Happy Halloween

Today marks the annual running of the juvenile beggars, better known as Halloween. This afternoon, countless youths dressed in all manner of costume will descend on my porch and expect me to give them candy just because they asked for it. What a scam. I'd love to just ask random folks for a Zagnut and have them comply, but I don't see that happening. I'll play along because the prospect of scraping egg, soap and excrement off my house far outweighs the cost of a few bags of candy. My only rule is that the Oliver Twist rejects have to cough up an actual "trick or treat". Last year I had a stare down with a group of under costumed hooligans that lasted about 17 minutes because they wouldn't say the magic words. It's bad enough that high school kids put on a hoody and think that "disenfranchised youth " is a good Halloween get up, but having them stare at me mutely while holding out a dingy pillow case is over the line.

Someone suggested that I have the children actually perform a "trick" before giving them a treat. While the prospect of having a mini Spiderman or ballerina jump through a flaming hoop, or recite the Gettysburg address while downing a frozen Snickers fills my befuddled mind with glee, the company I would be sharing my inevitable jail cell with puts me off my plan. I'm making the more squeamish kids pay a high price anyway. I've created a pretty scary gauntlet that they need to run to get their sugar filled bounty. I temper it for the very young since the prospect of scaring a toddler so bad that they leave me a little treat doesn't seem sporting.

Tonight should be fun. There's still enough of a kid in me to remember how much fun Halloween was, so I do get a kick out of watching the kids come by. Do me a favor though. If you have a kid going trick or treating tonight, remind them to say "thank you." Free candy deserves that much.

It's been a wild week. I've spent the last two mornings filling in for Steve and Johnnie, which is always a blast. I'll be back on the air for two big WGN Overnight shows this weekend. Tonight/ Saturday morning from 2-5 (That's right, I'm back and will be hosting the show on a regular basis) and Sat. night/Sunday morning from 1-5. Lucky you, because of the end of Daylight Saving Time, you get an extra hour of me Sunday morning. You'll probably be wired from eating all your kid's "dangerous" candy so you'll be awake to listen. I'm off to bed, visions of goblins dancing in my head. Happy Halloween. Have a great weekend! Later...Brian

Listen Up

Look at this, a rare Saturday post. I've had a crazy week, so forgive my absence. I've spent some time molding the minds of America's (or at least the Southwest suburb's) youth. That's a story for next week however. By way of apology, I thought I'd give you a pre-Halloween treat. This is a link that I was sent by Andy Hermann who is the talented producer of The Nick Digilio Show. Nick formerly resided in my crazy overnight spot on WGN. Now he hosts three big shows on the weekends and is one of the stations go-to fill-ins as well. He was talking about a certain game show host I was familiar with and when I called and told Andy about my brush with "greatness", I was summoned to the studio. The rest, as they say, is "radio gold". I hope you enjoy listening to it as much as I enjoyed doing it. I've dropped in on Nick's show a couple times and always had a blast.

http://caster.wgnradio.com/uncut/nickuncut-081018f.mp3

Don't forget the big show tonight/tomorrow morning from 1-5 am on WGN. It's our big Halloween show. There will be Halloween trivia, a vintage ghost story, the saddest Halloween story you've ever heard featuring a young Brian Noonan and lots more. If you're afraid to sleep because of the monsters under your bed, tune in and get scared by something else. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

Friday Night Lights

In the words of David Byrne...."How did I get here?" Not here in this chair, duh. I know that part. I just walked in from the kitchen. I mean "here" in the bigger more metaphysical sense. I don't want to start the weekend with a heavy philosophical question, but really, what happened to me?

This soul searching is a result of my scheduled activities for this evening. I'm getting ready to head out to a high school football game. That would make perfect sense if I was the father of a high school football player, a high school band member, a high school faculty member or just loved scoping out Driver's Ed. cars. I am none of those things. I am the father of a Jr. High girl who plays clarinet. Every year the high school band has a night to honor the middle school bands that feed into the high school. It seems like shameless boot licking, since, for the most part, all these kids will be going to this high school anyway unless their parents cough up huge sums of money for an arguably higher caliber private education. I enjoy "Daughter's" musical endeavors since my ears were crafted from cut rate tin at birth. It's just that the thought of sitting on a cold aluminum bench surrounded by psychotic band and football parents and wild eyed, hormone fueled high schoolers isn't how I thought I'd end up spending my Friday nights.

