Why Are We Surprised?

There has been a lot of news coverage today about a picture of Katie Couric. No, unfortunately the picture has nothing to do with Katie's naughty bits being on display or her punching a kitten in the face. The picture, which was used in "Watch" magazine, a mag that is distributed at CBS stations and American Airlines flights, has been doctored, leaving Katie approximately twenty pounds lighter. Does this really shock anyone? Wait a second, television personalities may not be what they seem. Oh the horror.

The President of CBS News said he was surprised and disappointed when he heard the news. Really? He must be the only one. The only thing that really surprised me was that anyone cared. Katie came out and said she liked the old photo because their was "more of me to love." Sure you did Katie. My guess is that she saw one little bump in her pin stripe suit and lost her mind. You know as well as I do that TV is in the business of presenting beautiful people, even in the news departments. Nobody trusts fat, ugly people to give them the straight story on world events. We always figure their minds would be on something more important, like pie.

The whole entertainment industry is built on illusion. Today there was another airbrush story. This involved loud mouth lesbian Rosie O'Donnell. She claims her new picture with the rest of the clucking hens of "The View" has been airbrushed. No kidding. It's the only way they could get all of them in the frame. She also said she was letting her hair grow long so people wouldn't think she was "too gay". I don't think it's the hair cut that makes us think you're too gay. It's the fact you can't stop telling everyone that you're gay that makes us think you're gay.

Did you happen to see the Emmy's the other night. If you don't think TV is appearance driven, check out the mugs on some of the "stars". When the original Charlie's Angels came on, I thought they had the wrong women. Here's a tip, If you've had so much face work that you now look Chinese, stop. I expected Kate Jackson to have to hide her goatee her face was pulled so tight. So I say, stop acting so shocked by all the image altering in TV and the movies and start mocking it more. It's like the guys who wear the bad toupees. If you keep pretending you don't see it, they keep wearing dead animals on their heads. If you laugh at them enough, they'll shave their heads. Later...Brian

Dance Like Nobody's Watching

Sometimes I have to search for ideas to write about and sometimes, all I have to do is turn on the TV and an idea hits me square in the jaw. Last night as I lay in bed flipping channels, I had the privilege of witnessing a post that almost wrote itself.

If you've never stopped your channel surfing on Fuse TV, do yourself a favor and stop by. Fuse is the home of my new favorite show, "Pants Off, Dance Off". I know, the title alone is enough to make you reset your TiVo. For the uninitiated, PODO (as the kids call it) combines two things that people love, namely music and nudity. The premise of the show, if there is one, is simple. People are video taped dancing to their favorite songs and taking off their clothes, hoping that viewers will vote for them so that they can win "valuable" prizes and their fifteen minutes of fame. Sounds simple doesn't it? Damn right it does, which is why I'm kicking myself for not thinking of it.

On paper this sounds great. You could have a ton of beautiful people stripping down to fantastic lingerie and dancing for our enjoyment. The reality is much different, but no less entertaining. The contestants come in all shapes and sizes, right down to a dwarf dude who shook his money maker in the hopes of TV glory. Some of these people should never take their clothes off, let alone take them off on TV, but that makes PODO all the more fun. Nothing makes me laugh harder than watching freaks enjoy themselves with reckless abandon. A lot of these contestants aren't Spring chickens either. When you think crazy, you think of a 43 year old guy, bald except for his pony tail, gyrating to some techno music in a leopard print pair of briefs. How bout the misshapen, ex carny girl whose thong can't hide her pelvic tattoo and C section scar? Talk about a party.

I almost forgot one of the best parts. The new season is being hosted by former child star and meth addict Jodie Sweetin. Who? You know, the girl who played middle child Stephanie on Full House. What will uncle Jesse think? Will Joey come on and dance without his pants while doing a Popeye or Bullwinkle impression? Were the Olsen twins booked?

I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall at the pitch meeting for this show. "I've got a great idea. Let's do a show where attention starved people dance to obscure music." "No, I don't think that will work." "What if they take off their clothes, and we gave them some Turtle Wax?" "You're a genius. Can you get a recovering drug addict, former child star to host?" "I'll see, but I think Danny Bonaduce is already doing a new game show."

I'm working on my audition video now. I think I have a good chance of winning. I have no pride left, and I can get my ass moving like Shakira. I just need to find some tear away pants and a novelty g-string and it's off to the races. Keep that picture in your head. I dare you. Later....Brian

She's Not Heavy, She's My Mother

Man has today gotten away from me. I like to get this done early so I can go about the rest of my day without the weight of my blog pushing down on me. I'm late today because I was trying to be a dutiful son.

You may remember I wrote about my mom having her hip replaced. Things went better than expected and she's home now. She's walking better than she has in years and isn't in pain anymore. Today was her big six week check up, and because her bionic hip had not been cleared for driving, I offered to take her. I'm sure other people had offered too, but I always feel guilty if I don't make the gesture. All those years of Catholic school have sewn the seeds of guilt deep into my fertile mind.

I have to give the doctor credit. All day he deals with people who need new hips and knees. It just so happens that a lot of these people are old folks whose joints have betrayed them. I've seen the way my mom peppers this guy with questions, sometimes asking the same question a number of times in only slightly different ways. If he gets the same interrogation from the rest of his patients, it's a miracle he doesn't lose his mind. The one thing I think a lot of these folks have in common is fear. I understand it to a degree. You were just sliced open like a fish and had metal and plastic parts put in you. I suppose the thought of falling and having to go through the process again is terrifying.

