The High Cost Of Fandom

The Chicago Bears are in the Super Bowl! It's been a long time, and fans are eager to show their support. So eager that their wallets are coming out of their pockets quicker than you can say, "that t-shirt costs how much?" Yessiree, Bears fans are plopping down lots of dough to show the rest of the world where their loyalties lie. I wish I could tell you that my household did not fall victim to this shameless huckstering, but you wouldn't believe me anyway.

It's hard to escape the marketing of a championship team. Every newspaper you open has ads for "Officially licensed merchandise", every store you set foot in wants to sell you some trinket immortalizing your team, aisles are jammed with tables overflowing with all matter of team apparel. It's amazing to me to see so many people walking around dressed alike. It's almost like we're all back in Catholic school, but our uniforms are cooler and sponsored by Reebok. I fall into this category. I am the owner of a couple of Bears jerseys (usually reserved only for games I attend), some t-shirts, two hats, a jacket (which was a gift) and a thong. I may be kidding about the last one, I just wanted to see if you were paying attention. Visualize it, I dare you. There are some folks who scoff at the idea of a grown man wearing team apparel. They say that these men are pathetic, that they never played the game and are trying to fulfill some part of their manhood that is missing. To them I say...Lighten up Francis! Sometimes it's just fun to show your support. It's fun to wear a jersey, maybe not to a funeral or court, but what's the harm in wearing one to a game.

Back to the point. People are buying this stuff at record rates. The other day, while trying to pry "Wife" away from one of the stores, the lines of people buying Bears stuff was so long, I thought Russians might be giving out soup at the front. I was at one of the electronic stores this weekend and High Def TV's and other equipment was flying out of there so fast it looked like the place was being looted. I kept waiting for some people's civil rights to be violated, but it turned out a lot of folks just wanted a better picture for the Sunday. All this for a football game? Not just any game, the Super Bowl featuring the Bears! No cost is too high. Well, unless you take into account an actual ticket to the game, but as I've said before, the Super Bowl isn't for the average fan.

Bears fever has hit "Wife" with the fury of a Brian Urlacher sack. She is usually fiscally conservative, but in the last four days she has lost her mind. She dropped a little over a hundred dollars on shirts for herself and "Daughter". That was fine. I bought myself a hat that was on sale. Then she went in for the kill. I'll tell you all about that tomorrow. I gotta go. I think I need to pick up a Bears doormat and matching clock and waste basket before the big game. Later...Brian

Easy To Assemble?

I missed Friday's blog because I was in the midst of a project for which I was slightly unsuited. "Daughter's" room is a disaster area. She's like most kids, whose idea of cleaning her room is to throw stuff under the bed or in the closet. Since I have taken on many of the domestic duties here at the casa, I'm responsible for dropping clean laundry off and telling her to put it away. Imagine my dismay to always find piles of clean clothes tossed on the floor. "I don't have enough space for them" is her usual excuse. That may have been true before, but no more.

"Wife" had decided that "Daughter" needed another dresser for her room. The one she had was cute, in girlie furniture term), but didn't hold enough clothing. Instead of plopping down huge money on dome "famous maker" piece of furniture, we decided to get a "build it yourself" piece, from the Sauder Company. We've gotten Sauder stuff before, everything from entertainment centers to dressers and a night stand for a spare bedroom. The stuff is pretty good quality and actually holds up as well as some of the more expensive furniture we've bought. It always looks good when it's assembled, but the assembly process puts my already frayed nerves to the ultimate test.

Let me start by telling you I am not handy. This fact may have been brought up before, but it bares repeating. Not being a "Mr. Fix-it" has served me well on a number of occasions. I'm able to get out of a lot of major renovations because "Wife" knows that in the long run, it's cheaper, easier and less life threatening to hire a professional to take care of any repairs at the house. My lack of mechanical prowess can only take me so far. There comes a point where every man must step up, strap on the tool belt and commence to buildin'.

My biggest problem with any of these projects is the feeling of total helplessness I feel after I unpack the box. As I survey the dozens of oddly sized planks, thousands of screws and the "hidden fasteners" I pray for hysterical blindness or a total loss of motor functions. I don't know when children started illustrating instruction manuals. The actual written word is kept to a minimum and I am left to decipher the crude cave drawings of the insane in order to assemble this monstrosity. The instructions lead me to believe that if I used my power screw driver, I would set the dresser on fire, or that the pre-drilled carpentry gods would cause knot holes to appear in odd places. I was forced to use an old screw driver with a rough handle. Listen, before you make that "world's smallest violin" motion with you fingers, my hands were made for crafting humor, not wood. The hardest thing they have to grip is....well you can figure it out. I have the soft, smooth hands of a debutante. Now my hands are blister filled paws. Hideous.

I finally finished the project, and so far, the dresser is still holding up. If you can believe it, I'm off to put together a TV stand right now. You won't believe why. Later...Brian

The Cruelest Cut

Belgium must be a pretty boring place. When not feasting on delicious chocolate and window shopping for new lederhosen, things must be slow. What else can explain scientists giving an iguana Viagra?

