Thanks For Your Service. Here's Twenty-Five Percent Off.

I'm going to keep it short today because like most Americans I'm kicking off my Memorial Day weekend a little early. I think it's only fitting that I use a time of remembrance as an excuse for sloth. Technically, Memorial Day is Monday (so no, I won't be here then), but remembering all the men and women who fought and died for this country is a daunting task, so an entire weekend is needed.

I guess that instead of just sitting around thinking about all the veterans, I could drag myself out to a store and take advantage of a huge "Memorial Day Sales Blowout". It's always struck me as a little odd that we use any holiday as an excuse for big savings. I know the thinking is that people have an extra day off, so maybe they'll want to blow some cash, but I don't get it. I gave up trying to find a tie in with the actual holidays, because there is none. Lost your dad at Iwo Jima? How 'bout pillows, buy one get one free? Your son lost a leg in 'Nam? No money down this weekend with approved credit on a Chevy. Great-Great grandpa took a cannon ball to the guts at Gettysburg? You can get this five piece living room group at rock bottom prices. If you can see the connection, let me know.

I'm not going to get all pro military hawk, or bleeding heart dove, but I want us all to take a minute, just one minute, out of this long weekend to think about all the people who have made the ultimate sacrifice for our country. I know that's a popular thing to say at this point in time, and a lot of people have no idea what it means. My dad was in the Korean war. Thankfully he came home, but he never spoke of the war again. I'm sure there are a lot of veterans who know someone who never came back and don't talk about it. We know there are thousands of families for whom that is the case. So just take a second and think of them. Then hurry to the mall for those clearance priced sheets.

Here's some shameless radio/appearance pluggery. Tonight I will be at Tailgater's Sports Bar and Grill, 431 W. Boughton in Bolingbrook, Il. as part of the WGN/ Old Style Guest Commentator Contest
Stop by after 9 pm to be part of the excitement or to say hi. Tomorrow night/ Sunday morning "WGN Overnight" will be chock full of fun from 1-5 am including "Pirate trivia" during the "Overnight Arcade". Then listen all week to WGN as I fill in for Steve and Johnnie, Monday through Friday mornings from 2-5 am. Man, I am everywhere. I hope you get a chance to listen. Have a happy and safe Memorial Day. Later...Brian

All That For Fifteen Seconds?

While the title of this post may suggest something of a disappointing adult nature, the subject, while just as disappointing, lacks even the smallest illicit thrill. After over forty nine hours of television (according to the always snarky Ryan Seacrest) America has voted and we now have our new American Idol. If I were a responsible blogger, I would now type in bold letters "spoiler alert". Since I am not, Jordin Sparks won. While not my first choice, at least she beat the always annoying, thin voiced, beat box argyle fetishist Blake.

The way Fox packaged the finale would make you think that there is nothing more important in the entire world. From the amount of votes that were reported (over 73 million) I guess there isn't. Who am I kidding? Every week my family parked itself in front of our 61 inch pacifier and suckled from the bosom of AI. I knew we were losing perspective, but the life affirming nourishment we received kept us functional for another week. Now it is over. What will we do on Tuesday and Wednesday nights? Talk, play a game, interact in any number of ways? The mind boggles.

Since I spent over two hours watching the finale, I feel it is incumbent on me to at least share a few of my thoughts. That and it will fill up the rest of today's post.

- Two hours? Really? How many bad musical numbers do we have to sit through so that Seacrest can read one name?

- Answer: About 37.

-I'm all for bringing back the former winners, but doesn't it make you feel a little bad that you liked them in the beginning. Yeah, I'm talking about you Taylor. Suddenly your dancing and hunched over harmonica playing look tired and hokey. I want my votes back.

-Speaking of former winners. Damn, Kelly Clarkson is one angry, rock dominatrix.

-Is Carrie Underwood actually made of molded plastic? She stands perfectly still on her anorexic legs and if you look close enough, you can see the hinges that make her animatronic jaw move.

-Where does Ruben buy his suits. That big boy looked sweet. You go with that pink shirt and tie Velvet Teddy Bear.

-Were no singers under the age of 60 available? Wait, Green Day was there. Did they add about six verses to "Working Class Hero"? Was Billy Joe performing while asleep?

-Is Smokey Robinson trying to hypnotize us with his crazy eyes?

