Trick Or Treat

It's Halloween and things are starting to get scary at the house. Time is short, because I need to make last minute preparations in anticipation of hundreds of little beggars pardon me, trick or treaters.

I have been dealing with the exterior decorations for a couple weeks. I started the project before we went to Hawaii. Last week I added my big inflatable Frankenstein to the mix and he is always a hit with the kids. He also bears a striking resemblance to one of my good friends. It makes it a little weird to think I have one of my buddies hooked up to a timer on my front lawn. Yesterday I had to replace some of my spooky lights. Time and the elements had conspired to render useless two strands. Thankfully I found some for 75% off at Ace Hardware. I'm all for exterior illumination, but saving a buck is always first on the list. The wind has been wreaking havoc on my Halloween display. Twice I have had to chase my foam tombstones down the street because Mother Nature had a fit of gas and blew everything around. I'm waiting until the last minute to put them out again. Your yard can't be a truly scary place without tombstones.

Sometimes I feel like Clark Griswold from the Vacation movies when I'm in full decorating mode. I don't know too many people so obsessed with their holiday displays. To me that's part of the fun of owning a house. I used to do some decorating when I lived in an apartment, but there's not much room for a big Frankenstein balloon on a balcony. Yes, this truly is the American dream.

The biggest concern for today was what to give out to the beggars. Damn, I did it again. I mean trick or treaters. "Wife" and I spent an hour at Sam's Club trying to decide between little packs of cookies, fun size candy bars or the full size bars. I always think it's cheap to give one fun size bar. Come on stingy, cut loose with a hand full. We settled on full size M&Ms. The real reason we chose these was because if any are left over, I love M&Ms. I can't spend all my time going through "Daughter's" candy. I need some of my own.

Well, I'm off. I have a few surprises that I have to rig up. Some dark part of my soul needs to have a few scares lined up for the kids. It's the price they pay for that bag of M&Ms. Happy Halloween. Later....Brian

My Time In The Graveyard

You'd think from the title that this was going to be a scary Halloween post. Maybe I would tell you a story about going to some spooky cemetery, wandering among the dead and being confronted by an angry specter. That would be cool right? Unfortunately, this has nothing to do with a haunting and everything to do with work.

This weekend I had the privilege of doing some fill in work on WGN. I hosted a show early Friday morning, did my regular show early Sunday morning and was back this morning for an early shift. Everything was great, except trying to adjust to the schedule. Third shifters are a unique bunch. They work when the rest of the world is snoozing. The Dunkin' Donuts guy, cops, factory workers, all sweatin' while we're dreamin'. I always think of the Holsum bread jingle when discussing the overnight shift. Sing with me if you know it. "At three in the morning when you're in bed, the Holsum bakers are baking bread, and that is the reason it tastes so good, like oven fresh Holsum bread should." I always love a musical stroll down memory lane.

I have been trying to figure out a sleep schedule for the last few days. Do I stay up after I get home, and go to bed in the afternoon? Do I go to sleep for a few hours, get up and go back for a nap? As you can imagine, all this thinking made me tired and I took a nap anyway. I'm sure people who work this shift all the time get used to it, and I would too, if only I weren't plagued by the guilt of sleeping during the day. I think a couple weeks of the graveyard shift would erase any pangs I felt and I'd become a day sleeper like a vampire.

I've got to get rolling. It's time for "Daughter" and I to carve our pumpkin for tomorrow. I'm not sure exactly when a pumpkin turns into a jack-o-lantern. Maybe when some punks smash it in the street. Later...Brian

Stash Your Butts

I know I've been posting a lot about the Maui trip this week. I'm not trying to make you jealous, it's just that it was one of the best vacations I ever had. There are more stories to tell, but you'll have to sit with me and have a beer or listen to the big show on WGN to hear the rest. The experience of being in Hawaii was wonderful, and as much as I tried to keep the annoyances of everyday life at arms length, some idiots were still able to invade my comfort bubble.

There's a certain mentality that smokers have that makes them think it's ok for them to pollute the rest of the universe. You see it everyday. People smoking in restaurants (though thankfully that is becoming a rarity), herds of pasty faced nicotine addicts huddled outside office buildings and people walking down the street waving their coffin nail around with impunity. The biggest mystery to me about smokers is that they seem to have no concept of proper waste disposal. How many times have you seen cigarette butts thrown on the sidewalk, train platform or playground. My dad used to take the last puff of his cigarette just before he walked in the front door and toss it on the side of the front steps of our house. Why do these yahoos think the world is their ash tray? It's sad that we've come to expect this kind of thing in the city, I didn't think I would run across it in Maui.