What I want to know is, at what age does falling down become a person's over riding concern? I know toddlers seem pre-occupied with it, but I think that's mainly a parental concern. Once you reach four or five, falling down just happens. You don't give it a lot of thought, and you definitely don't plan your day around avoiding a tumble. The only time as an adult I find myself worrying about falling is on icy pavement. Then I immediately become Tim Conway's character Dorf. I take little baby steps and mumble to myself about being careful. I have to do this, I've taken a couple of spills, and there's nothing fun about my girth hitting the street. Funny, but not fun.

So I've done my familial duty. Mom is home safe and sound. Dr. Patience even cleared her to drive, so she's on the loose again. I hope she's careful. I hear falling is problematic. Later...Brian

A Decade Of Daughter

Today is "Daughter's" 10th birthday. Everyone always says that they can't believe how time flies, but I really am shocked. Ten years seem to have flown by. The crying mass that I first laid eyes on has grown into a little girl that changes faster than I can fathom.

I remember every detail about the morning "Daughter" was born so vividly. "Wife" had not had an easy pregnancy, and the doctor decided that "Daughter" should make her appearance two weeks early. It was the first time she changed our plans, but it was by no means the last. "Daughter" was born at 7:30 in the morning. I was lucky enough to be in the delivery room when she was born. If you've ever seen me do stand up, or listened to my CD "Protect The Children", you know I have definite opinions about delivery. "Daughter" came into the world like most babies, screaming her head off and covered with a red gelatinous goo that made her look like we had been dipping her in a mixture of Vaseline and raspberry jam. In the back of my mind, I think I had been hoping for a boy, but there was no more than a hundredth of a second that her not being a boy mattered. All I could think of was how lucky I was that she and "Wife" were both OK.

"Daughter" was the first grandchild on both sides of the family, and the first girl in my family. My parents were so thrilled that the first thing my mom said to "Wife" when she saw her was "Thank you." It was an exciting day. My mom and dad were there when "Daughter" was born. So were "Wife's" mom and sister and one of my brothers. Everybody was so happy, but nobody more than me. Words don't begin to cover the emotion you feel when you see your child for the first time. I know that's corny, but parents will understand what I mean. All your hopes and fears are focused on the little life that you helped create.

It would take hours for me to tell you about all the things "Daughter" has done over the years that have made me happy, crazy, laugh or cry. In some ways she's like every other kid. As much as "Wife" and I love her, sometimes she makes us nuts, but in the next breath we realize why we love her so much. In other ways, she is her own unique individual who shows me that the world will be a better place because she's in it. She has inherited the best parts of both her parents, and also some of the bad. I guess that's why I, and I think most parents, get frustrated. We see things in our children that we passed on to them, that we wish we hadn't, and since we all want our children to be better than us, we struggle to help our kids break the cycle.

I try to be a good dad, and sometimes I fail, but I see in "Daughter's" eyes that she knows I'm trying my best. That's what makes everything worth while. My life is better because she was born. Having her has made me work a little harder to be the kind of dad she will be proud of. I fail sometimes, but she never gives up on me, and I hope she knows I'll never give up on her. That's a bond that people without kids may not understand. "Daughter" can make me angrier that just about anyone, but she's the only person I will forgive without hesitation, and support without question.

Happy 10th Birthday "Daughter". You're the joy of Mommy's and my life. I am so proud of the girl you've become and can't wait to see the young woman you're going to be. Keep your sense of humor, your love of learning and sweetness the rest of your life. Know that you are special, not only to mommy and me, but in your own right, and don't let anyone make you feel otherwise. Remember that hard work will pay off, but it's OK to sometimes just have fun. Most of all, never forget how much I love you, and how proud I am of you. I don't care how old you get, you'll always be my little girl. Your first decade on Earth has gone pretty well. I can't wait to see what your future holds. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Later...Daddy (Brian)

Ban The Palooza

Sometimes a word or phrase becomes part of our vernacular and is used so often that hearing it causes people to lose all control. Who can forget when "not" was being used as a sarcastic crutch for the unfunny, or telling someone the tribe had spoken? Did you ever tell one of your mortal enemies to stick something "up their nose with a rubber hose", or to "sit on it"? I hope you tried to come up with something better, but if you're like most people, you went with the safe, tried and true phrases.

That's the problem. Someone uses the creative part of their brain and comes up with a new turn of a phrase or word, and then every brain dead copycat bastardizes it. Such is the case with "palooza". It all started with Lollapalooza, the music event. It was a catchy name that was easily identified, now however it has become the catch all suffix for every gathering, meeting or horrible buffet. Just today I saw signs or ads for "Latinpalooza", "parkapalooza" and wineapalooza". I have no idea what any of those things are. I know they sound festive, but other than deducing that "Latinpalooza" may have something to do with Hispanics, and that "wineapalooza" is probably not a gathering of complainers, I'm confusapaloozad.

"Palooza" is a marketing tool who's time is over. Every meeting or park district function is not another Woodstock. Taking a bike ride with some of your friends is not a rideapalooza, it's just a ride. If I have an upset stomach, I'm not experiencing a poopapalooza, I'm just sick. We need to stop making things into something they're not. Try to come up with a new name for your function. Don't be "proactive" or "think outside the box" either. If you do I'll kick your assapalooza. You may not think that "Ginormous, best ever, garage sale-a-thon sounds better than salapalooza, but you never know. Try to use your own ideas. Life's more fun that way.

Time to get "Wife's" car from the shop. I had to take it because you know how she fears anyone associated with auto maintenance. Have a great weekendapalooza (I couldn't resist). If you get a chance, check me out on WGN Saturday night/Sunday morning from 1-5 CST. Later...Brian

I Don't Think He's A Dog Either

Rarely do I pay attention to news coming out of the Czech Republic. Today would have been no exception were it not for the fact that our entire vision of the universe was called into question. Leading astronomers stripped Pluto of it's status as the ninth planet in the solar system.

