, so she tries to get her family to visit while I'm out of town. They were being nice and coming to watch "Daughter" while I was on the road, and we didn't have the hart to tell them to stay home.

It's not that I don't like them, I just hate having my routine interrupted. "Daughter" uses the occasion to crank up horrible behavior because she thinks I won't discipline her when "Nana" is around. You'd think she'd know me better than that. I wouldn't care if the Pope was here, you mess up, you're gonna pay. I also hate feeling like I'm on display in my own house. I have enough issues without adding paranoia to the mix. I'm a creature of habit, and for better or worse, I don't like to vary my routine. I'm making the best of it though. That way I come off looking like a good guy, and "Wife" thinks I'm a hero. I have to figure out a way to translate that into some lovin'.

I probably won't be posting tomorrow. I anticipate being in some pain, and sitting will undoubtedly make it worse. I know your day will seem a little emptier without me, but buck up and carry on. Just think of the great story I'll have for you on Friday. Nothing is better than a needle in the spine story. If I wasn't the one facing the needle I'd be chomping at the bit to hear it myself. I gotta go, I hear someone touching my stuff. Later...Brian

Takin' It To The Streets

I started reading a book today. "Daughter" is taking swimming lessons to lessen the effect gravity seems to have on her in the water, and instead of spending forty-five minutes a day for the next two weeks staring at scantily clad soccer moms, and sweating near a pool I can't go in, I decided to read. It doesn't matter what book it is really, but suffice it to say I may be the last person in America to finally pick up this tome about some code or something.

I used to read all the time. Then it started to seem like the only reading I got done was while I was sitting on the porcelain throne. I enjoy reading in the bathroom. It's a fine place to skim a magazine article, but not to enjoy major works of fiction. After a while, my legs fall asleep and I'm stuck there until I can summon what's left of my pride to call for help. "Wife" and "Daughter" read all the time. "Wife" finds time while riding the train to work and "Daughter" is a kid, what else does she have to do?

Today something happened that transported me back to a simpler time when reading was a big part of everyone's life. A time before TiVo, computer games and slutty Britney Spears videos. The bookmobile came to our neighborhood.

I was sitting in the "office" when I heard what sounded like a Mac truck park across the street. "Daughter" came running in and declared that there was something so cool outside I had to come and see. There it was, a veritable rock and roll tour bus for literacy. It was painted in Partridge family colors with a literary theme. I could sense "Daughter's" excitement. It was pretty cool. What a throw back to a time gone by. I expected to have to push past Ritchie, Potzie and the Fonz to get in. I went in with "Daughter" and was greeted by two kindly librarians who were right out of central casting. They had sweet dispositions and were helping kids find books to suit their reading levels. The ladies were so helpful and informative, it made me feel guilty for calling everyone nerds under my breath.

I think this is a great idea. The bookmobile gets kids excited about books. It's hard not to think it's cool when the library comes right to your house. It also gives lazy people no excuse for not getting their kids to the library. The only way it could be easier is if the librarians actually threw books right through people's windows. I know next week we'll be watching for the Bookmobile with the same anticipation I used to reserve for the ice cream man. Back to my book. Later...Brian

Now It's Monday

Father's Day is over and now it's time to get back to the grind. I hope all the dads had a nice day. I know I did.

I had gotten home late Saturday night from doing a couple shows at a club in Merrilville, Indiana. I know you're jealous, but let it go. The shows were fine, but I'm finding that I have much less patience for drunk hillbillies than I used to. The club is in a hotel with one of those domed pool areas. It's all done up with a tropical theme. Who are they fooling? You can close your eyes and pretend you're in Maui, but when you open your eyes, you realize you're only a couple miles from Gary and you want to put a gun in your mouth. "Wife" and "Daughter" let me sleep late (10:30) and then gave me some wonderful Father's Day gifts. I got two sweet throw-back White Sox jerseys. "Wife" had given one to me last week before I went to the game, and they surprised me with the second one. Truth be told, I had picked these jerseys out and told "Wife" where to find them on the web. This is actually the best way for me to get gifts. I basically buy them myself, and then my loving family gives them to me. I'm happy, they're happy, everybody wins.