-Bette Midler. Who? Why? Did she even know where she was or why she was singing one of the worst songs in the world? Was Jerry Springer really crying because of the song, or had someone in front of him broken wind?

-Don't the idiots who win the "Golden Idols" know the world is mocking them? It's a time waster and it's not funny. That guy does look like a bush baby.

-Am I the only one who's tired of Sanjaya now?

-Was that Joe Perry's pride that Gina tripped on later in the show?

-Why couldn't an East Coast/West Coast war have broken out during the Blake and Doug E. Fresh beat off? I mean beat box off, I mean desperate attempt to make the show seem hip.

I could go on, but then it would take you as long to read this as it did to watch the show. In the end, the more talented finalist won out and we got to see Randy Jackson dressed like Captain Crunch. All that was missing was the Seacrest/Cowell lip lock that I'm sure took place back stage. It's a long time until January. Later....Brian

Out Of The Mouths Of Babes

I've mentioned a number of times my love for the cinema. If I haven't, well, I have a love for the cinema. While the cinema itself rarely makes me question my devotion, other people may cause the demise of our relationship. Did you like how I kept using the term cinema? It makes me sound like one of those hoighty toighty reviewers when in fact I'm just a guy who loves going to the movies.

Sunday afternoon the Noonan clan headed to the local multiplex to catch Spiderman 3. I'm not here to review the film, but I will say this. Spiderman rocks. I know a lot of the so called "reviewers" had mixed feelings, but I'm always willing to cut Spidey a little slack because he is, in the words of Master Shake, "the shiznite". I had a few complaints, but not enough to make me break bad on the web slinger. The movie was full of action, laughs, and violence, three of the four things needed to make a perfect film.. Nudity is number four, but nudity has no place in a super hero movie unless Sue Storm drops trou in the new Fantastic Four movie. It wouldn't matter anyway, because she's the Invisible Girl. Man I'm a geek. So we're at the movies, remember? A movie filled with violence and a PG 13 rating. Can someone please tell me why the theater was filled with four and five year old kids? Kids who would not shut up.

Throughout the entire movie, the theater was buzzing with the high pitched voices of barely out of diapers children who had no business being at Spiderman 3. They talked incessantly and their parents did nothing to quiet them. Maybe these people are so used to tuning their brats out at home that they don't even hear them anymore, but we do. No amount of dirty looks could get these simpletons to realize that the rest of the audience didn't care that little Johnny had no idea who J. Jonah Jameson was or that Venom was scary. Of course he's scary. You're too young to be here. I know it's hard to find baby sitters and sometimes parents are forced to see kids movies instead of what they really want to see, but tough luck. The rest of the world shouldn't have to suffer because you're too selfish to realize that a two and half hour, violent scary movie may be too much for a kid who can't get through an episode of the Wiggles without two potty breaks and a sing-a-long. If I take"Daughter" to a kids movie, I expect noise and chatter, and am usually surprised because the kids are quiet since they understand the movie. Give a kid an ogre, a talking penguin or a wise cracking donkey, not super villains bent on the destruction of a friendly neighborhood super hero. Just because there are costumes doesn't mean it's a movie for kids. I kept my temper in check and "offered it up" for the duration of the movie, but I wanted to head butt all the parents as they exited the theater. "Wife" was in total agreement with me this time, which always makes me feel less crazy.

Here's a tip. If you can't get a babysitter, wait to see that adult movie until it comes out on video or DVD. Then you can expose your children to whatever images you want in the privacy of your own trailer. Then, if you can figure out how all the buttons work, you can pause the movie to answer all your little inquisitors questions. that way, you can still see your movie, and I can enjoy an evening with my beloved in peace. Shut Up! Later...Brian

It Was A Shocker

I haven't been commenting on American Idol too much this season. I have been watching religiously and talking about it on my WGN show, but at some point there isn't much more to say. The entire country was caught up in Sanjaya mania, Simon's tight shirts and Paula's tenuous grip on reality. It seemed like a forgone conclusion who was going to win, so why bother discussing Antonella's racy pics, Phil's stupid hats or Ryan Seacrest's obvious longing for Simon's man teats. No, I figured that I'd wait until it was over to put my unique spin on America's biggest talent show, but I can't hold my tongue any more.

