Read This While You Can

Tomorrow is the beginning of Banned Books Week. Just to clarify, it's not a week dedicated to the celebration of narrow mindedness and book banning. I point that out so that there is no confusion. I am always worried that I will come down on the wrong side of an issue when I decide to back it. I recently went to a fund raiser for cancer. It took me a few minutes to realize that we were against cancer, not for it. I'm kidding, but some people are easily stumped.

Banned Books Week is (and I'm paraphrasing from the ALA) dedicated to celebrating the freedom to choose and express opinions that may be deemed unacceptable by others and the right for people to have access to those ideas if they want to read them. You would think this would be a no-brainer, but sadly, it's not. Every year, hundreds of books are challenged in libraries, and school districts across the country. Groups of holier than thou, frightened, buttinskies, raise a ruckus about some tome they think shouldn't be read by anyone. If they yell loud enough to scare the library or school board, the book is banned. I know I've written about things like this before, but I think it bares repeating.

The slogan that the American Library Association has for Banned Books Week is Free People Read Freely. Where do some people get off thinking that they can dictate what ideas are being presented in books. One of the leading arguments from these intellectual terrorists is that the books are not age appropriate. According to who? I know that the schools around here, and I'm guessing across the country put a lot of thought into their reading lists. No school is going to have third graders reading the same books as a high school student. The real problem is that the book burners (and let's be honest, that's what their next step backwards would be) are afraid of ideas.

One of the most challenged books of 2006 was a children's picture book called And Tango Makes Three by Justin Richardson and Peter Parnell. It is based on a true story of two male penguins who care for an egg together and then raise the baby penguin. What horror! The book was challenged, with the culture police claiming it promoted homosexuality, was anti-family and was not age appropriate. All that from a children's story? I guess these "do gooders" never actually learned anything about penguins. The males are the ones that hatch the eggs, but why let facts get in the way of a good hate crime? Do you really think that a kindergarten kid is hearing a story about penguins (again, based on a true story) and taking home some anti-family message or promoting a gay agenda during snack time? Doesn't it seem odd that most of the challenges have something to do with sexuality? I think that these groups are using their children's well being to shield their own prejudices, fears and short comings.

You'd be surprised how many of your favorite authors have been on the challenged or banned list. You can find a list at the ALA website. I know this seems preachy, but if a few loudmouths are allowed to decide what ideas and stories you and I and our kids can read, it'll be a sad day. Take a little time this week and read a book. Be happy that you can read whatever you want and celebrate that with your kids. If an idea scares or challenges you or your kids, talk about it. Communication clarifies misunderstandings. Banning ideas only promotes ignorance. I'll be celebrating my freedom of ideas for four hours on WGN Overnight late Saturday night. I hope you choose to listen. Hey, I'm giving things away. Bribery? You bet! Have a great weekend.
Later...Brian

I'll Wave As The Bandwagon Rolls By

Usually by the end of September, baseball is a thing of the past in Chicago. Two years ago, The team from the South Side, the White Sox, stretched the season all the way and came home with the World Series trophy. This year, the "Boys in Blue" from the North Side are trying to do the same thing.

The Cubs are leading their division by two games (at press time. I like to imagine I'm writing for some big daily. That justifies the battered fedora and cigar stub clenched in my teeth.) Most of the city is in hysterics over what could be and also cautious because of what has been. I am indifferent. This isn't sitting well with some of my friends and co-workers. It seems like all of a sudden, everyone is a Cubs fan. I know they have the "lovable loser" market cornered, and there is some perverse joy that people take in rooting for a team with an almost century long losing streak, but that's not for me. I don't like to spend my life in a constant state of hope, frustration and disappointment. That's why I got married, so I didn't have to go through the emotional roller coaster every weekend. That however is another story. My team of choice, the White Sox, has fallen from grace faster than the box office receipts for the last Lindsey Lohan movie, but at least I can hold onto the recent past.

Working at the "Voice of the Cubs" presents it's own set of pressures. While I am not the kind of fan that actively wishes others ill, I can't pretend to be what I'm not. I don't wish anything bad for the Cubs. They aren't playing the Sox, so it doesn't really matter to me. The only time I hope for a billy goat or some sort of ivy fungus is during the "Crosstown Classic". I am constantly barraged by endless talk of the Cubs and expected to join in the revelry. Isn't it enough that I wish the team well? I even went to the game Sunday. (I won the tickets, but for the record I passed up selling them at a grossly inflated price. That should be some good karma.) Just don't expect me to jump on the bandwagon. I'll shake your hand and watch as you and your ilk ride away, but I can't climb on board and ride with you, just like I didn't ask you to ride with me when my personal bandwagon was careening out of control two years ago.