I must have missed something. Have all other diseases been cured? Is cancer a thing of the past, are diabetics rejoicing over the fact that they can eat a Snickers without the fear of coma, can men in bath houses romp freely without fear of the dreaded virus? That can be the only reason that learned men are worried about a lizard getting it up. Maybe this was just some crazy frat prank. I can see it now, all the scientists sitting around their terrarium after a hard day of doing whatever it is scientists do, probably something scientific. Maybe they just got done watching the Sound of Music (I know it's set in Austria, but Belgium doesn't have any sweet movies I can reference and be honest, you don't really know the difference) and an idea pops into their heads like the chiming of a cuckoo clock. "My friends, let's give this iguana a hard on." I'm sure in their schnitzel induced fog this seems like a good idea. It's just like the guys who tried to get your dog drunk or high in college. Funny for you, bad for Fido. Usually these hair brained schemes are thwarted by one sane voice. You would think that in a room full of scientists, one of them would have at least asked "why".

Mozart, that's the iguanas name, has had an erection for over a week. Depending on your circumstances and the company you're keeping, this may not be a bad thing. For Mozart, however, having an engorged iguana unit ( really, how big are we talking?) has proven a problem. The same scientists that gave him a pill induced chubby have now decided that they need to amputate the offending member. They claim this won't bother Mozart because iguanas are blessed with two meat hammers. That's a crock of science sludge. I don't care how many man mallets you have, nobody wants one cut off. Can't they figure out another way to get it down? Aren't there iguana hookers who would know lizardy tricks to deflate young Mozart. I think the scientists should have to handle it, if you'll pardon the pun. They got him all excited, they can't just leave him all pent up like a forced virgin on Prom night.

This is why I'm always a little leery about scientists. Sometimes you're too smart for your own good. When you can solve things too quickly you're left with time on your hands and then look what happens. Later...Brian

I Thought I Missed It

Yesterday I was still basking in the warm glow of the Bears win, so I barely noticed that it was "Blue Monday", the day that experts called the unhappiest day of the year. I had so many good things on my mind that I didn't give the day a second thought. "Blue Monday", like an unbalanced Glenn Close would not be ignored. Instead it hung around my front yard like striking steel worker, calling out to me and setting up a shanty town.

According to psychologists, nasty weather, unpaid Christmas bills and failed New Years resolutions all form a perfect storm of depression that make January 22 the gloomiest day of the year. I don't know if I believe that. If those are the only criteria, then gloom would hang like a cloud over me from late November until the end of June. There is something in the air today though. A residual gloominess that has draped itself over me like a wet blanket. Maybe I'm just coming down from the big win. I feel tired today. There is no sunshine, and that doesn't help matters. It could be that I'm finally feeling the effects of standing on the freezing lake front for ten hours Sunday. I also finally put all the Christmas boxes in the crawl space. That's not gloomy, but it is a pain in the ass.

The good news is that today is National Pie Day. Nothing can chase away the gloom like some tasty pie. I could take this opportunity to make some snide little joke about the other meaning for pie and how much that cheers me up too, but that seems in bad taste. Pun intended. Ha! Even on the day after the unhappiest day of the year, I can still whip up some funny. I'm not even going to go down the cherry pie road. Suddenly I don't feel quite so gloomy. I'm more hungry and well.....Pie is pie. Later...Brian

Who Dat? I Think You Know!

Oh my God! I've been trying all day to get my thoughts in order so that I could eloquently tell you about what turned out to be one of the most exciting days of my life. Unfortunately, I am running around the house like a sugar addicted, ADD suffering kid who just got his dream present on Christmas morning. I'll take a deep breath and try to compose myself. Yesterday I had the privilege of attending the NFC Championship Game at Soldier Field and watching the Bears completely dominate then defeat the New Orleans Saints. If I never go to another sporting event the rest of my life, I may be OK with it.

I told you Friday that I was taking off my proverbial skirt and going to the game despite the bitter cold and sleep deprivation I would have to endure. Of the many decisions I have made in my life, this was one of the better ones. My buddy "Load" and I arrived at the parking lot about an hour after my brothers had begun tailgating. The party was in full swing with "Number 3" cooking up a storm as usual. "What did you guys eat while standing in a frozen parking lot?" I'm glad you asked. We enjoyed grilled beef tenderloin, lamb chops, sausage, and sauteed Cajun shrimp. Throw a couple Bloody Marys on top of that, maybe a beer or two and you've got yourself a perfect beginning to what would become a perfect day.

The atmosphere was electric, and I don't mean that there were downed power lines. Everyone was in a great mood, full of hope and anticipation. All around us, radios and TV's broadcast the opinions of the so-called "experts" who, almost to the one, predicted doom and gloom for the Bears. Every one of these blustering, talking heads said that the Saints were the team of destiny and that the Bears were an over-rated bunch of junior college rejects whose superior record must have been created by a P.R. guru rather than hard work and dedication. None of the nay-sayers could dampen the spirits of the hopefull as we streamed into Soldier Field. Before the game, former American Idol contestant Chris Daughtry sang the National Anthem. He was "Wife's" favorite last season, so I know she was jealous. Then it was game time.

I won't give you a play by play, but it was a great game. There were a few minutes that had me worried, but the Bears were ready. One of the big moments came when Saints rookie Reggie Bush caught a pass and ran for a touchdown. He decided it was a good idea to turn and point at the pursuing Bears defenders to mock them, then he did a Mary Lou Retton into the endzone, got up and proceeded to do his best Axl Rose snake dance. It's never a good idea to taunt giant men, especially ones who can seal your fate. The Bears went on to do just that. The defense smothered the "league's best offense". The running game was fantastic, and our quarterback even had a good game.