Last night AI made the last cut before the finale. The three remaining contestants were the fantastic Melinda Doolittle, the perky and talented Jordin Sparks and the annoying beat boxer Blake "I don't care enough about him to learn his last name." As you can probably tell, my choices for who I wanted to see in the finale are pretty clear. I'm not in charge however. America is. As we know, when left to it's own devices, America will go with style over substance every time. I was not proven wrong last night.

According to "Mr. Stubble" Seacrest, (dude, even Don Johnson gave up that look in '87) over 60 million people voted. That seems like a lot, but judging from the results, most of the 60 million were from preteen girls with unlimited texting on their mommy and daddy's cell phone plan. How else can you explain the fact that Melinda was sent home?

Melinda was excellent. She was a former back up singer who was ready for her close up. This woman could sing, but that really means nothing to the general public. What she excelled at in singing, she more than lacked in pizazz. She also made the biggest error of all in television, she was the ripe old age of 26. That's ancient to the Hello Kitty crowd who thinks that anyone over 20 should be hooked up to an oxygen tank and wearing a diaper. So in all it's wisdom, America has promoted Blake to the finals. I can't stand this guy. I think if I ran into him on the street I would head butt him. From his breathy, fake British accent to the fact that he can take just about any song and make it sound like a UB40 B-side, to his recycled Michael Jackson dance moves, this guy bugs me. Maybe to the "Club Penguin" set he's dreamy, but to me he's a smug little punk.

Wow, I didn't realize the depth of my animosity. Why do I care anyway? There's a good chance that all the votes mean nothing, that the producers just want America to think they have a say. I should know better. Being able to sing really means nothing in a sinGing (yeah, you need to enunciate the "G" harder just like Simon) contest. No, America wants flashy, even if the flash only lasts a second. What I'm really mad about is I wasted my 37 votes on Melinda. Later...Brian

Watch Your Mouth

I'm back. That means I survived Mother Nature's onslaught yesterday. Fulfilling the promise of Lil' Orphan Annie, the sun did in fact come out today, but alas, it is a dark day in America. Sometimes I like to use hackneyed, flowery prose to set the stage for one of my diatribes. I have to do it now, because if some people have their way, only approved language will be broadcast, or written.

XM radio announced that they are suspending "shock jocks" Opie and Anthony for 30 days in response to a "bit" that aired on their show last week. If you haven't heard, the "skit" in question was a rant by a character named Homeless Charlie and involved him relating all the horrible sexual things he would do to Secretary of State "Condi" Rice and the Queen of England among others. After it aired,(on the subscription service's explicit channel), various groups protested. This is what the various groups do, they complain. Then, in what is alarmingly becoming what companies do, XM suspended the duo.

Opie and Anthony had apologized for the remarks, but XM didn't think they were sincere. Of course they weren't. The O&A show is known for it's off color comedy and envelope pushing content. That's why XM hired them in the frst place and that's why they are on a channel labeled adult. Why should they apologize for doing what they're being paid to do? If they were on some female targeted lite FM station, then maybe there's a case for suspension, but on their adult XM channel, you get what you pay for.

This country is treading into dangerous waters. More and more, small special interest groups are being allowed to become the taste makers of broadcasting. This is a complex argument, and I can't cover all the angles today, but some things seem pretty obvious. Was the skit in bad taste? Depending on your point of view, maybe? Was it offensive to some people? Again, that's open to interpretation. What should be clear is that people had to seek this out. Just like the Don Imus show or the "Doghouse" which was a show that was fired from CBS radio this week, people made an effort to tune in. More so with O&A since you have to subscribe and pay for service in order to hear this particular part of the show. The people making the effort are fans of the show and thus not shocked by the content. If the content shocks you, don't listen. Was their suspension a form of censorship? Sure. XM is in a fight to merge with Sirius radio and is trying to convince the FCC that it should stay out of regulating satellite radio. By suspending O&A, they're showing the Feds they can self police. Was it a good decision, I don't think so.

We need to be careful. Who gets to decide what language is offensive? Do you want someone else telling you what you can listen to? Do you want all your "entertainment" to be filtered through big brother? It's starting with radio, but if left unchecked, one day someone will force cable outlets to stop airing shows like The Sopranos, The Shield and The L Word because someone found them offensive. Is it then a big jump to think books and actual speech could be banned? Listen, I didn't like the bit on the O&A show very much, but I did what any of us can do if we don't like something, I changed the channel.

