It's Hot, I'm Cranky

Today I've got nothing. The intense heat has escalated my usual foul mood to heights not seen in years. We have a house guest I'm not thrilled to see, and my house doesn't feel like home all of a sudden. I hate having house guests. I know I've said that before, but I'm frustrated, and need to repeat myself.

"Daughter" came home from camp the other night. She had a great time and survived the heat, bugs, and many songs and stories about poop. I will confess to choking up a bit when I saw her. I didn't bawl like an imbecile or anything, but I was overcome with a feeling that I would guess was joy. I can't be sure, since joy is not one of my regular emotions. I hear it's like happiness to the tenth power, but again, I don't even understand the analogy. She seemed filled with the same emotions. We spent the ride home listening to all her stories and were amazed at how old she sounded. She was just a little kid when she left. I guess so many poop stories will age a person.

I figured "Daughter" would be so happy to be back in the land of flush toilets and air conditioning that we would have a couple of days before our usual fighting began. We made it all the way to lunch on Saturday and then all her old habits came back with a vengeance. All that time in the woods hadn't mellowed her, it just made her vicious. That must be why animals are so surly. If you spend that much time outdoors, you're bound to get a bit testy.

I'm dehydrating, so I have to go. Remember to drink lots of water, wear loose clothes and stay inside with air conditioning as much as possible. If you really needed me to tell you those things, go outside and burst into flames. Later...Brian

Where's My Ribbon?

It's another late posting day. "Wife" took the day off and that always throws my schedule into upheaval. A lot was happening today. I had to drop my car off for service, and go to physical therapy. Then "Wife" wanted to go to breakfast and have me go with her to get an oil change. She said she was afraid that the guys would "take advantage" of her because she was a woman. I don't know exactly how that could happen. An oil change costs what it costs. Anything over that, say no. I have to admire the way the oil change guys try to up-sell you every time you go in. I'm not Richard Petty or anything, but I don't think I need a new transmission every three thousand miles.

We then did something we haven't done in years. Since it's Friday afternoon and Summertime, "Wife" and I stopped at our favorite Irish pub for a beer. I really enjoy drinking a beer during the day. It makes me feel like I'm on vacation, or living a life of leisure. Now I have a good feeling and am ready to get on with the day.

While we were out we got behind a car that had one of those magnetic ribbons on it. You know the ones. You can pick them up at any truck stop, gas station or Wal-Mart. They are supposed to show your support for whatever charity or cause hits closest to home for you. This whole phenomenon started with the Iran hostage crisis and the yellow ribbons being tied on trees. I blame Tony Orlando and Dawn, but I've been known to hold a grudge. Then came the red AIDS ribbons. These were worn on the lapel to remind people how horrible AIDS is and that we need to find a cure. I really don't think we need to be reminded of that, but I could be wrong. Now every cause you can imagine has a ribbon. The one I saw today was blue and ordered me to adopt shelter animals. No, not dogs that make good roofing products, but abandoned animals at shelters. Again, do we need a reminder? If I do, I'll go in the back yard, and while I'm picking up all the poop from my to shelter dogs, I'm sure it will hit me.

This has gone too far. Every single cause or charity has some magnetic message, and a less than magnetic supporter, who will slap it on their jalopy. What's next, hang up your cell phone ribbons, don't plug your cat into an outlet ribbons, ribbons with bite marks in them reminding us to ban fatties? If your social consciousness is best displayed by a magnet on your Chevy, I have to question your commitment to the cause. Plus, the whole world doesn't need to know every issue that you support while sitting in a traffic jam. It's just like those idiotic white stickers that people put on the back of their mini vans that show an outline of the whole family. Wow, I feel better knowing your entire family tree Alex Haley. All those are good for is telling me how many people I need to flip off when they screw up in traffic.

Well, "Wife" and I are off to pick "Daughter" up at camp. I can't wait to see how she survived. Maybe I'll fill you in on Monday. Have a great weekend. If you're up early or late, don't forget to tune into WGN Overnight Sunday morning from 1-5 am CST. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

I Told You

A while ago I wrote that I thought kids had too much to do. I thought that we were over scheduling our kids and that they needed time to just play, do nothing, and be kids. Some people, "Wife" included, thought I was nuts. They said I was just lazy and that my attitude would ruin an entire generation, creating lay abouts and ne'er do wells. Kids need to have full schedules I was told, how else will they become solid citizens, great pianists or all star infielders? Despite the fact that I like having the power to ruin a generation, you were all wrong and I was right again. I stick my electronic tongue out at you and wag a finger in your general direction.