Knowing that I am a fan of cinema, "Wife" and "Daughter" then asked if I would like to go to a movie. I was overcome with joy when I found out it didn't have to be the latest animated product placement fest, but a somewhat grown up movie. I say somewhat because we saw "X-Men 3". I found out that apparently a lot of dads are into mutants. I think if I were a mutant I would be "Le Pew". My power would be the ability to emit noxious odors that render my enemies powerless. The movie was good and Halle Berry can whip a hurricane up for me any time.

We ended the day at my mom's house. My youngest brother had invited us all there for dinner. He is an award winning Bar-B-Que man and had smoked ribs, Italian sausage and chicken. It turned out to be rather pleasant. All my brothers were there and there were no fights. That could be due in large part to the fact that I was the only one who had a beer. The rest of them were guzzling designer soda pop. Man, have times changed.

My day of rest and honor is over and I'm off to pick up the dog pooh. What a difference a day makes. Later...Brian

Focus!

I was all set with a topic for today, but I had a doctor's appointment that took me out early, and after venturing out in public, my topic has changed. Let me ask you a question. When did driving a car become a secondary or even tertiary task when on the roadways? I know I've vented before about bad driving, but it seems to do no good. I guess if people are so dumb as to drive badly, they're too dumb to read too.

Traffic is horrible everywhere. I thought it was bad when we lived in LA, but Chicago is challenging for the crown. There seem to be more cars on every road, and as such more idiots. It used to be an anomaly to see someone on a phone while driving, now if someone isn't on the phone, I'm shocked. I find it hard to believe that Pedro in his beat up van with the broken windshield really is so important that he needs to be having a conversation while drifting into my lane. Can't the overly made up, sexually neglected, soccer mom wait until she gets to Starbucks to set up her tryst with her trainer?

I'm reserving a special ring of hell for the elderly drivers. I understand wanting to keep your independence, but can't we limit it to trips to the bathroom? Do you really need to take your show on the road? Let me explain something Gramps, the speed limit is not a suggestion. Don't do some kind of elderly division in your head, and go half the speed or convert today's limit into 1927 numbers. When your hands are at ten and two not to improve your driving, but just to hold your bony ass up, it's time to call Houk to drive you to the Piggly Wiggly. Maybe old folks drive slow because they figure if they go faster, it gets them to death that much sooner.

I may have a bit of a road rage problem, but so what. People need to focus on what they're doing. Today I got caught behind a tanker truck that was drifting into two lanes and going about twenty miles under the limit. When I finally passed him, he was talking on the phone and reading a map. Good plan Earnest. I know all that meth probably is clouding your mind, but pull over and get your directions. Imagine how far behind schedule you'll be if you crush a Hyundai into the median.

On a lighter note. I hope all the Dad's out there have a great Father's Day. I'm not sure what mine holds, but I imagine it will be nice. If your dad is still around, give him a call and wish him well, if he isn't take a second to remember something good. Have a great weekend! Later....Brian

A Reason To Celebrate

I know I usually don't use this forum to tell you how great I am. OK, maybe I do sometimes, but I need to toot my own horn a little today. Loyal readers know that I have been pursuing a radio job for a while. Last night I got a call and was offered a show on WGN Radio. It's very exciting to be considered good enough to join such a prestigious station. I probably should be dancing in the streets and howling at the moon, but you know me, I'm down playing the whole thing.