I didn't think I would ever become the typical suburban dad. I always figured that since I had such a crazy job, I would be above the mundane activities that fill almost all of our lives. I'm not sure what I thought I'd be doing. Hanging out with super models and exotic dancers at exclusive club openings? Hobnobbing with the cultural elite, drinking Chardonnay in the stuffy confines of a think tank? Sitting in my underwear on rented furniture eating a 99 cent frozen pizza and washing it down with whatever generic beer was on sale while i watched my 25 inch color TV that made everything look green? That last one is probably the closest to what would have happened. I better shut up now, go to the game and thank my lucky stars i have the "Comfort king" and a 60" HD TV. Look at that. I worked everything out in a few short paragraphs and have come to the realization that sometimes, the ordinary life isn't so bad after all. I did it without any help from Jimmy Stewart either. Off to the game.

Don't forget to tune into the big show on WGN for four hours of "Radio Irreverence" Saturday night/Sunday morning from 1-5 am. It's sure to be a lot of fun. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

Blogonomic Crisis

I got an e-mail from my friend Mike who accused me of going all "groundhog day" and subjecting visitors to this site to repeated viewings of my last (albeit worth re-reading) post. His mockery cut me to the quick because I have not been slacking, I have been trying to make sense of everything that is happening in this country. Someone has to find a way to skewer the election, the economic fiasco, two Chicago baseball teams choking harder than would-be porn starlets on audition night and the sight of Cloris Leachman doing the hand jive in a low cut blouse. It is an overwhelming task, but one that I thought I could handle if I put my mind to it. When that didn't work, I whipped up a few cocktails, in the hope that sweet lady liquor would grant me the insight that rational thought had not. Despite comforting me in her warm embrace, my ninety proof lover offered no insight into the situation and I was left as confused as before, but also suffering from a Mai-Tai hangover. That's all well and good, but it's time to set fingers to keyboard and get Mike off my back.

I wish I could make some sense out of the "economic rescue plan", but to be honest, when it comes to finance, my expertise doesn't extend past understanding "buy one, get one fee" at the grocery store. My retirement plan consists of an old wine carafe filled with change, scratch off lottery tickets and the hope that some rich guy hits me with his Bentley while I'm in a cross walk. I think I'm like a lot of people who understand what we need to about money, namely, can we pay our bills, put some away and have some fun every once in a while? There is plenty of blame to go around and I know people lost a lot in the stock market, but I have to hope that the situation will right itself with the right leadership. How's that for naive? I guess that explains the afore mentioned retirement plan.

I watched the third and thankfully final Presidential debate last night and came away from it with a profound dislike for plumbers. I knew we were in for trouble the minute John McCain mentioned "Joe the plumber". Every news outlet, talk show host, blogger, hack comic and bitter electrician has been talking about this guy for the last twelve hours. As time has gone on, some facts are being brought to light that cast "Joe the Plumber". (I think legally that's how I have to type it every time) in a different light. He may not be the politically concerned man he was portrayed as, and his plumbing company might not be raking in the kind of bucks that would drop him in a higher tax bracket. What a surprise. Of course none of these revelations have stopped McCain's lipstick wearing, pitbull of a running mate from invoking this pipe wrench wielding tradesman's name at early rallies this morning. This debate was a little more interesting then the last two, but I couldn't help thinking I was watching an argument between Skeletor and The Joker. John McCain came off as an angry man whose shiny skull and clacking teeth frightened me and I'm sure any small children that happened to wander in front of the TV. Barack Obama, while cool under pressure, kept flashing his huge grin, giving me the impression that he was having a separate debate in his head and that he was killing with snappy retorts.

Both "Wife" and I were gob smacked (I've always wanted an excuse to use that phrase) by one thing that Senator McCain said during the discussion of education. I'm going to paraphrase, since at that point I was fighting a duel with the sandman that I would eventually lose. McCain was talking about getting better teachers and mentioned one of his proposed programs that would take soldiers right from the battlefield and allow them to become teachers without "all those tests" and certifications. Now, I have a lot of respect for our men and women in the armed forces, but that's just crazy talk. Let someone teach without taking any tests? Why can't Johnny read? It's because PFC No Certificate couldn't explain a gerund. I'm well aware of the extensive training that service people go through, but I think it's quite a leap to equate their training to the training a teacher undergoes. I don't want a Special Forces expert, trained in Black Ops, being pulled from behind enemy lines and deposited into a kindergarten classroom. I fear that during a heated game of "duck, duck, goose" he would be startled by the shout of goose and become the killing machine that we need in wartime but not before recess. Why can't Johnny read now? Well, it's because his windpipe was crushed by Sargent Slaughter's garrote. By the same token, I wouldn't ship a kindergarten teacher straight from a "don't eat your paste" lecture to quash a rebel uprising.