Imagine my horror when I walked to the exquisite white sand beach our hotel was sitting on to soak up some meditative ocean sounds, only to find cigarette butts littering the sand. Who are you people? What selfish, irresponsible mind set makes you think it's ok to toss your butts on the beach? Are you that diluted to think that they'll dissolve instantly like a secret tape in "Mission Impossible"? Here's a news flash you slob, they don't. The world isn't the little bean bag filled ash catcher you have stuck to the dashboard of your "83 Carolla. I don't understand littering to begin with. I'm not a crying Indian or anything, I just know it's not cool. The rest of the world is not your maid! How dare you leave your Maybelline smeared Benson & Hedges where people who actually are thrilled to be out in nature are walking. I don't want to feel like I'm laying in a dumpster just to enjoy a sunset on the beach. Rub your smoke out on the bottom of your K-Mart flip flop and carry it to a trash can. You'll feel better. This simple act of social responsibility will make you smile so much that we'll all catch a glimpse of your yellow teeth.

I got so worked up because it was such a shock. Anyway, it was a hiccup in an otherwise wonderful week. I'll share this piece of info with all the guys. If you take your lady to Hawaii, make sure you hit a luau. The hula dancers can move their hips so fast you'll wonder if they have paint shakers under their grass skirts. Grab yourself a Mai Tai and run that picture through your filthy minds. If you're a true night owl, make sure you catch the Halloween spectacular Saturday night/Sunday morning on WGN. Laura and I have lots of fun planned. I'm also filling in for the fabulous Steve and Johnnie, Monday and Friday morning from 2-5 AM. If you can't sleep, tune in. I'll try to help. Have a great weekend. Aloha....Brian

Fatty Don't Surf: Part 2

If you were here yesterday, you know where we're starting. If not, I guess I can do a "Previously on..." like they do on TV. "Daughter" and I signed up for a surfing lesson last week in Maui. I was wedged into a very small shirt, we went to the beach, got our boards and received some instruction. Now it's time to head to the water. Cue the theme music, here we go.

Gene (our instructor) lead us to the water and told us to hop on our boards. Sounds easy. All you have to do is jump up and let your belly land on the board. "Daughter" and the other couple in the group hopped right on and started paddling out to sea. I jumped, landed square on the board, and promptly tipped over, swallowing what I thought was a quart of salty ocean water. I repeated this humiliating ritual about 17 times, each time getting more an more frustrated. I was focusing on myself, when I realized the rest of the group was gone, "Daughter" included, and Gene was still trying to get my wet suit draped behind on the board. "I'll walk it out." I said. Thankfully our rally point wasn't very deep. So I was able to drag my board to the buoy. Thank god I had my sandals on. The floor of this stretch of beach was made up of rocks so jagged I thought the entire state of Hawaii had thrown their broken pop bottles there. I spent the next two hours trying to keep my board pointed at the waves, and helping "Daughter", who was holding onto the buoy do the same. My shoulders still aren't right.

I watched as the first two people made their initial runs. They got part way up and fell. "Daughter" fared about the same. She was a trooper though. Throughout the lesson she kept trying and eventually stood up for a few seconds. I don't mean to minimize the few seconds, since it was roughly 100 percent longer than I stood up. After about twenty more tries, I mastered getting on the board. I had no trouble getting on, it was staying on that was the problem. Gene finally realized that I was throwing my legs over too far, and suddenly I was on the board like a slab of tuna on a rice cake. You would think that once I finally mastered the art of mounting the surf board, the rest would be a piece of cake. Haven't you been paying attention? As hard as I thought the process was on sand, it was monumentally tougher in the water. Not only did I have to balance, my body doesn't move with the fluidity that surfing requires. I finally was able to ride the surf board all the way to the beach on my stomach without falling off. Success. I didn't bother to question the "surf academy's" guarantee, since I had suffered enough humiliation already.