"Wife" and my friends think I'm nuts. "Why aren't you more excited?" they ask with obvious concern for my mental health. I've been trying to figure that out myself. There should be great joy in Mudville, cause mighty Casey got the gig. I am happy. I just have a hard time allowing myself any periods of joy. This may be a result of being a comic for so long. I'm in a business where rejection has become so commonplace that it seems normal. I also have some weird, deep seeded, Catholic, mother induced guilt that makes me squelch any good times before I get carried away. This may seem depressing to you, but it's the way my head is wired.

My outward demeanor may also be a defense mechanism. As of this writing, I don't know what the future holds. WGN is getting a new Program Director, and everyone's future, new people's especially, is up in the air. I'm going to treat the show like I have it forever and make every one the best I can. That's the only thing I can control, so it's all I'll worry about.

Sometimes you dream of something, but never expect parts of it to come true. I knew I would get a job in radio somewhere, but WGN seemed like a pipe dream. Now it's a reality. I guess it's just taking a while to sink in. I'm really looking forward to this new phase of my life and can't wait to get started.

So if you're a night owl or an early riser, listen to Laura Hirsch and me on WGN Overnight, Saturday nights/Sunday mornings from 1-5 am CST. You can listen on-line too, at wgnradio.com.

I just read this back, and I must seem like a mental train wreck. I usually say that it's all the crazy bumping around in my head that allows me to do what I do. Tortured artist, yeah, I'll stick with that. It sounds better than certifiable nut job. At least I haven't cut off my ear. I need them both to hold my headphones. Later...Brian

Your Tax Dollars At Work

Last year when hurricanes Katrina and Rita hit the Gulf coast, Americans called on their government to help the citizens who had been displaced by theses ferocious storms. There was a lot of controversy surrounding the aid that these people did or did not receive, and most of it focused on the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA). One of the programs FEMA instituted was giving victims of the storms debit cards that they could use to help pay their rent and rebuild their lives. This seemed like a great idea on paper, but to quote the great philosopher Huey Lewis, "we're not living in a perfect world."

A story came out today that really chapped my ample back side. A FEMA official went before Congress and told them that a study they had done regarding fraud with these debit cards was inaccurate. Congress' Government Accountability Office (GAO) had estimated that up to 1.4 billion of the money given for individual aid was spent for bogus reasons. If that wasn't bad enough, this FEMA official said that the GAO's estimate was way too low. Blame has been flying back and forth, but the bottom line is this. You and I have been paying for crooks to suck off the government teat, and no one at the top is watching our money.

Would you like to know how stupid your leaders are? Sure you would. Some of the victims had to be put in hotels. That's OK right? Sure it is, but FEMA was not only paying the hotels directly but then giving the "victims" money too. If that doesn't put a crease in your pants, how 'bout these little items that FEMA debit cards (your money) paid for?
-Five season tickets to the New Orleans Saints (I know the Saints suck, but that's not the point.)
-An all-inclusive, one week Caribbean vacation in the Punta Cana resort in the Dominican Republic. (I'll be lucky if I can go to Milwaukee for a long weekend.)
-Adult erotica products in Houston, and a "Girls Gone Wild" tape in Santa Monica,Ca. (Well, I don't know about this one. A guy has needs after all, especially when his home was destroyed.)
- A sex change. (It probably wasn't a good one, that would have involved airfare too. I guess they'll have to wait for the next storm.)

Other fun expenditures included paying people who used a cemetery as their address, giving someone rent assistance while at the same time paying for them to stay at a hotel in Hawaii, and even paying over two thousand dollars to an undercover agent who was using a bogus address.

I shouldn't be surprised by this, but I am. We all know the idiocy of bureaucracies, and the basic dishonesty of most people. I guess I'm just naive sometimes. I figure if we have an agency who's sole purpose is to hand out money to disaster victims, they'd, I don't know, keep an eye on where the money is going. Call me crazy, but if I just threw money around willy nilly, there would be some serious consequences. I'm also very disillusioned by the people who cheated with these cards. As I said, I have little to no trust for most people and this is just another reason why. You needed help, and someone helped you. Why do you need to rob the rest of us? It almost makes you want to tell the next victims to screw themselves. Go get your own porn you low life.