A survey came out the other day from KidsHealth, a division of a non-profit organization that studies kid's health issues. They polled 900 kids between the ages of 9 and 13, and the findings were astounding. More than forty percent of the kids surveyed said they feel stressed out most of the time or always. The kids said that the main reason was having too much to do. The most shocking part of the study was that over three quarters of the kids said they longed for more free time. Scary, huh? The article went on to say that stress can have severe consequences for kids ranging from loss of sleep to falling behind in school and burnout. I don't think that they meant the kind of burnout that wears corduroy pant, Frye boots and does bong hits.

Maybe now people will listen to me when I talk. All my ideas are not as hair brained as they're made out to be. I think it's time to lighten up on the kids a little. Just because the other kids are in a million activities doesn't mean your kid has to be. School should be the most important, and while I do believe that kids get a lot of benefits from extra curricular activities, I also think some down time is good. I don't think a kid needs to have multiple activities every day after school and then stuff scheduled for the weekend. How about being able to come home one day after school and just hang out with friends, read a non-school book, or veg out for a few minutes?

There will be plenty of time for our kids to join the rat race and spend the rest of their lives running to and from meetings, classes and everything else that adulthood brings. I know that the world we live in is very competitive and that the more we prepare our children the better off they will be, but is it so wrong to teach them that it's ok to relax once in a while? I don't think so. Later...Brian

A Couple Of Things

Like most of you, some days I've got so much happening that I'm running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Today it's like Colonel Sanders took a machete to an entire coop. I'm going to try to make this quick, but you know how I like to hear myself type.

I'm running behind because I had to go to physical therapy this morning. The pain merchants were in rare form again today. They have me doing a lot of single leg , leg presses. I've gotten to the point now that I am lifting the whole stack of weights. They tell me this is good, but I'm waiting for the moment when my "nuuts" pop right out of their protective sack. I really don't see the need for me to be able to lift a car with one leg. Granted, my legs have a lot to carry around on a regular basis, but I don't see a "Worlds Strongest Man" competition in my future. I have no desire to pull a train engine across a football field.

How high will gas prices go before there is a full scale revolution? Gas went up twelve cents since yesterday. It may be time to put a nylon stocking over my face and start knocking over the BP. This is crazy. I can't jam my ample girth into a Prius, and I don't want to sell my house to drive downtown. There doesn't seem to be an end in sight. If this keeps up, we'll all have to live in our cars and then walk to work.

I'm off to a rare day game at the "Cell" to see my beloved World Champion White Sox. It's more of an intervention really. If you don't follow baseball, the Sox are in the midst of a season threatening slump. I'm going to try to get a hold of Ozzie Guillen and explain to him what needs to be done to fix this mess. What qualifies me you ask? Well, when I'm sitting in the Comfort King watching or listening to the game, I seem to have all the answers. I'm sure my input will be appreciated. I think Ozzie is to worried about machismo and not worried enough about baseball. (Yeah "Wife" I said it here too, and I'll keep saying it until someone either agrees with me or hits me in the head.)

So I gotta go. I'll let you know how my intervention goes. I'm going to the game with my Aunt Joan. It should be an enjoyable afternoon, especially if the Sox get their stuff together. Man, the house sure seems empty without "Daughter" here. Later...Brian

Just Keepin' The Streak Alive

There will come a day when I just say to hell with it and miss a post. It probably should be today. I really have nothing to talk about, and I'm in the middle of acting like Cinderella here at the house.

Like an idiot, I told "Wife" that I would wash the floors today. The entire first floor of the house is hard wood floor, and then there are the two bathrooms upstairs. That's a lot of floor. What was I thinking? Like any other household task, I put it off as long as I could. I did some work this morning,then had a little breakfast. Finally I was ready to get started, but I wasn't sure what I could use to wash the wood floors. This necessitated a trip to Home Depot, and more time wasted finding the right cleaner. OK, now I'm ready. Oh wait, is that the phone? It was a friend of mine who I hadn't seen in a long time. She wanted to know if I was available for lunch. Sure I am. I explained my floor task and after laughing at me, it was decided that we'd grab some food and bring it to the house. That way, we'd eat fast and I'd be back at work. Three hours later I remembered that I hadn't done this, and here I am.
Perfect.

I better get moving. If "Wife" comes home to dirty floors, I'm in trouble. She may lock me in a closet or administer some corporal punishment. Either way, I won't be able to take advantage of "Daughter's absence for some late night lovin'. To quote my favorite dwarf Grumpy, "hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work I go." Later...Brian

I Love You, Now Go

Yesterday I realized that "Daughter" is moving away from being a little kid, and I am moving toward becoming obsolete. To my and "Wife's" chagrin, our little girl is starting to need us less and less. If this sounds overly dramatic, well I have a flair for that type of thing.