You may think that this has soured me on my white foam dreams. You may be right. I do know that before I try this again, I need to shed about a third of my mass and work with Ralph Macchio and Pat Morita on my balance. So if you see a giant man standing on a tree stump practicing "the Crane", you'll know it's me. I will live the life of a tanned surfer boy, with my board shorts and fish tacos. It just might take the rest of my life to do it. No worries. Later....Brian

Fatty Don't Surf

We've all seen movies and TV shows glorifying surfing and surfers. Tanned, toned, men and women who learn the ancient art, and with Zen-like calm, master raging waves. Who can shake the image of Bodey and Johnny Utah hanging ten in "Point Break", or hearing Robert Duvall, in full combat gear, yell out, "Charlie don't surf" in "Apocalypse Now"? Those images have been seared into my brain. I always knew that someday I would join the ranks of surfer dudes, and I figured what better place to claim my spot than Maui.

"Daughter" and I signed up for a two hour surfing lesson on Wednesday. Part of the pitch was that the academy "guaranteed" they could get everyone standing in one lesson. It's pretty easy to make that claim on paper, it's another thing to live up to it when Big Daddy comes rolling up to your surf shack. I quickly realized there's a reason all surfers have the same body type. They're all slim, cut, and young, three things I am not. They also are very small. Yeah, I missed on that one too. Our instructor, Gene, called us back behind a curtain at the side of the building to give us our surfer wear. There was another couple joining us for the class. "Wife", showing herself to be the brains of the family had decided to be the Annie Liebowitz of the excursion.

Gene got busy passing out the wet suit shirts, or "Rash Wear" and the aqua socks to protect our feet from what I would later find out was a very rocky beach floor. Everyone got fitted pretty easily, then it was my turn. Gene gave me the biggest shirt they had. What a joy. It was about two sizes smaller than what I normally wear. Nothing says hot surfer stud like a giant man squeezed into a tiny neoprene shirt. I felt like a sausage that had been in the microwave too long. Now I know why women stopped wearing girdles. When it came time for the aqua socks, my options were to wear some that were three sizes too small or brave the surf in my sandals. Since I was having so much fun breathing in my tiny casing, I opted for my sandals. At least I would be able to walk to the beach.

We all walked about two blocks to the beach, like a gang of surfers looking for a good time. Once we arrived, Gene got us all boards. These were not the high end wood long boards of legend, but some blue monsters that had seen a few classes. It didn't matter, we were all jazzed to hit the water and get totally tubular. Not so fast grasshopper. Gene gave us a brief lesson on how to actually stand up on the board and what to do if we were heading toward rocks, or if Jaws popped up and wanted to make us a tasty treat. I knew from the minute I laid on the board that I was in trouble. We were told to arch our backs, then quickly bring up our knees, keeping our hands on the board. Sure! Once we were kneeling, we were to put our front foot in the middle of the board, bring up our back foot, stand up, keep our hands on the board and look forward. Sounds simple right. Try dragging your knees across a dry, sand covered surf board about ten times when you have the mass of a small Beluga. My knees know have so many scabs, that I can map out the entire archipelago of the Hawaiian islands. Now Gene told us we were ready to hit the surf.

Tomorrow....The Big Kahuna gets wet. Later...Brian

Back To Reality

White sandy beaches, palm trees and rum drinks one day, homework, laundry and dog poop the next. Yes, our vacation to Maui is over. I've included a picture, so you can share my feeling of loss.

I got a sneaking suspicion that maybe the Tiki gods didn't want us visiting their beautiful islands. We had landed in Los Angeles and were waiting to switch planes ,when the news broke that Hawaii had been hit with a huge earthquake. I wasn't the only nervous tourist standing in the airport gift shop, drinking overpriced bottled water that was worried about their trip. We were able to fly in, and to our great relief, Maui had not sustained much damage. I know other islands did, but let's be honest, this was MY vacation, and I was only worried about myself.

It would take me hours to recount the whole trip, so I'll try to boil it down Some stories deserve their own telling, so I'll give them their own postings. I'll start by saying this. If you've ever thought about going to Hawaii, go. It is truly one of the most beautiful places on earth. As cynical and cranky as I usually am, I got on "Island time" and really soaked up the beauty and the culture of our 50th state. After being in some of our less beautiful states, it's hard to believe Hawaii isn't a different country. I also used our locale as an excuse to go native. Don't worry, I still wore clean underwear, but I put my cell phone in the safe, left my laptop at home and went completely unplugged for the week. It was weird for a day or so, but I have to admit I loved it. I watched in amazement as people walked around talking on their phones. Hey jackass, you're in paradise. Why not put down the phone and enjoy it. These are the same idiots who, when they get back to Cleveland will say they didn't see what the big deal was about Hawaii.