Well that's enough speechafyin' for one day. I'm off to burn a pile of money. At least that way I'll know who's wasting my cash. Later...Brian

(Thanks to AP for supplying some facts.)

Lazy Days Of Summer

This morning, "Daughter" and I did something that we rarely do. We slept in. "Wife" went to work like a good soldier, and since I had nothing scheduled for this morning, she didn't reset the alarm. I'm almost embarrassed to say this , but I woke up at 9:50. Talk about a life of leisure. "Daughter" didn't come down stairs until almost 10:30. Needless to say, our schedule is way off today.

I remember the time when I slept late on a regular basis. Being a comic lends itself to a late night schedule, so sleeping late became a habit. I would be up until 4am most nights and then sleep until noon or later. Even after I got married, I would stay up late and then sleep until early afternoon, not giving much thought to "Wife's" early schedule. "Wife" and I used to spend Sunday mornings sleeping late. That all ended when "Daughter" was born.

Now I'm usually up pretty early and don't feel too guilty that I get to sleep longer than "Wife". It seems weird to sleep in, but I must admit I still love it. Knowing that I'm relaxing while most of the world is slaving away at their nine to fives makes me a happy man. I enjoy being an international man of leisure. If it wasn't for this post, I would be sunning myself right now.

I've got to keep this short. "Daughter" is "BORED" and I need to explain to her the finer points of doing nothing. You're not bored, you're on vacation. Enjoy it now, life comes calling soon enough. You'd better get back to work, and I better get back to whatever it is I do to fill the time. Later...Brian

I Still Don't Call It Football

The World Cup Soccer (or do you say Futbaul) tournament started in Germany the other day and like a lot of Americans, I just yawned and went on my merry way. I don't follow soccer, or care to start, unless Mia Hamm comes over to the house to give me a feet-on tutorial. Soccer is supposed to be the biggest sport in the world, but I'd still have rather spent last night at "The Cell" watching the World Champion White Sox like I did than be in some smoky bar rubbing elbows with various Central American ex-patriots who are cheering for their favorite teams.

I've seen some World Cup highlights on the news and remember watching some matches, (that's what they call the games.) when the U.S. hosted the tourney a few years ago. It seems to be a game made up of under nourished, under washed guys with really bad hair. The players all let their freak flags fly, and once they start sweating, they look like a water wiggle. Even one of the best known players, David Beckham has crazy hair. He goes from a shaved head, to a mohawk, to dreadlocks. It did allow him to marry and bang around with Posh Spice though, so maybe he's onto something.

Until a couple of years ago, my knowledge of soccer was limited to two things. I knew you played it with your feet and I knew who Pele was. Then, like many parents, I got sucked into the soccer world by my kid. Soccer advocates say that it is a great game because all kids can play. Everyone can run and kick, they'll tell you, so no child is left out. That may be true, but after coaching youth soccer for a couple of years, I can tell you this, everyone's definition of "running" is not the same. Some kids are so afraid of sweat, that a brisk walk causes them to panic and sit down.

I did get involved in coaching and I must admit, I gained a new respect for soccer and the athletes who play it. Once you know the rules, you can start to see plays develop and appreciate the beauty of a cross field pass. I now know about off side (not sides), headers and lines. I understand major and minor penalties and I know what red and yellow cards are for. I may even become a hooligan. I think that adding that bit of menace to a youth game, or any game for that matter might be fun. I may bust out some hooliganism tonight at "Daughter's" softball game. I think the element of surprise when I storm the other stands and punch out some unsuspecting parents will add some much needed excitement to the festivities.