In the stands, my brothers and I were very cognizant of the fact that we were watching something big. We were all able to be together to share the moment, and what a moment it was. The place was going wild. Everyone was hugging and high fiveing, and I even saw some moisture in some people's eyes. I won't say tears, because to paraphrase Tom Hanks, "there's no crying in football." We were able to watch as the George Halas Trophy was presented to Halas's daughter, and witnessed all the fanfare of a huge win. I have never seen anything like it. You would have sworn people were floating as they left the stadium, joyful and exhausted from the experience.

Lot's of people were talking about going to the Super Bowl. Unfortunately, that's not a place for the average fan. I don't know a lot of people who have three grand for a ticket to a ballgame and another couple thousand for airfare and hotel rooms. The Super Bowl is going to be great, but for me at least, it'll be watched on TV. I say this without any "sour grapes", but I think watching the Bears win the Championship in Chicago, with my brothers, while the snow fell is as close to perfect as a sporting event can get. Now fans have two weeks to wait and hope. I'm really glad we're the fans who get to do it. Go Bears! Later...Brian

Jump Off The Cliff

Sunday is a big day for Bears fans. For the first time in 19 years, the Monsters of the Midway, the "pride and joy of Illinois" are playing for the NFC Championship. Everyone knows what the next step would be, so I'm not going to jinx it by mentioning it. The team has gone 14-3 this season, so you'd think that the fans and the city would be going completely nuts, That's what you'd think, but there's a surprising calm shrouding the city of big shoulders.

Like a girl who has had her heart crushed by one too many lotharios, Bears fans are being a little hesitant about giving their hearts over to this team. We were all flushed with excitement when the season started. "This is the year", was the refrain at the stadium, in bars and on the radio. The Bears started the season on fire, and then something happened. They went from an invincible force to a regular team. That's when people started getting that little tingle in their intestines. "Oh no, here we go again." The diehards always believed, but the rest of us went into "cautiously optimistic" mode. We hoped the Bears would keep winning, but we were too afraid to give ourselves over. Chicago fans have spent too many years sitting at home waiting for the championship phone to ring. I even gave into the mind set a little. Last week as you may remember, I passed on a ticket to the game. I didn't think the Bears would lose, I just figured I'd watch the game in comfort, then if the worst happened, I'd be in a warm and cozy place to deal with my grief.

Not this week! I've decided to give myself over to the frenzy. I've got full blown Bears fever and it's making me a little woozy. I've spent the week talking to people about the game, thinking about the game and finally, scoring a ticket for the game. Sleep be damned. This is the team I support, and if they hurt me again, oh well, there's always the White Sox. I've come to the realization that it's better to have your hopes dashed on the rocks than to never hope at all. If you're a fan of a team, you need to get off the fence and root for them all out. I've heard stories about people who are willing to do just about anything to get tickets for the game. That's the kind of dedication I'm looking for.

So I'm gearing up. The forecast calls for snow and cold temps. They say that's Bears weather. I hope so, because it sure isn't Brian weather. I may have the fever, but I won't be the guy with his shirt off, giant belly painted orange and blue, dancing in the aisle. I'll leave that to my brothers. What I will be doing is watching my team and opening myself up to the joy or pain that it might bring me. Go Bears! Have a great weekend and if you're up listen to the big show on WGN, Saturday night/Sunday morning from 1-5 am. Later...Brian

Wee, Wee, Wee, All The Way ...Gone

As a MMRP (major market radio personality) I was immediately drawn to the story of the 28 year old housewife who died after taking part in a stunt orchestrated by some of my radio brethren. The stunt, was perpetrated by the "Morning Rave", which I'm sure was a high class, intellectually stimulating mix of fart jokes, tips on how to get more "booty", and numerous stories involving drunkenness and vomit. "Hold your wee for a Wii" (I get it, wee the pee and Wii the video gaming system sound the same) asked contestants to drink as much water as they could without going to the bathroom in an attempt to win the Sony game system. After being coaxed out of the contest for a pair of Justin Timberlake tickets, Jennifer Strange went home and died. The official cause of death was "water intoxication". That's tragic. When I first heard the story however, I laughed like a jackass.

Today the Sacramento Sheriff's Department began a criminal investigation into the incident. This is where I get mad. The investigation was launched after tapes of the stunt were made public. On the tapes, the "talent" can be heard laughing, making reference to people dying from drinking too much water, and guffawing that the contestants had signed releases. In hindsight, very distasteful, but is it really criminal?

I feel for the family of the woman, but she was an adult. Were the "hosts" stupid. Hell yeah. If you do even a quick search on the internet you can find all kinds of information on water intoxication. Was management at the station lax when it came to letting their "morning zoo" promote a contest? Probably. Was the woman responsible at all? She was the grown up, who worked in the medical field, that went to the station, entered the contest, signed the release and drank the water. All that for a $300 gaming system. I bet her husband wishes he had saved a couple bucks. I'm no lawyer, but in my opinion, this doesn't seem like a criminal offense. There was no intent to harm any of the contestants. The only intent on the part of the "personalities" was to get good ratings so they could get the hell out of Sacramento. The people on this show were idiots trying to make a name for themselves. Well, congratulations, people in the industry know you now, and you're probably going to have to go back to working at Linens and Things. Every one at the station lost their jobs, rightfully so. The station should probably pay the woman's family something since no one there was smart enough to Google anything before the contest, but criminal charges? I hate to keep harping on this, but the woman did this on her own. Nobody on the show held her down Gitmo style and poured the water down her gullet. She signed a release, so she knew there might be some risk. It's a tragedy, but it was an accident.