The International Astronomical Union, (I know, I've never heard of them either) stunned the world (I may be exaggerating) by reversing it's position of a few weeks ago that said they were going to allow Pluto to remain a planet. I wish I could give you all the technical jargon that these star gazers used for downgrading Pluto, but to be honest, I don't speak nerd all that well. Suffice it to say that under some new planetary guidelines, Pluto didn't measure up. A planet needs to be big enough to be almost round, it has to orbit the sun, and it needs to "clear the neighborhood" with it's orbit. I guess Pluto wasn't planet enough to get everyone else out of the way with it's little, oblong orbit. I hear that Neptune told him to step off and to "check yourself before the International Astronomical Union wrecks yourself."

My world is all out of whack now. What does this mean? If Pluto isn't a planet, and is in fact a "dwarf" planet, then what does that do to my 7th grade science grade? Will I be retroactively given a failing mark because I have one Styrofoam ball too many in my hastily assembled solar system? Will Mickey Mouse have to rename his faithful hound? Nobody wants their dog named after some floating rock. A planet name is cool. Space garbage names are not.

My universe seems a little smaller today. Can you feel it? It's like the universe is closing in on me. I need to loosen my collar. What am I crazy? I haven't thought about the planets or the solar system since I saw War of the Worlds on pay-per-view. I check out the moon on occasion and think about the sun and the Earth, but unless some super robot is coming to disintegrate mankind, I'm not paying a lot of attention to the other planets. So while I morn Pluto's loss of stature, I applaud it for hanging on to it's false title for so long. It gives hope to all the little guys out there. Dream big little space rocks, someday you may get called up to the big show. Later...Brian

The High Cost Of Crazy

Shocking news came out of Hollywood today. It seems that Paramount Studio has cut it's ties with Tom Cruise's production company after fourteen years. The reason given for the split was that Cruise's "recent conduct has not been acceptable to paramount." What a nice way to say "we're sick of this crazy bastard." I guess since it is Hollywood, the land of double speak, this was Paramount's way of keeping the door open in case Cruise turns down the crazy meter in the future.

Paramount had been paying Cruise and his partner up to 10 million a year to develop films and keep an office on the Paramount lot. Not a bad piece of change. That's enough money to keep me from acting like a wack job in public. The studio claimed that all the craziness "Big Tom" has been tossing around in the last year cost "Mission Impossible III" anywhere from 100 to 150 million in box office revenue. That's a great way to frame the story. Everyone understands firing someone who costs you money. Some people might be offended if you sever ties with a big movie star just because he jumps on couches and believes that we are all inhabited by ancient alien souls.

Tommy's train started coming off the tracks years ago, but only recently did he start taking the crazy show on the road . When he was a youngster, he married Mimi Rogers. She was old enough to be his mother, but she had a nice rack and was supposed to be quite the party girl. That fell apart because of his "religion". I don't want to get into a big Scientology rap. I think we all have our opinions on that, and I don't have a team of attorneys on retainer to defend me against a lawsuit. Then he married Nicole, and that went South. He's been dogged by rumors about his taste for men (again, no attorney, no joke.). Now, in an effort to re-connect with the youth of the world, he somehow impregnates Katie Holmes, convinces her family that this is a good idea, and goes on a rampage through the media proclaiming his love. Dude, I love pie, but you don't see me running up to everyone I see and screaming out my love for French Silk.
Let's not forget his insane rantings to Matt Lauer about anti depressants and psychiatry. I like seeing you slide around in your underwear Tom, I don't need your advice on medicine. I'm no expert, but maybe a little time on the couch might prove helpful for our boy.

Finally someone is stepping up to the plate and telling a celebrity that they can't act however they want. These stars think that just because they are really good at make believe, that we somehow should just accept whatever mind boggling insanity comes spilling from their collagen filled lips. Hooray for Paramount, hooray for Hollywood, and I bet Mel Gibson is getting really nervous again. Later...Brian

School? Already?

It's not even Labor Day, but "Daughter" started school today. It seems like she just got out for the Summer, and boom back to the grind. I'm not exactly sure what the deal is with starting the year so early. I think Summer vacation should go until the end of August. That's how I feel now, but when I was a kid, I wanted Summer vacation to last until Thanksgiving break.

Thankfully, "Daughter" does not share my lack of enthusiasm for all things scholastic. It's not that I didn't like school, it's just that I was lazy. I would do just enough to get by. According to all my teachers, I had great "potential". If you think about it, all kids have potential. Perhaps getting A's in geometry wasn't what my potential was for. Maybe I had the potential to be a smart aleck comic with uncanny timing and a knack for sarcasm. If that's the case, then no one has fulfilled their potential more than I. I think "Daughter's" potential lies in the scholastic realm. I'm very happy that's the case. The world doesn't need any more professional wisenheimers.

I was reminiscing today about the beginning of the school year. I think most of us went through the same things. We were filled with hope and promise as we made our way through the aisles of (insert name of your favorite discount store here). Every new notebook and binder held the dream of a better scholastic year than the one before. "This is the year I work hard and finally live up to the mythical potential that I'm always hearing about." It only took about three weeks for those hopes to be dashed on the rocks that made up my scholastic career. I always had good intentions, but you know the road that's paved with those, and it's not the Rhodes Scholar one.

