Smells Like Teen Daughter

Thirteen years ago today "Wife" and I were in an operating room welcoming "Daughter" into the world. Her arrival and first couple of weeks were not the smoothest, but in comparison to some, not the roughest either. I remember seeing her for the first time, a little, red, goo covered screaming machine and thinking "Things are going to change now." Talk about an understatement.

I won't bore you with drawn out reminiscences. If you're a parent, you have plenty of your own. If you're not, you probably don't want to read some teary memories. It's also quite cliche to brag about your kid, but hey, it's my blog, so step off for a minute. Despite having her father's temper and sarcastic sense of humor, "Daughter" is a fantastic young lady. She's a great student, a talented musician and a compassionate friend. "Wife" and I know that she can accomplish anything she sets her mind to. Wow, I just sounded like every new age yahoo huddled around a soccer field on Saturday morning, blathering on about how "special" their little bundles of joy are. Suffice it to say that we know she has the tools to achieve her goals if she sets her mind to it. That's a nice way of saying she's not an idiot.

It's hard for me to believe she's 13. Everyone is getting a good laugh telling me that "the fun" is just beginning. By "everyone" I mean parents of teens who have been in jail, rehab, therapy or some combination of the three. I know there will be some trying times. I was a teenager once myself. I am hopeful that "Wife" and I can give "Daughter" the help and advice, and self confidence she needs to navigate these confusing and exciting years. If not, there's always jail, rehab or therapy.

(IN CASE SHE READS THIS)

Happy Birthday "Daughter"! Mommy and I are very proud of you. You've changed our lives for the better (despite some episodes, but those are normal). We loved you the day you were born, today and every day from here on. You are a unique and wonderful person. (stop giggling)
Remember, we are here for you no matter what and will help you however we can. Enjoy being a teenager.

OK, on a different note, it's plug time. I hope you can join me this weekend for a couple doses of "Radio Irreverence" on WGN. It's just what the doctor ordered. (Rimshot) There will be lots to cover, from Milton Bradley's crazy claims, gypsies, my new obsession, a visit from "The Insatiable Insomniacs" and the ever popular "whole lot more". here are the times for the uninitiated, Fri/Sat 2-5 am and Sat/Sun 1-5 am. Stay awake, you won't regret it. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

Cinderfella

What a week! I used the exclamation point to work up some excitement for what has really been seven days of of domestic drudgery.

The big news of the week was that "Daughter" started school. I know, it's the middle of August, why so early? I have no idea other than that the District likes having a few more days off in Spring and wants to see the kids sweat like day laborers during late Summer. This isn't just another school year for "Daughter", it's 8th grade. Yes, 8th grade, the stress filled, peer pressure ridden, puberty sprouting denouement (wow, I used a big French word) of the Middle School experience. Every assignment, activity and decision this year will be scrutinized, mulled over and fixated on with an eye toward High School and her "permanent record". My hope is that "Daughter" navigates this chapter with more aplomb than her father. I spent my entire 8th grade year obsessed with a rather comely brunette classmate who had blossomed into early womanhood much sooner and with better ( read: bigger) results than many of the other "icky girls" with whom I shared my days. Looking back, I would have had no idea what to do with such a vixen had she returned my interest, but even at that tender age, a Catholic School Girl's uniform whipped me into such a state that diagramming sentences could not hold my attention. At this point, "Daughter" doesn't seem to have more that a passing interest in the hairier sex, loves school and is active in activities that should benefit her for the long term, so I think we'll be OK.

One other event has cast a long shadow over the compound this week. "Daughter" is turning 13 next week, so that means it's time for a birthday party. For this momentous occasion, "Daughter" asked "Wife" and me if she could have a sleep over. Yee Ha! Eight teen aged girls jacked up on sugar, pizza and hormones, hunkered down in my basement for a night of gossip, games and other girly activities. If there's a sleep over, there has to be a theme, so "Daughter" decided on "Beach Party". Last night, with the help of bags full of party store decorations, we turned our wood paneled rumpus room into a South Pacific paradise. i was so taken with the ambiance, I tried to get "Wife" to re-enact a little From Here To Eternity after "Daughter" hit the hay, but she refused to sully the festive atmosphere with anything so unseemly.