I have yet to do any stunts on my show, but after this, I'll need to re-think some of the ideas I've been kicking around. All my great ideas "wrestle a grizzly for Bears tickets, stick your tongue to a frozen pole and get front row to My Little Pony on Ice, and survive the Tazer for a new Razr will all have to be run past the Legal Department before I can announce them on the air. Wow all this writing has made me thirsty. I need some water. Later...Brian

It's So Much Fun My Ears Are Bleeding

I have a secret. It's a "dirty little secret" like in the song by the All-American Rejects. They ask the burning question "who has to know?" I don't know if you have to know or not, but the burden of keeping it to myself may be more than I can bear. People passing me on the street or sitting next to me in a restaurant wouldn't be able to tell of my affliction, but it lurks inside me anyway. It is a secret that belies my burly stature and rough and tumble persona. One that I can no longer hide. I need to come out. I will shout it from the roof tops...I love "American Idol!"

Yeah man, that's right. I make no apologies. I got hooked at the end of a season two years ago. Last year, I may have mentioned that I watched the show a little, but this year, well in for a penny, in for a pound. Last night was the season premiere, and Idol did not disappoint. The beginning of each season is dedicated to showing America how many truly untalented and completely delusional people are roaming the streets. Last night, the auditions were from Minneapolis, or ""Minne-hopeless" as resident "dawg" Randy Jackson put it. Randy may have actually been understating the case.

It has always amazed and saddened me the way some people can make themselves believe something despite mountains of evidence to the contrary. One by one, talentless boobs paraded in front of the judges and let loose with aural assaults so horrific that my dogs tried to hang themselves rather than have to listen to any more. Without exception, these sad, insane and mostly homely crooners disagreed with the judge's assessment of their bellowing and proclaimed their undying pledge to continue singing and to one day "make it". "What do they know?" was the most common sour grapes retort, just before the rejected would break down sobbing in the arms of their similarly deluded friends. It sounds horrible doesn't it? You couldn't be more wrong. Unless of course you were walking into the audition room to belt out "Kiss" by Prince.

As much as watching the audition process makes me weep for the future of this country, I can't get enough. The fact that people quit their jobs, got fired or bought an Uncle Sam costume just to wait in line to be told they suck is testament to America's fascination with fame and everyone's desire to be a "star". I've got no problem with people chasing a dream. God knows I've lived my life that way, but at some point, someone should actually tell you that you have some talent. Sure, you need to fight through rejection, but did you hear some of these people? They were in a talent black hole so deep that they could fight from now till Simon Cowell finds a loose fitting shirt and they still wouldn't be able to see the end of the fame line.

That's why the audition shows appeal to me. They are dream killers. Some people need a good injection of reality. Cry all you want Mr. "I've been singing all my life", it's back to the Jiffy Lube for you. That's OK, we all need our oil changed. Just sing down in the bay where no one can hear you. I think the judges need to be meaner. If I were them, I would make it my personal mission to let the hopeful know just how awful they were. There should be no question when the pitiful try to leave the audition room, unfailingly banging into the wrong door, that they should never, ever, sing again. Give Ryan Seacrest a stack of cards to a suicide prevention hotline so he can pass them out to the belittled when they emerge beaten, their dreams shattered and wander, slack jawed back to their regular lives. I think that next season, the judges should be armed with tazers. That way, when some grotesque Goth chick starts butchering a David Bowie song, or some monotone punk starts arguing that he in fact is the next Idol, they can zap them like an angry bear. I think some spasms and vomit might make for good TV. All that being said, thank God for these idiots. I haven't laughed that hard in a while. Later...Brian

Another Day In Paradise

There aren't many things that bring me pleasure. There are a few, but I don't go around whistling a happy tune most of the time. I enjoy being with "Wife" and "Daughter" (most of the time), having a good meal, relaxing in the Comfort King, and oh yeah, watching Jack Bauer chew the throat out of a terrorist.

I was so excited by the premiere of "Day Six" of "24" that I was almost levitating out of my chair. Very few TV shows warrant the dedication that I feel toward Jack and his terrorist fighting comrades at CTU. I doubt that there are any true Americans who don't know what I'm talking about, but in case you spend your Monday nights watching lame sitcoms or reading old copies of Readers Digest in the bathroom, let me, as the kids say, give you the 411. In a nutshell, "24" follows put upon Federal agent Jack Bauer as he spends one day trying to save the world from various, nefarious, (I love to rhyme. I do it all the time.) villains who are out to destroy this country. Each season is one day, with each episode representing an hour. Got it now? It's not to late to get on board the Jack express, but it will be pulling out of the station soon.