We did a lot of touristy things and I just decided that I'm going to have to do a short series of blogs about the trip, so, just like a serial TV show, you'll have to stay tuned. Here's a little tease to keep you interested, swimming with sharks, fatty don't surf, Hula girls really can shake it, and smokers are rude everywhere. Man, I know what's coming and I can't wait. I'll bookend it this way. The trip started rainy. We spent most of the first day walking in the rain and shopping. It was as if, knowing we would have to leave, we wanted to bring as much of the island back with us as we could carry. The trip ended with a picture perfect water front dinner at one of the best restaurants I've been to, Mama's Fish House. The scenery was priceless, the food was pricey, but worth every penny, and it put an exclamation point on an otherwise fantastic trip.

I'm still suffering from jet lag, so I'm off. Stay tuned. Aloha, Brian

Here Today, Gone To Maui

Pardon my use of an old pun, but I'm just as giddy as a school girl today. We are finishing up the preparations for our big trip to Maui this Sunday. I can't believe it's finally here. Despite my usual reservations about traveling, I can't wait to go.

Part of me thinks is sad that I have been waiting my whole life to go to Hawaii. I've been working for a long time, and so has "Wife". You would think that if we wanted to go somewhere, we could have gone. Sure you'd think that, but as I'm sure is the case with a lot of you, life got in the way of our fun. Responsibilities seem to make postponing luxuries a fact of life. All that doesn't matter now, because as soon as I get off the air Sunday morning, I'm zipping to the airport to meet "Wife" and "Daughter" for our whirlwind adventure. "Daughter's" biggest concern is that "Wife" and I will sleep for most of the flight. She wants us to stay awake and watch movies with her. How did we ever travel without portable DVD players. It sure makes traveling with kids a whole lot easier. It also makes it less boring for me. I bought us all some sweet noise canceling headphones so the pesky engine noise and shy waitress chatter doesn't spoil our cinematic experience.

I am going to cut myself off from technology next week. I'll still have my cell phone, but anybody who has the number will know I'm in Hawaii and won't call. I'm not taking my laptop along. Maybe that's a little irresponsible, but I don't want to spend my time in paradise deleting spam mail regarding the size of my manhood. That also means I won't be posting. I know You'll struggle through, but I promise to have some good stories when I get back. It will be good for all of us to get away from the day to day and have some good old fashioned family fun. Maybe "Daughter' will realize that "Wife" and I aren't that bad after all. Wishful thinking I know, but sand, sun and tropical drinks will do that to you.

I hate to call this a trip of a lifetime, because that means that this is it. There are a lot of places I want to see, both here in the good ole USA and across the globe. I may not get to see all of them, but I'm not waiting another forty years to get to the next stop. If you get a chance, try to catch the big show on WGN tomorrow night/ Sunday morning from 1-5 am. I'll try not to talk about the trip too much. Have a great weekend. Aloha...Brian

Pardon My Distraction

My mind is elsewhere today. "What's new?" you ask, somewhat snidely. Today I have a good reason. We are leaving Sunday morning for a vacation to Hawaii. It is a trip I have been wanting to take for as long as I can remember.

These last few days have been filled with last minute preparations. I'm trying to get lots of things done at the house. Winter came early, so I needed to winterise my sprinkler system. That probably sounds harder than it is, but it took some time. I've also been making arrangements for the hounds and getting last minute supplies for the journey. I know it's nothing that all of you don't endure when you're preparing for a trip. I was thinking today how much work it takes to go on vacation. You need the first couple of days just to relax from all the prep work. Then the last days of your trip are getting ready to go home. I should have booked a two week stay. That way I'd have a few days to actually relax.

I I'm trying to find my happy place mentally as I get ready to go. I usually spend way to much time and energy worrying about the actual travel part of the trip. I try to make the journey as painless as possible, but in doing so, I add to everyone's stress. "Wife" has already warned me that my usual craziness will not be tolerated. Thankfully, I'm going to the airport right after the radio show, so I'll spend most of the trip sleeping.

