Happy New Year!

I hope everyone had a great Christmas or an enjoyable holiday of your choosing. I figured I would take the week off between Christmas and New Year's like a lot of you, but I would feel remiss if I didn't drop in to wish you a Happy and Prosperous 2007.

A lot has happened in the Noonan house this year. We were all still adjusting to the move . Relocating to Chicago from California seemed to be the hardest on me. I had gambled on a new career path and the first half of 2006 was very tense. I was still "on the road" doing stand-up. I loved doing the shows, but after 16 years, the traveling was starting to get old. It was taking a monumental effort for me to load up the car and head out to my next gig. That was exacerbated by the addition of the "Comfort King" to the family room. Once I am in the King's warm embrace, I never want to leave. At the end of May, things started to change. I was called in for my first fill-in spot on WGN. By late June, I had been asked to co-host a weekly show and now I not only host that show, but do a lot more fill-in work for the "regular" hosts. Things aren't exactly where I need them to be yet, but they sure seem to be heading in the right direction.

"Wife" and "Daughter" adjusted well and things are going swimmingly for both of them. "Wife" seems much happier in the new house and loves the fact that she doesn't have to spend every day being yelled at by a psycho boss like she did in L.A.. Even though she brings up the fact that she misses her old friends occasionally, "Daughter" has made new friends and is thriving at school. Even the mutts are doing well. They adjusted to the "invisible fence" in the yard and enjoy monitoring the property and alerting us to any and all interlopers.

I'm looking forward to a new year and the changes and challenges it will bring. I don't really make resolutions. They always seem to lead to disappointment. I know there are things I will be working on to try and make myself a better husband, father, friend and "major market radio personality". I really enjoy typing that last one, even though I do it with tongue firmly planted in cheek. I hope all of you have a very happy and healthy new year. I also wish for you success in whatever you endeavor. Thanks for reading these this year. Keep reading in 2007. You never know what's coming. Happy New Year! Later...Brian

Merry Christmas Or Whatever

Christmas is almost here, and I must confess to not feeling too "Christmasy" yet. I'm not getting all Mr. Scrooge on you at this late date, it's just I have yet to be overcome by the Christmas spirit.

Part of my predicament may be the fact that suddenly, I'm not allowed to say "Merry Christmas" to people without starting an international incident or kicking off a religious debate. I used to say "Merry Christmas" all the time. Not like some crazy Christmas maniac or anything, but when the situation arose, I was always willing to whip out a festive holiday greeting. Now it seems that people are trying to be so politically correct that "Happy Holidays" has become the greeting of choice. I know that not everyone celebrates Christmas, but I do. If I offer you a cheery "Merry Christmas" and you don't happen to celebrate that particular holiday, toss me back a greeting that's befitting your beliefs. There are too few occasions when people try to be nice to each other. Why should we try to take this one away too. I have a hard time believing that anyone wishing someone else a "Merry Christmas" is really saying, "You better be Christian or you'll burn in hell you pagan." No, It's meant to be a greeting of good will and happiness, and that's how it should be received. Now that I'm doing my show on WGN, I tend to say "Happy Holidays" on the air and it bothers me. I started saying both last week and I felt better. I'm sure their are listeners of many different faiths who enjoy our show, and I wish them all nothing but happiness this time of year no matter how I express it. So just to be clear...MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I tried getting more festive today by wrapping all of "Wife's" gifts from "Daughter" and me. I say they are from both of us, but all dads know the truth. I don't mind letting "Daughter" take some of the credit. Last year I had her give me ten dollars towards "Wife's" gifts. It's not that I needed the money (but an extra ten spot in my pocket never hurts), it's that I wanted her to see what it felt like to sacrifice for someone you care about. Besides, that kid has more cash squirreled away than I do thanks to generous uncles, aunts and Grandmas. I also wrapped some of the other gifts we're giving to people. I had Christmas music on too. It was like a Christmas card come to life. Just telling you about it makes me all tingley. I think tonight will go a long way toward my Christmas relaxation. Most of the gifts are wrapped, the house looks good, and with no more school for "Daughter" we can just kick back tonight. Maybe I can convince "Wife" to join me in a cup of Christmas cheer and a romp under the mistletoe. Ho Ho Ho!