I spent the last three days deep cleaning the house. I kept trying to use some old school guilt on "Daughter" by telling her it was all for her party, but in truth, it was just that time. Tuesday was carpet cleaning day. We're not pigs by any stretch, but I couldn't help but feel a bit disgusted as I emptied the dirty water from the cleaner's reservoir. What had only moments before been crystal clear hot water was now the color and consistency of lukewarm chocolate milk. Wednesday brought out the mop and bucket for some old fashioned floor washing. Like a scullery maid or a low ranking seaman, I swabbed the hardwood deck until it shone in the reflected sunlight. My exhilaration over a job well done was not long lived however since my mangy mutt has no respect for a clean floor and tracked in God knows what from the back yard. Yesterday I ventured into the basement to prepare it for the big bash. At first glance, the basement didn't look too bad, and in fact it wasn't, except for countless, almost invisible cobwebs. They were lurking everywhere and never missed a chance to attach themselves to my face. I was spinning, spitting and flailing around so many times that I looked as if someone had connected a car battery to my unmentionables and was testing out the cold cranking amps.

The girls will arrive early this evening and are set to depart early tomorrow morning. There are many activities planned (shirt decorating, limbo contest, scavenger hunt), because idol time is a party killer. I hope everything goes smoothly. There is always some drama when a group of girls gets together, and my skills at smoothing out those episodes are sparse.

If you're thinking, "Hey Brian, aren't you doing a big show tonight and thus missing the beach soiree?" Normally yes, but I won't be in tonight. I can't say much other than, don't believe the propaganda. I didn't "take the night off." I'll be back tomorrow (Sat/Sun) night from 1-5 am on WGN with what is shaping up to be another fine broadcast. It might seem premature of me to say that, but with the ideas I have so far and what always happens "in the moment", I'm confident you won't be disappointed. I hope you'll join me. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

Nazis, Death Panels, Really?

It's such a beautiful day, I hate to sully it with controversy, but I'm getting ready for the big shows, so my thoughts always turn to the issues of the day. (Yeah, right. My thoughts turn to when I'll get to take my nap before staying up yakking all night.) With all my foot problems, I've been personally affected by the Health Care System over the last few weeks. I'm not bragging, and believe me, I wish that weren't the case. Thankfully we here at the Noonan compound have good insurance. Not everyone does, and that in a nutshell, is what's causing so much commotion.

I'm not going to try to take apart the proposed Health Care Reform Bill that's being debated around the country. I have neither the time nor the space. What I will say quickly is that nothing will get solved if people can't have a civil debate without resorting to crazy name calling. Maybe I got sun stroke while cuting the grass earlier, but I'm trying to get into a calm, zen like mindset. It's hard for me, but I'm trying. I wish everyone would follow my lead. Seriously, what is accomplished by fanatics comparing the President and suporters of the Health Care Bill to Nazis? Really? Nazis? The group that exterminated six million people? Does anyone really think that's what our government wants to do? That type of irresponsible blathering is a slap in the face to survivors and families of the victims of the Holocaust. I'm also not a fan of the "Death Panel" enthusiasts. Not that they're enthused about Death Panels, rather they're hypnotized by the sound of the inflammatory term they can't stop spouting, despite irrefutable evidence (not counting common sense) to the contrary. Granted, on many occasions, I would have liked to appoint myself Judge, Jury and Executioner of the thoughtless, rude and idiotic, but that scenario plays out only in my head. There aren't going to be any Tribunals of Death deciding who stays and who goes. Look it up. I know, logic and facts aren't fun. God knows I try to avoid them whenever possible, but this is too important an issue to get lost in a cloud of crazy.

One protester at a town hall meeting was carrying a sign that said "Death to Michelle and Her Two Stupid Kids". Way to bring a valid point to the debate Sparky. Yes, that's right, threatening innocent people is the best way to get your point across. People will be sure to take you seriously, so seriously in fact that you'll be able to shout your lunacy at the top of your lungs during Rec Time in "the yard". There is a lot of anger over the Health Care issue and some theorize that it might not all be connected to health care. People are angry over the state of the economy, unemployment and the fact that their local Jeep dealership ran out of new Patriots for the Cash for Clunkers program. Anger is fine, disagreements are fine and debate is excellent, but irresponsible rhetoric and threats will get us nowhere.