Why am I , a savvy media veteran, so drawn in by a TV show? Because it rocks! Over two nights, and four hours, this season's premiere let everyone know that Jack's sixth day with us was going to really suck for him and rule for us. I'll save you some time. Jack was released from a Chinese prison and asked to sacrifice himself so that the government could capture a renowned terrorist. Most of us would have begged off, telling the President that we had just gotten off a long flight, not to mention the two years of torture we endured at the hands of the godless Chinese. I know I would have asked for a steak and a conjugal visit before I would even consider letting myself be handcuffed to a grate in a storm sewer. Not Jack though. After being handed over, while being interrogated, he went all McGruff the Crime Dog and gnawed the jugular out of one of the terrorists, enabling him to escape. He didn't even wipe his mouth for two scenes. Talk about taking a bite out of crime. If that doesn't get you to watch a show, how about, domestic terrorism, suspension of civil liberties, a nervous breakdown, Jack having to kill one of his friends/fellow agents and, wait for it...a nuclear explosion in the suburbs of LA. That's more action in the first four hours than most regular Federal agents will see in a week, and more than a prisoner of his recliner will see in a lifetime.

Sure, I know it's just a TV show, but if you put aside the fact that Jack can't be killed, Chloe is always able to set up a clear satellite picture in a minute and a half and that for some reason, the elite agents that are in on the raids always seem to step on a stick, or trip over a bottle, thus alerting the bad guys, "24" asks some scary questions. What if this country was under attack, would you be willing to give up some freedoms for the illusion of safety, how did the former President's brother become the new President, and who is the annoying British guy that grabbed Chloe's ass? In the end, it all comes down to what Bonnie Tyler sang way back in 1984, "we're holding out for a hero." Jack's back, and I'm all in. Later...Brian

I've Got The Fever...Sort Of

This Sunday the "Monsters of the Midway" the Chicago Bears will take on the Seattle Seahawks in the Divisional playoffs of the NFL. The city is going crazy. Fans are excited because the Bears reached the playoffs again, the team has had a very good season and there is a chance, that for the first time in over twenty years the Bears could go to the Super Bowl. I'm excited too, but I guess not excited enough.

I had an opportunity to go to the game Sunday. My brother graciously offered me his extra ticket. I know I've mentioned this before, but three of my brothers are season ticket holders. Between them they have five tickets and demand for the extras is always high. When the ticket was offered, I jumped at the chance. My brothers are the kind of guys you want to go to a Bear's game with. They are die hard fans. From the custom van that Brother #3 (they don't want me to use their names, so now they will be given numbers like secret agents. I of course will be #1. That's because of my birth order, but also, let's be honest...) bought and had painted exclusively for games, to the extravagant tailgate parties they throw to custom jerseys and demonstrative aisle dancing, these guys know how to enjoy themselves. I know what you're thinking. "You must not be much of a fan if you'd turn that down. What are you waiting for, an offer to go to the ballet?" My fondness for tutus not withstanding, I am a fan. I'm just more of a fan of being comfortable.

I'm sure I will come across as a cranky old baby and cries of "take off your skirt" and "you can sleep when you're dead" will echo along the lake front, but I just can't bring myself to go. I'll make the excuse portion of this shorter than the rationalization part. I have to do the big show on WGN Sunday morning from 1-5am. "Wife" and "Daughter" are going to be out of town. I have no one to come to the house and let the dogs out and feed them in the morning. If I came home, fed the dogs, and went back into the city to meet my brothers for the game, I would get about an hour of sleep. I'll also throw in the fact that it's supposed to be snowing and cold. Did I mention I'd get no sleep.

I can't believe it either. It doesn't seem that long ago that this would have been a no-brainer. I would have slept all day Saturday and muscled through game day, probably downing copious amounts of adult beverages in the process. Maybe my advancing years have made me soft. The thought of getting no sleep, standing in a parking lot freezing for four hours before the game, sitting in a wind swept stadium for another three hours and then fighting traffic to get home holds very little appeal to me. "Hey dipwad, you could skip the tailgate party couldn't you?" I guess I could, but why go to the game then? I'm finding that avoiding hassles is becoming my biggest motivation when attending an event. I have no patience for traffic, crowds, or public bathrooms. When it's freezing outside, the many extra layers of clothing make using the stadium's restrooms a nightmare. Not only are the lines so long you think you're waiting for bread in the former Soviet Union, the restrooms are full of drunks trying to process a quarter barrel of suds. I don't "function" well under these conditions. I like my potty break to be like a controlled experiment, quiet, solitary and clean.

So I opted out of the game. I have it all planned out. I'll get home from work, and be in bed by six. I can sleep a few hours, and while I'm making my coffee in my warm house, I can watch the pre-game in hopes of catching my Coors Light commercial. Then I can plant myself in the Comfort King and watch the game. Sure I won't be able to high five my brothers and watch #3 do his dancing while #5 cheers him on, but that's the price I pay for comfort. Hopefully the Bears make it to the next level. I think I would have to suck it up if I got a chance to go to a Divisional Championship game. Have a great weekend. If you're up late, don't forget to listen to the show. Go Bears! Later...Brian

Let's Step Outside And Settle This

For the last month, we have been treated to the ongoing feud between Rosie O'Donnell and Donald Trump. I've made no secret of my dislike of Rosie. I think she's a loud mouth bully who says whatever pops into her pea brain. That's not to say I think "the Donald" is any better. I won't stoop to his level and mention his hair, but really, who is he kidding? The hair alone is enough to despise him, (I couldn't help myself) but his demeanor is as bad as Rosie's. They're both petulant children who are throwing tantrums and calling each other names.