I hope things go well for the Cubs, that way my friends can quit whining and move on. Maybe a World Series will force the Cubs to fix that wreck of a ballpark they play in. I enjoy looking up at the netting that keeps concrete chunks from falling on my head and going to the bathroom in a trough. No, seriously it's quaint. Scoreboards with electricity are highly overrated. Before you Cubs fans get your pin striped panties in a bunch, consider this, I may be a good luck charm. I went to two games at your beloved Wrigley this year and the Cubs won both, the first one even snapped a long losing streak. Maybe the baseball gods will smile on you this year just to spite me. I'd be good with that. Later...Brian

Sleep Or Die

I'm pretty tired today. I think it's the residual effect from no sleep Saturday night, a day at the ballpark Sunday and the ungodly wake up call I'm forced to endure every week day. I keep telling "Wife" I need to get more sleep, but she looks at me like I'm some sort of slug who would while away the hours in dreamland while responsible folks toil under the boot heel of "The Man." I got a little back up today that might change her tune.

A study was released in Britain that said people who do not get enough sleep are twice as likely to die of heart disease. Wow! If that isn't justification for a nap, I don't know what is. Reasons are unclear, but apparently, lack of sleep is linked to increased blood pressure, which is known to raise the risk of heart attacks and stroke. I'm surprised the researchers couldn't find the connection. It seems pretty simple. When I don't get enough sleep, I become very cranky. When I'm cranky, I tend to lose my temper. When I lose my temper, my blood pressure skyrockets, and sooner or later, I'm gonna have my big Fred Sanford grabber. Look at that, I don't even have a lab coat and I figured it out.

The study is meant to point out the danger of our busy modern lifestyle, according to a cardiovascular professor named Francesco Cappuccino (no I am not making that up.) What a great name for a sleep deprivation study guy to have. Who else was on his research team? The renowned native American researcher Red Bull? Were Dr. Meth, Alana Espresso and Trucker "Speed" Johnson all contributors? This souped up team of high octane researchers found that over forty percent of Americans get less than five hours of sleep a night. Duh! There's a lot going on. Don't these guys have satellite dishes? In the old days, people slept a lot because they were bored. I'd stay in bed too if my only entertainment were listening to the rambling tales of old men in front of the barber shop and my days were spent eating dust and plowing fields with a mule. Now, it's tough to go to bed early. You have so many other options to fill your night time hours, watching fantastic TV fare like "Dog the Bounty Hunter", playing Halo 3 on line with some shut-in in Lithuania, or cruising the Internet for whatever kinky thrills you can dream up.

I try to go to bed at a decent hour, but I always end up squandering a couple more hours watching some mindless T.V. offering. Sweet sleep is put on hold and then I spend the next day, feeling my blood pressure rise to dangerous, yet drowsy levels. According to the study, we're all supposed to get seven hours of sleep to stay healthy. That seems like a lot, but I may use this to my advantage Saturday morning. "No honey, I'm not trying to get out of cutting the grass, I'm trying to save my life so I can spend more time with you. Now turn off the light, you're elevating my blood pressure." Later...Brian

There's No Shade Now

I can't believe it's 2007 and not 1956 when I hear stories like the one coming out of Jena, Louisiana. The fact that overt, and even covert acts of racism are still so widely perpetrated makes me wonder if, for all our talk of uniting this country, we are as far apart as we ever were.

You've heard the story. A black high school student in Jena asked a school administrator if he could sit under the "whites only" shade tree on campus. He was told he could sit wherever he wanted to (the fact he had to ask is troubling enough). The next day, three nooses were hanging from the tree. I don't care how narrow minded you are, that sends a clear message. The white teens responsible for sending that message were suspended for three days and that was the end of that, since the D.A. decided not to prosecute those knot tying fanatics. Later a white teen was beaten by six black teens, dubbed the "Jena Six". He was treated and released from the hospital, attended a school function that night, and then the circus came to town ensuring that no one would be able to sit under the big tree without being caught in the media spotlight.