See, now I've harshed my mellow and on the anniversary of Woodstock no less. I'll pop in a Sha-Na-Na/Hendricks mix tape and try to get myself back to the garden in time for the big shows on WGN this weekend. (Fri/Sat 2-5 am and Sat/Sun 1-5 am). Lot's to cover including Michael Vick's return, fondling amusement park mascots, an exploding bird and yawning as a crime. Plus we'll mark the anniversary of Elvis' death with Elvis Trivia on the "Overnight Arcade". I hope you can join me. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

Das Boot

Summer is quickly slipping away. "Daughter" starts school next week, so we're trying to jam in a few activities that have been on the "to do" list for the last few months. Yesterday I took "Daughter" to the Chicago Bears Training Camp and this afternoon, we're going to soak up some culture, by which I mean heading to the Museum of Science and Industry to see the Harry Potter Exhibit. Yes, that counts as culture, don't get all nit picky. After spending some time wandering around the relics of Hogwarts it's off to Chinatown for a little feast from the Far East. Sounds like fun, huh? It would be if I could walk.

You may recall my award winning (Self Important Blogger Awards) multi part account of my motorcycle class and the injury that I suffered on the first night. For the past two months, I've been hobbling around on a bum wheel. My left heel has been the source of shooting pain, making it impossible for me to sport any sort of Summer footwear. This is the first Summer that my glorious tootsies haven't been bronzed due to exposure from wearing sandals, flip flops and the ever trashy, going barefoot. I have been seeking comfort with orthopedic insert packed running shoes, which is ironic, since the last time I ran was 1977. A few weeks ago I decided to let pain trump pride and sought the opinion of a podiatrist.

I love doctors. ( Sarcasm doesn't translate to the written word, but know that the narrator in my head has quite the sarcastic tone.) After pushing on the affected area repeatedly, eliciting yelps from me usually reserved for small dogs, the foot doc gave me a tentative prognosis of plantar fasciitis. "We should make sure though", Doctor Sholl wavered and then ordered an MRI. Turns out that crazy magnet found a torn ligament running from my heel to the middle of my foot. I'm always happy when something I'm complaining about turns out to be a real injury. I'm not happy to be injured of course, just glad that my sniveling is justified.

As I sat in a podiatric Lazy Boy after being given the MRI results, the doc asked "how are you with shots?" There were so many ways I could have answered that question. Did he mean injections, taking a punch or my well known affinity and friendship with Jose Cuervo? I erred on the side of caution and crafted my response toward the injection. I've never had a problem with shots, even when long needles were being pushed into my spine, but I had no idea what I was about to face. Doctor Heelandtoe produced a large syringe filled with cortisone and after spraying my heel with something Mr. Freeze must have thrown away after a Batman movie, jammed the neddle in. I fought the urge to take my good leg and toss a roundhouse kick his way and after about 127 minutes (it may have been shorter, but time slows when you're under duress) , the injection was complete. Then came "the boot".

If you've never seen one of these so called "walking casts", look at the picture at the top of the column. Can you see it? Good. It's a combination, Frankenstein/Gene Simmons/bondage piece of footwear. It's a strappy little open toed number, fashionably black to compliment my evening wear. I have to slide my foot in and then bind my leg with so many Velcro straps that NASA is sending me a bill. The sole of this contraption is curved in such a way that my weight is supposedly dispersed off my injured ligament. That may be true, but now I'm limping around, dragging this plastic monstrosity. My heel may be healing, but wearing a giant shock absorber is wreaking havoc on my knee and back. It must be some kind of medical conspiracy that ensures a patient will be in constant need of attention by creating a vicious circle of treatments that feed off each other.

I have to go strap in and head off for my culture fix with an egg roll chaser. Don't laugh if you see me limp by. I may not be able to run, but I can still chase you down with my car. Later...Brian

It's Post Landscape Post Time

Oh my God, I am sore. Not 40's angry mind you, but in physical pain. I spent seven hours yesterday trimming bushes and trees around the compound. I don't know why I'm surprised by the amount of shrubbery that needs grooming, I see it every day, but as with a lot of things, I don't pay much attention until I'm waist deep in evergreen. Every year I promise myself that by next year I will hire a team of hard working professional landscapers to descend on my yard with a truck load of equipment and dispatch my greenery like locusts. Every year my frugal/cheap nature takes over and I trudge to the garage to unwind extension chords and get the electric clippers down from their perch atop the cabinet. This year I pressed "Daughter" into service. The job started a bit rough, with me expecting her to know my thoughts and be able to anticipate my needs. That didn't work out too well. After a quick break, we got in sync (yes, if you're wondering, we did some boy band choreography) and things rolled along. It was time for "Daughter" to experience some back breaking labor. She doesn't like to sweat. I don't know if that's a "girl thing" or not, but she overcame her aversion under the hot sun, watching her old man grunt, sweat and groan. She did show some concern over the many cuts and scratches I suffered in the name of yard beautification. I guess the sight of blood trickling down your father's arms and legs is a bit of a shock for a kid. I used to laugh when I would see landscapers wearing long sleeve t's and long pants during the Summer, but not any more. I had one scare during the operation, (well more than that if you count how many times I thought I would pass out). Somehow the extension chord got caught in the clippers. I know, that's not good. Thankfully, instead of lighting me up and giving "Daughter" the lasting memory of seeing her dad's skeleton illuminated like in a Tom and Jerry cartoon, the breakers that cover the power outside tripped. See, another reason to hire the locusts. I will say, the place does look better, and, being the glutton for punishment that I am, as soon as I finish here, I'm off to cut the grass, putting the finishing touch on my efforts.