As usual, this whole thing started with Rosie running her trap about Donald giving the wild child Miss USA another chance. Sure it was a calculated move for publicity, but it may actually help this kid get on the straight and narrow. Rosie had to pipe up and call Donald a "pimp" and talk about his failed relationships. Then, instead of being an adult, Donald had to call Rosie a loser and make fun of her weight. Then things kept rolling when Barbara Walters got involved. Now Donald has supposedly sent a letter to Rosie saying that Barbara hates her and wants her off the show and Barbara says it's not true....Good Lord, when will it end? When did second grade become fodder for the national media?

I know this will never happen, but can't we treat them like we treat kids who are acting up? Let's just ignore them. If nobody is reporting on their antics, maybe they'll stop. If not I have a proposal. I'm looking for backers for a Pay-Per-View Battle Royale. Let's settle this like we used to do on the playground. Since neither one of these idiots can practice the "sticks and stones" way of acting, let's have a fight. I think a good old fashioned, no holds barred, no rules street fight is just what we need to sort this all out. "Wait Brian, we're a civilized society. We can't have people settling their scores with violence." Tell that to the President. I'm tired of hearing these two call each other out. It's like one big tease with no payoff. I'd love to see it. Rosie and Donald on some fenced in playground, the gates locked and the only way out is to finish the other "guy" off. That's right, I'm calling for a modern day Thunderdome. Two jackasses enter, one jackass leaves. Then to ensure we all win, we cut the tongue out of the survivor. Later...Brian

New Tech, Old Taste

It's no secret that I am sometimes slow to accept new technology. Only sheer force of will and constant belittling from others keeps me from going the way of the dinosaur in terms of new products and services. I always figure, if something still works, why change it. The rotary phone still made calls, why go to touch tone? My records still played, what the hell did I need with an 8 track? Then 8 tracks left the scene and I needed to upgrade to cassettes, only to have to toss them aside for CDs. It seems like a scam to me, but most people call it progress. It took me a couple of years to give into the DVR craze that now has changed my life more than any previous event. (Apologies to "Wife" and "Daughter") We got DSL for the computer and man the things I can see at a high rate of speed. I even ditched my answering machine in favor of voice mail. Pretty good right? Sure, but if I wanted to have any "music on the go", I had to tote around CDs like an indentured servant. My once hip "Discman" now made me look like the poster boy for 1986. It was time to jump to the 21st century. That's why I bought myself an iPod.

Sure, iPods have been around for years. I've heard people talking about them, bragging about their mix skills when they create "playlists" and comparing their libraries to those of their similarly tech savvy friends. "What would I do with one of those?", I would mutter in my best grandpa voice. "Daughter" got an iPod Shuffle last year for Christmas. I helped her put some music in her "library", but the whole thing left me uninterested. Then this Christmas, she asked for a new iPod Nano. iPods seem to get a face lift more often than Joan Rivers. Just when you think you have the latest one, a new one comes out. Now, not only can you listen to music, you can get iPods that allow you to download TV shows. We need to be careful. I've said it before and I'll say it again, the machine's are getting too smart. If left unchecked, someday, we'll be the iPods and a machine will be forcing me to remember thousands of songs and having me belt out Gloria Gaynor hits at their request. That's another story however. Santa came through and brought "Daughter" a sleek, pink Nano. I'm sure most of you have seen these things, they're tiny. The package said that this business card sized contraption would hold 1000 songs. I looked at it like a caveman discovering fire. I was able to figure out how to transfer "Daughter's" music onto her new unit, despite the fact that Apple no longer includes instruction manuals with their products. Maybe I'm the only one that still needs them. Then I listened to it. WOW! The music sounded great. I knew at that moment, my life would be an empty shell until I filled it with digital music.

I had a little cash stashed away that I was going to use for a health club membership. I'll get into that another time. Let's just say, I have been doing a lot of walking with the dogs lately, and they aren't great conversationalists. Long walks may be good for some people. Time alone to reflect on things is fine for some, but not me. I need something to drown out the continuous onslaught of the voices in my head. That's how I justified my Nano purchase. I settled on a blue one. Not a manly Navy blue, but a bright, fluorescent, "wake me up before you go-go" blue. "Daughter" thought it was "cool". Great news, I'm as cool as a ten year old girl. I decided that the majority of my tunes would come from my CD "collection". I'll probably buy some music to download, but it goes back to what I wrote earlier. I have tons of music, why would I buy more. I'll tell you why, because after spending a few hours importing music into my library, I have come to the sad conclusion that my musical taste came to a screeching halt sometime in the late 80's.

I have been perusing my library and except for a few selections, none of my music is less than fifteen years old. Sure, I imported Emimem's Greatest hits, but I also have tons of Van Halen, Reo Speedwagon and Journey. Who's cool now? My musical stagnation is probably just a result of aging. While I always enjoyed music, I was never one of those guys who was at the record store every week waiting for the latest releases. I never got into any sort of music "scene". Since I never actively sought out new music, I would settle for what I knew. If I heard something I liked on the radio, I might go buy it, or I'd take recommendations from friends, but for the most part, I would rock out in my comfort zone. Maybe as "Daughter" gets older, I'll be exposed to more new music. As open minded as I try to be, her current tastes do not gel with mine. While I may be as cool as a ten year old girl, I'm not going to spend a lot of time grooving to the "Cheetah Girls" soundtrack or getting all goo-goo eyed while listening to the latest Jesse McCartney disc. I'm off to stock my library with more "oldies" that don't seem that old to me. I still don't get how all that music will fit in that tiny player. Later...Brian

Long Live The King

Seventy two years ago, in a small Southern town, a baby was born that would change the world. No, he was not the "King of Kings", His birthday was last month, but he was in fact destined to become the King in his own right. That's right, today is the birthday of Elvis Aaron Presley. Thank you very much. I always like to take a minute on this date and on a sad day in mid August to remember Elvis and try to make sense out of my perverse fascination with him.