Yesterday was the first day of camp for "Daughter". This has been a rough day for all of us in the past. Maybe not as rough for me because "Daughter" going to camp means that "Wife" and I have a week to ourselves. We can go to dinner without having to worry about a kid's menu, we can see movies that don't involve talking cars or family friendly ratings and I don't have to hear any Disney Channel shows blasting from the family room. It's not that I don't miss "Daughter" when she's gone, I do, but let's face it, the old saying "absence makes the heart grow fonder" came about for a reason. I'm sure the feeling is mutual. "Daughter" misses us, but she loves going to camp.

I admire "Daughter". Since she was only six, she has been going to Girl Scout camp. A lot of people gave us a hard time about this. They couldn't believe we were sending our little princess away to sleep with the mountain lions and raccoons without a phone, iPod, or dart gun. The first year, "Daughter" went with a friend. That girl cried the whole week. This drove "Daughter" nuts. She couldn't understand why someone would waste their whole week whining and crying. Way to go. Needless to say, the next year,Weepy didn't want to go to camp, and no other friend of "Daughter's" wanted to endure a week of camp inspired fun. We told "Daughter" that if she really wanted to go to camp, she would have to go alone. It was the first time we had given her the responsibility of making that big a choice. She decided to go to camp not knowing a soul. She made friends quickly, and has been going on her own ever since. I can barely go to the grocery store without my posse, so this kind of confidence is inspiring.

We got to camp yesterday and everything was going smoothly. We got "Daughter" checked in and went to her campsite. It was right out of a Civil War movie. Big canvas tents with four cots in each. Each cot was covered with mosquito netting to keep the campers and their blood connected. There were port-a-pottys and a fire pit. It was very rustic. It almost made me want to go camping, but then I started sweating and couldn't wait to get back to the A/C in the car. "Daughter" met her tent mates and they all started talking. "Wife" and I wanted to get a couple of pictures, and when we asked, "Daughter" rolled her eyes a little. I knew at that moment that we had become the goofy parents that were embarrassing their kid.

I thought, no hoped a little, that "Daughter" would seem a little sad when we were saying good bye. She rushed us out like we were an ugly girl after a one night stand. We got a quick hug, a mumbled "I love you" and then she was gone, off an a great adventure that we would only get sketchy details of later on. I guess that's what all parents work for. You want your child to be able to function in the world. You don't want them so dependent on you that they are afraid to go off on their own. Those are good things. Couldn't she have just looked over her shoulder one time? Later...Brian

Maybe Pete Townsend Was Right

In the classic song "My Generation" by the Who, Roger Daltrey belted out the immortal Pete Townsend penned words "I hope I die before I get old!" Let's put aside for a minute the fact that these guys are now almost seventy and are going to tour again this Fall, and concentrate on the effect this song had on me yesterday, because in the end, it's always about me.

My mom had her hip replaced Monday. Thankfully things seem to have gone very well and she was up and walking by Tuesday. Yesterday she was transferred to a facility to continue rehab since her house has stairs and she isn't able to navigate them yet. It's supposed to take a couple of weeks and she will go home when she is "functionally independent." I thought she would be going to a rehab facility that resembled the Chicago Bears training facility. All high tech equipment and shiny new accommodations. I really need to get more in touch with reality, because she was transferred to what is called a "sub acute treatment facility." For those of you who are like me and like your labels simple, it's a nursing home.

The first thing I noticed when I walked in was all the old people. I'm not talking just a little advanced in years, I'm talking almost fossilized. I don't seem to do very well with the aged. Maybe I have issues with my own mortality. Maybe I start to feel a little sorry for some of the residents who seem to have been "dumped' there. Maybe I don't want to think about "Wife" having to change my diaper. Whatever the reason I get ansy when I'm at one of these places. This facility has patients in various stages of health. Some are long term residents, and some, like my mom, are just there for physical therapy after an operation. Some however are afflicted with Alzheimer's. I feel awful for these poor souls. There's nothing funny about a person sitting in a wheelchair in a hallway just moaning and screaming to no one in particular.

There were some amusing aspects to this place. First, the residents seemed to be all women. That proves my theory that women drive men to an early grave. We spend so much energy early in life pursuing you that by the time we start hitting life's home stretch, boom, we're gone. Then you ladies can sit around and bad mouth us for being premature even in death. I saw a number of ladies wheel themselves over to the emergency exit and just sit looking out the door. It was almost like they were planning an escape. They reminded me of a dog, just waiting for someone to open the door so they could take off. Maybe they're planning to tunnel out like in the "Shawshank Redemption." I should alert the staff to keep an eye out for any new posters on the walls.

I told my mom that she had better make sure she didn't talk crazy while in there. Mom has a habit of rambling a bit, and even the most direct question sometimes gets a twenty minute answer. The staff is used to dealing with elderly story tellers, but I thought it was important for mom to let them know right away that she had control of all her faculties. She agreed, but when the nurse asked her if she had her real teeth, instead of just saying yes, she pulled back her lips and chompped her teeth together. Nothing crazy there. Why not just bite her too?