Without getting too sentimental, I hope all of you have a Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah (what's left of it), a Joyous Kwanza or a fantastic whatever. It really doesn't matter what we call it, the wish is the same for all of us, health, happiness and people we love to share it with. Damn, that made me feel kind of "Christmasy". I better go before I ruin it. Later...Brian

BTW...Starting at 2am Tuesday morning Dec. 26, I will be filling in for the fantastic Steve and Johnnie on WGN. The schedule is 12/26: 2-5 am, 12/26-27: 11pm-5am , 12/27-28: 11pm-5am, 12/28-29: 11pm-5am. There's sure be some surprises since I'm hosting with two different women. I'm such a radio playboy. I hope you can listen.

Hedging Her Bets

Last night, "Wife", "Daughter" and I loaded ourselves into the trusty Trailbalzer and headed to the mall. No, we weren't going to set our credit cards on fire doing some last minute Christmas shopping,we were going to pay our yearly visit to the one and only, the man in red, Santa Claus.

This has been a rough Christmas for "Daughter". She's 10, and in fifth grade. A lot of her friends have stopped believing in the big guy and peer pressure is starting to get to her. I see her struggling with the decision, afraid to let go, but more afraid of being called a baby by her friends. She wants to keep believing, figuring that's the best route to a great Christmas haul, but the nay sayers are getting louder by the day. I know she's afraid to give up on Santa, because what if she's wrong? As my dad used to say, "he who believeth, receiveth." "Wife" and I have been sensing her apprehension, so we haven't pushed the issue of a visit. We mentioned it in passing a couple times, but yesterday I had to throw down the gauntlet. I realized that Christmas was almost here and that our free time to head to the mall was limited. "Wife" is scheduled to begin her annual Christmas baking free for all tonight and that usually lasts a couple days. By the time the flour clears, Christmas will be here. Before "Daughter" left for school, I laid it on the line. "If you want to see Santa," I said without judgment, "we have to go tonight. Think about it at school and let me know." "Daughter" got home and somewhat hesitantly informed me that she did indeed want to check out Father Christmas' action.

"Wife" thought that since it was a week night, Santa would be sitting all alone waiting for us to pop in for a little visit. Sometimes "Wife's" naivete amuses me. There was quite a line to see old Kris Kringle. The human rope snaked around Santa's area and stretched down to Victoria's Secret. Not a bad place to stand for awhile, but I digress. I could tell "Daughter" was preoccupied while she waited. There were a lot of little kids in line, and she was easily one of the oldest. She tried to cover her nervousness with small talk about school and where we would eat dinner when this chore was finished. I tried to joke with her about not crying or peeing on Santa's lap, but alas, my razor sharp wit could not cut through her concern. I could tell she was keeping an eye out for anyone she might know from school. A sighting by one of her classmates could make for difficult times in the lunch room. We finally got to the front of the line, and "Daughter" had resigned herself to saying hi to Father Christmas. We got her to smile for a picture, that really was just for us. Santa did a good job. He sensed that "Daughter" was uncomfortable, and not just from having to sit on some old man's lap, so he made a few jokes about the thing she asked him for. "Daughter" only asked Santa for one thing. That's how she rolls. She told us, "you ask this Santa for one thing because he's not the real Santa. The rest of your list you send to the North Pole." She's got all the angles figured. She and Santa finished their little conference and the visit was over. She smiled when we left. I think she was a little relieved.

I was glad "Daughter" decided to visit Santa. I have a feeling that last night was the end of that chapter of our lives. For ten years I've watched as "Daughter's" eyes got wide with excitement when she saw Santa. Even the couple years she cried are remembered fondly and laughed about as we look at the pictures. We can remember the various mall Santas and the quality of their artificial beards as we see how she's grown. Kids seem to grow up so fast, and part of that growing means a loss of some of the magic that makes being a kid so much fun. One of these days, Santa won't mean as much to "Daughter" as he once did. I feel bad about that, even though I know it's inevitable. I wish there were some truths your kid didn't have to learn so soon. I don't think it makes you a baby to believe in Santa Claus. I think it makes you a girl who wants to hold on to the magic a little bit more. Later...Brian

My Day In Court

Today I was "in the system" as Andy Sipowicz used to say on "N.Y.P.D. Blue". I hadn't been arrested and taken to the tombs, I just had to go to court. Now this may come as a surprise to you, but I'm not always the law abiding, conservative corner stone of society that I appear. Sometimes I act with little or no regard for the law, and when you live on the edge like I do, sometimes the man cracks down and plants his boot heel firmly on your neck. I know you're wondering what heinous crime I committed that brought about my appearance in front of the magistrate. Was I running guns, selling dwarf babies into slavery, unlawfully betting on goat races in the Sudan? No friends, I hate to shatter your faith in me, but I wasn't wearing my seat belt.