So fifth grade has started fro "Daughter". I can't really remember my fifth grade year. Grammar school memories all run together in a continuous stream of white shirts, blue pants and trying to peek up those plaid skirts the girls wore. I hope with all the success "Daughter" is having, her memories are a little clearer and filled with a lot more success. There's the bell. I'm gonna be late again. Later...Brian

An Embarrassment Of Riches

WARNING: Today's post, while hopefully hilarious deals with ADULT CONTENT. If you are easily offended, sexually repressed, or just don't have a sense of humor, click away now and come back tomorrow. If you're still here, I warned you.

A 24 year old businessman from New Dehli is about to undergo surgery to remove his second penis. Yeah, you read that right, second penis. The man is "suffering" from a rare condition called diphallus, which translated from Latin means "Dude look, I have two cranks." Now don't be fooled, this second penis ( and I think this will be the most times the word penis is used in one of my posts ever) is not just a small growth, hanging chad of skin or mole like protuberance, it is a fully functional piece of man meat. The unnamed man says he wants the offending phallus removed so he can get married and have a normal sex life. Really? Look around man. Lot's of guys are married and have normal sex lives, and they're miserable. You have a chance to, as Bill Shatner used to say, "boldly go where no man has gone before."

Sure, I know there is a freak factor to this. I can only imagine the response he gets when he unleashes a double helping of tube steak on an unsuspecting lady. Maybe having an extra love club wouldn't be the easiest condition to handle, (Ha! I said handle) but I don't think he should be in such a rush to become normal. Think of all the crazy things a man with two schlongs could do. I'm sure there are some really horny gals that would welcome a second pole without having to deal with an entire second man. That's one less sandwich she'd have to make when everything is done. Having a second bologna pony would allow for various sexual positions to be done at the same time, and it would give your left hand something to do during your "private time" so that "lefty" wouldn't feel left out. Sure, it may feel like you're milking a cow, but as the Doublemint twins used to say, "double you're pleasure, double you're fun." Having two trouser snakes would also speed up the draining process during a long night of drinking. Two lines, no waiting. Think of all the bar bets he could win by setting up targets in different urinals and hitting them at the same time. The mind boggles.

The only downside I can see is that if it's true, as most women believe, that men think with their smaller head, then this poor guy would always be out voted. Maybe he doesn't want to go home with the hideous girl at the end of the bar who's trimming her mustache over a white wine spritzer. Too bad double dick, the vote is two to one.

I think I'm done. If I were to go any further, I'd probably frighten myself. Tomorrow I'm sure there will be something to talk about that we can share in mixed company. Come to think of it, this guy would be great at sharing. Remember your teachers used to say, "If you didn't bring enough for the class, put it away." This guy brings enough for the entire cheerleading squad. Make his a double. Later...Brian

Here We Go Again

As we've all heard by now, some freak has "confessed" to the unsolved ten year old murder of JonBenet Ramsey. This coming a scant two months after the woman most of us thought was involved (mommy Patsy) died. Now things are all up in the air and everyone is left wondering if we suspected the wrong people all along.

John Mark Karr, the suspect in custody couldn't look more like a pedophile if he were wearing a sign around his neck that read, "I have sex with children." It also doesn't help that he fled the U.S. after serving time for child porn and went to pedophile paradise, Bangkok. This guy is a freak right out of central casting. He's all squirrelly and pale and just looking at him makes your skin crawl. That makes him a target for our hatred, but does it make him guilty of murder?

Experts who claim to know more than you or I are now saying that his confession has more holes in it than a bath house restroom. He claims to have drugged her, but no drugs were found in JonBenet's system. Strike one. He says he had sex with her, but that fact hasn't been proven with any certainty. Strike Two. He also says her death was an accident. You don't have to be Will Grissom from "CSI" to know that the way this poor kid died was no accident. Strike Three. There are plenty more strikes, like his ex-wife saying he was in Alabama when the murder happened. This may be the most telling. Why would a woman who hates you enough to divorce you cover for you, and who would make up going to Alabama? For that matter, why would someone make up a story about killing a six year old girl? I know, I know, because he's a pathetic little pervert who, because of some deep seeded mental problems, needs to make his miserable life seem important by inserting himself into this tragedy.

I hope he did it. It would be nice for this kid to finally rest in peace, and for some justice to be metered out. We all were so sure that JonBenet's parents were involved. I felt bad when this story first broke. I, like so many, had believed against all reason, that her mom had a hand in her death. I guess that's why I'm being a little more patient when it comes to jumping on the guilty bandwagon. This guy is guilty of a lot, and deserves to be in the special ring of Hell reserved for child molesters, but he may not be the boogey man in this case. I hope that the authorities keep digging and the truth finally comes out. Have a great weekend. Don't forget to tune into WGN Saturday night/Sunday morning from 1-5 CST. Later...Brian

Hooray For Hollywood

Even though I was thousands of miles from California, on Monday and Tuesday I felt like I was back in Hollywood, rubbing elbows with the stars and hob-nobbing with show biz big wigs. As I told you Sunday night, I was shooting a little thing that industry insiders like to call a television commercial or "Spot". I love using industry jargon. It makes me seem less like a goof and more like a pompous jackass. I always prefer the latter.

I had told you I was going to be an extra in the spots and I was. What I didn't know was how good even the extras have it when working on a union commercial. What a life! I don't mean to brag, and if you don't want all the magic spoiled for you, leave now, but if you're still here...it is so cool! I got to the "set" for my "call time" (woo-hoo, more jargon) at eight Monday morning. We were shooting at a place called Teamster City. I knew there were a lot of Teamsters, but I never would have guessed they could populate an entire city. I was sent to the basement, and secretly hoped I was not about to meet some Hoffa-like fate. Once I checked in, I had to meet with the wardrobe lady who decided what I was going to wear. As an extra, I had to being my own clothes. The wardrobe lady was quite impressed with my stylish wardrobe and on both mornings told me what a "snappy" dresser I was. Of course I am. Do you think all this hunkiness happens by accident?