I don't know exactly when my admiration of the "King" began. I have faint memories of seeing a leather clad, dyed hair rock and roll machine on the TV during what I can only imagine was the 1968 comeback special. I would have been about five years old, and even at that tender age, I could tell cool a mile away. It wasn't until later in life that I found my way back to the temple of Elvis. All it took was a visit to his palacial estate, Graceland, to make me realize that he was truly "the man".

If you've never made a pilgrimage to Hillbilly Nirvana, then you are missing out on a true lesson in wretched excess. Visiting Elvis' house gives you a clear lesson on what too much money, too little class and too many sycophants will get you. Only at Graceland will you see the "longest one piece couch in the world, or a billiard room with fabric covered walls made to look like the tent of an Arab sheik. Don't even get me started on the "Jungle Room". This place is what the best frat house would look like if the fraternity had loads of cash. As funny as a lot of the estate is, there's something moving about seeing Elvis' tombstone next to his Mama's and the eternal flame that burns in his memory. It's also a bit unsettling to see what a carnival/flea market people have turned his memories into. There is no piece of merchandise unfettered by Elvis' visage. You can find everything from a phone that rings "Jailhouse Rock" with a dancing Elvis (which I have in my office by the way) to Elvis thong panties for your personal Priscilla.

On days like this, I try to forget the bloated, drug addled Elvis and focus instead on the lean, hungry, Elvis that co-opted the Blues and Gospel of the Black man and made it his own. No matter what you think of him, Elvis, in his prime was the ultimate entertainer. I've had audiences like me, but never was I able to induce swooning, and panty moistening from the ladies. This guy could rock the house, then after some wild karate moves, bring everyone to tears with a beautiful ballad. That's showmanship. The jumpsuits didn't hurt either. Maybe that's what I need to incorporate into my live shows. Yeah, jumpsuits and capes. Dig me now ladies.

I've been thinking about the ways I'm like Elvis and the many ways we differ. Like Elvis, I love Cadillacs, tigers, and women in white cotton panties. Unlike Elvis, I don't have a weird fixation with my mother, have never been in the army, and have yet to strain hard enough on the toilet to induce cardiac arrest. (I've come close, but I blame cheese not Vicodin.) While I'm not a fan of peanut butter and "nanna" sandwiches, I do always keep Pepsi and Hershey's syrup in the house like the king. If I could, I would fly to Denver to get my favorite meal, but alas, my private jets are still in the planning stages. I don't have a cool slogan yet like "TCB", takin' care of business, with a cool lightening bolt to symbolize "in a flash", but I'm working on a couple. I think RTS for "respect the schedule" might work. I think I may go with GFY. I tell people it means "good for you", but I know different. I'll let you ponder it. It can go either way.

So happy birthday Elvis. You beamed us to Hawaii and sent us to the ghetto, and now your face is adorning my underwear. The king is dead. Long live the king. Later...Brian

What's The Rush

The new year is only a few days old, and the Holidays haven't even been over for a week, but if you took a stroll down our block, you would think that the Grinch had bought the split- level on the corner. Starting on New Year's Eve, my neighbors began systematically dismantling Christmas. These are the same people who were in such a hurry to get the Christmas party started that I was tripping over reindeer while trick or treating. I'm not a fan of this "wham bam thank you St. Nick" treatment of the holidays. Why are we treating Christmas and the New Year like ugly girls we brought home at closing time only to kick them to the curb without buying them breakfast?

It might have something to do with the weather. So far, this Fall and Winter has been unseasonably mild in Chicago. In mid-November, the temps were in the 60's, and that spurred most of my neighbors to get their outside decorations up prematurely. I was lucky. The weather held out and I was able to wait until Dec. 1, which seemed more acceptable. This week the temps are in the 50's and since all Chicagoans know that the deep freeze is coming, people panicked and made Christmas take it's version of the "walk of shame".

I must confess that I took my lights down today also. I was one of the last four houses on the block to stay illuminated. I proudly had my lights on through last night. I'm really only a couple of days ahead of schedule. I usually wait until the second week of January to bid the holidays adieu, but I fell victim to the weather forecast too. It's supposed to get cold next week. I'm not going soft or anything, OK, maybe I am a little, but I thought it would be more comfortable standing on my wet lawn when it was 50 degrees rather than when it was 20 degrees. I also had to give the decorations a few days to dry out before packing them away for another year.