The D.A., showing more questionable judgment than O.J. in a Vegas hotel charged the six with attempted murder. One of the six was convicted, but the sentence was overturned because a higher court found that he shouldn't have been tried as an adult. He was later convicted, as was another defendant of aggravated battery. The D.A. defended his decision not to prosecute the white teens by saying he could not find any Louisiana law that they had broken. That's good news for all you practicing racists out there. You can hang nooses while enjoying a little etouffee down on the Bayou without fear of the man stepping on your red neck. In the slimmest of defense for the D.A., he did say that hanging the nooses was a "villainous act" and that the people who did it should be ashamed. Well there you go. How much more punishment do you want? A stern tongue lashing seems appropriate. He also said that this was not a case about race. Wow, I think he needs to go sit under a shade tree, he's obviously overheated.

My only problem with the protests that are going on now is that black leaders seem to be completely negating the black teens responsibility for beating the white teen. There should be no doubt that the people responsible for the nooses should have been charged with something. I'm not Perry Mason, but I'm sure in the annals of Jurist Prudence there has to be something to cover this. That being said, the black teens did commit a crime. Was it "attempted murder"? Again, I'm not a lawyer, but I don't think so. I think what is being lost in a lot of the rhetoric is the concept of equal justice. It has definitely not been served here, but to try to erase the culpability of the "Six" is just as irresponsible. Despite all the protestations from the citizens of Jena, this has become a race issue, or maybe it hasn't become anything. It's just another case of disparity and discrimination that has been trying to stay in the shadows.

On a lighter note. Try to listen to the big show on WGN. We'll be covering everything from "Banned Book Week" to the "Overnight Arcade" and we might even have an amusing tale from Nature. Plus my new producer Lindsey promises some new production elements. That sounds fun right? You won't know unless you listen. Have a great weekend. Later....Brian

A Piece Of History

This has been a disappointing baseball season for the Noonan household. Our beloved White Sox have fallen from the heights of baseball greatness faster than a certain President's popularity. We kept the faith however and still attended a number of games and followed our struggling team on radio and TV. Yesterday, all the fans got a little bonus.

Jim Thome, the Sox DH hit his 500th homerun, becoming only the 23rd man in the history of the game to do so, and "Wife" and "Daughter" were there to see it.

We had gotten tickets to this game long ago because it was "Jim Thome Bobblehead Day" at the ball park. Two years ago, "Daughter" decided that Thome was her favorite player. She could never really explain why, but she was steadfast in her decision. She collects Thome cards, medals, and even wears a Thome jersey to the games, so the chance to have a bobbly headed statue of the slugger was too much to pass up. I'm glad she picked a guy like Thome to admire. In a sports world that is dominated by cheaters, thugs and miscreants, Thome seems like a genuinely good guy. All reports about him are positive. Nobody has a bad thing to say about him, except for the fans of Cleveland who still hold a grudge because he left. Can you blame him? He's also a native son of Illinois and grew up watching Chicago baseball. We were all supposed to go to the game, but I ended up going to the Bears game. There was some discussion as to whether "Wife" and "Daughter" would go to the game, and now they are sure glad they did.

A scenario like this couldn't have been scripted better by a Hollywood scribe. An aging slugger on the verge of a career changing milestone battles for two days to pass the mark. The air is crisp an a beautiful Sunday afternoon. the team has chosen this day to make him the object of a fan give away, never predicting that all the events would collide in a "perfect storm". The team, down six runs, battles back to tie the game. The winning run is on base with two outs and the slugger steps into the batter's box. Earlier in the game he has traced the name of his deceased mother in the dirt so that "she could be a part of this." His family and the fans stand and cheer. The pitches come and finally....a fastball driven deep into left center field for a walk off home run to cement his place in baseball history. Not since the crowd chanted "Rudy, Rudy" or Rocky Balboa went the distance has there been a more screen ready moment.

"Wife" and "Daughter" were sitting only a few feet away from the fan who caught the ball. (He gave the ball back to Thome, in what I think was a class act. Sure he could have sold it, but karma is a bitch, and denying a man his hard earned trophy wouldn't set you up for good things.) It was a historic moment that I had tried to explain to "Daughter" before they left for the "yard". I think it has finally sunk in . As a baseball fan, she will enjoy many great moments, but few will have historic consequences. As James Earl Jones said in Field of Dreams, "the one constant through all the years is baseball." She now gets to have a constant memory of the day "her boy" joined the elite "500 club". I'm happy for her and I'm happy for him. Later...Brian

You Can't Put A Price On It

Today has been one of those days. You know the ones, filled with a bunch of little errands that eat up the day until you find yourself sitting at your desk in the late afternoon realizing that you haven't posted the day's dose of social commentary. Maybe you can't relate to the last part, but I know you can (as the kids say) "feel me" on the first count.