I'll give you more details tomorrow. I'm like a kid waiting for Christmas. I can't think of anything else. Later...Brian

If God Had Wanted Us To Fly

I was at the computer doing some work and heard on the radio that a small plane had hit a building in New York. As expected there was a lot of fear and speculation in the first minutes after the accident. Was it another terrorist attack, who was in the plane, was it even a plane? Some news agencies initially reported that it may have been a helicopter that crashed. Now word is out that it was a high end, private plane that was registered to Cory Lidle, a pitcher for the Yankees. When are we going to learn.

I don't get people who want to fly their own planes. Most folks I encounter have a hard enough time driving their cars, and those have limited instrumentation. Have these Orville and Wilbur wannabes, mastered every form of locomotion presided over by gravity? Is the ground so boring that they need to take to the skies? There are professionals for that. I enjoy flying as much as the next guy, but I'll leave the flying part to someone who at some point in their lives was heard yelling, ala Richard Gere, "I wanna fly jets." I'll handle the sitting in the back eating trail mix part of the experience.

There's a long history of amateur pilots meeting with bad ends. Don't people remember JFK Jr., John Denver or Amelia Earhardt? Small planes are God's ping pong balls. Don't believe me? Let's crank up some Lynyrd Skynrd, Ritchie Valens, Patsy Cline, Harry Chapin or Ricky Nelson and talk about it. Maybe God just hates musicians. The point is, there sure seem to be a lot more of these little planes dropping out of the sky than big ones that are flown by studly guys with deep, halting voices.

While I'm sorry that this happened, at least it wasn't some attack. It was an attack of hubris and stupidity mixed together, but that only affects the people on the plane. Well, them and the guy whose living room they used as a landing strip. I hope all the future flyboys who were on their way to some regional airport for flying lessons from Clem, the WWII transport pilot, caught the news and are going to get a Corvette to handle their issues of inadequacy instead of a Cessna. Later...Brian

We're Creepy, And We're Kooky

October is only 10 days old, and already our neighborhood looks like the set of a Wes Craven movie. I guess I mean a Wes Craven movie that was directed by Walt Disney. People have been putting out their Halloween decorations since last week. Since I look at holiday decorating as a bloodsport, I spent the day pulling boxes out of the crawl space and trying to make the house look sufficiently terrifying.

Let me digress a little and ask, when did Halloween go from being a day to being a "season"? When we were kids, Halloween was Oct. 31st. Maybe you would go to the grocery store or farm stand a few days before and get a pumpkin. Then a day or two before the big event, you'd spread newspaper across the kitchen table, scoop out the pumpkin innards, and carve up a scary jack-o-lantern. Now, sometime in mid August, the stores are stocked with all manner of Halloween decorations. It's a scary fact, that adults are now spending almost as much on Halloween as they are on Christmas. Talk about a bunch of babies. Halloween was for kids, but now, all the aging Baby Boomers are co-opting it for themselves. The one benefit of this are all the repressed women who use Halloween as an excuse to dress up as naughty nurses, sexy maids, lusty vampires or dirty kitties. I'm no therapist, but I think there's some underlying longing at play there.

Back to my house. The decorations on the market today are weak if you ask me. Halloween is supposed to be scary. All you can find now are smiling jack-o-lanterns, dancing skeletons and Tweety Bird dressed as a witch. Ooooh how terrifying. "Wife " wants our house to have no happy, smiling decorations. She wants it to look like a true house of horrors. I hope she's not projecting that the outside should match the inside. Freud, now he's scary. I put out the requisite tombstones, corpses "rising from the dead" in the lawn and spooky lighting. My favorite spooktacular object is a ghoul in a top hat that hangs from the tree. I illuminate him with a hidden green spotlight, and the terror begins. I was out today and came across a horrifying winged skull for over the front door. Cue the screams.

Part of me worries that young children will be too scared to come to the door, but the other part of me thinks, "great, more Butterfingers for me." I think part of the fun of Halloween is having the snott scared out of you. If there isn't any challenge, what's the fun. We might as well just give candy out for no reason. Not on my watch. Only the Princess, Power Ranger or Sponge Bob with the intestinal fortitude to make it through my terror gauntlet will be feasting on free treats. BTW, my house is the scariest, and I still have a couple surprises as the day gets closer. Later....Brian

I May Take Off During Hanukkah Too!

It's Columbus Day. I'm not Italian, and I've never been much of an explorer, but I'm taking the day off. I've decided I'm going to base my laziness on the Post Office. I'll take the traditional holidays off, and then any time the mail doesn't get delivered, then I won't deliver either. Sure it seems like I'm embracing my inner slacker, but I'm really channeling my inner government worker. Later...Brian

Get In Line

First, let me apologize for missing yesterday. The day was chock full of excitement and got away from me. I'm sure no one cares, but at least now I feel better. Correction, I felt better. That was until I read another story regarding a "celebrity" and their screwy life.