Sorry if this seems preachy, but if you don't speak up for yourselves, somebody else will do all your talking for you. I have too much to say for that to happen. Later...Brian

It's Raining, It's Pouring

The sky has turned an odd shade of green, the wind is whipping up and I just saw an old woman fly by on a bike. That's right, we're in the middle of a thunderstorm. I hope that the power doesn't go out in the middle of my posting, thus robbing you of my pearls of wit and wisdom, but that's a chance we'll all have to take. In reality I shouldn't even be typing this during the storm. At least that's what "Wife" has advised.

It must be a slow day at the office for "Wife", or she's getting paid to monitor the Weather Channel. As soon as the storm started, she called me in a panic. "Don't take a shower or use the computer while it's storming!" When I inquired as to the source of her insanity, she told me that during a thunderstorm, lightening can be attracted to your house not only through the electrical wiring, but by copper piping and water. She claimed that I could in fact be in the shower, sudsing and singing and all of a sudden Mother Nature, in all her vengeful glory, could send a lightening bolt to zap my happy, soapy behind, striking me down like a high voltage Simon Cowell. I had never heard of this, but she insisted it was true. She also said that lightening could hit the house and send voltage through the wiring, shooting it out of the computer monitor like a death ray. Again, I probably could have looked this up to verify, but if I had proven "Wife" wrong, or worse, delusional, it would have made for a long night. I did mention the fact that the phone was plugged into an electrical outlet. She let out a high pitched shriek and hung up. that may be that last I hear from her until the storm blows over.

Part of me feels like I need to write a bit more, but to be honest, anther part of me wants to go hop in the shower. I've been pushing my luck for a while and I think it's time to take things to the limit. Besides, it's been hot for the last two days and I would imagine I'm pretty pungent. If I'm here tomorrow, you'll know I survived. If not, send "Wife" a congratulatory letter. She will have gotten the ultimate "I told you so." Who am I kidding? I'm heading down to the basement. Later...Brian

Hey Momma

Time is a tyrant today, but I would be remiss if I didn't take a moment to wish all the moms who read this(and even those who don't) a happy Mother's Day. If you haven't taken the time to order the requisite flowers or made reservations at an over priced brunch, you still have about 36 hours to get your act together.

I not only have to send some thoughtfulness my mom's way, I also have to remember "Wife" on mother's Day. I tried to use the argument, "you're not my mother", but that didn't fly. I'm always in a quandary when it comes to Mother' Day gift giving. My mom needs nothing, and will usually leave anything i give her sitting under the dining room table for a year and a half. She always says "I don't want anything." All men know that this is a trap. I'm not falling for that again. "Wife" told me a while ago that she wanted to go to the Sox game for Mother's day. No problem. I get a day in the sun and she gets to spend the day with her two favorite people enjoying the national pass time. Win, win.

Happy Mother's Day to all you mom's and to the women who acted like moms too. Your hard work and dedication may not always be recognized, but they are always appreciated.

I've gotta run. I'm making my first promotional appearance for WGN.. I'll be at Lottie's at 1942 W. Cortland in Chicago tonight as part of the WGN, Old Style, Cubs Guest Commentator Contest. Come on by and try your luck, say hi and down a cold Old Style. While I'm plugging WGN, don't forget the big show tomorrow night/ Sunday morning from 1-5 am. At 2, we're playing a very special Mother's day trivia game. What fun! Have a great weekend. Later....Brian

Something Fishy Is Goin On

I'm not a very trusting soul by nature. Maybe it's because I've been burned a couple of times, or maybe it's all a ruse to start my blog in a provocative way. Whatever the reason, the one person I thought I could always depend on was the knife wielding, paper hat wearing man that filleted, sliced and rolled my sushi. Now, like a guy sitting in the champagne lounge at a gentleman's club, that fantasy has been torn asunder.

An investigation by the Chicago Sun Times found that a number of sushi restaurants in the city were telling a big fish story. According to the report, many restaurants are claiming to be selling red snapper, when in fact, they are substituting lesser fish like tilapia. How could they possibly know this? Well, the had DNA tests done of course. There's a reporter bucking for a Pulitzer don't you think? Allegedly, (I say that because my DNA lab is closed and my access to red snapper is limited today) restaurants around the country are being sold fish that is being represented as red snapper and the owners of the restaurants either don't read the box, or don't care. red snapper is scarce and costs about twice as much as tilapia.