So while soccer may never overtake baseball or real football in this country, it is worth watching. Might I recommend some woman's soccer? It's like a cat fight in cleats and there's always a chance that someone will pull a Brandy Chastain and rip off her jersey.
"S C O O O R E !" Later...Brian

It Makes You Think

I just got some very sad news. The father of a very good friend died a couple of hours ago. This post may be a little less carefree than usual, so I understand if you want to click away now. I hate to harsh the buzz of your impending weekend, but sometimes that's how things work out.

I got an email this morning from a friend who was forwarding me the bad news. My friend's dad had collapsed the other evening while visiting with his family. He had been in poor health for awhile, but this was a surprise. After a couple days in the hospital it became clear that his situation was not improving, and that he would have to be kept on a ventilator. Thankfully, he was able to express his wish to not be kept alive on a machine. His family knew this and he was able to make his feelings known in the hospital as well. The unimaginable decision was made, and his family respected his wishes. He died peacefully, surrounded by his wife of 47 years, and all his children.

It's weird. This morning I was listening to the radio and the host sang a song that he wrote for his father who died a year ago. That got me thinking about my dad. He died three years ago, and I still think about him now and then. You never think about your parents dying, but as we all get older, it becomes inevitable. The inevitability doesn't lessen the loss however.

I suppose I could say something trite, like, make the most of the time you have, or call someone you love and tell them so, but that would just trivialize things. We all know what we need to be doing on a daily basis. I will tell you that I'm going to make sure that my family knows my wishes for what to do if, and when, I can't make those decisions for myself. I think it took great courage and love for my friend's family to carry out their husband's/father's wishes. When you boil it all down, that's what being part of a family is all about. If you have a second, keep a good thought for my friend Steve and his family and one for his dad George. While you're at it, keep one for yourself too. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

PS: If you're near a radio or computer tomorrow (June 10) between 8pm and midnight, I'll be doing another show on WGN Radio with my lovely co-host Laura Hirsch.

The Sound Of Music

You may not know it from reading my manic scribblings, but I am a patron of the arts. I enjoy attending concerts, have been known to frequent the theater and have even made significant donations to the world of dance, albeit the exotic world. Last night my devotion to the arts was significantly put to the test. I had to attend "Daughter's" first piano recital.

Anyone who has a child learning a musical instrument, or who plays one themselves, knows that it takes a lot of practice. I do not play any instruments. I have take lessons for everything from piano, to guitar , to zither, but I haven't been able to master any of them. I could make a reference to a certain flute, but that would be juvenile at best, and disgusting at worst. I believe that some people were given a gift that allows them to take the notes from a page and transform them into music. I am able to take random thoughts, and transform them into crazy ramblings. A talent yes, to me, more of a curse, but I digress. The process of learning an instrument is a long one with lots of mistakes, sour notes and frustration. As a parent, you get used to the cacophony of practice, but that doesn't mean you want to take it on the road.

"Daughter" had been practicing for the recital for a few weeks. I actually enjoyed listening to her master "Camp Town Races" and "Down in the Valley." She seemed to have everything down and was eager to go. About an hour before the recital, her nerves got the better of her and she was having second thoughts about performing, but being of hearty show biz stock, she sucked it up and bravely headed out.

I completely expected to hate the whole evening. I didn't hold out much hope when we arrived at the church where the recital was to be held. There was no A/C and it was a little warm. OK, I can deal with that. Then I saw the program. There were about 25 kids listed to perform and some of them, "Daughter" included, were doing two songs. I envisioned being trapped in piano hell for at least two hours. I wondered if "Wife" would allow me to nap after "Daughter" was done tinkling the ivories with her selections. Since I do enjoy napping in church, this seemed like the way to go.

Man, was I wrong. The whole thing took about 55 minutes. I had forgotten that a lot of the songs would be short. There were some missed notes, but overall it was fun. I know, I must be getting soft in my old age. It was funny to watch the expressions on the kids faces. They all looked so serious on their way to the piano. It was like watching "Dead Kid Walking." They had looks of terror and concentration the entire time they were playing, and as soon as they hit their last note, their whole body relaxed. "Daughter" did a great job. I hope she keeps playing. She seems to have inherited "Wife's " talent for music.