One of my errands was going to the vet's office to pick up some medication for one of my dogs. Baloo has been with "Wife" and I for over 13 years. We got her at the Humane Society when she was only a puppy. We payed a whopping $35 for her, but she has been a priceless addition to our family. No one knows what kind of dog she is, and after a while we stopped trying to pigeon hole her, so "mutt" became the defacto breed denomination. She has been a good and loyal friend to "Wife", "Daughter" and I. Baloo is one of those dogs that is sweet to certain people, and hates others. For some reason, she hates most men and some women. She always got along great with my dad and my uncle Bob, but she hates my brothers with a passion. Maybe she isn't neurotic as they claim, but the possessor of great judgment. She is good with kids, and when "Daughter" was born became, despite past timidness, a fierce protector, always sleeping by the crib and coming to find us if "Daughter" started to cry.

Time is starting to take it's toll on my canine pal. Last year, the vet told us that Baloo's hips were in horrible shape. He laid out the worst case scenarios, and then told me how to lessen the chances of that happening. Baloo had to lose weight. Who doesn't? In my case, it'll probably be a while before my weight cripples me (about 3 1/2 months), but for an old dog, time was of the essence. So Baloo went on the "Green Bean Diet." She gets a minimal amount of food and three cans of green beans a day. She's hungry, but the weight came off and she gets around pretty well, considering. She also has to take two kinds of pills every day . The medicine is not cheap, but like all pet lovers, we don't mind.

Sometimes, like today, when I'm sitting with her, I start to think about the inevitable. I don't want to get maudlin here, but everyone with an older pet knows the feeling. We do all we can to keep her healthy and comfortable, but time has it's own plans. My friend just lost his dog to illness, and we had to put our dog Max down a few years ago without any prior warning. It sucks, if I may be so base. That's why we don't make an issue about the cost of the pills or the vet's bills. I'm not made of money, but when you have a pet, you take on a responsibility. I know that when the time comes, our vet will let us know that no amount of money will make a difference and I'll be OK with that. I also know that no amount of money should be spent keeping a dog around just to put off the pain of their leaving. I don't know why this is in the forefront of my mind today, but it is. I see my companion slowing down, and it makes me sad because I realize we're all slowing down and time is watching all of us.

I didn't mean to get your weekend off on a down note. If you need a late night lift, check out the big show WGN Overnight Saturday night/Sunday morning from 1-5 am. I gotta run. "Daughter" and I are taking the dogs for a walk. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

You Gotta Read The Fine Print

Man, am I a dope. This morning I read a story in the on-line edition of Newsweek that really got my dander up. I just finished writing a hilarious and scathing blog about it. It had to do with politics and one of the candidates for the Presidential nomination. Man it was good, but you'll never read it. Want to know why? Because it was fake that's why. Not my post, that was real, or as real as my rantings can be. No, the Newsweek story was "satire". It wasn't until after I had read the story, digested the content and then burped out my opinion that I saw the word "satire" at the bottom. Man that was close.

I know how you count on this forum for all your accurate, up to date, world event news and comment. Sure there are "legitimate" news outlets, but are they as funny as me, or as willing to admit their mistakes? It's my humanness that makes me accessible. This just goes to show you, don't believe everything you read. Just because a story comes from a trusted source, doesn't make it so. (Unless it's from me, then you know you can take it to the bank. Well only if your bank deals in soft facts and hard opinions.) Thankfully I caught myself before I hit "publish". If not, I could have been in for a long drawn out legal battle. Some bloggers have been sued for what they have posted. That's right, as hard as it is to believe, some bloggers are not as careful about their facts (allegedly) and will write things that may be erroneous (allegedly). These bloggers leave themselves open to libel lawsuits. Since a lot of bloggers are shut-ins without huge incomes (very allegedly) a long, drawn out lawsuit would cause financial hardship, resulting in them having to give up their high speed internet access for dial up service. (again, I could be wrong)