What I want to know is, who broke this story? I've eaten sushi a number of times, and to be honest, most of the raw fish tastes the same. Was a crazy fish monger enjoying some sashimi only to be hit with the realization that his fish was not fishy enough? Did he do a side by side comparison and then blow a call in to the fish police? I guess some people have palates that can distinguish the subtle differences, but my palate is semi retarded. Even some of the "experts" claim that red snapper tastes like a few other fish. The other thing is, imagine how the reporter must have smelled after smuggling all that sushi out of all the restaurants and spiriting it to the lab. I'll let you make the distasteful fish smelling joke about the female reporter. That would be below me.

I know people are saying that this is fraud, and that's why its a big deal, but isn't sushi a scam anyway. It's food that's not even cooked and that's hard to identify and it costs a fortune. There are a couple of "all you can eat" sushi places. Nothing throws up a red flag for me quicker than discounted fish in bulk form. By the way, the "crab" in the California rolls isn't really crab. It's "krab". Look I broke a story and I didn't even need to call in the FBI. Stay away from the wasabi. Later...Brian

PS, If you're up early tomorrow, I'm sitting in for Steve and Johnnie on WGN from 2-5 am. Check it out if you're up.

Doin' Hard Time

There is justice in the world! Just when it looked like the rich and privileged could do whatever they wanted with no repercussions, along comes Judge Michael Sauer and sets things right.

Sauer is the judge who sentenced debutant, porn star and all around waste of space Paris Hilton to 45 days in an LA County jail for violating her probation. I'd like to buy that man a drink, or a new gavel. Hilton had been convicted of driving under the influence and sentenced to probation, and alcohol education. She decided that, because she has more money than God, the laws of the common man didn't apply to her. She blew off the alcohol program and then kept driving on a suspended license. Not only was she driving, she got pulled over twice. No one ever accused Paris of being a genius. Hell, no one has accused Paris of having any smarts at all. When she got hauled into court for violating her probation, Paris, in typical, "It's not my fault" fashion, blamed her manager for giving her bad info. The judge would have none of it, and in an act of Jurisprudence that rivals the Scopes Monkey Trial in significance, banged his gavel and sentenced Little Miss No Panties to a Summer lockup. While he was at it, Judge Sauer should have locked up the origin of all the horror, Hilton's mother Kathy for contempt. She laughed out loud when she heard the sentence and then asked the judge if she could have his autograph. Sure you can, right on your sentencing papers. Who's laughing now bitch?

Paris' attorney is already filing an appeal and she is yammering to anyone that will listen that the sentence is cruel and unwarranted, although I'm sure she didn't come up with those words herself. She was only able to mutter something profound like, not hot. She is supposed to report to the County lockup in June. What a great way for all of us to kick off the "Paris Free Summer".

I'd love to be a fly on the wall in that institution. Although Paris will be segregated for her safety, I'm sure she'll have some contact with the inmates during her one hour of free time a day. Imagine Paris weight lifting in the yard with some of the hard core Latinas, or working in the craft room with some Bloods or Crips. Maybe she'll be sitting in the day room watching some baby momma drama on the Maury Povich show with some little sisters of the Yakuza. Instead of pushing the food anorexically around her plate at Mr. Chow, she'll be staring at a state issued baloney sandwich. Maybe she can call Domino's. No way, she can't have her cell phone or any other electronic device. Now that's hot! Maybe Paris will use her unfortunate incarceration as a chance to better herself. Perhaps during the 45 days she will pour over law books, researching an appeal, help write letters for other inmates asking for clemency, learn to read in the first place. Probably not, but she'll make somebody a heck of a "prison wife".

I'm so happy that justice has finally come back to LA. Maybe this will spread. Martha Stuart went to jail, now Paris, I can't wait to see who's next. Later...Brian

Lights, Camera, Hammered

Here's a tip for all you recovering alcoholics and those who wish they were. If you're having a "slip", a "relapse", or a hell of a good time, keep your teenage daughter away from the video camera. Better yet, keep away from your kids all together.