The days are long on commercial shoots. Monday we "worked" thirteen hours and Tuesday we put in nine. "Man, you must get hungry. Do you bring a lunch?" No way my uninformed pal. Per union rules, we are fed like freed hostages all day. When you arrive, there is a large truck where sweaty men make you whatever you desire for breakfast. All day, the holding area is stocked with delicious snacks. Then you have a gourmet lunch, more snacks, you vomit, then get back to work. For a business that is as image obsessed as television, you're stuffed like a veal calf all day long. I had written about there being a person whose sole responsibility was wiping my brow. That didn't happen on this shoot. We were all supposed to look hot and sweaty, so I actually had a woman dab "bag balm" on my face all day. That sounds like something I should be doing to a woman doesn't it? There's no way to make a bag balm joke without it sounding dirty, especially when dabbing and face are involved. I'm done with mine. You write your own.

I thought we were doing one or two spots, but it ended up being six commercials in all. I was very happy to learn that I was getting paid for each spot, not just per day. You gotta love the union. The best news came during the last shot on the last day. I was "upgraded" to a principal performer for the last commercial. That means, you'll get to enjoy my fine acting, and I'll get to enjoy the fine residuals every time that commercial runs. Did I mention I love the union.

The commercials are for Coors Light. You won't be able to miss them. They involve press conferences and I think you'll especially enjoy the one where a rather snappy dressed reporter lusts after someone's beer. The spots seem pretty funny and I'm hoping they run for a hundred years. Now it's back to my regular life. Nobody has snacks set out for me, and it doesn't look like I'll have any dealings with bag balm in the near future. Later...Brian

The King Is Dead

August 16, 1977. Do you remember where you were when you heard the news? I do. I was in the car with my mom, listening to "The Big 89, WLS" I think the sappy ballad, "Sister Golden Hair" by America had just finished playing when one of the fine jocks came on the air with the horrible news, Elvis had died. How weird that my recollection of that day seems so clear, yet I'm fuzzy on what I had for breakfast today, and "Wife's" real name.

Yes, on that fateful morning, Elvis plodded into his bathroom after a long night of raquet ball and barbiturates. After resting his ample girth on what I'm sure was a fancy toilet, (I can only guess, but if you've ever been to Graceland, you'd know that nothing was low key) he began a movement more difficult than any work by Mozart. The official cause of death was "strained stool" or "impacted colon". I don't need to tell you what that means, but let's say I always have it in the back of my mind when I've eaten too much cheese, and Nature is having a difficult time running it's course. I'm trying to resist any and all "king on his throne" jokes, but I will say that in the end, Elvis really pushed things to the limit. At some point, don't you think he'd have stopped pushing and taken a breath? I know it's fun to see how long you can go before passing out, but come on.

It's a shame that Elvis had to go out in such a hilarious way. Even though toward the end of his life, he had lost most of the magic that had made him big, nobody wants their last moment on Earth to be spent on a bathroom floor with their pajamas around their ankles and a turtle head sticking out. Let's just hope that the cool tile gave him a small bit of relief. I do feel bad. I'm a fan of Elvis. I think that despite becoming a caricature of himself, he was a great showman and made some terrific music. I'm not alone. Millions of people visit Graceland every year, and "Elvis Week" just ended again in Memphis. It is hard not to laugh when you see the bloated Elvis in his ill fitting jumpsuit, or hearing him forget lyrics during drug addled performances, but then you see the big '68 comeback special and realize what it was that made Elvis the "king" in the first place.

Elvis was just poor white trash that hit it big, got lots of money and went crazy. It's too bad that in the end, nobody who was riding his gravy train, had the heart to help him out. We better hope that Britney Spears has someone to tell her no. If not, let's pray they keep her away from the cheese and downers. Long live the king! Later...Brian

I'm Ready For My Closeup

It's late Sunday night, but I wanted to post a quick something so you weren't wondering what happened to me tomorrow and Tuesday. I love that I'm so delusional that I think people are checking this every day to see what's happening and to get my skewed view of world events.

Monday and Tuesday I will be filming a little thing we in the business of show like to call a commercial. You know, those annoying little things that interrupt your favorite shows. The things you fast forward through. It's for Coors Light. The only downside is that I'm hired as an extra. I will be in the shot, but who knows where. I've never done extra work before, but it was a last minute thing, and hey, I hate turning down a check. I almost let my ego get in the way. "Hey, don't they know who I am? I'm a principle player or nothing. Don't forget the green M&M's in my trailer." I shouldn't bitch. I didn't have to audition or anything, I just got a call from my agent and was offered some sweet union scale money. I'm there.

I've done some commercial work in the past. I call it work only because I have to be somewhere at a certain time, listen to certain people and I get paid, but let me tell you, it's pretty easy. You get treated real nice, the food is usually good, and there are people whose only job is to wipe sweat off your brow. I love that. No one at home ever offers to wipe me off. When you hear actors saying how hard a job they have, it's only so that you don't find out how really sweet a gig it is and want to try it yourself. Stay in your cubicle, leave the tough stuff to me.

