You Don't Want Carpeting......

You want an aaaarea rug. For some reason I will always remember that line. It comes from comedian Taylor Negron's act circa 1987. Reading it doesn't do it justice, but it fit today's theme, so there you go.

I was going to post earlier today, but then thought, "Gee what would I rather be doing than writing a humorous post? I know, I'll clean the carpet in the family room." That line could go into the Procrastinator's Hall of Fame, but you know me, I like to do things with a flourish.

The carpet really did need to be cleaned. When we moved into this house almost three years ago, the previous owners had done what all home owner's do when trying to unload their crib, they had the carpets cleaned. It's a nice gesture, but most folks make the mistake of having the carpets cleaned while they're still living in the house. When furniture is removed, viola, the cryptic outline of furniture past. We made that mistake when we sold the house in California. I had forgotten that our oldest dog had spent the years leading up to our departure basically living under our bed. When the movers took out the bed, it looked like a homicide scene. Sorry. Well, the people who had this house did the same thing. The family room wasn't an issue except for the fact that the carpeting is a light beige, never a good color for a high traffic, pet friendly family. Time to take action.

I don't know what kind of voodoo professional carpet cleaners perform to make stains disappear, but it is only a temporary magic. Over the past few months mystery stains have risen throughout the room. No, it's not the dogs, wise guy. While the older dog has had some incidents culminating in stains originating from both ends, these stains are of unknown and historic origins. I keep waiting for some religious icon to become visible in one of the stains. It would be phenomenal to have a shrine right in my family room. By the glow of the sixty incher, the faithful could pay their respects while making large donations. I would be ensconced in the "Comfort King" telling them the story of the miracle and reminding them that shrines don't pay for themselves.

We could have called in a professional cleaner, (carpet, not a CIA assassin) but as luck would have it we were given a carpet cleaner as a gift years ago. What does that say about our cleanliness that someone would decide that a carpet cleaner was an appropriate gift? We've only used it once before, which, come to think of it may answer my previous question. I spent two hours working on the carpet. If I do say so myself, it looks much better. I wish I had saved the black water that I continuously had to empty from the machine. It's always a shock to see how dirty something really is. I felt dirty for having sat in that room for so long wallowing in invisible filth. I was so motivated by the clean carpet that I took all the cushion covers off the sofa and love seat and washed them too. I may cover everything in plastic to preserve my efforts.

Here's some other news. Friday morning I will be a guest on the Spike O'Dell Radio Show on WGN. Spike is broadcasting from a restaurant so close to my house that it couldn't have been more convenient if he had been doing the show from my garage. When I told his producer that I lived so close, he scheduled a segment for me. I'll be on around 7:20 am, only my second WGN day time appearance. Management likes to keep me under wraps . Do they think of me as a wonderful gift they are saving for a special occasion, or the crazy uncle you keep locked in the basement? One can only speculate. Either way, it will be a great start to the weekend and a good lead in for the big WGN Overnight Shows Friday and Saturday night. Listen if you can. Later...Brian

Where No Man Has Gone Before

It's Friday, so that must mean that my Catholic fueled guilt over not posting earlier in the week has overcome me and spurred me to write another missive to my tens of avid readers. This week I actually don't feel too guilty, since my schedule has been as hectic as people with real jobs, lives, etc., and not the pampered show biz schedule I usually adhere to. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday mornings I filled in for Steve and Johnnie on WGN. I always have fun doing their show since their crew is excellent and their listeners are supportive and involved. The unusual hours tend to wreak havoc on the rest of the day. "OK" you may be saying, "what about Thursday?" Oh Thursday...you want to know about Thursday do you? Well buckle up, because this tale of the tail will curl your toes.

You may remember my unfortunate incarceration back in May. Due to early onset (in the age sense) diverticulitis, I was held captive by the medical community for four days. As a result I was informed that the only way to accurately determine if I had suffered some rogue incident or had an acute condition was to let another esteemed medical professional pay a visit to my intestinal tract. I'm not talking about a brief, drive by and wave visit either. I'm talking about a come by the house, burst through the door and take a walking tour of the property kind of visit. That's right gentle reader, I was the recipient of the equivalent of the dreaded alien probe, the colonoscopy.