Hunky star of stage, screen and life guard tower David Hasselhoff has been in Las Vegas starring in a no doubt, top notch production of "The Producers". "The Hoff" who has made no secret of his battle with the bottle, had supposedly asked his children to video tape him if he ever "slipped" in his sobriety so that he could see what he was like when he was drunk. Good plan if you're Bob, the insurance salesman from Boise, not so good if you're an international celebrity who rocks Germany on a regular basis. Also, who really wants to see what they're like when they're drunk? We all know. We think we're funny and charming when in reality we're dumb and scary. Wouldn't you know, the artist formerly known as Michael Knight, got hammered, and his personal paparazzi were on hand to record it.

A shirtless Dr. Jekyll is shown on the floor of a hotel room locked in mortal combat with what looks like a "Six Dollar Burger" from Carl's Jr. Don't ask me how I know, just trust me on this one. He stares at the burger in all it's drippy goodness and proclaims it a "mess". Hoff is mumbling answers to his kid's questions and trying to figure out which hole the meat should go into. His daughter asks him why he drinks and he says he's "lonely and has trouble in his life." Hey Hoff, join the club. The whole world has troubles, but ours don't get us a huge paycheck, a suite in Vegas and our crazy mug on billboards, not to mention a close proximity to Pamela Lee. Stop making excuses and above all, stop dragging your kids into your problems. Their dad used to drive a talking car. Haven't they suffered enough? Now you make them record your drunken sob story over fast food burgers while you roll around on a hotel room floor? Put on a shirt and suck it up.

I think Hasselhoff might have worse problems then a relapse. Have you ever seen the exposes on the news about all the fluids and germs in hotel rooms? I bet if you shined a black light on Hoff's torso after his floor bound feast, it would look like he was wearing a paisley shirt that was alive. I've dropped things on hotel room floors and burned them rather that bring them home. I can't imagine dining down there semi dressed. He needs two showers. A cold one to sober him up and a steaming hot "Silkwood" bio-hazard scrubbing to feel clean again.

Don't forget the big show Saturday night/Sunday morning from 1-5 am on WGN. I was named the official host a few weeks ago, and I'm having a ball. Listen and you will too. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

Play Ball!

I was going to spend the day contemplating the social significance of Britney Spears' return to the stage last night. What affect would her brief, semi-clad, stripper influenced, lip sync fest have on the world at large? I spent a few moments ogling her miraculously taunt post baby abs then realized that I had bigger fish to fry. Today is "Daughter's" opening day for the 2007 softball season.

After a few weeks of mostly rain delayed practice, it's time for the team to take the field. I'm both excited and nervous. Excited because I know "Daughter" is looking forward to playing and I like to watch, but nervous because I know that I am always in danger of becoming "that dad". You know the guy I mean. The frustrated athlete trying to regain his unfulfilled sports dream through his kid. The dad who paces behind the dugout fence constantly screaming instructions to his kid, arguing with the teenage umpires, and in general making an ass out of himself. I noticed last season that this was not the exclusive domain of fathers however. There were quite a few moms who must have taken elocution lessons from sailors on shore leave. I made great strides last season as far as keeping my mouth shut. I tried to just shout compliments to all the players after a good play. It's tough though. Those punk kid umps make some lousy calls. Anyone ever hear of a strike zone?

This season, "Daughter" decided that she wanted to be a catcher. She caught a couple of games last season and liked it, so she made the proclamation to us a few months before the season started. Being the insane modern day parents that we are, "Wife" and I decided that "Daughter" should start seeing a "Catching Coach." Listen, what's the point of playing a position if you don't play it well? Look, I'm getting to be "that dad" right here. Any way, "Daughter" has been taking lessons and really seems to be adjusting to life behind the plate. She still doesn't like when I refer to her gear as the "tools of ignorance", but she has no sense of baseball history. I like the fact that "Daughter" has put herself in a skill position. I also like that I get to be a little more involved. Putting on all that gear takes some help, and I'm just the guy to do it. It's almost like I'm a specialized coach except that I don't have a uniform and I rarely wear a cup.

I tried to convince "Daughter" that she needed a good catcher's nickname. The only problem is that most of the great catchers all were nicknamed "Pudge". While that makes sense, since they have to be wide and low to the ground, it doesn't seem like a good thing to be hollering out to a ten year old girl in the heat of battle. I'll just have to call her by name until I have a flash of genius and come up with something better. It's just about time to start loading up the equipment and stretching out "Daughter's" throwing arm. I'm also fitting myself with a gag and forcing myself to remember that the most important thing is that the girls have fun. Sure it is. Tell that to the chumps in last place. See you at the ball yard. Later...Brian