To help stop irresponsible blogging, a group has been formed called the Media Bloggers Association. They are a non-partisan group that is helping fight lawsuits against bloggers. They also are trying to get some bloggers who want to cover major political events credentialed like TV, Print and Radio journalists. They even have a code of ethics. Wow. Part of the code says that bloggers should "use your own name and offer a means for readers to communicate with you." Listen, if I wanted to communicate, I'd have a conversation. I want to rant uninterrupted and not have my opinions questioned. That's why I'm here. That's not true. You know who I am and you can comment on anything I write here. Who knew? I'm an ethical blogger. You better believe it. Later.......? (Brian)

Somebody Call Amtrak

There was a train wreck Sunday night in the middle of the desert. No, it wasn't caused by faulty rails, a cow wandering onto the tracks or hobos starting a Sterno fire in a box car. This calamity was caused by a fading pop star attempting her big "come back".

Britney Spears, ( a favorite target of this space) opened the MTV Video Music Awards with a performance so stiff and uninspired it reminded me of my first intimate encounter. Supposedly Britney cried when it was over, making our experiences even more eerily similar. Wearing a black bra and panty set that she had obviously spent hours painstakingly Bedazzling, a bad blond weave and Nancy Sinatra's old go-go boots, Britney attempted a lip-sync walk through of her new single. I think it's her new single. By the way she was butchering the words, she may have been trying to bust a 50 Cent rhyme. Her mouth was so out of sync that she looked like an old Clutch Cargo cartoon. Britney's "dancing", once the fuel for many men's erotic longings, made her look like Herman Munster having a panic attack. When the camera got close to her face, you could see the mix of fear and tequila in her eyes.

Every shot of the audience during her performance was a study in embarrassment. While I'm sure some of her "peers" took perverse pleasure in the debacle they were witnessing, most of the expressions had the appearance of horror. You know the look, like when your drunk aunt starts hitting on the waiter, or your dad tries to dance the lambada. You feel embarrassed for them, since they obviously have had the shame mechanism disabled in their brain. Britney not only has had that mechanism disabled, she burned down the factory where they're made. I have one word for her, rehearsal. Maybe a few less margaritas (allegedly) and a few more minutes of prep and I would have had to find something else to write about.

A lot has been made about Britney's physique. Being the picture of fitness, it's unfair of me to judge her. No it's not. I think she looked fine. I can see why some people would make snide cracks. She has made her career more on her physical attributes and movements than on her singing ability, but for critics to call her fat is ridiculous. She's pumped out two kids, taken time off, and devoured more fast food burgers than Popeye's friend Wimpy. Did she look a little fuller around the waist than when she stripped down and danced with the snake? Sure, a little. Maybe she should have picked a different costume, I don't know, but all the criticism goes to show what a screwed up view we have of body image. She did bring it on herself. Live by the abs, die by the abs. I say, "You go Britney! More cushin' for the pushin'."

Britney reminds me of a young, female, Elvis. She's a hillbilly with a lot of money, she has a penchant for bad food and wacky behavior and she has an entourage of "Yes Men" who only tell her what she wants to hear. She even started this grade school amateur contest performance by quoting the King's song Trouble. It's too bad her comeback special didn't feature great vocals and tight black leather. Later...Brian

Remember

Today is the sixth anniversary of the September 11th attacks. A part of me didn't want to write about this. Not because there is nothing to say, but because at this point, we all have processed our feelings and what remains is hard to put into words. To not write something however would be disrespectful to all the victims and heroes of that day. To not write about it means that despite the horror we all felt that clear Fall morning, we have moved on and the memories we once held so vividly have begun to fade just a little. Not talking about the attacks means that we have buried our heads in the sand, and by doing that, we run the risk of diminishing the effect that Tuesday, September 11, 2001 had on all of us.

I don't believe that anyone who was alive that day will completely forget where they were, how they felt or the images of carnage they witnessed. I have struggled with how the media should cover the anniversary. Should we keep running the video? Should we continue to make the anniversary the lead story on the news? Are we as Americans in too much of a hurry to "put things behind us" and move on? No one wants to keep reliving a tragic event. Personally, I don't need any help conjuring up exactly what I saw that day. For those who can't, won't, or were too young to remember, it is important to keep this anniversary visible.