I'm hoping her rehab goes quickly, not only for her sake, but for mine as well. I don't like to think of my mom as old, because that makes me old, and I still have a lot to do. Plus, I know I'll turn into one of those cranky old men that my family puts in a home and forgets about. Then I'll be in my chair, looking out some window and trying to figure a way to tunnel out, just as soon as someone helps me to the bathroom. Have a great weekend. Don't forget to listen to WGN Sunday morning from 1-5am CST. Later...Brian

Rain, Rain, Go Away

In the immortal words of Dr. Seuss, "It was raining outside. It was too wet to play. So we just sat inside on this cold, grey, wet day." Thunder storms have moved into the area, ruining the day. I doubt we'll be getting a visit from a large cat wearing a sweet, striped hat, so we'll have to find something to do.

"Daughter" is already whining about not being able to go outside with her friends. I guess I could let her have friends over, but that always seems like a hassle to me. Not really. "Daughter" has some nice friends. They are polite, friendly and relatively clean. That's an option.

The better option for me is to take a snooze. There is something about a rainy day that just makes you want to sleep. That may explain the meandering tone of this post. I'm not boring, I'm sleepy. That only seems to be the case for adults. Kids never want to just lay down and catch a few winks.

At least we're inside and have some options for alternative entertainment. This weather got me thinking about a canoe trip I took when I was in high school. We were up in Canada in what should have been some of the prettiest country I had ever seen. Nature has a way of exerting her will. For three days, we were treated to unyielding storms. To me, there is nothing worse than camping in the rain. I hate that everything you own gets soaked. I take no pioneer joy from walking around in squishy shoes and sitting in wet underwear. For three days, my friends and I looked and smelled like wet dogs. We hunkered down in tents or rain ponchos. The beautiful scenery was replaced by a grey, depressing landscape. Man, the rain sucks.

So I'm off to entertain "Daughter". I keep hoping Little Orphan Annie was right and the sun will come out tomorrow. Later...Brian

I Just Don't Know

President Bush used the first veto of his presidency to kill a bill that would have allowed the Federal Government to spend more money on stem cell research. The President said that the embryos that would be used had a right to live and even called them "boys and girls." I wish I could write something hilarious about this, but right now, I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the whole issue.

Stem cell research is a tricky issue. Depending on who you talk to, it's either the most important advancement in science, or murder. That leaves a lot of room in the middle. I guess it comes down to the whole question of when you think life begins. Is an egg that has been fertilized and frozen, but never put in a woman's body and allowed to grow actually life, or is it just a high tech popsicle with the potential to become something else? People have been killed over this debate.

Without getting too heavy (this doesn't seem like the place) I have to say, this really has my head spinning. It's one of the few issues where I can almost see both sides. I say almost because I have a hard time seeing something that has been frozen in a Petri dish as a living thing. According to people I've talked to who know about the whole in vitro process, the chances of one of these frozen eggs actually becoming a baby is very slim. On the other hand, the use of stem cells to develop cures for diseases like diabetes and Parkinson's seems promising.

Tomorrow we'll get back to light hearted lampooning of daily life, but today, let's think. I'm not sure where I fall on this, but I'm going to keep studying it. I think it's the least we all can do. Later...Brian

Seriously Oprah, Who Cares?

There are a lot of big things happening in the world. Bombings in the Middle East, President Bush using salty language, gas expected to reach four dollars a gallon, but the biggest story in Chicago, if not the country, centers around the one and only Oprah. It's been a while since I've thought about the "Big O", except for her appearance in one of my recent dreams, but that's another story. Today I can't help but think of her, as she and best friend Gayle King announced again that they are not gay.

"I understand why people think we're gay," Oprah said. "There isn't a definition in our culture for this kind of bond between women. So I get why people have to label it--how can you be this close without it being sexual?" In case you were wondering, I wasn't on the phone with Oprah. She said all this in the August issue of O, the Oprah magazine. The lesbi.....women go on to say that they would have no problem telling the public if they were in a sexual relationship. No problem except that their mouths would be full. Sorry, I couldn't resist.

Who cares? Are that many people consumed with Oprah's sex life that she and her "girlfriend" need to tell us all that they're not "girlfriends"? I think I have a label for the kind of relationship Oprah and Gayle share."Two rich, self involved harpies who think that the world revolves around their self righteous, meddling, don't you wish you were us selves." Does that about sum it up. Don't lie Oprah. If you and Gayle were involved in the Sapphic love that dare not speak it's name, you'd be closeted deeper than some of your favorite couch jumping, or boy in a bubble guests. Do you really think your armies of desperate housewife followers would hang on your every word if your breath smelled like Gayle tartar? No way!