The night ended with us going for wings and getting to see the World Champion White Sox (HA! I got to write it again.) beat the Detroit Tigers. Music, wings and baseball, a true night of art appreciation. Later...Brian

School's Out

This week marked the beginning of Summer vacation for "Daughter." Oh Joy! Fourth grade ended without any controversy. I'll brag a little and tell you that ""Daughter"" got straight A's and scored very high on her standardized tests. She must have gotten all them book smarts from her momma, cuz I don't cotton to no school work. I'm proud of her, and if I can survive the onset of the "tween" years things should go swimmingly.

As I watched "Daughter" and her pals get off the bus for the final time the other day, I tried to recall the unbridled joy that came with the end of a school year. As I've mentioned before, school was not my favorite place so maybe my joy was heightened just a wee bit. I could tell that the kids were already thinking of endless days playing outside, swimming ,bike riding, and all the other summer activities that we enjoyed. Oh the care free fun they would have, sleeping late, having picnics and spending time with their parents. Wait..What..More time with their parents?

As much as the kids look forward to Summer vacation, all the parents I've talked to seem to dread it. Suddenly there is no place to send the little darlings for the lion's share of the day. For some reason, parents are freaking out. "What will I do with them?" they whine. They feel the need to over schedule the kids vacation. "Wife" tends to fall into that trap a little. Starting next week, she has "Daughter" scheduled in activities almost every day. Now, I know the benefits of swimming lessons, soccer camp and Summer band, but what about the benefits of doing nothing? I've been watching "Daughter" this week. She and her friends have had no trouble finding things to keep them busy. Thankfully we live in a neighborhood where the kids can still go out to play, and there are enough parents scattered up and down the block to serve as a security net.

"I don't want the kids to be bored" is another mantra of the suburban parent. So what? How many of us had our entire summer scheduled? Not too many I'll bet. Somehow we found a way to occupy our time. There's nothing wrong with a kid getting bored once in awhile. It gives them the opportunity to think for themselves and come up with something to do. Maybe they'll pick up a book and sit under a tree. Am I naive? I don't think so. The other day I was in the back yard and saw one of the dogs laying in the shade. It looked so good I went and joined her for a few minutes. It was heaven. If kids have some more time, maybe they'll appreciate things like that too. Wow, I can't believe that I told you I was laying in the grass. What's next, I start wearing overalls and keeping a piece of hay in my teeth while I head down to the fishin' hole?

I'm just saying, let the kids be kids for a little bit. There's plenty of time for them to live a life ruled by a schedule page on a "Blackberry." Remember, it's the "lazy days of Summer" not the over booked ones. Later...Brian

Today I Am A Man

Despite my obvious high flying lifestyle and grand station in life, I am a man of simple needs. I want to be left alone most of the time, have good things to eat and drink, a comfortable place to live and health for my family. That's not a long list, and even some of those things are negotiable. I've eaten mediocre food and drank low end beer on occasion. One thing has eluded me in life, the one thing that would grant me happiness and comfort above all others. I have denied myself this pleasure for reasons known only to myself and various orders of cloistered monks. But now, in my advancing years I found that I could deny myself no longer. It was time for me to step up and claim what was rightfully mine, to drag myself into manhood and finally achieve the comfort that I had been longing for low these many years. I finally got a recliner.

"You're not serious," you scoff. "How can a chair hold such magical and spiritual power as to change your whole outlook on life?" Scoff no more. It does. In some cultures, a religious ceremony is needed for a boy to enter into manhood. Not so here. I just needed a chair. My whole life I've wanted a recliner. To me, owning a fine piece of motion furniture was the pinnacle of manhood, a right of passage that said you had arrived. I couldn't wait for the day when I would have "my chair." I envisioned a day when I could walk into my family room, and seeing some interloper lounging in my rightful spot, bellow at the top of my lungs, "get out of my chair." The tone of my voice would leave no doubt as to the seriousness of the infraction. Only the king sits on the throne, and for better or worse, I'm the king.