We were talking about this on the radio show the other day and one of my insightful listeners brought up a good point. While I was talking to people about how they would commemorate this anniversary, a man called and asked if I remembered how united we all felt in the days and weeks that followed the attacks. I do. It was one of those times where tragedy brought out the best in all of us. People were concerned about each other, and no matter what your background or political leanings, for a short time, we were all Americans, united and focused on the same thing. How times have changed. Te car flags have faded, and we are back to business as usual.

A lot of questions remain six years later. Are we safer than we were in 2001? Why did we seemingly stop looking for Osama bin Laden and go into Iraq? Have we learned any lessons about inter-agency communications and intelligence sharing? Those questions will be here tomorrow. Today isn't for debating, today is for remembering. Talk to your family, especially your kids. Share your feelings, and take a moment to look back with honor and look forward with hope and gratitude. Later...Brian

I'm Gonna Wash That Gray Right Outta My Hair

I know there are a lot of things happening in the world today, but my laser like focus is stuck on one target. Osama ( I think he only needs one name now, like Hitler, Cher and Oprah. Not that they're in the same league, but hey, that's the risk you take when you become mono- monickered.) has released a new video to coincide with the anniversary of the Sept. 11 attacks. Let's put aside for a second our well earned hatred for this monster and focus on something a little more important, his beard color. Is it just me or are you confused as to how this guy's beard went from gray to black in seven years? It's been bandied about that this could be an old tape, but I prefer to think that it is new and that Osama has fallen victim to one of the seven deadly sins, vanity. Can't you see it now, Osama and his fanatical followers hold up in a cave in the Afghan desert discussing their plans to overthrow the "great Satan". One dung covered jihadist looks at his bedraggled leader and says, "Hey Osama, that beards getting pretty gray. You're starting to look old my man." Then Osama, after having this man punished for his outspokenness, dispatches a team into the nearest town, not to carry out an act of terrorism, but to secure a case of "Just For Men Beard and Sideburn Color". You can't be the head of a world wide terrorist network and show the ravages of age. Besides, the 70 virgins that are waiting for you don't want to be hanging with a guy that looks like Santa for the rest of eternity. I don't know about you, but I'm not impressed. I don't care how dark his hair is, his soul will always be darker.

I worked the overnight shift on WGN last night and it has thrown me off because I had to sleep in the middle of the day. I'm glad for this kind of commotion however. I enjoy being on the air, and the crew for that shift is fantastic. I'm hurrying to get this posted because "Daughter" is marching in the pre-game band spectacular before the local high school football game. The parents were told to arrive two hours early because of crowds. I feel like I'm a cast member in "Friday Night Lights". I don't think there will be as much drinking and sex as there is on the show, but we'll see.

Don't forget to stay up late tomorrow night and listen to the big show on WGN. It should be a load of radio fun. If not, it's free, so at least you'll get your moneys worth. You may feel like you owe me money when it's over, but just consider it my gift to you. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

Some Random Thoughts

"Wife" is home today and that always throws my routine into a frenzy. She is having some issues with her car, and we had to take it in early this morning. Now we are in that weird limbo that exists when the mechanic tells you they'll "look at it and call you." Man, I've heard that line a thousand times when I was dating. Well, the "I'll call you part". Not too many ladies promised they'd take a look at it first, and if they did, there would be no need for a call, I'd just nudge them in the morning. Oh, I'm such a bad boy.

Speaking of bad boys, I was enjoying my morning respite in the WC when I noticed something that horrified me. No, it was not an unsightly hair or a dust bunny under the sink. I realized that just like Senator Larry Craig, I had a wide stance. I had never paid much attention to my foot placement while in the latrine, but after the revelations of the last few days, I don't think I can go on about my days in blissful ignorance. Whether for balance, comfort, or a feeling of dominance, my feet are spread out pretty wide. I even move my feet sometimes. I like to practice intricate dance moves while sitting to avoid falling down. I will be on red alert the next time I need to use any public facility. Who knew there were so many signs that could get you into trouble. I would assume all of us knew that peering through the crack in the door for two minutes (allegedly) was unseemly (not allegedly). I will have to sit perfectly still with my feet pinned together and the rest of my body contorting so as not to draw the interest of my neighbors.

