A Slip And A Strip

I'm still shaking off the effects of an eventful St. Patrick's' Day which may explain the lack of missives this week. I rolled out of bed this morning bound and determined to find something interesting to write about, and the world did not disappoint in terms of content. Despite what you may have heard today, the biggest story isn't the fact that President Obama went on The Tonight Show and, while cracking wise, compared his bowling prowess to "the Special Olympics".

That's a good story, I admit. I'm torn. I like the idea of the President going on television in a forum that isn't as strident as a press conference or address from the Oval Office. How boring is that? I know. I should be interested in all the problems we're facing as a country/world/NCAA bracket group, but those broadcasts always come on in prime time, and let's be honest, I don't need my Dancing With The Stars preempted so I can get another dose of bad news. Isn't watching Steve Wozniak lumber around the hard wood with an angry Russian in glittery spandex bad news enough? No, I like that the President went on a late night comedy show, but here's the problem, it's a comedy show and he's not a comedian. He has writers who can craft amusing Bonn mots for him to deliver, but to paraphrase the old adage, "making an off hand comment about the Special Olympics is easy, comedy is hard." I know the President didn't mean anything cruel by his comment, he was caught up in the moment, but come on, he's the President, not some drunk shock jock at the local bowling alley open mic night. I'm not saying that the President shouldn't come off as a warm, humorous guy, but he doesn't need to be drop dead funny either. That's tricky. I don't care if he can deliver a zinger, quip, knock knock joke or has any idea what happened to the man from Nantucket. I will confess that a part of me took a perverse satisfaction in knowing that our leader could be as politically incorrect as the rest of us.

The biggest news of the day is horrifying for those of us who like things to go smoothly. The State Board of Cosmetology and Hairstyling of New Jersey (an august body if ever their was one) is moving toward banning the "Brazilian Wax". According to the Associated Press, two women in New Jersey reported being injured during what was too clinically referred to as "genital waxing". How much hair did these two woolly mammoths have down there and why are they ruining everyone else's fun? In the name of full disclosure, I've never been the recipient of a "Brazilian", or basked in the glistening afterglow (after the redness has faded anyway) of someone who has, so "fun" may be an incorrect adjective, but I know one thing, if "Brazilians" are outlawed, only outlaws will have "Brazilians". I don't want to live in a country where women, and the occasional metrosexual is forced to cross state lines to get their nether regions waxed to their specifications. The thought of back alley "Brazilians" being performed with chewing gum, double sided packing tape, or God forbid, dirty tweezers, fills me with dread. I don't even want to think about the old growth type foliage that will be sprouting when Frenchy isn't allowed to practice her grooming techniques on willing and furry clients. If this ban goes into effect in New Jersey, your state could be next. Think about it Florida and Hawaii. All those bikinis looking like the women are smuggling chinchillas. The horror! The ban would take effect at the end of May, right before the Memorial Day weekend. I don't know how many miles one gets from a quality "Brazilian", but that could make for an alarming Labor Day weekend in the Hamptons.

I know in the whole scheme of things, this story might pale in comparison, but fess up, would you rather think about the economy or smooth love regions? OK, how 'bout that AIG? It's another "two scoops of Noonan" weekend on WGN. In the first scoop, dished up Friday/Saturday from 2-5 am I'll be unveiling a new segment to help people find a job. Yeah, I'm all about giving back and helping. If you're an about to be out of work wax technician, be sure to listen. Scoop two flops onto your cone Saturday/Sunday from 1-5 am and will feature the always enjoyable "Insatiable Insomniacs" with another late night restaurant review and the always hilarious Mike Schmidt with some March Madness and bracket talk, all guided by your always engaging and relatively smooth host...me. As always (using "always"four times in two sentances, a new record) I hope you can join me. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

A Lenten Sacrifice?

The sun has finally come out here in Chicago and I spent the day running errands. How are those two things connected? They're not, but I needed an open, and that's what came out. Normally if I spend my day running errands, I grab lunch on the fly. I justify the expenditure by trying to keep the cost low and the time short. That's fine during most of the year. I'll grab a hot dog, burger, gyro, you get the picture. Why do I feel the need to bore you with my lunch selections? "Gee Brian, do you ever have a grilled cheese or just a cup of soup?" Who really cares? Does it seem like I'm stretching today? Alright, now that we know that I eat lunch like just about everyone else, let's get to the point. I can't grab any of my usual lunch choices today because it's Friday, and it's Lent.