I know I wrote about buying the chair a couple months ago. Placing the order seemed like such a big deal. Nothing compared to the other afternoon when the truck pulled into the driveway carrying my "Comfort King." You may recall that this chair is designed as a "big man's recliner." It's designed for men (and I say men because women don't seem as enamored of recliners and if a woman is this big, she should be in the circus or the WNBA.) up to 6'8" and 350 lbs. My brother asked what would happen if someone was over 350. I would assume that person should get their lazy butt out of the chair and take a walk until they get down to a svelte 348. The delivery guy saw me hurry out onto the porch like a kid on Christmas and laughingly said "now I see why someone bought such a big chair." Damn right. No small, girlie chair for me.

The "Comfort King" was given a place of honor. Now I can watch TV without having to move any part of my body. As "Daughter" would say, I have the "optimum viewing seat." The chair looks great. "Wife" got to pick the color and fabric, so she can't complain. Everything is still a little stiff, so I'll have to spend many hours dedicating myself to breaking in the chair. I can't help but laugh because in some positions, the chair is so big that my feet don't hit the ground. "Wife" and "Daughter" get lost in it. Man It's good to be king. Gotta go, I've got some breaking in to do. Later...Brian

They Didn't Live By The Code

Last night was a great disappointment. It had nothing to do with any events in my family, no, it was another family that let me down. After an 18 month hiatus, "The Sopranos" came roaring back onto HBO in January. Like millions of fans, I looked forward to this season with a rabid devotion that confounds all reason. Last night the season ended, and I was left thinking "so what".

I stuck with Tony and the gang this year, even thought my heart wasn't in it. I liken it to hanging out with an old friend even though they keep disappointing you. You try to remember the good times and keep hoping that they'll turn themselves around. The "Sopranos" would have to spin like a Tazmanian Devil to get back to their starting point.

I've argued my opinion with a couple friends who think that this season has been better than previous ones. They try to explain symbolism and how we finally get to see the banality of Tony's life and the way things really are. Blah, blah, blah. All I know is this season was Boring! If I wanted symbolism, I'd go to the Art Institute. I'm watching a show about the mob. How 'bout some more violence, extortion and retribution? The whole season was the promise of hot action with no payoff. It was exactly like the scene where Tony was about to bang the real estate agent. Everyone got all worked up, and then...Nothing.

While I'm at it, here are my other problems with the season. If you got a problem wid it, we'll have a sit down.

First, I have to say that I hated the Vito story line. It did nothing to move the "Family" story forward. I think it was a cheap stunt to get attention for a season that was sub-par. I didn't need to keep seeing scenes of Vito and some Morgan Spurlock look-a-like recreating "Splendor In The Grass". It's not that I mind the depiction of gay romance on TV, it's just that Vito is so hideous. Would it have been so bad for Johnny Cakes to get involved with a better looking mobster? If they had a couple of the "Bing" girls tongue wrestle, I would be all for it. I like my televised gay romance to be between good looking people. Does that make me shallow? Maybe.

Tony in "limbo". B O R I N G ! Maybe I have a short attention span, but one episode of that would have been interesting. Three made me sleepy.

For all the beefs that keep coming up between Tony and Phil's crews, nobody does anything. There's a lot of angry talk, but very little angry action. Come on boys, you're heartless Mafia soldiers. Stick an ice pick in somebody's eye. How about a couple more stabbings like the one in the back of the sausage store? I'd like to see a frozen head dropped down a well in every episode. Why make us wait until the end of the season?