While worrying about my footing, I saw an article in the paper, (is that still OK to do while in repose?) that made me laugh. A man in Des Moines, Iowa (where I've had a few bad run ins) was arrested and charged with assault after throwing a bag of Cheetos at his father. In a fit of rage, the man hurled the cheesy snack at his dad , hitting him in the face. The force of the impact, (they must have been the crunchy Cheetos, the puffy ones are harmless) caused Daddy's glasses to scrape his nose. The police report also stated that the man's t-shirt was covered with an orange powder. The son admitted he was high on meth at the time of the "attack". This is probably the only time the dad wished he hadn't made junior give up smoking pot. Then at least he would have had the munchies and eaten the Cheetos instead of turning them into a snack sized IED. Cheetos would actually be a good snack food for a meth head. After they loose all their teeth, they can just suck on the Cheeto until it dissolves. People's attention will be pulled from their hideous appearance to their striking orange lips.

Time to check on "Wife's" car. Here's a shameless plug. Tonight I will be at Piano Man on Clark Street in beautiful Wrigleyville for my final WGN Cubs Guest Commentator appearance. if you're in the area, come by. Later...Brian

The Drought Is Over

Labor Day weekend marks the unofficial end of Summer, and also the unofficial end of my self imposed exile. I couldn' seem to get motivated in August to write anything, but the Fall always brings out a feeling of rebirth, which is ironic because it is the season that brings about the dormancy of all foliage. That's me though, an enigma. Believe it or not, my mind has been on this forum for awhile. I wish there was some sort of new fangeled technology that would allow me to dictate my blogs. I love talking, and hate typing, which is what makes the radio show successful and this blog only mildly entertaining. One of my neighbors, who counts himself among the half dozen or so loyal readers of my missives, scolded me the other day for not writing more regularly. Far be it from me to disappoint my loyal fan.

"Daughter" is back in school. I find it hard to believe that she's started sixth grade. (Cue sappy music) It seems like only yesterday that "Wife" and I walked her the three blocks to kindergarten. She is in band again this year, and because of that, needs to be at school before seven o'clock every morning. That means a six a.m. wake-up call from her personal concierge, me. What am I, a farmer? I know there are people who get up that early, or earlier, but unless you've got to yank on Bessie's teat for a pint of low-fat, I don't get it. The only good thing about my pre-dawn rising is, wait, there are no good things. I guess the fact that since I'm up I can get some work done early and have no excuse to skip writing may be considered a good thing. Only time will tell.

I spent the holiday weekend taking part in our town's annual "Fall Fest". This is small town America to the tenth power. The "Fest" consists of a huge craft fair, which I can't see the appeal of, a carnival, because you can never have enough toothless drifters roaming the streets and who doesn't need an AC/DC mirror, an overpriced food court, a huge "beer tent" that serves as an oasis from the various carved wood Christmas decorations and a parade. You couldn't have more Americana jammed into three days if you dug up the carcasses of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and the rest of the founding fathers and made them eat apple pie while playing a game of baseball. Since I am nothing if not civic minded, I volunteered for a shift in the beer tent on Friday night.

I have mentioned in the past my love for drunk suburban mommies. The phenomenon of watching these usually staid matrons downing countless margaritas and then acting like the "Mommies Gone Wild" film crew is on hand never fails to entertain. I will save many of my neighbors embarrassment by not giving out a lot of detail, but man oh man, did the mommies cut loose Friday night. There was a lot of mommy on mommy grinding and groping, mommy on everybody else grinding, and I loved every second of it. One mommy had my favorite quote of the night. After bending over and spanking her rump, she proudly proclaimed, "My ass is rockin'." Then she pulled her pants down to prove the point. Nice tattoo by the way. I'll find it hard to walk past these hellions post Fest and not remember their antics.

I must say that the beer tent was not all fun, games and erotic escapades, there was work to be done. I was assigned the job title of "Floater" and given a bright orange construction worker vest, to set me apart from the masses. The job was pretty simple, until one of the supervisors asked me to accompany her. She led me to the area where the porta-potties were and asked me to sit in a chair at the end of poop row to make sure no underage vagabonds jumped the fence and got into the beer tent. Now, I know that my celebrity status is called into question on occasion, but come on. I'm on the radio, I've been on TV and now I'm guarding a row of "Drop Zones" in a tent. How the mighty have fallen. At least some of the drunk mommies kept bringing me beer. I'm not sure getting buzzed was the best way to forget my out house security detail, but sometimes I make bad decisions.

So there we go, I'm back. The port-potties are safe, "Daughter" is now an early riser and the changing of the leaves has renewed my creative juices. Oh, and my ass is rockin'. Later...Brian