I may not strike many people as the most devout guy on the planet, and truth be told, I'm not. I have problems with some Church teachings and may have lapsed a bit in my attendance, but despite all that, one thing stuck from, as my mother is fond of lamenting when my brothers or I act in an unsaintly manner, all those years of Catholic eduction. I don't eat meat on Fridays. I may swear, covet, and dishonor, but God forbid a piece of meat makes it's way down my gullet on Friday. It has to be some old school Catholic guilt at work. Those nuns really know how to work their voodoo. They should be employed by the C.I.A. to win over the hearts and minds of terrorists. No need for a car battery or finger nail pulling pliers when you've got a ruler and some Rosary beads. To be honest, I have slipped in the past. Such transgressions usually happened when I was on the road. I would forget, and then after the horrifying realization set in, I would try to justify my sacrilege with this little chestnut, "If a hamburger is the tipping point for me going to Hell, then I was probably on my way there anyway." I know. You shouldn't trivialize eternal damnation for the sake of a Whopper Junior.

I don't mind forsaking meat anymore. I've grown to enjoy fish of all sorts and a couple years ago discovered the joys of the pepper and egg sandwich. If you've never tried one of these tasty snacks, you have no idea what you're missing. Imagine fluffy scrambled eggs, sauteed green peppers, a tangy Italian cheese of your choosing all nestled in a crusty French roll. You can't swing a martyred saint in this town without hitting a place that serves up the pepper and egg "Lent special." Last week, after an unusually bad offering from a local gyro place (I should have never trusted a Greek restaurant with what is traditionally an Italian concoction) I took the pepper by the stem and made my own. Oh the joy! Like most things, except for electrical work, cake decorating and sex, it's always better when you do it yourself. I'm off to make one now. Seeing as it's Friday, I might have to wash it down with a "Half and Half". No silly, not the cream, the beer. This weekend is the start of the St. Patrick's Day celebration, so a little Guinness and Harp will be a nice way to usher in my pre-work nap. Hey, I said I gave up meat on Friday, not beer. How much is one man supposed to sacrifice? I'm not Job.

This weekend will be known as the "Two Pints of Noonan" weekend on WGN. Tonight/Saturday morning (2-5 am) I'll be welcoming some traditional Irish musicians. Nothing will keep you hopping in the middle of the night like some bagpipe and fiddle music. Saturday night/Sunday morning (1-5 am) there will be Irish trivia on the "WGN Overnight Arcade" and a call to the old sod. Toss in a wee bit more Irish music, complaining about some current events and the always horrifying story of my drunken St. Patrick's Day ear piercing and what you've got is some "Radio O'Revernce." I hope you can join me. Now off to the stove. Have a great weekend. Later..Brian

Pull My Finger

Times are tough. You can't turn on the TV or radio, thumb through the newspaper (do people still do that?), or stop looking at internet porn long enough to read a news site without being bombarded with bad news. The economy is in the dumper, thousands are out of work, Chris Brown and Rihanna are writing a book. Sometimes it all seems too much. We need a break, a laugh, an inappropriate moment. That's what I'm here for.

In the interest of jocularity, I offer you this video. I wish I could say I was involved, but I'm just passing it along. I'm "paying it forward" if you will, but without the scarred face and earnest acting of Kevin Spacey and the "I see dead people" zombie like, dead eyed stare of that kid who has now faded from our collective consciousness. Be warned. If you are a stick up the behind, erudite cosmopolitan who has no tolerance for juvenile humor, click to the Wall Street Journal site and wallow in your own misery. For the rest of you, enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrBaV5MvX_4

What is it about a fart that is so funny? I laughed until I farted when I saw this. While some will argue that there is never a good time to cut the cheese, step on a duck, let one fly, break wind, unleash the hounds, sound the ass alarm, alert the media or uncork a weapon of ass destruction, I say there is never a time not to. My methane fixated mindset may be the result of a medical condition, no sense of public decency or the mind of a thirteen year old, but whatever the reason I'm dropping a butt bomb whenever I have a chance.

I know..."Brian you're so immature. You're wasting all this effort writing about farts. Grow up." If that's what you think, you're probably right, but I'd still like to subject you to a "Dutch Oven". I may even stroll by and "crop dust" you with an S.B.D., leaving your eyes watering, but with no clue who to blame. I don't care how old you are or how serious your demeanor, I challenge you not to laugh if someone cuts one in an environment where such a thing isn't expected. Have you ever had the tension and sadness of a wake interrupted by sphincter trumpets or had a bad movie theater experience made just a little brighter thanks to a rousing edition of "moon river"? Hell, I even laugh out loud in a public restroom when I hear someone unleash an ungodly call to arms. There must be a pattern to the sound waves that directly stimulates my funny bone.