Let Christopher O.D. already. I'm tired of him always relapsing and then worrying that Tony will find out. Maybe I'm jaded after so many good seasons, but the story is tired. Why not have him get stronger and challenge Tony for once. That may be far fetched, but it would be interesting. If I see him fall off the wagon one more time, I may start "chasing the dragon" too just so I can forget the show. While I'm talking about Christopher, are there any women who are as clue less as the new, where did she come from, wife that Chris has? This guy NEVER comes home. He's leading a complete second life that not only includes another woman, but also booze and heroin and the only question she asks is if he'll bring her a "quattro frommage" pizza. Puh-lease! If I'm in the basement for too long, "Wife" wants a detailed accounting of my whereabouts.

There is a lot more, but why beat a dead horse, or smoke it, as Christopher would. The season ended with everyone sitting around on Christmas Eve. In January, we'll be given the final eight episodes. Maybe this season will end up being just a dream of Tony's. I hope so, it was a nightmare for me. Later....Brian

Just Keeping The Streak Alive

I didn't have a chance to get to this earlier, and would have let it go, but I take a perverse pleasure in posting. It's late so I'm not staying. I just wanted to stop in and say hi.

Last night/this morning I had the pleasure of filling in on WGN radio. I was once again teamed with the lovely and talented Laura Hirsch. I still believe she finds me fascinating,but she tried to cover it up a little more than last time. Perhaps her husband got a little jealous after hearing her gush about me during our last show. We got to talk to the largest overnight audience in the city and even got a call from some crazy drunk in Arkansas. I don't want to say this guy was dumb, so I won't. Suffice it to say I now understand why Arkansas is ranked last in education.

We got a warm reception from the one and only Spike O'Dell who anchors the big morning show on the 50,00 watt blow torch. He had very nice things to say about us both on and off the air. He even brought me gifts. Now I have to pay him a tribute just like in "Goodfellas".

I'm off to bed. I've only had a couple of hours sleep, so I'm starting to hallucinate. I'm even beginning to believe that I'm fascinating and that Laura's husband is jealous of me. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

Not Now, I'm Prepping

I told you yesterday that I was going to be doing another show on WGN radio again tonight/tomorrow morning. While that is great news, it also means that today will be spent worrying and trying to figure out what to talk about so that the show will be absolutely fascinating.

Today will be a great day no matter what happens. I am waiting for my new recliner to be delivered. The "Comfort King" is on it's way and I couldn't be more excited if I were actually going to my own coronation. I am in the delivery window as I type this, so I may seem a little distracted. Every sound I hear sounds like the sweet roar of a delivery truck coming down the street carrying my ultra-suede utopia. I'm trying to get all my work done early, because let's be honest, once the chair gets here, I'm plopping down and not moving. Hold on...Is that the truck? No, just a van. Damn.

So I'm culling the newspapers and the internet trying to find stories that I think will make good radio. Here's a little secret. Every time I do a show, I spend hours gathering material. Then when I get to the studio I do a show that's completely different from the one I had in my head. Thankfully, that's worked in the past. I suppose it's better to be over prepared, but I always have a lot to say and am not afraid to spout my opinions.

Yesterday I mentioned the conference call I had. The big wigs at WGN were calling to give my co-host Laura and I some input. I won't bore you with the details, and besides, I don't want to spoil the illusion. While there is no "man behind the curtain" like in the "Wizard of Oz", there are forces more powerful than myself that call the shots. Tonight I'm filling in on a show that is very successful during the overnight hours. The only thing that worries me is that the regular audience is normally much older than yours truly. This wouldn't have bothered me at all, if the boss hadn't kept telling me to be cognizant of that fact. Now all I can think about is not offending the seniors. I'm like a kid. Once you tell me not to do something, that's all I want to do.

I'm off to continue my "show prep", and by that I mean sitting and reminding myself not to make too many Geritol and broken hip jokes. For the moment I'll be standing in the living room with my nose pressed against the window waiting for the truck to bring me my new throne. What's that sound? Is it the truck? Later...Brian