You all know Anna Nicole Smith, if not biblically, then by reputation. She is the former smoking hot Playboy centerfold and Guess model who lost what little their was of her mind, became a bloated drug addled reality TV "star", and then lost all her weight with the help of "Trim Spa baby". She has been in the news the last couple of weeks because after moving to the Bahamas, and giving birth to a baby, her 20 year old son came to visit and dropped dead. There's nothing funny about that. It's the rest of her life that's a circus.

In the center ring is the question of who actually planted the seed that became this poor baby. ANS kept quiet about the paternity throughout her pregnancy. The identity of the baby daddy was debated all over the internet and in frat house bedrooms, where pimply faced freshmen worried that DNA on a poster could mean child support payments. Finally her lawyer/sycophant Howard K (not to be confused with the other one) Stern said he was in fact the father. Not to be out done, man about town Larry Birkhead (I don't know who he is either, and I did some research) claimed he had bumped uglies with ANS and the baby was the unholy product of their union. He went so far as to hire a high powered attorney and file suit demanding custody. I'm not sure if he knows that would be custody of the baby and not of ANS's sweater puppies. Today, two other guys have come forward claiming to be the father. I think when it all shakes out, I'll be the only guy not claiming paternity. On second thought, I ay have to throw my hat (so to speak) into the ring. it might give the radio show a nice ratings bump.

I really feel bad for this baby. She's only a couple weeks old and it's in all the papers that her mom is a whore. We all kind of knew it anyway, but if the DNA stew that makes up your baby has that many possible chefs, it's time for the Board of Health to condemn the kitchen. I think it would be quite confusing for a child to receive birthday cards from fourteen different guys all signed "dad", and Father's day would be nothing but trouble. Life's hard enough without having to grow up knowing that your mom is the human equivalent of a sperm bank. There, I got to vent a little. Hey, if you're up late tomorrow night, be sure to catch the show on WGN from 1-5 am. Laura is out of town, so I'll be all by my lonesome. My good pal, writer/comedian Mike Schmidt will be calling in from LA at 3 am. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

Is It Fruit Or Candy?

It's hard to believe that this is my 200th post. I thought for sure I'd have run out of stuff to write about by post 132. Anyhoo, Fall is here and it brings one of my favorite treats and one of my greatest dietary quandaries.

I love taffy apples or caramel apples, depending on your linguistic preference. When the air turns cool and the leaves start falling, you can usually find me with a combination of apple juice and caramel dripping off my chin. My favorite brand is Affy Tapple. It's a crazy name, and their apples drive me crazy. I think my affinity for Affy Tapples can be traced back to grade school. A couple times during the first semester of school we would be treated to taffy apple day. After lunch, a rack of Affy Tapples were delivered to our classroom and the feast commenced. Over the years I have been lured by imitators, rank amateurs whose packaging looked similar, but whose apples paled by comparison.

For a taffy apple to meet my exacting standards it had to be very crunchy. Nothing ruins the taffy apple experience quicker than biting into a mushy apple. Recently, Affy Tapple has been switching things up a little. Traditionally, taffy apples came plain or with nuts. I was partial to nuts. (Shut up, you know what I mean.) Now I have a new addiction. Affy Tapple has introduced an apple covered in caramel, then rolled in sweetened pie crust pieces. When I take a bite of these bits of heaven, I am transported far away from the cares of the world to a place where angels sing. I just read that back and realized I'm either way to into the apples, leading a very empty life, or some combination of the two. Seriously though, the pie crust Affy Tapples rule. That's the problem though. I try to justify eating them by saying they're an apple, but the sweet caramelly goodness may negate the healthy benefits. An apple a day may keep the doctor away, but cover that apple in gooey caramel and pie crust and you need to call a dentist and Jenny Craig.

I was at the grocery store yesterday, and Affy Tapples were on sale. You know I bought some and am hearing their siren's song every time I walk in the kitchen. I'll probably give in and devour a couple. It's OK though. Fruit is good for you right? Right? Come on, don't leave me hanging. Later...Brian

What? No Warranty?