I don't remember if I told you this or not, but last month, I was leaving the radio station early one Sunday morning. I try to wear my seat belt as much as possible, but to be honest, while I'm all for seat belt wearing, I think the law that says I have to wear it is asinine. If I want to endanger myself, who is the government to tell me I can't. Unless I fly out the windshield and land on someone, the only person who will be hurt in a beltless accident will be me. Plus, I feel very trapped when I have a seat belt on and am wearing a winter coat. My feelings about the law aside, I was also speeding. I can't drive the speed limit no matter how hard I try. I think that because of my size I need to be traveling at a higher rate of speed just to feel like I'm moving. So I was busted by the man and given two tickets. My license was taken and I was told to report to court this morning.

I haven't been to court in years. When I have gotten tickets in the past, it was usually when I was on the road and some red necked, jack booted sheriff had nabbed me in some backwoods speed trap. Court always makes me nervous. Even though I knew I wasn't in any real trouble, I always think there will be some mishap that will result in me being dragged off to the hoosgow. I also figure that at some time I'll feel compelled to regale the judge with my disdain for certain laws. I'm sure that wouldn't end well. After checking in with the surly court clerk, I waited for the judge to call my name. I saw the officer who was the instrument of my destruction sitting in the front row. My name was called and I nervously approached the bench. "Mr. Noonan, you're charged with speeding and not wearing your seat belt." When the judge said it, it didn't seem like I was such an outlaw, just another run of the mill hump who had a lead foot. The seat belt ticket was dismissed because it was my first offense. One down. "On the speeding, how do you plead?" I probably could have dragged things out and gone into a whole Al Pacino, "you're out of order" scene, but hell, I knew I had been caught fair and square. As Sammy used to sing, "don't do the crime if you can't do the time. Don't do it." It was time to man up and take my medicine. "Guilty." I said it with a little sneer to add effect. I was fined a whopping $30.00 and $30.00 more for court costs. Small price to pay. Of course I'm on probation for four months, so I need to toe the line for now, but just wait until May.

I've got to take a shower. Rubbing elbows with all those hardened criminals in traffic court has left me feeling dirty. I guess some time in the joint will do that to a guy. I hope I can acclimate to being back out in society. Buckle up. Later...Brian

How D.A.R.E. You?

First things first. Yesterday was the one year anniversary of this blog. I'd throw myself a party, but that seems a little self serving. I'll just mention it here and let the congratulatory comments roll in. I know I've been a little lax lately, but I'm operating under the old show biz adage, "always leave 'em wanting more." Am I sounding a little crazy today? It's because I just found out I'm an addict.

I spent an hour at "Daughter's" school today for her D.A.R.E. graduation. If you've been under a rock since Nancy Reagan started urging everyone to "just say no" in the 80's, D.A.R.E. is a program designed to teach kids how to say no to alcohol, drugs, tobacco and other things that are considered "bad decisions". On paper I think this is great. A lot of parents don't want to talk to their kids about these things, so a program like this might get kids to ask questions and a dialog can begin. The program is nine weeks long. The students meet with a police officer trained in the D.A.R.E. program. They make posters, sign a pledge and learn all about the dangers of illicit substances. Sound good?

The problem is , the propaganda merchants in D.A.R.E. don't seem to make any distinctions between the substances. A drug is a drug, whether you have a beer with dinner or are main lining heroin behind a dumpster in an alley while smoking a Lucky Strike. In "Daughter's" eyes, when I have a frosty cold Old Style while enjoying some of "Wife's" 118 alarm chili, I could just as easily be hanging with Keith Richards waiting for a blood transfusion. That seems a little mis-leading. Maybe I'm just being sensitive. I enjoy some alcohol every now and again and I don't like being labeled a derelict. One of the "graduates" read a report stating that he had learned that alcohol damages your organs, your brain and can cause death. He ended by asking "why would anyone drink alcohol?" I wanted to stand up and yell "Cause it's good. Just wait until you get dumped by your girl friend in college pal. You'll be on your knees thanking God for some hooch." No mention of abuse, just any use, like one high ball will send you straight to your maker. I kept quiet, but the looks on some of the other parents faces lead me to believe I wasn't alone in my thinking.