I don't care if Oprah is gay or not. In fact I don't care about anyone's sexuality except my own, and the amount of sex that I am or am not having. What gets me so worked up is that Oprah feels she needs to draw more attention to herself. If you're not gay, shut up and ignore the rumors. The rumors don't seem to be affecting your business. If you are gay, shut up and either keep it to yourself, or decide that you need to make one more piece of your personal business public. If it's that important to you for everyone to know your sexuality, why not put on a Pay-Per-View special where you mount your "fiance" Stedman. Give your fans a good showing of your erotic skills, and lay the rumors (and Stedman) to rest. I know I'd plop down my hard earned coin to watch the "queen of daytime" bump uglies. Hey Oprah, if it helps, he can wear a Gayle mask. Later...Brian

It Sho Am Hot!

I know it's Summer, but Chicago is in the midst of a killer heat wave. We are officially under an "extreme heat advisory." I guess that's the weather service's equivalent of running up to you and exclaiming, "Stop running around you goof, it's too hot."

It amazes me to hear people complain about the heat here in the Midwest. We really only get hot weather a few months a year. Talk to me in February when it's minus fifteen. You'll be begging for this heat. I guess I'm spoiled. I stay in the house with my A/C cranked up to meat locker temperature, I use the A/C in the car, and I use the weather as an excuse to do nothing outside.

Do people really need to be told that extreme heat can be dangerous? You'd think not, but you'd probably be dead wrong. Every newscast is reminding us not to exert ourselves for too long in this heat. Despite those repeated warnings I still saw some freaks our running and exercising yesterday. I think if you're that obsessed with running that you're willing to do it when there is a good chance you'll burst into flames, you can just lay on the street until you become a speed bump. We're told ad nauseum to drink lots of water and make sure our pets are not melting into the driveway. I've also been reminded about a thousand times to check on the elderly. I don't know that many elderly folks, and besides, that would require me to venture out. As Matthew Broderick said in "Biloxi Blues", "It's Africa hot."

So I'm keeping my house dark and cold. It's like a cave, but that suits me fine. I have to go out in a few minutes, so I'm filling a number of canteens and slathering myself with sunscreen. I'm actually off to the hospital because it's new hip day for my mom. I hope she doesn't start feeling better so quickly that she wants to go running. We don't need another sped bump in the neighborhood. Keep cool. Later....Brian

A Little Off The Top

My unusual schedule affords me plenty of time at home. Because of that I take on a lot of the day to day household duties. Today I did something that had me completely out of my depth. I had to take "Daughter" for a haircut.

I know it's cliche to say that men and women are different, but sometimes the differences are so glaring that to ignore them would be insane. "Wife" asked me to take "Daughter" for the haircut and I figured it would be a pretty simple task. I'd run her over to the barber shop, they'd trim her bangs so that we could once again see her eyes, and that would be that. I do it all the time. Well, in case you've been living under a rock, little girls don't go to barber shops. They go to "Kiddie Salons." These are hair cutting joints designed just for kids. They are decorated with bright colors and pictures, have fancy, kid friendly chairs and video screens at each cutting station. Now your youngsters can stay connected to the electronic teat while getting a trim. This particular salon gives their pint sized clients a choice of watching a movie or playing a video game. When I get my haircut, I have to settle for talking to the barber and the other old guys about all the problems of the world. I wish I could lose myself in Monsters Inc. for awhile.

There is nothing easy about a girl's haircut. "Wife" told me to tell the stylist that "Daughter" was "growing her hair out, but needed a trim and to layer the bangs." What the hell does that mean? If you're growing your hair out, why get a haircut? Then "Daughter" started telling me all these other instructions about layering and feathering and length. I thought my head would explode. I repeated "Wife's" demands, and then with a defeated tone told the woman that "Daughter" would fill her in on the rest. "Daughter emerged a little later looking about the same as when she went in except for the fact that I could see her eyes. I don't know about you, but when I get my hair cut, people can tell. I even paid more for "Daughter's" style than I pay to have my own sweet doo sculpted. Oh well, glamour costs I guess.

It's time for another shameless plug, but hey, this is my post, so I can do what I want. If you're a night owl, don't forget to tune into "WGN Overnight" with myself and Laura Hirsch Sunday morning from 1-5 am CST. The shows are getting better every week, and it's only a matter of time before I do something that may cost me my job. You don't want to miss that. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

I'm Supposed To Be Relaxing

No real topic today. In fact, I'm not even supposed to be doing this. I had another series of injections in my spine this morning (see earlier post), and the doctor said I'm supposed to just relax today. You know how I bristle under the heel of authority, and I'm sitting at the computer anyway, so I thought I'd drop in and keep you updated. Besides, just because someone spent most of their lives in med school, doesn't make them the boss of me. If that sounds childish, blame it on the pain medication.