I thought this might be just a guy thing, but "Daughter" takes great pride in her ability to knock one out of the park. Maybe she's trying to impress me, or maybe she's trying to make "Wife" cry. Either way, she's succeeding. I should mention at this juncture that I am able to enjoy all the benefits of farting without the down side. I have no sense of smell, so the offensive part of the act is removed leaving me with only the aural joy.

OK, if you're not smiling a little now, then you need stronger therapy than I am able to provide. If I was able to take your mind off the world's troubles for a few minutes, great, you're welcome. If not...blow one out your ass. HA! Later...Brian

Wipe Everything Down

I spent yesterday like most of you, lounging about celebrating Pulaski Day. Ah yes, Casimir Pulaski, "Father of the cavalry", Revolutionary War hero, and the biggest thing to come out of Poland in the last 300 years if you don't count the delicious sausage that bears it's nations name. I love a good polish, grilled to a crispy brown, covered in grilled onions, and nestled on a steamed bun... but I digress. While I would have enjoyed spending the "holiday" reenacting battles of the revolution and comparing/contrasting the historic significance of great Poles like Pulaski, Lech Walesa and Carl Yastrzemski I was forced to play nursemaid to "Daughter".

The schools in Illinois were closed so "Daughter" was going to be home anyway, which as you know always throws a monkey wrench into my days off. I enjoy my "piece of quiet" when "Wife" is at work, "Daughter" is at school and the hounds are napping. That is when I get a chance to do some world class time wasting. I can put a mid level bureaucrat or city worker to shame. I am so good at looking busy while doing nothing that I may run for public office. With the way things have been going in Illinois, I may just win. Sunday night "Daughter" started to get the look that all parents know means sickness is coming. It's a kind of flushed, glassy eyed stare that if it were happening in college would mean that someone had enjoyed a few too many drink specials at happy hour and was either coming from or going to some illicit conjugal encounter. Seeing as "Daughter" is twelve, the look means she's got a fever or is about to get one. Whadda ya know... 101. She laid on the couch all Monday, interrupted only by my ham handed attempts to take her temperature, administer some fine over the counter medication and utter the vague inquiry, "How you feeling?" This morning she still had a fever, so "Wife" stayed home while I went to mold the minds of the impoverished. Being a 21st Century dad, I texted "Daughter" at lunch only to find out she had "the flu". (Dramatic music here.)

I don't want to sound harsh, but damn! Both "Wife" and "Daughter" bought into the propaganda and scurried off to the doctor a few months ago for flu shots. Isn't that supposed to stop this crap? "Wife" shared this question with the doctor who told her with a completely straight face, "well, at least she avoided the first type." Listen Marcus Welby, that's like telling a stabbing victim that at least they weren't shot. I didn't get a flu shot. I'm not one of those anti vaccination loons, I just never got around to it and I'm healthy as a horse. (Yes, I eat oats, sleep standing up and poop in my yard.) If Karma is reading this, I'm not taunting you, just stating the facts as they are at the moment. The flu is very contagious, and I can't get sick. I know, none of us can afford to get sick, but really I CAN'T get sick. In radio, you don't have sick days, and besides, I just started educating the masses. Who will step in if I'm in bed shaking from fever, throwing up in my Looney Toons waste basket and hallucinating that I'm being beset on all sides by llamas and rabid dingos? I've put out the order to wipe the entire house down with disinfectant wipes, place "Daughter" in a germ free bubble and put a halt to all physical contact. Severe? Perhaps, but I need to stay well, at least until Sunday. Once the radio shows are over, I can allow myself one sympathy puke. Until then...SARS masks for everyone.

I know this is last minute, and it's not an official station event, but I will be presenting a "Major Award" this evening along with "The Insatiable Insomniacs". Regular listeners to my show know that the "Insomniacs" are my late night restaurant reviewers. In January they named Kuma's Corner "Late Night Eatery of the Year" I finally got around to getting the certificate, and tonight we will be presenting it to the fine folks at Kuma's. We'll be there around seven, so if you're in the area, stop by and say hi. While you're there, enjoy one of the great burgers. I'm NOT buying one for you, but I think you'll enjoy it. Kuma's Corner is at 2900 West Belmont in Chicago. It also give me an excuse to get out of this flu incubator I'm living in. Later...Brian