I will spare you a lot of the more explicit details, since I know some of you have taken this voyage before. For those who haven't don't feel left out, because like death and taxes, your turn will come. I had been told that the preparation for the colonoscopy was actually worse than the test itself and that proved to be true. On Wednesday I had to endure a liquid diet. Mmm, Mmm, nothing says satisfying like beef broth and Popsicles. I had been instructed to buy two small bottle of a saline laxative that should have been labeled "Colon Blow" in honor of the classic SNL skit. After gouging myself on my gluttonous brothy dinner feast I made like a mad scientist and mixed the offending bottle with a little bit of Sprite. To say this tasted like the matter it was about to help me expel would be an understatement. I waited about an hour and then the fun began. (You can draw your own horrible picture from here. I did get a lot of reading done though. Who knew Newsweek could be so fascinating?) I had to repeat the experiment at 3:30 am which made for a memorable viewing of sunrise from my porcelain perch.

I'll jump ahead to the test which in all honesty I can't really remember. I was given some IV fluids to rehydrate me and wheeled into the procedure room. I must note again my displeasure with the size of all medical equipment. Maybe the bed was small so that my target area was hanging off for easy access, but I don't think that's the case. If I am ever in a position financially to bequeath large sums of money, I will lend my name to the construction of a "Big and Tall Medical Center" with gowns that fit and beds that can accommodate someone of greater stature than an Olympic gymnast. Once in the procedure room, my IV was injected with something "to relax me". That was a good idea, because short of a six pack and some dirty talk, what happened next would not have been relaxing. I don't remember dozing off, but I must have because when I was jarred awake by some probing pressure and let out a prison block style grunt, I heard the disembodied voice of my violator assure me " we're almost done." His voice was cold and uncaring. I was then quickly removed from his presence without so much as a hug.

Except for a small polyp that I have been told was removed easily and "looked like nothing" everything in that area is hunky dory. How do I know? Because I got full color, high-def copies of all the pictures for my viewing pleasure. I must say, I did a phenomenal job cleaning things out back there. "Daughter' was both alarmed and intrigued by the Ansel Adams quality of the pictures. No, there wasn't any picturesque ice hanging from my intestines, but you get the point. I'm thinking of signing the shots and auctioning them off for charity. It will give all the people who have called me an "a-hole" an up close view of said label. I won't need to be checked again for five years, which should give me just enough time to purge this memory from my troubled mind.

I'll be taking my tender sit down parts into WGN tonight to begin another "two scoops of Brian weekend". Be sure to catch WGN Overnight Friday night/Saturday morning from 2-5 and "the original and still the best" WGN Overnight Saturday night/Sunday morning from 1-5 am. It beats sleeping, since your dreams will no doubt be haunted by visions of what you just read. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

So Soon?

Where is the Summer going? Good question. Now I'll let you debate amongst yourselves while I try to figure it out myself. Things always are more hurried and hectic when "Daughter" is on school vacation. That's all going to change in a week and a half when she goes back.

Yeah, a week and a half! August 19th! More exclamation points!! What have we become as a society when we make our kids go back to school two weeks before Labor Day? A totalitarian regime that favors the schedules of parents, teachers and the weather over that of our most valuable resource? Oh man, I didn't think I'd get through that sentence without keeling over. Good riddance kids. Back to the grindstone. I was going to side with the kids on this one until I remembered all the days of "Daughter" whining "I'm bored", "there's nobody to play with" and "you're a jerk, dad." You can put me squarely in the early return camp.

I know it's still hot in August, but, unlike the schools I went to , "Daughter's is air conditioned. I spent my school years sweating through my white uniform shits and feeling my sweet rear meat stick to the straining seams of my navy blue polyester pants. Some of my academic short falls may have been the direct result of heat stroke. We would beg the sadistic teachers to open the windows, but since the architect of my schools had undoubtedly worked for the prison system the windows afforded us only an inch and three quarters of air flow. I suppose that was to keep our spelling tests from becoming air born in a stiff breeze. The trade off for early return is a longer Christmas (or "Holiday" in our PC times) break, a few extra days off and a school year that ends in early May. That's a pretty fair trade if you ask me.

While we are enjoying some beautiful days this late Summer, let me mar said beauty with commercial pluggery. This is an actual "Five Scoops of Brian" weekend on WGN. Tonight I'll be doing the Friday edition of WGN Overnight (which I hope to have made permanent. Cards and letters to management help. Hint, hint). The big Saturday night/Sunday show will be tons of fun with the Arcade, a visit from the Insatiable insomniacs and a very special visit from Singer/songwriter Michael McDermott. Then Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday morning I'll be in for Steve and Johnnie. (Why no Thursday and Friday? Ask "the man.") Check your local listings for times or just remember that all the fun happens between 2-5 am except on Saturday when I start at 1am. Got it? Great! I hope you can join me. Have a great weekend. Later....Brian