The procedure went very quickly. I only got to hear three songs from the doctor's iPod. This is a strange phenomenon. Both times I had this procedure done, the doctor's biggest concern was what type of music I wanted to hear. I don't care, as long as it isn't some head banging jam that gets them bouncing around so that their aim is affected. I don't know of any injection specific music, but I'm sure there is some out there. What did we do before iPods? Maybe the nurse had to sing to the patient acapella.

Look, I managed to get a post up, AMA, or "against medical advice" as the health care folk like to say. My back is a little sore, so I'm off to sit in the "Comfort King" and ice myself down. Maybe I'll add some of that ice to a delicious beverage. Take away the shots, and this would be the life. Talk to you tomorrow. Later...Brian

Stand Up And Eat

It's always a great feeling when your kid thinks you're cool. As "Daughter" gets older, those moments get further apart, but today we got to share one. I got to show "Daughter" the unique joy of eating while standing up at a hot dog stand. This may seem boring to you, but to a little kid who is always being told to sit up straight, mind her manners and chew with her mouth closed, the chance to cut loose while dining is a big deal.

I became aware of stand up dining when I went to high school. I was a suburban kid who was used to eating at restaurants or fast food chains all while sitting on my ever widening back end. Then in their infinite wisdom, my parents sent me to school in the big city. I discovered a whole new world of dining options. There were pizza joints, sandwich shops and hot dog stands that, because of the high cost of real estate, didn't have places to sit. I thought this was great. It seemed very manly to me to just walk up, order a tasty morsel, and hammer it down on the spot. There seemed to be a gastronomic camaraderie to rubbing elbows with other patrons while beef juice or mustard dripped down your arm. It also played right into my usually impatient personality. There wasn't a lot of waiting or tipping, and you never had to worry about a waiter who was set on slow motion. You could also eat as fast as you wanted because, hey, you're on your feet, and that means you should keep moving.

I remember introducing "Wife" to this type of dining experience. We had been dating for a short time and being the romantic that I am, I was taking her to the circus. (Shut up! I love cotton candy, and if I get a chance to see tiny, Eastern European women doing acrobatics, I take it.) I told "Future Wife" that we would stop for something to eat. Since she was more white bread than anyone I knew and had never experienced a real "Italian beef sangwich" I was sure she'd love it. I wish I had the verbal skills to describe the look on her face when she walked into the joint. "Where do we sit?" When I told her we were about to eat standing up, her reaction lead me to believe I would have to start looking for a new future wife. Thank God the beef was top notch and her feet didn't hurt too much afterward.

"Daughter" took to stand up dining like a pro. Sometimes she really reminds me that she's my daughter. We share an affinity for fine dining that arrives in butcher's paper and the inevitable gas that follows. She kept looking up at me from the customized child size counter with such unbridled joy that I had to take her across the street for a neighborhood Italian Ice. Then we sat on a stoop, sang some doo-wop songs and lit a trash can on fire. Not really, but the Summer isn't over yet. Later...Brian

Is There Nothing It Can't Do?

I have been following the story of the Space Shuttle's journey to dock with the International Space Station. I still find it amazing that people are brilliant enough to not only send people into space, but to bring them back. It's the coming back part that seems the trickiest. Any yahoo can strap a guy to a missile and shoot him off, but it takes a real brainiac to bring him back. It seems odd to me that people have become so jaded that this isn't a big deal anymore. "Oh yeah, the space shuttle. We still have that thing? Hey did you see that Britney dyed her hair?"

There was some concern over the Shuttle's re-entry the other day. A piece of filler on the heat shield was hanging off and NASA was investigating whether it would cause a problem. I don't know about you, but if I were millions of miles from Earth in a tin can, I'd consider it a problem. As I watched this I kept wondering "why don't they just go out and push it back in?" I don't want to drive to the grocery store with a piece of trim hanging off my car, let alone blast through Earth's atmosphere. I'm not a very handy guy, but seeing the pictures I figured they could just use some duct tape and everything would be fine. "Brian, you're an idiot. NASA is a multi billion dollar agency. They would never resort to using Duct tape to repair anything. Why don't you put a cool towel on your head and think of candy. Leave space travel and shuttle repair to the professionals." Yeah, you may be thinking that, but you're wrong.

A report came from NASA today that during one of the space walks, the strps on an astronaut's jet pack kept coming loose. These packs are used in case the astronaut needs to change direction or move quickly while in the dark recesses of space. If a hand hold or foot support were to give way, these packs allow the astronaut to get safely back instead of becoming a piece of space debris. Well what do you think they're using to make sure that the brackets don't come loose anymore? You guessed it, duct tape. It seems weird to me too. I would have thought that NASA would have some high tech adhesive or a "space age polymer" that they could use. Nope, they're just like you and me. Some forward thinking rocket scientist ran over to Home Depot before the launch and stuffed a roll of duct tape under the seat.