There's something a little sad about taking down your Christmas decorations. I'm actually glad the holidays are over, but the neighborhood looks so good with all the houses done up in their holiday best. Our street looked like it belonged at Disneyland. While I may mock it form time to time, or most of the time, it really is pretty. For the last month I have been able to sit in my office in the late afternoon and watch as the lights all began to come on. They gave off a beautiful glow. This afternoon, it's just dark. I guess it's just a reminder that Winter is going to be around for awhile and we better get used to it. I may have to come up with another reason to put some lights in the trees. I could pretend that I'm opening a bistro or something. I always feel festive when surrounded by outdoor illumination. Maybe a Ground Hog's Day extravaganza followed by a full array of Valentine's day lights. I've got to start working on my schematics. Don't forget about the big show on WGN tomorrow night/Sunday morning from 1-5am. We have lots of things planned and we even have a guest on this week. It's hard finding people willing to stay up late and not be drunk, but we found someone. Have a great weekend! Later...Brian

On The Waterfront

My apologies to the great Elia Kazan for using the title of his fantastic 1954 film, but it immediately came to mind as I was helping "Wife" today. No, I wasn't a down and out boxer working as a longshoreman. My brother was not a mob figure (that I know of) trying to get me to "take a dive". My parish priest was not trying to help workers on the dock unionize and fight the corruption of the mob, and I didn't get to make out with Eva Marie Saint. Truth be told, the only thing my day has had in common with "On The Waterfront" is boxes. That and the fact that, like Marlon Brando, I look cool in a knit hat.

"Wife" volunteered again to be "cookie mom" for "Daughter's" Girl Scout troop. Normally, I have no problem with "Wife's" good deeds, and involvement in outside activities, but once I'm forced to sweat, things get a little hairy. Last night, "Wife" asked me in her best little girl way if I would be available to help pick up the troop's cookies. Figuring there might be a chance for some smooching as a thank you (which is always my main motivator) I said sure. I took the trusty Trailblazer over to the firehouse and found myself in the presence of other cookie moms scurrying around like a bunch of squirrels hiding nuts for the winter. "Daughter's" troop's boxes were piled up and after setting up a "bucket brigade" I had the truck loaded and was headed to the casa.

I spent the next half hour unloading the truck and sorting the cookies into pile. Our living room now looks like the warehouse for a Weight Watcher's nightmare. Thank God nobody here has the habit of firing up a bong or two , or the munchies would surely decimate the stock pile. I must admit, there's something pretty cool about hundreds of cases of cookies stacked neatly in my living room. I feel like the cookie king, able to distribute tasty snacks to my loyal subjects, or to hoard them for my personal use. This would be a great time for a blizzard. If we were trapped in the house, we wouldn't be without yummy cookies to sustain us until civil defense came to dig us out. The only problem would be the inevitable escalation in our blood sugar. Being that jacked up on sugar might prove difficult, but I'm willing to take that chance.

Now we wait for the parents to come to the house and pick up their daughter's orders. This is that part that makes me mad. Some people realize that "Wife" and the other moms who run this are volunteering their time and working hard so that the Girl Scouts can have the money to participate in various fun programs. Those people are OK in my book. It's the selfish, self important moms that get my goat. These women give "Wife" attitude every step of the way. They bitch about having to drop off their orders, they complain about having to bring over the money and they gripe about picking up the cookies. "Wife" is quite accommodating as far as scheduling goes, but there are always people who think they are so much more important than the rest of us. It takes all my strength not to snap. I want to tell these hens to shut their yaps. The worst ones are the moms of the girls who sold the fewest boxes of cookies. Look, you don't want to volunteer, at least respect the people who do. Everyone is busy, but you're not helping, so you have to do things when the volunteer can do them. If that's not good enough, you be cookie mom next year. This is why I stay out of youth activities. Later...Brian

You Say You Want A Resolution

The beginning of a new year always gets people in the resolving mode. It reminds me of the first day of school when I used to tell myself that this year would be different. I'd do my homework, study hard, avoid the noid and make my parents proud. That would usually work until mid-September, and then I would be back to my usual slothful ways. I feel the same way about the dreaded New Year's Resolutions.

I stopped making resolutions years ago. I think I'm like most people. Every year I would resolve to lose weight and live a healthier life style. That seems to be the number one resolution with people every year. That's the reason that health clubs, gyms and Weight Watchers will do a bang up business the next couple of weeks. Then by February, most of us will be eating like freed hostages again. All those dashed hopes and failed resolutions will lead people to over do the bad behavior they were trying to change in the first place. It's a vicious circle, and I won't give in to it. I don't need that kind of pressure. My life is fraught with so much self loathing anyway, I don't need to add to the heap by failing to meet some manufactured expectation that I know will fail before I start.

That's not to say that I don't reflect on things as the new year dawns. I am aware of a few things in my life that I want to change. I've made note of them and in due time, I'll work on them. No pressure. If I start in march, who really cares. Does it hurt anyone if I decide to skip desert starting after Easter, or if curtail my saucy language after my birthday? I don't think so. Besides, most people make their resolutions when they're hammered on New Years Eve. It's easy to make pie in the sky promises when you've got a magnum of Cold Duck pulsing through your veins. It takes a little more introspection to make a life change during the cold dreary days of late February. Avoid the rush. Anything you need to work on will still be there in six weeks.

Ok, I guess I made one resolution. I resolved to keep writing this blog. That's why I posted one today. It's technically the first day back to work after the holidays and I figured, I'd start the year off right. If I had skipped today, That wouldn't bode well for the rest of '07. Now that this is out of the way, the albatross is off my back and we can move on. I hope you enjoyed your holidays, but the party's over. Tine to get started with another year. Later...Brian