I know it's probably easier to teach this kind of thing with a completely black and white approach. As any parent knows, if you give a kid any wiggle room on an issue, they'll use it to their advantage. If you teach them the concept of moderation, they'll no doubt push it and end up in a "Girls Gone Wild" video. Maybe that's where the parents come in. The kids get all this zero tolerance information and it's up to the parents to explain it all. I know we have had this discussion many times. While I hate smoking and have never tried drugs, I have tried to tell "Daughter" that all things are not equal and that when she's old enough, she can decide for herself if she wants to join her old man in a beer. That doesn't mean we'll be checking into the Betty Ford Center, but as I've been told my whole life "It's in the genes."

All things considered, I'd rather have her think that all of these things are bad for you. That's better than the alternative. I'll just have to get used to her scornful gaze when I pop the top on another beer. Later...Brian

Hi I'm Brian

I don't have much time today. I'm about to go don my semi-gay apparel for the company Christmas party. They're not calling it a Christmas party though. In these politically correct times, we are being treated to a "Holiday Luncheon". I guess that takes the Christmas pressure off the event. It also rendered my Santa hat and mistletoe belt buckle obsolete for the gathering. It's probably for the best. All I need is to have a couple of egg nogs and start doing holiday themed pelvic thrusts.

I'm practicing my small talk. Making usless conversation has never been one of my strong suits. My small talk experience in the past was limited to trying to pick up girls in bars, so I have to rethink my lines. Somehow, I don't think our G.M. will be impressed when I tell him his suit looks nice but it will look better at the end of my bed. Maybe I'll tell him I wish I could rewrite the alphabet so I could "put U and I together". It truly is a miracle I was ever able to attract a woman.

I'll give you a full account of the hoopla tomorrow. I hope your plans for the holidays are coming along nicely. It's amazing how much more I'm enjoying the season now that the house is decorated. A rare feeling of calm has encompassed me. I'm sure it won't last. Hey look at the time. I've gotta go. Where did I put those reindeer boxer shorts? Later...Brian

I Need New Pants

Tomorrow is the big WGN "Holiday Luncheon". It is the first time I've ever had to go to a corporate Christmas (holiday) party and I want to look good. Since I work overnights at the station, a lot of people have never met me, so I want my first impression to be fabulous. That sounds a little "theatrical", but you know what I mean.

The reason I'm fixating like a teenage girl about what I'm wearing to this soiree is because I really dread having to go. As I said, I've never had to go to a company party before. Being a stand-up is like being an outlaw. There are no set places for you to go to an office party. I've been the entertainment at many Holiday parties, but it's not the same. I come in, tell my stories, get my cash and head out into the night while the sales guys try to get the receptionist into the coat room. The closest I ever got to the coat room was to stop in the lobby to count my money and make sure I didn't get stiffed. I also have always hated small talk. I'm great in front of huge groups, or over the air from a studio, but standing one on one with someone and trying to talk about the weather makes my skin crawl. Maybe it's deep seated insecurities, or maybe I'm just too cool for the room. No, it's the insecurities. I've never been a good networker either. I told some of my friends I wasn't going to the party and they just about beat me about the head and neck. They were right. The only way the rest of the station will learn of my genius is if I show up and let them bask in it's glow.

I got a great new shirt a few weeks ago and I spent today looking for the right pants. Really for me the "right" pants are a pair that fits in the correct color. I'm not worried about how the trousers hug my sweet behind because lets be honest, who is ever going to be scoping out my back yard. I always try to look snazzy for shows or parties. I got luck at the first store I went to. I was trying to choose between flat front or pleated pants. I know the cool kids are back in the flat fronts, but I have to be true to my own sense of style. The pleated ones looked better on me. They even hugged my ass a little. Hey you never can tell. I hear there will be booze at the party. It was worth the hour drive each way to find the perfect pants.

As long as I think I look good, it'll be one less thing for me to obsess over and I may even be able to enjoy the party. I'll let you know. Later...Brian

Do Black Patent Leather Shoes......