Maybe I'm not so dumb after all huh? I hope they have some of the cool colored tape. I'd hate to see an astronaut flying around looking like a beat up Chevy. Later...Brian

Do You Reject Him?

Yesterday afternoon, I went to a baptism. My friend's twins were about to put on the cloak of Jesus, and I had to be there for the momentous occasion. Despite very little sleep and my usual dour disposition, I ironed some pants, loaded "Wife" and "Daughter" in the car and headed for church.

When "Daughter" was baptized, or even when I was, for that matter, the baptism was a private affair. I guess the Church is going for the Sam's Club discount method now days. There were four families, all ready to cleanse their infants of the nasty film that is original sin. Each family had a special area of church that had been roped off just for them. It was like a religious holding pen, meant to keep the different groups from mingling. The deacon who performed the ceremony (yeah, we didn't get a full priest. I guess baptisms don't pay as much as weddings or funerals) gave a brief introduction and said a few prayers and then it was time for the dunkin'.

I know that in some religions, people are completely submerged during baptism. The Catholic Church had always opted to just hold the baby over a Baptismal font and trickle a little water over their forehead. In an effort to get back to ancient roots, or maybe just to justify installing sweet water falls in church, now the babies get dipped in the water like a small cone at Dairy Queen. When "Daughter" got baptized, she wore the same Baptismal gown that I and all my brothers had worn. That's not really an issue in the "new" Church. My friend's children were dunked while completely naked. This was a choice, I found out later. You could have had your kid in some type of gown or ""onezie"". I don't know why they were naked, but I found it funny. I was hoping that it didn't mean the babies had an extra layer of sin that needed to be washed away. I held them both and they didn't seem sinful at all. I'm sure the vomit was a result of gas.

During the ceremony the adults are asked to renew their Baptismal rights. During this, you swear to reject Satan, all his works and deeds and the glamour of sin. Everyone said they did reject all of it, but looking into the eyes of some of the folks I knew they were thinking of stuff they had done on Saturday night and hoping for a "do-over". I know I'm odd, but all I could think of while this was happening was the great scene from "The Godfather". You remember the scene. Michael Corleone is standing up as Godfather to his sister's baby. As Michael answers each Baptismal vow rejecting evil, another scene of a murder that he ordered is shown being carried out. Why I focused on this during a beautiful religious ceremony, I can't tell you. All I know is that somewhere, while my friend's children were having their sins washed away, Moe Greene was getting a bullet in the eye.

Everything went as planned, and the babies are all in God's good graces. I hope some of it rubbed off on me. I can use all the help I can get. Later...Brian

It's Just Business

I just went back and deleted the entire post I had written for today. I realized that you may not really care about some of the inner workings of the comedy business and the shabby way that yours truly is being treated by some of the "professionals" who run clubs. It seemed to me that it may come off a bit whiney of me to burden you with all of it, and hang a dark cloud over your weekend, so I won't.

I'm in a foul mood, and the more I try to write, the madder I get. I wish I were the kind of guy who could slap on a fake smile and go about my day shooting sunshine out my ass, but I'm not. The only thing I'm shooting now is venom. They say that karma is a bitch. If that's true, then some folks have one nasty, vindictive karmic bitch waiting for them.

For all our sakes, I'm going to say goodbye now. I hope you have a fantastic weekend. The weather in Chicago is going to be picture perfect, so I'm sure I'll be in a better mood soon. Don't forget to listen to Laura Hirsh and me, Sunday morning from 1-5am CST on WGN. I'm off now to plot out a little revenge, just in case karma is on vacation. Later...Brian

Living The High Life

You know me. I fancy myself a man of the people, accessible and relatable. However just beneath the surface lurks a different me, a me that longs to be on the other side of the velvet rope, a me that enjoys the perks of wealth and fame and the me who isn't ashamed to admit that I like setting myself apart from the rest of you. Last night, that me got to come out for a few hours.

My friend Mike is a die hard Chicago Cubs fan, but last night, he scored the Holy Grail in the minds of World Champion White Sox fans and had "Scout Seats" at "The Cell". For the uninitiated, "Scout Seats" are a special section right behind home plate. The seats are padded and wide, allowing my ample frame unprecedented comfort, and the ticket comes with lots of perks. You get special parking mere feet from an exclusive entrance. You are able to partake in a pre-game buffet that includes a variety of succulent dishes from around the globe and an open bar with top shelf hooch. You eat in air conditioned comfort surrounded by White Sox memorabilia, while an attentive staff caters to your every whim. Then it's game time.