I have to cut the grass early because this afternoon, I'm off to the track. I'm not a degenerate gambler (one of my favorite terms) or an expert handicapper, I'm meeting some friends from work for an afternoon of camaraderie and wagering. I've only been to the track twice, once in California where "Wife" and I won a grand total of three bucks and once last year to the beautiful Arlington Park. During that visit, my pals and I never even looked at the track. We just talked and enjoyed some seasonal brews. This time, I plan on finding an overweight older man with a beat up fedora, half smoked cigar and crumpled racing form and pressing him for a tip. Then I'll look for an even more cliched reference and go on with my day. I'm looking forward to my visit and to partaking in the "sport of kings." I dig horses. Well, I 'll amend that to say I dig watching them run, I'm not fond of a random horse head showing up in my bed, which thankfully hasn't happened, since my habit of crossing the Mob has been kept in check.

I'm off. Hey, just like the horses out of the gate. Did you enjoy that symmetry? If you like that kind of crazy humor, you'll love the big shows this weekend on WGN. Wow, I slid that in seamlessly. Friday night/Saturday morning I'll be joined by musician Pete Berwick, talk to our correspondent in London to commemorate the 40th Anniversary of the Beatles crossing Abbey Road, I'll fight my producer and more. Saturday/Sunday I'll have four hours of "Edutainment" to keep you awake all night, with Classic Rock trivia on "The Arcade", gym class nightmares, an update my my wagering, which drivers we should string up by their privates and as always...more. I hope you can join me. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

The Summer Slump

"Wife" has been on me lately and not in the way I enjoy. "You need to blog." I know. I'll be honest, despite Earth shaking events like the death of Michael Jackson, astronauts wearing the same underwear for three weeks and some crazy story about the President hosting a kegger, I have been in a creative slump. I don't think there's any concrete reason for it, I just haven't felt like writing. I think about it, but until I perfect my mind control and telepathic powers, conjuring hilarious missives in my head is not enough. I need to put finger to keyboard and let the crazy pour out. But therein lies the problem. I have set a standard for these posts previously known only to me. However, in the interest of full disclosure, I will now bore/enlighten you with them.

I try to make this area more than just a forum that allows me to tell you what kind of sandwich I'm having for lunch (probably left over Italian sausage). I want you to leave with a laugh. OK, maybe just a smile. How about lacking the urge to put your fist through your monitor. I also try to make my diatribes a certain length. I figure if one paragraph is good, four must be better. I'm coming to terms with the fact that in all things, except dirty love, brevity may be the best course of action. So I've decided that if I only have a short quip, brief musing, truncated thread of thought, boiled down brain fart, some hasty hilarity, terse tantrum or fast philosophizing, that will be enough. No more being a slave to self imposed word count. I'll let the ideas dictate the magnitude of my musings.

With that in mind, here is a quick update of events since I was last here.

-Michael Jackson is still dead, but like Elvis and Tupac, his career is still thriving.

- I am finally a licensed motor cycle rider. The class was called back after two weeks to finish two drills. I was nervous since I hadn't been on a motorcycle since the class ended. If you'll excuse my use of a cliche,Ii had nothing to worry about because it was just like riding a bike.

...OH.. I have to go pick "Daughter" up at band. I'll be back in a minute....Hi, did you miss me?

-Speaking of "Daughter", she was gone most of July. Shae was at Girl Scout Camp, and then spent a couple of weeks in Michigan visiting "Wife's" family. It might seem wrong, but "Wife" and I enjoyed some quality "couple time" and only found ourselves missing "Daughter" a little bit. Now she's home and only two weeks away from 8th grade.

There's more, but really, why live in the past? Let's turn our attention to the future, which is rife with opportunities. I will take this opportunity to sign off. See what I did there? OK, that's your laugh, smile, monitor mangling deterrent for the day. Later...Brian