As for Cloris Leachman and the baseball downfall, I can't worry about those things any more. It's time to look to the future, and that future involves creating a frightening house for Halloween. That might not carry the same weight as other concerns, but if I don't get a ghoulish specter hung in my tree, there will be hell to pay. See Mike, I told you I'd post today! Later...Brian

Yap, Yap, Yappin'

I've spent the majority of the last week not being allowed to talk. Despite rumors to the contrary, I haven't joined a monastic order, taken a vow of silence or lost a bet. I've been on what the kids call "voice rest". I really don't think the kids call it voice rest. They probably don't call it anything other than, "Hey why is that giant old man flailing about and waving a legal pad at us? What a dork.", but play along. If you remember, I underwent throat surgery last week to remove a polyp that had taken up residence on my right vocal chord, which, as you can imagine, proved quite an inconvenience for a major media star such as myself. (indulge me) "Wilbur", as the polyp came to be called, was dangling just below the "vibrating plate" of my chords and would flip up, interrupting my speech, blocking my windpipe and creating all kinds of oral displeasure. For the last month, I alternated between sounding like Darth Vadar's breathing machine and Brenda Vaccaro, then I'd morph into Peter Brady during his big "Time To Change" solo. All the while, I could feel "Wilbur" flopping around like the lid on a Peterbuilt's smoke stack. The surgery took place last Thursday and yesterday I had my post-op appointment with my surgeon. All the news was great. My throat is healing nicely, "Wilbur" was benign, and I was given the green light to to gradually begin talking.

Not speaking could be the hardest thing I've ever done, discounting trying to pull off wearing pastel pants in 1987. It wasn't made easier by my discovery that "Wife " and "Daughter" are stupefyingly horrible at charades. I knew immediately that sign language would not work with them, so I resigned myself to writing short notes. I commandeered a dry erase board and some colorful pens from "Daughter" and pulled out a legal pad for backup. I love writing on legal pads. It makes me feel like I have a real job. Note writing didn't help much either. Have you ever tried to write down your thoughts while people attempted to read over your shoulder or upside down? No? Try it and then add in the wrinkle that they read each syllable aloud. I had to shout (write in capital letters) "LET ME FINISH FIRST!" "Wife" and "Daughter" also quickly determined that if they didn't look at me, they could ignore me. Imagine my joy.

Going out in public proved even more bizarre. I printed out a sign and taped it to the back of my legal pad that read "I've Had Throat Surgery. I Can't talk For Awhile. I'm Not Being Rude." I thought this would make things go smoothly. Boy was I way off. First, people don't expect to have to read without any notice. Flashing a note at them throws their world off kilter. Those three simple sentences caused so much confusion that I began to question whether Ed Asner's entire "Reading is Fundamental" campaign had been for naught. Folks would cock their heads like my dog's do when I read them sonnets and try to figure out why a man was using flash cards at Jewel. ( local grocery store, for non-Chicagoans) The other strange phenomenon was that once the semi literate were able to comprehend the sign, they somehow lost the gift of speech themselves. I can't tell you how many people jumped back like I was Typhoid Mary, looked at me with pity and then mouthed something akin to "I'm sorry". I'm not sure that's what they said, since they wouldn't speak up and my surgery had left me mute, not deaf. They would either become mimes or begin to ask me a litany of questions that I had neither the ability to answer nor a sufficient amount of ink to write out.

Thank God it's over. I unveiled my improved voice on the show last weekend and then put it back in it's box until the all clear was given. I think I sound much better, and judging by some of the feedback I've gotten, other people agree. There was a moment when I wondered what kind of voice would come out when I first opened my pie hole. Would I sound the same, have a high pitched helium voice, or a new, deep as whale poop set of pipes? I think the end result is pretty similar to my "pre-Wilbur" voice. The only drawback isn't mine. "Wife" and "Daughter" can no longer escape me by simply turning their heads. I am Brian hear me roar. Gotta go. I have a lot of people I need to talk to. Later...Brian