Really exist? I thought I had things pretty well under control as far as Christmas was concerned. I had finally finished all the decorating in my house and had even finished most of the shopping I thought I had to do. Life was good. I only had a few things left to find, but they seemed easy. What could go wrong?

Yesterday I got a call from my mom in a panic. After forty four years, she had decided to get an artificial Christmas tree. She had picked out a pre-lit number with some crazy flocking that gave it the look of a snow covered pine. How festive. She had asked me last week if I would come and help her put it up, assuring me that the woman at the store had told her it was very easy. Yesterday she called and told me not to come because she and one of my brothers had opened the box, took out the stand and one section of the tree and had come to the conclusion that the tree was broken and the stand was missing parts. As you can imagine, I was dubious since the tree was in a factory sealed box. "I'll come take a look." Then my mom unleashed some guilt that only a mother can conjure. "Well, if you're too busy, I'll try to get it in the car myself." While watching her try to load a now expanding tree into her car would have made for some Christmas merriment, I went over. It took me about thirty eight seconds to determine that the tree and the stand were both in fine order. It wasn't until the tree was fully assembled that my mom stopped questioning me. I had to literally pick the tree up and shake it to prove to her that it wasn't coming out of the stand.

The funniest part of the whole episode was that my mom thought the tree would come right out of the box and look like the one on the showroom floor. I got it together and she looked as if I had just plopped Charlie browns tree in her living room. I explained to her that we had to shape it and she got irate saying that the woman hadn't told her that. I guess she thought an artificial tree was like an umbrella that she would just pop open. Yes, I shaped her tree and when I left, she seemed happy. That's me, spreading the joy.

Today I thought I would do "Wife" a favor and pick up a pair of shoes for "Daughter". I was out running errands anyway (more on that tomorrow) and figured I would help her out. There I go, spreading the joy again. "Daughter" needs a pair of black patent leather shoes to go with some holiday outfits. It should be easy right? I've been running around for three hours and have gone to about 57 stores. No luck. Thankfully Christmas is still two weeks away, so I have 14 days of searching to look forward to. I can't wait until "Daughter's" feet stop growing, then we won't have to go through this every year for shoes she'll wear a couple of times. Later...Brian

The Belly Of The Beast

Seeing as the anniversary of Pearl Harbor was yesterday, I decided to take my life in my hands and start my Christmas shopping. I really don't know how the two are related except they were both horrific days that will live in infamy.

I hate Christmas shopping. It's not the money, or the effort, or trying to come up with the perfect gift (which I always do). It's dealing with the public. If you think my near paralyzing aversion to decorating my Christmas trees was bad, it's nothing compared to my desire to avoid the mall from Thanksgiving until early February. I know what you're saying. "Brian, shop on-line. It's so much easier." Sure, that may be true, but then what would I have to complain about. The other thing is, "Wife" handles all the high finance here at the casa. If I were to make a bunch of on-line purchases, she'd see the credit card statements and ruin the surprises. Why do you think all my porn is old school mags? I siphon cash for six months so that I can have a totally under the radar Christmas. By using cash, not only doesn't "Wife" get to monitor my spending Big Brother style, but I get to watch the faces on all the seasonal department store help as they try to figure out how to make change and why I don't have to sign anything.

I always try to make the shopping process as streamlined as possible. I spend a long time thinking about what I'm going to get people, then I send "Wife" out to get everything. She doesn't seem to mind, since shopping is a contact sport for her. The only people who I'm responsible for are "Wife" and my mom. After I get my ideas, I sit in a dark room and visualize the mall experience. I picture my route, what door I will go in, and the most efficient way to traverse the mally terrain. My best laid plans are always ruined by folks who are actually shopping. They meander, browse, stop, meander some more, and they're always walking in some four across formation that necessitates me throwing a stiff arm to get by them.

Today my visualization worked almost perfectly. I knew exactly what I wanted to get "Wife" and where I would get it. I zipped in through a different store to check on something for myself, (why shouldn't I treat myself nice?) and then quickly arrived at my destination. After a few minutes going over my options, I made my choice, whipped out my wad, (no pervert, my cash) and was on my way. As I headed out, I allowed my eyes to shift their focus and even found an item that "Wife" and I had been saying we needed. Bonus. Only the traffic around the mall hindered my progress. I got done so quickly I had time to meet my friend for lunch. Now I just have to convince "Wife" to pick up my mom's gift and I'll be golden.