I've been running errands most of the day. I had to stop at the Pet Hotel to make a reservation for the dogs, and then I was running into Wal-Mart (don't be jealous) to pick up a bathroom supplies. Figuring I would kill two birds with one parking job, I picked a plaza that had both my destinations. It's a beautiful day, so I parked somewhere in the middle figuring, a little sun and strolling would do me good. It was after I parked that I was hit with one of the most unusual sales pitches I've heard in awhile.

I pulled in next to a mini van and saw a woman talking to some old guy. The side was open and I could see a bunch of large boxes. As I got out, the old guy walked away, and I heard the female's accomplice (that's cop talk) say, "hey, what about that guy?" yeah, "that guy" was me. She wheeled on me and flashed me a big insincere grin. "I have a crazy question for you, would you like to buy some speakers?" I was momentarily stunned since she was not wearing a Best buy shirt and I was standing outdoors at a non flea market event. "No, thanks." That's when her stooge piped up. "come on man, for your home entertainment system." I don't know if this guy was crippled or just plain lazy, but he stayed slumped down in the front seat. Maybe he correctly figured that a clean, half way attractive woman may be able to make a more effective sales pitch than an unwashed, baseball cap wearing thug.

Who buys their high end electronics out of a van in a Wal-Mart parking lot? Do you trust these Sporanos/Goodfellas wannabes to know the specific specs of your new HD TV?I was tempted to ask these black marketeers if they had met with any success. I doubt there is a lot of demand in my area for merchandise that has "fallen off the truck." There might be a brief thrill when you think you've beaten the system and gotten the better of the man. Your adrenaline will be pumping as you load your ill gotten booty into the back of your Suburban. "Wait til I tell Earl about the deal I got on this Surround Sound system. He paid about three hundred bucks more than me." Sure, you feel great, until you open the box. That's when you discover old brake rotors and eight track players inside. Even if it is the right equipment, it's formatted to work only with equipment from Singapore. At that point, you can't waltz back to the van for a refund. You know why? Sure you do. Now you're out your cash and Earl's laughing at you.

That's my consumer tip for the day. Now, I gotta go figure out how to tell "Wife" that our new sound system doesn't work. Stupid van girl. Why did you smile at me? Later....Brian

A Shift In Focus

Yesterday the regular baseball season came to an end, even though for me it ended a week ago when the White Sox were unceremoniously knocked from their perch as World Champs and cast into the abyss of also rans. Like most sports fans, I was ready for something else to yank me out of my doldrums, and that something has arrived. The Bears.

I was at the game yesterday with all my brothers. If you don't know, the Bears have come out of the gate this season on a tear. They were undefeated going into yesterday's game against the current NFC Champion Seattle Seahawks. Sports geeks and columnists (if I can draw a distinction) were all saying that this was the test for the Bears. They passed with flying colors, opening a can of whoop-ass on Seattle, and putting the Seahawk on the endangered species list. The faithful are being guarded in their optimism. There have been flashes of brilliance in the past, but those proved to be just that, flashes. This team seems to be fully on fire. I haven't booked my rooms in Miami yet, but I have been fitted with my Bear's thong so I can parade around South Beach Super Bowl weekend in style.

As much as I love baseball, there is something primal about going to a football game. My brothers are die hard fans and tailgaters, so we spent four hours before the game eating and drinking in the parking lot. I think it's hilarious to watch tailgaters. The parking lot is filled with guys (there are some women, but most of them look like guys too, although my brothers assure me that if the Bears keep winning, prettier people will arrive.) from all different backgrounds, all wearing blue and orange, laughing, screaming cooking and drinking. It's obvious that this is a passion. Why else would a grown man, who has a presentation the next morning, cover himself in body paint and scream himself hoarse with chants of "How bout them Bears"? There are vans, R.V.s and trucks painted with Bear's logos, full kitchens and bars and guys who have hooked up satellite dishes and generators for their parking lot soiree. The menus vary from the basic to much more elaborate. Yesterday we feasted on smoked ribs, king crab legs, beef tenderloin and chicken livers. Just because you're drunk in a parking lot, doesn't mean you have to give up the finer things.

The Fall is here, and football is in the air. It's one of the benefits of moving back to the Midwest. There was something unsettling about watching football in L.A. when it was 87 degrees. The Monsters of the Midway are back and again lifting the hopes of a city. You'll know I've given myself completely over when I get waxed to better show off my thong. Go Bears! Later...Brian