So I'll try to post sometime Monday night or Tuesday, but I may be so tired from all the hard beer schilling that I'll have my brow mopper do it. I'm off to the set as we say in the biz. Later...Brian

Two Of My Favorite Things

Man am I in a hurry. I just got a call from "Wife" with some great news. Tonight the World Champion White Sox are playing the Detroit Tigers. It's a match up of monumental proportion, as the thick necked spots talk guys are calling it. I had tried to get tickets for awhile but to no avail. "Wife" was crafty enough to score some tickets from someone in her office. I don't know how she did it, and I'm not sure I want to know. Why was I so jazzed about going to this game? Not only is it going to be a great game, but it's also "Elvis Night" at the "Cell".

I have heard legend about "Elvis Night". There are numerous bands around the park performing the music of the king, an appearance by the "Flying Elvises" or, "Elvi" as I call them in the plural, and best of all, thousands of the faithful dressed as the man himself. The music will be rockin', and the tailgaters will be rollin'. I can't wait. I will be in hound dog heaven. Not only do I enjoy watching the White Sox, but I'm a freak for Elvis. Most folks would be wondering what they could possibly wear to "Elvis Night", not me. I'll just run upstairs and choose between my vintage Elvis shades, or my newly purchasedElvis half- head mask. Maybe I'll take both and swap them out. The only thing that could make this night better would be to add in my third favorite thing, but "Wife" would frown on that since she isn't going to the game and the activity involves her. If only I had the jumpsuit. Man that would be cool.

Well I'm off to make a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich. Have a great weekend. Don't be cruel. Listen to Laura and I on WGN Saturday night/Sunday morning from 1-5 CST. When you get up tomorrow don't forget, "on a cold and grey Chicago morn, another baby child is born in the ghetto." TCB! Later...Brian

Soon We'll Be Naked

Just when I thought I couldn't be in any more pain, terrorists rear their ugly heads and end up making all our heads equally ugly. News came out of Britain today that law enforcement had foiled a plot by terrorists to blow up at least ten planes bound from England to the U.S. In the wake of this announcement, new security measures were announced.

Now we can't bring any liquids with us when we board a plane. No water, mouth wash, wine that you bought as a gift, your flask of tequila to calm your terrorist fearing nerves, nothing. "But I wear contacts" you may be crying through soon to be dried out eyes. Too bad. Abdul has made it impossible for you to bring on any solution. You can bring juice for a small child and formula or breast milk to feed a baby, but you have to taste it before you can bring it on. I don't mind slurping up a little Capri Sun, but warm breast milk is another story.

I"m torn about all of this. I really hate having to pay the price for knuckleheads who want to kill everyone. Maybe I don't want to throw out the 18 dollar mocha that I just got at the convenient airport Starbuck's. On the other hand, maybe this will begin the process of all carry on items being banned. I'm sick of people who try to bring steamer trunks on as carry-ons. They're terrorists in their own right. They destroy my way of life by taking up too much overhead room and banging into me with their gear. I don't carry all my beauty essentials with me, I do what most folks do, check my bag. Listen Mr. "I'm in a hurry" Businessman and Mrs. "imitation Louis Vitton cosmetic case" Woman, take the extra few minutes and check your bag. You're not impressing anyone with your gigantic carry on luggage. Plus, airplane bathrooms are too small to do any real beauty touch-ups before you land anyway.

If all this heightened security keeps up, pretty soon we'll all have to fly in our underwear, or better yet, naked. This may work out to everyone's benefit. If no one can bring anything on a plane, and no one can wear anything on a plane, we'll have nothing to worry about other than being in the middle seat between two really fat guys clad only in speedos and wife-beaters. On second thought, the new policy may discourage the hideous from leaving home. If that's the case, do the terrorists win or do we? You decide. Now dump out all your fluids and get on the plane. Later...Brian

Thanks to AP for the photo

Paint The Fence

There is a certain honor in playing hurt. People look at you with awe, respect and confusion. How can someone overcome their pain and still deliver a winning performance? I wish that were the case here. I don't know what's driving me to post while I am still in horrible pain. Maybe it's so I don't feel weak. Maybe it's so I can hold my head up and laugh at the pain that would have crippled a lesser man. Maybe it's for some imaginary reader who I envision waiting by their computer every day for one of my missives, hoping to have their day brightened for just a minute. Sure it could be any of those, or it could just be that I secretly want to be the Karate Kid.

What child of the 80's doesn't remember the cinematic classic, "The Karate Kid"? Young Daniel, dragged out to California by his under employed single mother, finds himself the target of dojo dwelling bullies and their amped up, Cagney and Lacey reject "sensei". Daniel befriends the old Asian superintendent of his building, in a time when that didn't seem creepy at all. Mr. Myagi teaches Daniel karate and in the climatic scene, an injured Daniel does the legendary "Crane" move to defeat his arch enemy, and bag the sweet Elizabeth Shue.

Too cool. I want to be able to beat my pain and kick my enemy's ass, or even just pick up the phone. I want to tie a kamikaze bandana over my head, and be happy that I could actually reach over my head. I want to crane kick someone without having to leave my hands at my side like a crane that had a stroke. Mostly I want to cut some banzai trees and quit making my pain the focus of my posts. Maybe tomorrow. Right now I must focus and try to "sand the floor". Later...Brian

Call Me Stubby

I can't really post too long today. My right arm is in a sling, and typing one handed when I'm not looking at porn seems silly, and painful.

You don't realize how much you depend on your strong hand until it's of no use to you. I'm right handed, so having my right arm tied to my body like an Iraqi in Gitmo, is showing me how truly useless my left hand is. Today it's role as backup has become painfully obvious. I figured "ole Lefty" would at least be able to step it up to help me brush my teeth, or comb what's left of my hair. This five fingered leech couldn't even do that. He just fumbled with things and frustrated the rest of my body, forcing me to pull "right" off the DL and back into the rotation. You'd think I had asked "Lefty" to help me wipe my dirty spot or something.