If you're up late tomorrow night, don't miss the big show on WGN from 1-5 am. Laura and I have lots of holiday fun planned and we'll be playing another installment of "Man vs. Machine" for your chance to win lovely prizes. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

Oh Tannenbaum And Other Thoughts

It only took three days, but I have finally finished lighting the Christmas trees. I realized that my utter contempt for the process dragged it out much longer than if I had just "manned up" and gotten it done right away. Any time I spend too much time thinking about something I get in trouble. I've been fixating on cake lately, but that's another story. Last night I worked on the big tree until 10:30, then I called a halt to the proceedings. I swore to "Wife" it would be done before she got home from work today. As I type this, her ETA is 34 minutes. Talk about coming in under the wire.

I realized today that with the onslaught of holiday decorating and my time shilling for a major corporation, I may have let some things escape my laser-like gaze. Let's rectify that a bit shall we? Here are some random thoughts on a few current events that I feel need to be commented on.

- Michael Richards. Are we done with this guy yet? So much has been written and debated about this idiot that I feel foolish even mentioning it. Every comic has been heckled. If you're any good, you know how to deal with it. I have brought people to tears with my hellacious heckler retorts. NEVER have I used the hateful language that Richards did. He was wrong. With that said, the people he said those things to are due NOTHING MORE than an apology. In this era of legalized extortion, their media whore lawyer is trying to get money for their "pain and suffering". Let me see if I understand this. You go to a comedy club, act like a buffoon by heckling a performer (this is NEVER ok, even if you don't find the comic funny), then when he slaps you down, you sue him? Again, the response far outweighed the rudeness of the heckle, but none of this would have happened if these yahoos had kept their mouths shut. Richards needs to be a man and apologize, and the punks need to be men and except the apology and "go and sin no more." If Richards pays them a penny, it'll be open season on free speech.

- Speaking of free speech. Rosie O'Donnell called Kelly Ripa homophobic because Kelly told the sexually ambiguous Clay Aiken that she "didn't know where that hand has been honey" after Clay covered her mouth while guest hosting on her show. How is that homophobic? Rosie O'Donnell is a blowhard who is nothing more than a nattering bore. Her giant head is full of so much blather that it spills out everytime she opens her yawning chasm of a mouth. The only way Kelly's comment could have been considered homophobic would have been if she told Aiken that his breath smelled like man ass.

--And finally...Britney, get some panties. Like most guys, I've been a tad curious about the nether regions of Ms. Spears, but sometimes the fantasy is so much better than the reality. Let's forget for a second that she's hanging out with the human stain, Paris Hilton. If you're going to go commando in a mini skirt, at least wax everything up. Her hoo-hoo had so much stubble, I thought Don Johnson was filming a "Miami Vice" reunion down there. Didn't she just have a baby a few weeks ago? How 'bout putting on some undies and hanging with the kids for a while? Won't there lives be hard enough with the sperm donor you picked to sire them without you showing the world the lab where the unholy experiment took place?

Wow I feel better. Two weeks of holiday joy had me backed up. I'm off to enjoy the fruits of my labors and to tell "Wife" I've been done for hours. Later....Brian

The Saga Continues

I'm still putting lights on trees! I know, I'm either really slow, really anal or a combination of both. I plan on being done before I go to bed tonight. If I hear one more Christmas song to "put me in the mood" I'm going to strangle someone with a rope of garland. I wanted to post something so anyone suffering from Pre-Holiday depression wouldn't blame my missing a post for an egg nog overdose.

Back to the trees. Wish me luck. Fa la la la la....Later...Brian

Decking The Halls

This is both my most and least favorite time of year. I enjoy having the house decorated for Christmas, I just hate doing the decorating. Last week, as you may have read, I spent the better part of three days decorating outside. I strung thousands of lights, and have since had to do some minor repairs. Thank goodness I did the outside last week, since Chicago has plunged into the frozen bowels of winter. Even with all the illumination outside, "Wife" has now declared that we need some lights around the front door too. I hope she enjoys the cold.

Now the job of decking the inside of the house with boughs of holly and jingle bells begins. In a true example of going overboard, we will have four Christmas trees in the house. Yes, I'm serious. Isn't that how many trees all insane people have? We have a small one in the foyer, a bigger one in the living room, a huge one in the family room and a small, crazy one in the basement. What? None on the second floor? Not yet, but we still have time. Each tree has it's own theme, all under the main theme of "nuts".