You get to these phenomenal seats through the bowels of the ballpark, walking right past the locker rooms. Don't panic as you head down the long tunnel, you're almost to heaven. Just before you get to your seats you pass a cooler full of ice cream teats, a popcorn machine, and a barrel of peanuts. Want a little treat? Help yourself. I always get a little rush when I walk into a ballpark, but nothing compared to the rush I felt last night. I walked out of the tunnel and was headed right onto the field. Only an elderly man with a name tag kept me from running to home plate and calling my shot ala Babe Ruth. We were in the second row, so close that when Paul Konerko was taking his practice swings, we could hear the "whoosh" of the air being moved. I almost feel guilty telling you this, but maybe deep down I have a regal sense of entitlement that allows me to regale you with this tale. Once we were at the seats, the perks didn't stop. Drinks flowed freely, brought to us by an attentive host, another food menu was delivered and we were warned not to fill up, because all the desserts would be available after the 7th inning. All that was great, but being that close to our favorite players made "Wife" and I giddy. I saw her blush on a number of occasions when her "Boy", Sox catcher, AJ Pierzynski came up to bat or squatted behind the plate. She says she wouldn't leave me for him, but who are we kidding? I look horrible in pin stripes. It was a magical night. I even think Mike and his wife Michelle enjoyed themselves. At least they got to see a winning team for once. (HA!)

But now it's back to reality. The doors have been closed and my access to a better life is blocked. I'll be back among the masses on my next visit to the "Cell". I'll have to eat what you eat, and use the noisy, crowded public rest room like the rest of you,unlike last night when I relieved myself in clean, quiet, private comfort. I'll smile and from the outside you'll never know how I long to be on the other side of the rail. I'll keep my longing on the inside, allowing it to slowly eat at me, until some point in the late innings when I look toward home plate and sob uncontrollably. Sometimes it's better not to cross the rail in the first place. Once you get a taste of how the other half lives, it's hard to go back. I'll once again be a man of the people. But underneath...... See you in the upper deck. Later...Brian

Still Suffering The Effects

It's well into the afternoon and I finally am attempting to post. I seem to be distracted today and I can only think of one reason. I'm suffering from Post Traumatic Holiday Disorder. The Fourth of July weekend was a flurry of activity that has left me mentally and physically drained. Perhaps I will need to seek medical and psychological help. I doubt it. This is just a convenient excuse for brain cramps or writer's block.

The weekend was actually lots of fun. After another great show on WGN, we attended a neighborhood cook-out on Sunday. I'm not always a big fan of socializing, but the free flowing beer and platter of "Jell-o shots" made interacting with the neighbors a tad easier. There's nothing funnier to me than watching soccer moms get liquored up. All of a sudden these mild mannered mommies start talking like on-leave sailors at a porn convention. Monday night we celebrated "Wife's" birthday at the World Champion White Sox game. The Sox lost, but the seats and the fireworks made it all worth while. We had surprised "Wife" by ordering her a birthday greeting on the scoreboard. She really seemed to enjoy her birthday. Thank goodness. I couldn't take a year of guilt if she hadn't.

Yesterday we had a small cook-out at the house. Some of my brothers, my mom and a few friends came by. We went into town and watched the fireworks. It was right out of a Norman Rockwell painting, if Norman had been surrounded by screaming kids and blood thirsty insects. Despite my normally gruff demeanor, I had a great time with my niece and my buddy's kids. They are all unique and make me laugh, especially my friend's daughter , whose penchant for removing her clothes during virtually any event is unparalleled. Having all those kids around was awakening the maternal spirit in "Wife". I hope being thrown up on a couple of times drown that spirit.

Well there you go. I pushed through my PTHD and delivered another post worthy of whatever blog awards there are. How do I do it? I guess there's just something in me that will not quit and doesn't want to let you down. That's awful big of me don't you think? Later...Brian

Happy Birthday "Wife"

I'm only stopping by for a minute. Like almost half the workforce in America I will be extending my Fourth of July holiday and taking the day off. I just needed to get one thing accomplished.

Today is "Wife's" birthday. Decorum and a fear of unbridled retribution keep me from revealing her age. I could try to kiss up a little and tell you that like wine, she is getting better with age, but I think both she and all of you would see through my scheme. This year was not a "milestone" birthday for her, that one was last year. Maybe that's a clue, I can't give you any more info.

I was trying to figure out what to give "Wife" to celebrate her being on Earth for this long. She told me a while ago that she wanted to spend her birthday at "The Cell" watching the World Champion White Sox. I went searching and landed us some sweet tix for the match-up. It's also fireworks night so between "Wife's" love for baseball and my love for high explosives, this has all the makings of a great night.

So without any further ado....Happy Birthday "Wife"! I love you very much. Let's hope it stops raining long enough to get the game in. Have a wonderful birthday, I'm glad I'm the one who gets to share it with you.

I'm off tomorrow. Have a great Fourth! Don't blow yourselves up. Later...Brian