I need to work on becoming a little more ambidextrous. It's time all of my limbs started pulling their weight. I gotta go. My shoulder is killing me and I think "lefty" may start typing inappropriate things in a minute. Later...Brian

My Career Is Over

Have you ever hurt yourself and had no idea how it happened? I did just that the other day. Thursday afternoon, I picked "Daughter" up from soccer camp. I remember tossing her equipment bag out of the car and then pulling out the cooler. Everything seemed fine. Then I went in to make her lunch. It was then that I realized I couldn't move my right shoulder without excruciating pain. What the hell? I hadn't heard a pop, felt a tare, nothing.

As it happened, I had an appointment Friday with my back doctor. Figuring I'd go with a two for the price of one diagnosis, I had him check out my shoulder, which in the interim had gotten worse. That's when he broke the news. I had injured my rotator cuff. In that moment, all my dreams of being a major league pitcher, or throwing a touchdown pass to win the Super bowl were dashed. It's sad when your dreams die, but not as sad as realizing that you are so out of shape you threw out your shoulder taking a girls soccer bag out of your car.

Since Friday, my condition has become unbearable. I even broke down and went to the urgent care doctor early Sunday morning hoping for some relief. I've never taken pain killers before because I fear that like Elvis I will become addicted and end up dying while trying to push out an especially firm movement. I was in so much pain, I begged for relief. Maybe I'm taking the wrong pills, but I don't see what the attraction is. I have had no relief, but I am drowsy. I ended up sleeping in the "Comfort King" last night with a heating pad on my arm. How pitiful.

I don't like being injured. It bothers me to show weakness. I like "Wife" and "Daughter" to think of me as indestructible. I know the dogs can sense my weakness too. They keep eyeing me, and I know they are plotting an overthrow of the pack leader. I'm going to see the pain merchants at physical therapy in hopes that they can work their magic on me. I'll let you know. Sorry if this seems whiney and self indulgent, but I'm in pain, and this is better than going on a crying jag in front of "Daughter". Later...Brian

It's Time To Grow Up

We all were horrified by the devastation that hurricane Katrina brought to the Gulf Coast last year. It was horrible to see the suffering and loss that the citizens suffered, and we all wanted to help in whatever way we could. Some people sent money, some sent food and clothes, and the rest of us lobbied hard to get the government to step up and help. When push came to shove, Americans were willing to help, but charity has it's limits.

I read an article today about a woman who is being asked to leave the house she and her three children have lived in rent free for the last year. After seeing her featured on the Oprah show (you knew she had to be involved in this somehow. ), a church group from a Chicago suburb drove down to Mississippi and rescued this 23 year old, her three illegitimate kids and her deadbeat boyfriend from a tent in a parking lot. Talk about being good Christians. The group cleaned and painted the old house that the church owned for it's pastor, and told this upstanding citizen she could move in rent free. All this was with the understanding that she was to stay for a year while she got her life in order.

What a surprise, she's doesn't want to leave. This leech has only worked for a month or two in the last year, and then decided she wanted to "focus on her kids". The "father" doesn't live with them and has said that he has no way to support them. Now the woman is crying that the church has asked her to leave.

Where do I begin? While most of my anger is of course pointed at this loser woman and her no account sperm donor boyfriend, I have to save a little for the church group. I applaud their kindness, but how stupid are they? Did they really think that a 23 year old who started pumping out welfare babies at 18, and then added two more to the teet, is going to make the right choices with her life. I'm sure she really had a lot of motivation to find work and start rebuilding her shambles of a life, seeing as she was living rent free and people had given her everything she needed. I'm no bible scholar, but I remember a little passage that went, "God helps those who help themselves." I hate people who do nothing for themselves and just figure that others will help them. Grow up you lazy skank! If you want to focus on your kids, go get a job, take advantage of the child care you've been offered, keep your legs closed for a couple of months and build a life for them so they don't end up a needy, dependent waste like their mother.

Harsh? Maybe, or maybe I'm suffering from what experts are calling "Katrina Burnout". Most right thinking people agree that people sometimes need a hand up, but then lazy, shiftless leeches take advantage and it just turns into a hand out. I think you should be able to get things started in a year. Sure it isn't easy, but maybe if you took stock of the situation, you could make some better choices on this new path. It's time to take away the FEMA debit cards, free hotels and all the free stuff, and actually make people work a little for what they need.

That's it. I think you get my point. Have a great weekend and don't forget to listen to Laura an I on WGN Saturday night/Sunday morning from 1-5 am CST. Later...Brian

Going To The Dogs

I'm never surprised by the silliness of some people. The amount of time and money people waste on frivolous things makes me glad that I don't have loads of disposable income. Given the amount of time I sometimes find myself with, it's scary to think of the foolish ways I could blow extra cash. I saw a story today that caught me by surprise.

There is a new trend for people to dress their pets in formal wear, and have them attend their weddings. See, I told you people were silly. In the story, a couple was interviewed and they went on and on about how they were always asked about their dogs because the woman had two, three pound dust mop dogs and the guy had a 200 pound mastiff. They decided they would dress these doggies in bridal gowns and a tux, and put them on their invitations. The biggest problem they said was finding a tux for the big dog. No, I think the biggest problem is that you lack a life. The article also had a picture of a one of a kind doggy gown that cost thousands of dollars. How screwed up are some people's priorities that they would spend that kind of money on a dress that the dog will probably poop on? I know people bridesmaids sometimes do the same thing, but that's a different story. Why not give that money to a charity, make a donation to a school, burn it, something that at least makes some sense? Not that burning money makes sense, but it seems more rational than putting you hound in designer duds.

The other thing that got me was that these people said that their dogs were like their kids. They even went so far as to say that dogs are more of a responsibility than kids because you don't have to walk a kid at ten o'clock at night in the winter. I actually looked at that sentence with my head tilted, like a dog looking at a fan. Are you insane? I can't be the only one to see the flaw in that logic. Sure you don't have to walk a kid late at night, so that must make it easier to have a kid. Let's forget, tuition, clothing, food, and the fact that instead of letting them just run outside to do their business, I have to unload a Pamper full of God-knows-what. You're right Crazy, having a kid is easier. I always have to argue with my dogs to go to bed, take a shower and eat their vegetables. Yeah, I wasn't thinking, I can leave my kid home alone for hours, let them drink out of the toilet and smack them on the nose with a paper when they eat my shoes. I'm so dumb, pets are more responsibility than kids. Hey look, you're space ship is here you wack job.

I'm off to play with my dogs and my kid. Only one of them is dressed, I'll let you guess which one. I know that down the road I'll have to buy prom dresses, and maybe even a wedding dress for "Daughter". That's enough chiffon for me. The dogs will have to fend for themselves. Later...Brian

Tell The Truth Fatty!

Some people live in denial. I guess it makes it easier to function if you never have to face the truth. Reality can be a bitch, so why not ignore her and create your own little universe? That way you can be the most beautiful, smartest and most popular person you know. The problem is, someone like me will come along and burst your bubble.

A study came out today that said that three quarters of obese Americans say they have healthy eating habits. Forty percent of the porkers surveyed said that they do "vigorous" exercise at least three times a week. When I read this I almost spit out my Ding Dong and had to put down my chocolate malt. Come on my bloated brothers and sisters! It's time to roll off the couch and take a good hard look at yourselves. Be honest, nobody gets to be fat by eating right and exercising, unless of course you're living in "bizarro world". If that were the case, Kate Moss would be scarfing down Big Macs, and washing them down with syrup, all while slumped in a La-Z-Boy.

The survey was conducted by phone, which didn't surprise me since I'm sure a lot of the respondents couldn't walk anywhere to answer the questions. Dr. David Schutt of Thomson Medstat, the company that conducted the survey, said in the most obvious statement ever, "There is perhaps some denial going on, or a lack of understanding of what constitutes healthy eating and vigorous exercise." Gee Doc, you think so? I'm sure to some of these people, eating healthy means ordering mushrooms and peppers on your jumbo pizza and only eating a half gallon of frozen yogurt because it has less carbs. I don't think walking down the driveway to get the paper, or answering the door for the delivery guy constitute vigorous exercise. Listen Jumbo, just because you spent an hour throwing up your gluttonous feast, that doesn't mean you were working your abs. The survey also didn't ask how much people ate. Quite frankly, they just didn't have time for the long answers.

I know it's hard to be fat. I'm fat, but I'm honest about it. If you're happy with yourself fine, if not, be honest and start to change it. There is no substitute for exercise and a good diet, I don't care what your imaginary friends say. If the voices in your head sound like the bells on the Good Humor truck, it's time to re-evaluate. Eat up! Later...Brian

The Passion Of The Mel

We put our movie and TV stars on a pedestal, so that when they fall, and they almost always do, they fall hard. I revel in these down falls. I always enjoy seeing self important people being taken down a peg. Imagine my joy when I heard that Mel Gibson had been arrested for drunk driving. Not only was Mel boozing and cruising, he then decided to berate the arresting officer with an anti-Semitic tirade, and tried to flee. One, two, three strikes, you're out.

Drinking and driving is a serious matter. We all know that, but let's be honest, a lot of us have done it. How many times have you left a party, restaurant or bar and thought to yourself, "I've only had a couple, I'm fine." That doesn't excuse it, but if that was all Mighty Mel had done, it wouldn't have caused such a big stir. Even if he had argued a little with the sheriff, still serious, but maybe not such a world wide phenomenon. No, Mel couldn't just tell the cop he had "just a couple of beers" like most of us would and then say the guy was a jerk. He had to unleash a hate fueled, anti Semitic onslaught that people couldn't help but report on. So much for "Mr. Religious Family Man".

This isn't the first time St. Mel has had a run in with the Jewish community. When his pet project "The Passion Of The Christ" was released, he was accused of having an anti-Semitic bias. He's been linked to his father's anti-Semitic beliefs, but who hasn't been embarrassed by something their dad has said? I think it's funny that a guy who espouses such stringent religious beliefs has no problem insulting others. I think there's something in Mel's bible about doing unto others and loving your neighbor as yourself. Even if he has to translate it from Aramaeic, the message would still be the same.

Mel also used one of my favorite lines from the self entitlement handbook. He asked the cop if he knew who he was and then told him he was messing with the wrong guy. Then he threw down the ultimate gauntlet, "I own Malibu". Man, he really is Mad Max. Too bad his words may be a lethal weapon to his career.

Today Mel went into rehab, the mea culpa for all celebrity idiots. He asked us all to "please know that I am not an anti-Semite. I am not a bigot." He then blamed an alcohol problem. I'm sick of booze always having to take the blame. I think we should applaud alcohol for it's role in exposing "Meldolph Gitler" Alcohol is truth serum. It allows us to declare undying love for unattainable girls, and it also exposes the true hate of a Hollywood big shot. I think we should get Mel drunk when he goes to court, and then when he swears to tell the truth, sit back and watch the fireworks. Later...Brian