It's my job to put the lights on the two big trees. It's a job I gave myself years ago. Thankfully the two small trees came pre-lit. For most people, trimming the tree is a holiday tradition they look forward to every year. For me it is an exercise in frustration that I put off as long as I can. Why do you think I'm typing this instead of working on the tree? "Wife" has offered to help, but there's no use dragging her into this. Why do I hate trimming the tree so much? The answer to this, like so many things goes back to my childhood.

Every year, I would watch as the quest for the perfect tree drove my family to madness. It always started at countless tree lots where my parents would debate, ad nauseum, over the qualities of various Douglas Fir trees. This tree was too thin, that tree had a crooked trunk, the other tree had squirrels in it. After three days, they would settle on a tree from the first place they had looked. The tree was tied to the top of the station wagon and taken home for the soul crushing exercise of putting it in the stand. We always had the old school stand with the three bolts that screwed into the tree trunk. My dad would be on the floor with the screw driver, I (as the oldest) would be holding onto the tree, covering my hands with sap and my mom would be in the dining room using a surveyors tool to make sure the tree was perfectly straight. This usually took about an hour and a half and all our Christmas cheer was channeled into profanity laced tirades.

My mom always put the lights on the tree. This is where I learned my psychosis. Most people put lights on a Christmas tree, my mother installed them. Every inch of the tree had to be illuminated. If not, my dad would inevitably come upstairs, take a pull on his cigarette, and proclaim, "there's a dark spot over there." My fixation has grown from there. I put so many lights on the trees that it takes me hours to get one finished. There is no joy in it for me. Even when I'm done, it takes a half bottle of Bailey's for me to relax and enjoy the fruits of my efforts. Even though I tell myself that nothing is perfect, I will spend the entire holiday season critiquing my work.

I do love when the trees are decorated. I can sit in the family room for hours just looking at the Christmas tree. It gives me a small feeling of peace that is usually elusive. The Christmas tree brings back some warm memories, and even though I know that the Norman Rockwell Christmas I always wanted only exists in paintings, for a few minutes it comes to life. Well, I've procrastinated long enough. The trees aren't going to light themselves. Later....Brian

Let It Snow

Oh my! It's the first day of December in Chicago and there is a winter storm. What a shocker. Winter descended on the area last night and if you paid attention to the local media (which I now proudly am a member) you would have thought the world was coming to an end. TV stations had reporters stationed on every overpass and at both airports, and radio station had roving reporters, all to cover a storm that hadn't arrived yet. It always amazes me that we in the Midwest are surprised by Winter weather. Do we get so drunk being house bound for three months that by the time Winter comes back around we have forgotten it?

The storm did come. It started with freezing rain and sleet that turned most of the roads here into Olympic speed skating rinks. The problem is that our cars have radials, not razor sharp blades, so the results are disastrous. I was trying to get to a rare stand-up gig last night at a club about 48 miles away. I left the house with plenty of time and was greeted by the road company of the "Ice Capades". I had gone about three miles when a van in front of me spun out on a bridge. I should have known I was in for trouble, but I got on the freeway anyway. I had gone about eight miles in thirty minutes and was at a stand still. By the time I had gone 11 miles, I had been on the road for two hours, and the show was already a half hour old. I had been in contact with the club the whole time and had told them to not expect me. I even sent the owner a picture of the traffic jam from my cell phone. It's amazing the things you can learn sitting in your car for two hours.

Today we woke to a combo of ice and snow. It's always kind of exciting when the first snow hits. After braving the elements and the roads (thanks to four wheel drive and a lack of common sense) it was time to blow some snow. I had taken some steps yesterday to get my sweet snow thrower ready. It was gassed up and lubed and I had started it so that when I needed it, I would be rockin'. Man do I love not having to shovel. I fired up my Airens and off I went. I finished my driveway in no time, did the sidewalks and then even did part of my neighbor's driveway. I wish I could take the credit for being nice, but "Wife" had seen our neighbor out shovelling and suggested I help her out. I didn't tell her that of course. Let her think I'm a hero. It might come in handy down the line.

I'm going to head back out and see if I can make the show tonight. If you're up late Saturday, don't forget to listen to Laura and me on WGN from 1-5 am. We have a new game that we're playing with chances for you to win valuable prizes. It should be fun. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian