Guest Blogger: Roosevelt Rhodes

This week's guest blogger is Roosevelt Rhodes. He is a well known and long-time member of the Chicago media, but he chooses to write under this pseudonym. I have promised to never reveal his actual name, and no amount of begging, pleading or bribing will entice me to go back on my word. If you'd like to reach this mystery writer, he does have an e-mail address: rooseveltrhodes@hotmail.com.

Since Monday is Labor Day, Roosevelt has chosen to write about the workplace. He calls it...


"A SANDbox. Not a LITTERbox."
By Roosevelt Rhodes

I never met Bob. Yet, I think about him every day. Bob ran a filling station right where Chicago’s West Side met Cicero. He was a truck driver, turned mechanic, turned Sinclair station franchisee, husband and father.

Bob set up shop near 22nd Street. A Bohemian boulevard called Cermak where nearly 18,000 people a day took the streetcar to punch the time clock at the Western Electric’s plant on Cicero Avenue. I never met Bob and Bob never met Henry. But they would have dug each. I’ll explain later.

The Suburban Man took part in a fascinating exercise recently in this space. He played the parental soothsayer, and made some astute observations about what his kids would be when they grew up. Me, I'm not as concerned about WHAT they're going to be as WHERE they're going to be it. I’m one of those people who never wanted to just have a J-O-B. I’m obsessed with workplace karma. It could simply be that I’ve not done hard labor in 20-plus years. Spoiled, I am. I was once a janitor, and I worked at a bus garage in maintenance. The worst thing that ever happened to me on the job, was when the acid content of the engine cleaner we used ate holes in my gloves...then scorched through a couple of layers of skin until they bled. Now my only workplace hazard is bad mojo.

I love what I do. Most people aren’t that lucky. That’s why more and more I’m pissed at what I see or hear about environmnents at work. From sandbox to litter box. And NO, I don't believe people want company picnics on their one day off to make them love their gig. They want to 'play' at working hard.

During a major leadership change some years ago, a buddy told me about the day one upper manager marched through cubicle-land and got a chip on his shoulder about what people displayed on their walls, dividers and doors. Keep in mind it wasn't lewd or crude. He also griped about what people wore to the office. Mr. Tight-Cheeks never waited to see how folks dolled up when corporate people visited or on the days client presentations took place. He simply issued veiled complaints to middle managers, and secretly had cartoons, collages and other forms of 'personal inspiration' taken away. Then he slammed the door on casual Friday. This all happened unofficially, which seemed oddly wimpy. Or rather telling. I don’t believe this was about bling. It was a metaphor for autocracy.

You can't blame it all on suits. Top performers in sales or otherwise who believe their own hype also mess with the vibe. Consider an interview in 2002 with then Cubs right fielder Sammy Sosa. He was being asked about his idol, the late Roberto Clemente, which spun off into the query 'who is your living hero?' -- to which Sammy humbly replied 'me!' Then roared. The comment didn't play widely. Probably better that it didn't. Yet, somewhere during that season the shift happened in that clubhouse. Sammy went from teammate to necessary evil.

Back to Henry. He was the night janitor at a place where I worked in my early 20s. I asked him once if he liked the night shift, and he told me he didn't have a choice -- he worked another job. We used to gripe about Reaganomics and compare notes on the best ballyard catches of all-time. Our musings led me to dig into his other life. The day job. A middle school where he told me he was/is: The principal. Dude, got a twinkle then, and out of the corner of his mouth whispered "never want to forget how I got there". It was an attitude he breathed into that school. Teachers, counselors, and ladies who slung bad pizza onto cafeteria trays were busting down doors to work between those walls. He brought out a vibe that was contagious, because he never saw just his side of the ‘plant’.

Finally back to Bob. The reason I love people who make work into play. One imperfectly normal fall afternoon in 1958, Bob's oldest son was sitting in a college freshman lit class. His daughter had just slammed her books into her 8th grade locker, and his youngest boy raced across the alley headed home to a neat brick Georgian Bob had paid cash for a decade earlier. As his wife swept the front stoop and waited on that 3rd grader to jump the curb, Bob's 49-year old heart decided to call it a day. Here comes the happy ending.

The tears turned into nearly a half-century of laughter and practical jokes that baffled some bosses, and caused hundreds to fly by the seat of their pants while being productive at work. That college freshman learned something from a life that was too short. Bob's oldest spent his entire work life leading a parade of time not wasted. He didn't even notice until the day he retired eight months ago. He just thought he'd only get 18-plus-30 years or so.

Or better yet he just built a sandbox, and remembered to pack it in his lunch pail every day.


If you missed previous guest bloggers, click here: http://rickkaempferguestbloggers.blogspot.com



Have a great Labor Day weekend.
--Rick

Half Empty: Nine Ways To Attract A Man

They say that when you hit your 40s, your life is half over. We prefer to think of it as HALF EMPTY. Our age has finally caught up with our outlook on life. Remember, it is possible to turn that frown upside down...but you might pull a muscle.





Nine Ways To Attract A Man
By Rick Kaempfer & Dave Stern





Every time we go to the supermarket, we’re blown away by the headlines on the women’s magazines by the checkout counter.

This is just a sampling of the headlines we wrote down on a recent excursion...
=What guys notice: 20 things that turn their heads
=How to master the seven essential sex styles
=Are you good in bed? Take our quiz.
=His & Hers summer sex confessions
=Double your pleasure with these sexcercises
=Pssst. 100 secrets his body wants you to know
=12 little tricks to steam up your love life
=The sex he craves

The target audience for these magazines is 18-34 year old females. Correct us if we’re wrong, but is there a single female in that age bracket having a hard time exciting the man in her life?

Maybe it’s just because we’re not in that target age group anymore, and maybe it’s because we’re both married and not looking, but if it helps stop these pointless articles, we are prepared to break the “man code” and reveal the truth to young women everywhere.

There are exactly nine ways to attract a man. Follow these simple rules, and we guarantee success.

1. Have a Pulse
Not having a pulse is a notorious turn-off for men. On the other hand, women who have a pulse have an excellent chance of attracting some male interest. There’s no need to flaunt it. We can sense it. Call it male intuition.

2. Breathe
Are you breathing? Excellent. This is another one of our stringent requirements. On the other hand, those of us who know CPR are sometimes willing to suspend this rule temporarily.

3. Be conscious
This is important. Remember that the conscious girl has many advantages over the unconscious girl, and shouldn’t hesitate to capitalize on those advantages.

4. Be unconscious
On the other hand, men are not into “judging” you based on your state of consciousness. We’re much more open-minded than women think.

5. Have most of the “girl body parts”
We aren’t so crass as to expect you to have all of the girl body parts, but if you have most of them, you’ll find your odds of snagging a man improves dramatically.

6. Be Nearby
You know the old phrase “out of sight, out of mind?” It’s so true. That’s why we go for women who are nearby.

7. Be Far Away
You know the phrase “Absence makes the heart grow fonder?” That’s so true. That’s why we go for women who are far away.

8. Speak
If your vocal chords are working and you can string together various words, phrases and/or grunts in our general direction, consider yourself an object of interest. It doesn’t matter what language you speak.

9. Don’t speak
On the other hand, silence is golden. A woman who is mute, doesn’t have vocal chords, or chooses not to use them has an excellent chance at turning the head of any man.


We hope you ladies appreciate how much trouble we can get into at the next “man meeting” for revealing the nine rules. These deeply guarded secrets are completely unknown to the editors of every women’s magazine in America.

Please, we urge you, use this information wisely.




If you missed any of our previous "Half Empty" columns, click here: http://halfemptyarchive.blogspot.com

Suburban Man: A Wal-Mart Primer

By Rick Kaempfer



Normally I don’t print letters I receive about my Suburban Man columns, but this one from former radio producer/programmer Tom Serritella has some helpful advice for everyone who hates shopping at Wal-Mart. Is there anyone who doesn't fit that description?
--Rick


Dear Rick,

As a fellow house-husband, I feel obliged to reply to your recent column ("House Husband Report Card"). I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but your wife didn't give you a "C", as you reported. 70% isn't a "C," it's a “D”. (Using the 100-92-A, 91-83-B, 82-75-C, 74-66-D, 65-F scale).

You mentioned that one of the reasons your grade was so low was because of your reluctance to go shopping at Wal-Mart. That's where I come in. I think I can help you get that grade up to something more respectable. Take my advice and before you know it, your wife may be proudly telling all of her friends…”My husband is average!”

I have six important rules.

1) You must wear a watch.
If you extend your Wal-Mart stay beyond one hour, you’ll be ready to kill yourself. If your wife wants you to buy something that takes too long to find, practice saying this: “Sorry honey, I couldn’t find it.” The grief you’ll receive from her is far less than the torment you’ll endure looking for the darn thing. A good rule of thumb is this: If you look longer than 5 minutes, DONE.

2) Always bring a child who fits in the cart.
I have 2 1/2 year old twins. They are my best weapons at Wal-Mart. You mentioned that the aisles are narrow. This is true, but with my twins in the cart, I’m driving a double-wide. My motto is: “Get outta my way.”

3) Always bring a list.
A list is a good way not to forget the stupid crap your wife needs so you don’t get killed when you get home. If you don’t bring a list, you’ll forget something. It happens every time. Just trust me. Remember, the Wal-Mart experience isn’t only the time spent in the actual store.

4) Ask for help, but don’t count on it.
The Pharmacy section is brutal. None of it makes sense to a man because everything is organized for the woman’s brain. The only way to make it through this section quickly is to ask for help. Unfortunately, let’s be honest here-—Wal-Mart employees are not exactly famous for their efficiency. If you are running short on time, and one of those slow-ass Wal-Mart employees is taking forever to finish whatever the hell it is that they have to do before they get to you, refer back to rule #1 for what to say to your wife when you get home.

5) Make the food section your own
Let me reiterate, every Wal-Mart has a food section. One of the biggest mistakes that househusbands make is continuing to buy the stuff their wives used to buy when they did the shopping. HELLO!!!! The best part about shopping at Wal-Mart is that they have all the stupid food that men love. It’s me time. Make sure to buy some things that you’d otherwise never see in your home. Tostito’s or Jalapeño cheese dip always seems to make it into my cart somehow. (Note: If you skip this rule, you’re missing your only chance for enjoying the Wal-Mart experience).

6) Check out the check out
Pay attention! The fastest lines are not necessarily the shortest lines; they’re the ones with the best checkers. Here’s another important thing to remember once you have chosen the fastest line: You must help them with the bagging. I had a stand-off with the checker once, before I figured out the game. She was looking at me wondering why I wasn’t helping her put the bags in my cart, and I was looking at her like she was nuts! By simply doing her job for her, I saved myself a crucial ten minutes of agony.

Follow these six simple rules, and you may soon rise to a level of mediocrity your wife will applaud. No need to thank me. I know a man in need when I see one.

Tom


Thanks for your help, Tom, but I'm still not stepping foot in Wal-Mart. This is not a political statement on my part. The place actually makes my skin crawl. Sorry.
--Rick




If you'd like to read previous Suburban Man columns, click here: http://suburbanmanarchive.blogspot.com

Steve & Garry Notebook

When Steve & Garry reunited for one show last Friday, it was big news in Chicago. Every local television station covered it, every local newspaper (Front page on the Sun Times!) ran stories (see Thursday's media notebook for the links), and people all over Chicago were talking about it.

I worked for the Steve & Garry show for almost five years (1986-1991), including the last four years as their producer. I've previously chronicled that on this blog a few times
(Loop Photo Album 1986-1993), but I haven't really written about it at length.


This seems like a perfect time to do that.

I was running the Steve & Garry fan club and helping out the Loop's promotions department when Steve & Garry's former producer (Roman) quit. That's when they promoted me to producer, and announced my arrival in the Steve & Garry newsletter (on the left).





During those years, I had some high highs and some low lows (some of my nicknames included "college boy", "Slow-Mo", and "Rick the German Boy"), but now that so much time has passed I really only think about the highs. Here are my five favorite moments.


#5: The Brian Wilson interview
Brian Wilson emerged from more than a decade of intense psychological treatment to release a solo album in 1988. He still wasn't quite right (and maybe never will be) when he arrived at the station for an in-studio interview. How do I know this? When I offered my hand to him, he jumped backwards like he had just seen a ghost. His "personal advisor" wouldn't let him out of his sight and actually sat on the floor in the studio during the interview. The interview itself was also memorable. At one point Brian started choking, leaving Steve and Garry speechless and completely at a loss for what to do. I've probably heard that 48 seconds of audio a thousand times since then, and it still makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck.


#4 Steve's on-the-air vasectomy
When Steve decided to get it snipped live on the air, the rest of us cringed. Garry actually had to witness it and provide play by play, while I was thankfully running the equipment, a safe distance away from the snipping. This was a big story at the time (I can't remember the year exactly...I want to say it was '89 or '90). The story came full circle for me in 2003 when I was getting my own vasectomy. The doctor who was handling the procedure realized who I was in the middle of the operation, and started asking me questions about Steve & Garry while he was cutting my bits and pieces.


#3: A Christmas Carol
In December of 1988, I tackled my first big production for Steve and Garry, a celebrity reading of the classic "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens. I booked dozens of local celebrities to play the parts, and we performed it in front of a live audience at the Museum of Broadcasting. Steve was Scrooge, Garry was Cratchit, Bruce Wolf was Fred, Christmas Past was Roger Ebert, Christmas Present was Buzz Kilman, the late Channel 5 news reporter Paul Hogan was Marley, and other participants included Sports Illustrated writer Rick Telander, Channel 2 anchor Linda McClennan, Blackhawks announcer Pat Foley, West 57th correspondent Bob Sirott, Channel 7 anchor Diann Burns, Channel 5 anchor Joan Esposito, Channel 7 reporter Janet Davies, Chicago Bears quarterback Mike Tomczak, Sun-Times columnist Michael Sneed, Chicago Bears safety Gary Fencik, artist Tony Fitzpatrick, Kevin Matthews, Bob Stroud, Stan Lawrence, Chicago Bears Guard Tom Thayer, and Channel 7 anchor Mary Ann Childers.

It was a huge success, got a big write-up in the Chicago Tribune, and my boss at the time, future gazillionaire Jimmy de Castro wrote a memo to us saying how great he thought the show was (above on the left).

I've previously written about how this chance meeting with Mary Ann Childers had a big impact on my life. You can read that story here:Thank you Mary Ann Childers


#2 The Ringo Starr Interview
Eagles guitarist Joe Walsh was in the studio promoting his appearance with Ringo's All-Star Band. Steve asked Joe if he could get Ringo on the air, and Joe handed me the number to Ringo's hotel room. As a fanatic Beatle-maniac, I was stricken with fear. After a mild panic attack in the producer's room, I made the call. He was actually very nice to me on the phone, and agreed to come on the show. My conversation couldn't have lasted more than thirty seconds, but I remember every word of it. When he finally got on the air, he noticed he was on delay. He told Steve & Garry that it hurt him that they didn't trust him and demanded that they take the delay off before he continued the interview. When they followed his orders dutifully, he made sure he was on the air live, before blurting out: "SHIT!" Today that would have cost the station $325,000. In 1989, it was hilarious.

Ringo later showed up at the station for a nationwide interview (for a show called "Rockline"), and I got his autograph. It's something I will treasure forever.



#1 Meeting Bridget

A year or so after I became the producer, a young intern from the news department came into the producer's booth to retrieve the news wire copy for Steve & Garry news anchor Carrie Cochran. I struck up a conversation with her like I did with all of the news interns (I was friendly in those days), and discovered quickly that the two of us had a lot in common.

Unfortunately, the producer of the Kevin Matthews Show (Shemp, shown next to me below) also liked her and asked her out on a date. She took the unusual step of asking me to accompany them, which I did. By the end of the night, I was volunteering to drive her home all the way to Wheaton, and Shemp was out of the picture. I broke up with my girlfriend shortly thereafter, and Bridget and I started dating.

That was eighteen years ago and we're still together. We got married in 1991, and we have three boys now (Tommy, Johnny & Sean).




Jim Wiser (left) was the producer of the Jonathon Brandmeier Show. Shemp (middle) was the producer of Kevin Matthews, and I was the producer of Steve & Garry. This picture was taken at a Loop Christmas Party at Garry's restaurant "Lan's".



I quit the Steve & Garry show in 1991 to pursue my on-air career (which lasted exactly two more years...I went back to producing in 1993 when John Landecker called me up and asked me to produce his show).

This is how the Steve & Garry newsletter announced my departure:

"A changing of the guard took place at the producer's postion after four years. Our very own "German Boy" moved onto smaller and lesser things. Steve and Garry both scratched their heads as to why he would leave without having another job lined up. Our investigative reporters snooped around and came up with these ten rumors.
#1: Steve did one too many Colonel Klink impersonations
#2: Cliff got a little too touchy-feely during dance rehearsals
#3: Rick and Maggie Brock had a torrid love affair that will continue in Phoenix (Maggie was the newsperson, and she left the same week I did--she moved to Phoenix)
#4: Longstanding philosophical differences regarding Jerry Lewis.
#5: Laziness
#6: Heading back to Fatherland to start WW3.
#7: His girlfriend was getting a little too close to Steve & Garry.
#8: He was miffed at the lack of publicity the reunification got on the show
#9: He didn't get to do his "Kermit the Frog" voice on the air a single time...even the day Jim Henson died.
#10: He loves golf and couldn't take Steve and Garry bashing the sport any longer.

Steve and Garry broke up exactly one week after I left the Loop to produce John Landecker's show. I ran into Garry a few times after that, but despite working on the same floor as Steve (when he moved to WCKG), I didn't see or talk to Steve again until he invited me to his 50th birthday party in 2004.

I now communicate with both of them occasionally via e-mail, and like any fan of the show, I'm rooting for a full-fledged reunion...although I know it's a long shot.

Guest Blogger: Johnny Conlisk

Johnny Conlisk is as “Chicago” as they come. Both his father and grandfather were high ranking members of the Chicago Police Department. Many other family members have been Chicago Police officers as well. His father advised him not to go into “the family business” and Johnny took him at his word.

For many years, Johnny Conlisk was a character actor and model appearing in television commercials and newspaper and magazine ads.

In 2004, Johnny and his wife, Janet Treuhaft formed Johnny-Sells.com, an eBay Trading Assistant company not far from Wrigley Field. They sell Chicagoans’ no longer used valuables to buyers all over the world in exchange for a modest commission. Please click www.Johnny-Sells.com to learn how they can sell for you on eBay.

I asked him to blog about the riots between the Chicago Police and the hippies at the 1968 Democratic National Convention. He was there, and has a unique perspective...



The Whole World is Watching

By Johnny Conlisk


In August of 1968, when I was a 16 year-old kid just about to start my senior year in high school, I got to play a small part in the Democratic National Convention.

For months before the big event, city officials planned how to lay out the red carpet for the convention delegates. The first Mayor Daley formed the Chicago Host Committee. Thousands of volunteers were assigned to help the various state delegates find their way around town and stay out of trouble. You had to be connected to get one of these fun jobs and I was connected. My father was the chief of police.

Our first task was to greet delegates at O’Hare. We were issued candy striped vests and Styrofoam straw hats to identify us as Host Committee volunteers.

After that, I had hoped to be with the California or New York delegations where the action was. Instead, I was assigned to the tiny Guam delegation. They were very nice, but they weren’t movie stars or big time politicians.

We helped them find the shops on Michigan avenue and an off duty policeman would drive them out to the International Amphitheater. It was all pretty cool.

We heard about the anti-war protestors, they were on TV every night. But I guess our job was to keep the Guamanians away from all that during our 14-hour days of hosting, so it wasn’t at the top of my consciousness.

The big goal for all the kids volunteering was to get into the convention hall itself. There was little hope of that, however, because the town was full of important people who would get in before high school kids.

Then the word was passed down. Wednesday night, August 28, 1968 was my night to get into the convention hall. My friend, Bill Finucane and I went to the Amphitheater together. We were ushered into the second level gallery. We realized later that the Mayor’s people were packing the galleries. They knew there was going to be trouble that night and they wanted an audience that would be friendly to the Mayor. We listened to the speeches echo through the rafters of the craggy old hall.

Then we heard booing during the speech of Senator Abraham Ribocoff and we heard him say “Storm troopers in Blue”. Bill and I turned to each other. What was he talking about?

After that evening’s session was over, I got a ride back downtown to the Conrad Hilton. I didn’t know that a riot had taken place in front of the Hilton a couple hours earlier. I just knew that the Airport Bus that left from there made a stop near our house.

The bus left from the south side of the Hilton. When I found out I would have to wait a half hour for the next bus, I walked up to the Michigan Avenue side of the hotel. There were thousands of cops on the west side of the street and thousands of hippies on the east side of the street. In the middle were Illinois National Guard Jeeps strung with barbed wire.

The first person I recognized was Jim Rochford, Deputy Chief of Police, my father’s best friend, and the guy in charge of the thousands of cops. “Hi, Mr. Rochford!” I said cheerily to the casually dressed chief.

“What are you doing here?” He asked incredulously.

“I’m waiting for the airport bus.”

“Oh, well, stay out of trouble.”

I wandered over to the hippie’s side of the street.

As I stood on the curb on the edge of the crowd, my powder blue jacket flapped in the light breeze, revealing the candy-striped vest of the Chicago Host Committee. Suddenly, a baseball-sized rock flew just past my ear and landed on the trunk of a parked car with a loud bang.

I looked up and saw Rochford ordering two burly cops to come over and rescue me. The hippies mistook my rescuers for arresting officers. They booed loudly as I was gently dragged across the street.

“I told you to stay out of trouble!” Rochford barked as they put me in a squad car to drive me over to police headquarters, a couple blocks away.

Several hours later, the crisis eased, an officer gave me a lift home and the excitement was all over.

Sometimes you make history, sometimes history makes you and sometimes, history is just something that happens while you are waiting for a bus.







This is Johnny with Deputy Chief Rochford at a wedding in 1977.









Johnny Conlisk (2006) with his 'heart,' Janet Treuhaft







If you'd like to read any of my previous guest bloggers, click here: http://rickkaempferguestbloggers.blogspot.com

Half Empty: Video Games for Grown Ups

They say that when you hit your 40s, your life is half over. We prefer to think of it as HALF EMPTY. Our age has finally caught up with our outlook on life. Remember, it is possible to turn that frown upside down...but you might pull a muscle.




Video Games for Grown-Ups
By Rick Kaempfer & Dave Stern





If you’re a parent with kids over the age of seven, the odds of having some sort of a video game system in your home is roughly the same as owning a fork. (There’s also a ninety seven percent chance that at some point you’ve said the following words: “When we were kids all we had was Pong.”) Throughout it all, you’ve quietly watched your children joyfully slaying dragons, stealing cars, and machine-gunning entire urban neighborhoods, but you’ve never once asked…what’s in it for us?

We’re asking it now. What’s in for us?

We know the youngsters who work for the video game companies don’t think about this huge untapped middle-aged “gamer” market out there, so we’ve taken the liberty to offer suggestions for video games that might interest people our age. These nine completely free* ideas, are available to any and all video game companies.


Sonia the Soccer Mom
The game is set in Suburbania, the beautiful village by the interstate. In Level One, Sonia signs up her identically dressed identical twins Ashley and Amber for soccer at the park district. Things start to get ugly when Sonia is pegged as driver for the entire team. Negotiating through summer construction projects, Sonia must pilot the minivan through multiple sub-divisions that look exactly the same while picking up Emily, Madison, Emma, Tori, Maya and Mia. Players need to move quickly through the game or run the risk of draining all their allotted $3.56/gallon gas. Take too long and the Starbuck’s Grande Latte Sonia picked up in level one will get cold.


Mr. Fix It
In this game, the home improvement novice will be given exactly $1500 in his savings account and will face every conceivable problem a homeowner can encounter…each of which costs $1500 to fix. Mr. Fix-It must choose which one is the most important (or dangerous), and then he must attempt to fix the rest of these problems himself. The first level, The Yard, won’t be too difficult, and it includes three free emergency room visits. In the second level, Plumbing Problems, Mr. Fix It could potentially destroy his entire house. And no-one has yet survived the third level: Electrical Problems.


Audit Assault
The fun never ends when the IRS man shows up unannounced at your front door. In level one, you’ll have to look for your receipts from 1999 while simultaneously keeping the IRS man away from your “actual” books. In this ironic twist, points are deducted for things you shouldn’t have deducted, and for the most grievous illegal deductions (“Shouldn’t beer be deductible if I drink while I’m working?”), you can have your house taken away from you. In the two-player version of this game, you are allowed one call from jail in Level Three.


Company Christmas Party
Deck the halls with balls of fun for this holiday favorite. It’s December 17th and time for Acme Corp’s annual Christmas Party. Players will negotiate through countless meaningless conversations and fake laughs as they make their way through the pre-dinner cocktail hour in Level One. Uh-Oh you’ve been seated next to your manager’s wife who thinks that your knee is a perfect place to rest her hand. Points are deducted in Level Two when you start drinking and tell off color racist jokes within earshot of your Jewish comptroller. Be extra careful not to get sucked into the mistletoe black hole.


20 YEAR High School Reunion
It’s only four weeks before Nick goes back to St. Bestyearsgoneby for his 20th High School Reunion. The clock is ticking as the Level One player searches for miracle weight loss diets, really good jobs, and hair. Level Two finds our hero dodging the bullies at the function and trying to convince the head cheerleader that he really did sit next to her in English. Points will be deducted for all awkward silence and any damage to the sports car that Nick rented for the occasion.


Family Vacation
It’s finally here, the long awaited family winter vacation to Disney World. This game follows Mr. and Mrs. Broke and their four children from the time they leave their home with gleeful anticipation till the time their disheartened spirits come back. The perils immediately start in level one when they get delayed for 13 hours in Atlanta surviving on vending machine muffins and over priced bagels. Uh-oh Florida is known for rain and this storm is a biggie. Players must search for $30 plastic garbage rain smocks. Player skill is tested when all three children get the flu. Go over budget and only one kid can go to college.


In-Law Invasion
It’s the first day of summer and the recently retired in-laws have flown into town with one-way tickets to spend some quality time with their grandchildren. In Level One, you must adapt every thing you do to the way “we’ve always done it”. In Level Two you are no longer allowed to discuss anything other than religion and politics. In Level Three, points are deducted for putting “just a touch” of poison in the morning coffee.


Working For The Man
Set in a typical non-descript office; Benjamin Boring is sitting in his cubicle as usual. He’s only got 6 years until retirement and must find a way to keep his job. Players must avoid the evil twin villains, Downsizing and Foreign Outsourcing. Bonus points are awarded for looking busy and running office pools. Level Three provides gamers with the famous Frozen Pension Maze. Working for the Man 2 has the bonus Loss of Insurance Coverage conundrum.


Stress Test
Feeling a little too tired to make it to the doctor for this year’s Stress Test? Do it from the comfort of your La-Z-Boy, with “Stress Test, The Video Game.” In Level One your player will run on a treadmill with wires attached all over his body. In Level Two, you will pick out which hospital room you want him to have for his angioplasty recovery. In Level Three, you get your choice of Jell-o flavors.


Let the kids have their fun with Sonic the Hedge Hog and Madden Football. We’ll show them what real terror looks like. On second thought, Pong doesn’t look so bad.




*By “Free” we mean that we would retain the customary 51% ownership. That might as well be free, you ungrateful little snots.




If you missed any previous "Half Empty" columns, click here: http://halfemptyarchive.blogspot.com

Suburban Man: Profession Projection

By Rick Kaempfer



Every parent knows that the most satisfying and wonderful part of parenting is watching your child grow up. It’s really quite amazing. You see him develop from a little blob, to a walking/talking little person, to someone with a personality, to someone who may actually make a contribution to society.

As this happens, you can’t help but wonder where he will fit in someday. Every parent does this. You get an idea in your head about your child’s potential profession and you make little bets with yourself—trying to predict.

I know my kids are young (11, 8, 4), but now that I’m around them 24 hours a day (will this summer ever end?); I’m prepared to make official predictions.


Sean (4 years old)

Here’s a question that Bridget and I have never asked: “Is Sean awake?”

Sean is loud. When he wakes up in the morning, he is already talking. He continues talking for the rest of the day, pausing only to breathe occasionally. The most common question we hear from people who spend a whole day with him is: “Does he ever stop talking?”

No. He doesn’t. He provides a running commentary on every single thing he sees throughout a day. He’s talking right now. He talks when eats. He talks when you’re talking. He even talks in his sleep. When I ask him to be quiet, he's not quiet enough to hear me ask.

If you can get past the noise, however, Sean has some great qualities. He’s very intelligent and inquisitive, and his enthusiasm is absolutely contagious. Every single thing is a big deal to him, and that’s fun to watch.

Last night when I asked him what he wants to be when he grows up, he was so excited by the question he couldn’t stop giving me possibilities. After talking it out, he narrowed it down to two choices. He is either going to be a doctor so he can give out band-aids to everyone (he believes that band-aids cure everything), or a fireman because he likes the hats.

My prediction? Politician.



Johnny (8 years old)


Johnny has got a big heart. He absolutely loves everyone. In fact, considering that he’s half German, his fondness for hugging is almost disconcerting.

On the other hand, Johnny is also a big enforcer of the rules…for other people. When Sean or Tommy break the rules, Johnny can be counted on to let me know. No rule is insignificant enough to be disregarded. The other night he nearly turned the table over at dinner time when Sean was chewing with his mouth open (because Sean’s mouth never actually closes).

While he could be classified as a tattle-tale, Johnny is also willing to take matters in his own hands. If I’m not around to be informed of his brother’s indiscretions, Johnny has no qualms with instituting vigilante justice. He’s got Irish blood in him from his mother’s side, and his Irish temper is always just below the surface. As far as Johnny’s concerned, the perps need to pay, and if nobody else is willing or able to make them pay…a man’s gotta do, what a man’s gotta do.

I asked Johnny what he wants to be when grows up. He told me he wanted to be a wrestler in space.

My prediction? Chicago cop.



Tommy (11 years old)

Tommy is unusually bright. So much so, he frightens me at times. On the other hand, when you have an overabundance of one thing, you have a tendency to have some glaring weaknesses too. For Tommy, that would be anything in the physical realm. This is a boy who broke his arm tripping over his own shoelaces.

Every day is a series of endless possibilities and challenges. He can instantly convert any word problem into an equation, but he forgets that his chair isn’t there anymore before he sits down. He can study a scientific phenomenon for weeks, but he can’t remember to put on his shoes before he leaves the house. He can search the audio files on his computer, transfer them into editing software, and create an audio montage, but he doesn’t notice that his glasses have an inch of dirt covering the lenses.

I asked him what he wants to be when he grows up, and he said: “Cartoonist.” (See previous Suburban Man: “Cartoon father”).

My prediction? I.T. Guy



I reserve the right to change my mind, but as of August 22, 2006, that is my prediction.

Someday I fully expect to have a sticker on my car bumper from Sean’s latest campaign, a police sticker in my back windshield from Johnny (protecting me in case I get pulled over), and the most bitchin’ computer at the old folks home thanks to Tommy.

Feel free to check back in twenty years to see how I did.


If you'd like to read any previous Suburban Man columns, click here: http://suburbanmanarchive.blogspot.com

Guest Blogger: Spike Manton

Spike Manton is a radio personality (WCKG, WLUP, ESPN), a comedian, and a playwright. He co-wrote the outstanding play "Leaving Iowa", which is now playing at the Royal George Theatre in Chicago. (www.leavingiowa.com). The play is about a family car vacation.

He recently lived the story line...




"21st Century Vacations"

By Spike Manton

I just returned from a family vacation with my wife and 2 kids. We drove to upstate New York in our minivan, a minivan that seats 7 adults, yet was barely able to fit two kids and their belongings for a long weekend. The drive was long, but painless. How could it be anything else with three car chargers, two DVD players and two gameboys? One thing was abundantly clear - their car trip was more fun than any vacation I ever had in my life.

I grew up in your standard 1960’s family unit of 4 kids, 2 pets and one station wagon the size of Rhode Island. When we went on vacation, we drove. We drove everywhere. Who didn’t back then? I maintain that from 1945 until 1980 the only thing that changed for the family vacation was the size of the paneling on the side of the station wagon. America worked 50 weeks a year and then piled into their beastmobile and drove off to see some other part of the country. Anywhere was better than that boring, humdrum monument to monotony called home. It was an annual family ritual that underwent a great change somewhere in the 80’s. I blame gameboys, cheap airfares and seatbelts as the biggest culprits.

Yes, seatbelts. Our kids will never know the insanity of hanging out the back window throwing fruit at the trucker behind you, and then climbing over three seats to ride on Dad’s lap to help him steer, all while traveling 65 mph down the highway. How can you have a real fight in the back seat if you are both strapped in place like a hostage?

Of course, technology is biggest culprit. Slug Bug, the License Plate Game, The Alphabet game, Billboard bingo were the only options in the mobile amusement park of my childhood. They were boring, brief distractions in the non-air conditioned hell we endured between rest area picnic stops. Then came the Gameboy and suddenly the back seat was silent. Dads drove for hours without hearing a peep. The only emergency to prevent was running out of AA batteries. It was the end of an era. My nephews once arrived at my home at the end of a 16 hour trip and STAYED IN THE CAR FOR 20 MINUTES BECAUSE THEY WERE FINISHING A GAME ON THEIR GAMEBOY. It was a far cry from the moments I entertained leaping from our moving car just to escape.

In the end, I am not complaining. I wouldn’t trade vacations with my Dad’s generation for anything. I like my quiet, headphone laden minivan. It makes it easier for me to hear the GPS directions while talking on my pocket PC phone with my Bluetooth headset.

Half Empty: Worst Jobs

They say that when you hit your 40s, your life is half over. We prefer to think of it as HALF EMPTY. Our age has finally caught up with our outlook on life. Remember, it is possible to turn that frown upside down...but you might pull a muscle.





"Worst Jobs"

By Rick Kaempfer & Dave Stern





Big Brother is watching.

Don’t worry, it’s only Rick (technically he is a big brother) and he’s watching. During the lifetime of this blog, Rick has discovered that most of the hits have occurred between 8:00A – 5:00P Monday thru Friday. For all of you with gainful employment, thumbs up to sticking it to the man. Is it because this blog is an indispensable source of humor or is it because you hate your job?

We think it's the latter.

As always, Rick and Dave are concerned with your happiness and want to help. While you’re toiling through your mundane work experience, remember it could be worse. There are jobs out there far worse than yours. Feeling better about yourself through the misfortunes of others (Germans call this 'Schadenfreude') has always worked pretty well for us. Take our lead and think about the following vocations next time you get depressed about your own:


1) The coach of the Washington Generals
This is the team that plays the Harlem Globetrotters every night. Their record? 0-6,000,000. That's even worse than the Cubs.

2) The Star Trek guy that accompanies Kirk, Spock and Bones on a mission
Take this job and you’re 100% certain to be eaten by a large space alien or whacked by a Klingon. Worst part, you ain’t getting any of the syndication money.

3) Santa's Elf
So you're an accountant and you think that April is the busy season? Fourth Quarter at Santa's Workshop would make your calculator melt.

4) Rodeo Clown
If antagonizing a 2,000-pound horn-wielding cranky beast is your bag, go for it. Here’s a tip though, try to negotiate not having to wear size 54 shoes.

5) Steve's replacement on Blues Clues
Take this job and you’ll be forever compared to perhaps the greatest performer in history. Steve is a better dancer than Joe, he’s a better singer than Joe, and he’s a better artist than Joe. He can fill a whole notebook in a day, twice.

6) Paris Hilton’s Calculus Professor
Teacher: Please compute...
Paris: My doggie likes to eat food.

7) The tragedy receptionist
Every time there's an awful tragedy like a plane, train, or bus crash, there's always a hotline for family members to inquire about the fate of their loved ones. Somebody has to answer those calls. We're assuming they don't have that automated yet..."Press the first three letters of the last name followed by the pound sign, to find out if your loved one has survived."

8) Naomi Canpbell’s domestic help –
If you wear a helmet you might escape with your life, but those lanky-types pack more of a whallop than you think.


9) High School Driving Instructor
Not only will you have to teach teenagers who don't fear death, you’ll have jerks like us purposely cutting you off in traffic for kicks.


So, the next time you’re feeling sorry for yourself because you have a crappy job, think of these poor shlubs. No matter how bad your life is, it could be worse.

Puts a smile on your face just thinking about it, doesn't it?



To read other Half Empty columns, click here: http://halfemptyarchive.blogspot.com



Today is the anniversary of Elvis' death. Click here to read how the tenth anniversary of his death in 1987 inadvertantly led to a lifelong obsession of mine: Snow Dome King

Suburban Man: Feeding Children

By Rick Kaempfer




When I became the primary caregiver for my family, some people who knew me well worried about the health of my children. According to this chicken-little crowd, my caffeine/fast food/alcohol diet wasn’t the best example to set for the boys. They also knew what picky eaters my children were, and worried that I wouldn’t be able to accommodate their persnickety-ness.

How picky were my boys? I could give you dozens of examples, but I think the one that best exemplified their eating habits is this: The presence of any tiny green flecks (like parsley) on any item on any plate caused a complete boycott of the meal. Tommy even came up with a word to describe this phenomenon: Lickeys. Let me scream it in a sentence for you.

“EWWWWWWW, THIS PIZZA HAS LICKEYS!!!!!!!!”

I can understand why some people were worried that a care-giving novice like me would have difficulties adjusting.

Well, sorry to disappoint the naysayers, but I’m here to report that we’ve made incredible progress in this area. My own diet is much better since I eliminated one of my three vices (note: it’s not caffeine or alcohol), and the boys aren’t nearly as picky as they used to be. In fact, I’m going to go so far as to say that my three boys now have an almost perfect diet. They eat all of the food groups every day.

Granted, each of them only eats one, but this is still progress.

I’ve learned to make the best of my family’s culinary challenge by slowly but surely encouraging food experimentation within their own chosen food group (Tommy-carbs, Johnny-meat, Sean-fruits/vegetables). The results have been astounding. Collectively they will eat just about anything now.

For instance, I used to make four different meals a night, just to avoid the fights. Ever since I discovered that each boy is willing to experiment within his chosen food group, I’m down to one normal healthy meal for everyone. This saves an incredible amount of time and effort, and allows me to have some fun trying out different foods.

Sean and Tommy aren’t big meat eaters, but if I tell Johnny that the mystery meat on his plate is some sort of sausage, he’ll eat it—no questions asked. Tommy and Johnny aren’t big fruit or vegetable eaters, but Sean will try everything from spinach to eggplant to boysenberries without complaint. Sean and Johnny are not exactly carboholics, but Tommy would be accepted by any local twelve-step program, which allows me to experiment with any form of carbohydrate on the planet (as long as it’s white).

Of course, this new approach ensures that each of the boys is now guaranteed to have at least two things on his plate that he doesn’t eat, but somehow the intra-food-group experimentation has fostered a certain amount of tentative inter-food-group experimentation too.

Sean will now nibble on meat and carbs occasionally as long as his plate is mostly covered with fruits and vegetables. If he ever learns to sit still for more three seconds, I have high hopes for his future eating ability.

Johnny is still a ravenous carnivore, but he has also discovered that fruit actually tastes good. He will now regularly devour entire oranges and apples. Two years ago, this was a ridiculous pipedream.

Tommy will now eat tiny lickey-free pieces of meat and five or six different types of vegetables as long as the plate is still mostly covered with carbs. This is such a miracle that the Pope has dispatched investigators to document my future beatitude.

Of course, there is a slight downside to this new approach: our food bills are getting bigger and bigger. Bridget and I are fully expecting to be eaten out of house and home when all three of them are teenagers. On the other hand, at least we’re a little more confident they’ll make it to their teen years now.

And to me, that’s progress.



If you'd like to read previous Suburban Man columns, click here: http://suburbanmanarchive.blogspot.com

Half Empty: A letter to Commissioner David Stern

They say that when you hit your 40s, your life is half over. We prefer to think of it as HALF EMPTY. Our age has finally caught up with our outlook on life. Remember, it is possible to turn that frown upside down...but you might pull a muscle.





By Rick Kaempfer & David Stern



We sent the following letter to the NBA Commissioner a few weeks ago. We're still awaiting a response to Dave's gracious offer.


National Basketball Association
Attn: Commissioner David Stern
645 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10022

July 15, 2006

Dear Commissioner Stern:

I’m worried about you. Here it is, July, basketball’s off season—and you still show up to work every day.

Yes, of course, you have a full plate. Everyone wants a piece of David Stern. But shouldn’t David Stern be allowed to go to the Hamptons for the weekend without constantly checking his voicemail and e-mail? Shouldn’t David Stern be allowed stop and smell the roses without being bombarded with work?

What if I told you that I could make that happen?

You see, my name is also David Stern. If you hired me to sit in your office for the summer, you could have the entire summer off, and nobody would be deprived of spending some quality time with David Stern.

If someone called to speak to David Stern, they could still do so…without inconveniencing you.

If someone stopped by to have a meeting with David Stern, they could still do so…without inconveniencing you.

If someone booked David Stern to deliver a speech at the National Press Club…David Stern could still do so, without interrupting your trip to Cape Cod.

Think about the possibilities. How much would your wife love it if David Stern actually picked out her gift? How honored would NBA players be if David Stern showed up at their weddings? I don’t like to brag, but have you considered how nice it would be to have everyone talking about what an incredible dancer David Stern was at Dwayne Wade’s wedding?

While I don’t look like you, I am also a relatively short Jewish guy. Nobody would be the wiser. Please give it some thought.

Sincerely,



David Stern




If you'd like to read previous Half Empty columns (including our letters to Barbara Walters and President Bush), click here: http://halfemptyarchive.blogspot.com



We'd also like to thank the the morning show (Steve & Joey) at 9-FM in Chicago for reading our previous Half Empty column: "Questions You Should Never Ask Your Husband" on the air this week. You can find that article in the Half Empty archive too.

Suburban Man: Big Toys

By Rick Kaempfer





I have three young sons and lots of relatives, which means that our home has been “collecting” toys five times a year: three birthdays (March, September & October), Christmas, and Easter.

The general collection of our toys, while prodigious, is still not necessarily worthy of mention. Believe me, I’ve seen homes that have double and triple the number of toys we have. It’s a very specific type of toy we’ve accumulated that inspired this column: Little Tikes.

Little Tikes isn’t the only manufacturer of this specific type of toy (pictured above), but they're the industry leader. We started getting Little Tikes toys when my oldest son was a toddler. That was nine years ago, and every year our relatives gave us more.

It happened slowly and stealthily, but one day we suddenly noticed that we had accumulated a huge collection. How huge? Let’s just say that “Little Tikes” is the most ironically named company in the world.

They make GIGANTIC toys: Adult-size toys for tiny children. Tool benches the size of actual tool benches, cars the size of real cars, and play houses the size of three bedroom homes. We’re lucky we have boys. The castles they make for princesses are even bigger. My friend has Buckingham Palace in his backyard.

And while many parents complain that these gigantic toys are too big, we have a completely different take on it at our house. This HUGE collection has actually been a financial boon to our family. Not because it’s valuable, mind you, but because of the incredible incentive it provides us to save money. We have no choice. If we get one more of these toys, we’ll have to move into a bigger home.

I’ve been reading the stories in the news over the past few years about teardowns and bigger homes. Experts have attributed this nationwide trend on many things, but nobody has caught on to the real reason. It’s not a matter of keeping up with the Jones’. It’s a matter of keeping up with the HUGE toy collection. Ordinary single-family homes built in the 40s, 50s, and 60s, can’t sustain even a “little” collection of Little Tikes.

We have a modest suburban three bedroom home. Our basement is completely full, thanks to two or three Little Tikes toys. Two boys share a completely full room, thanks to one Little Tikes toy. The other boy has two Little Tikes toys in his room. The 2 ½ garage is stuffed to the rafters thanks to five or six Little Tikes toys. The backyard is a Little Tikes graveyard.

I know what you’re thinking: sell them at a garage sale. While that sounds good in theory, it won’t work in our neighborhood because everyone else has the same toys stuffed into the same size homes. We could give them away to needy children, but their homes are probably even smaller than ours. We could give them away to rich children with big homes, but my guess is that they aren’t having a difficult time filling their homes either.

So, instead of dwelling on the negative, I'd like to thank Little Tikes.

Thanks to the incentive your gigantic toys have provided us, we have saved more money the past few years than we ever could have imagined. Within ten years or so, we’ll be able to afford that bigger house.

The boys can visit us there when they come home from college.




This was originally written last summer as a Suburban Man, but it also appeared in Lake Magazine.


To see previous Suburban Man Columns, click here: http://suburbanmanarchive.blogspot.com

Guest Blogger: Brent Petersen

Brent Petersen graduated from the University of Illinois - Urbana with a degree in Business Administration. He worked in broadcasting for 15 years including several as Program Director for The Edge, The Beat and The Hawk in Providence, Rhode Island. Currently, Brent is Operations Manager for a fixed wireless Internet Service Provider. That's the former mayor of Providence in the picture with him, Buddy Cianci








Why are you a vegetarian?

By Brent Petersen





Why are you a vegetarian?

I get that question at least once a week (normally, people leave out the implied “Freak” at the end of the question). Multiply that by 52 weeks a year times 15 years times family members who ask every time they see me and the need for a snappy answer is apparent. The best one I have heard is “I am not a vegetarian because I love animals, I am vegetarian because I hate plants.” So, I have appropriated that as my standard response and it generally either disarms people and makes them laugh (good) or shuts them up (better).

The real story is a heartbreaking tale of romance and adventure set in the bustling metropolis of Peoria, Illinois. I lived in Peoria in the late 80’s. Back then Peoria was not the glamour capital it is today. In 1988, Peoria had none of the amenities it has today like a river walk, floating casino, arena football team or Hooter’s. Back then, Peoria was the butt of jokes (What do you call a garbage dump between two rivers? Peoria) and was struggling to bounce back from the Reagan recession. Peoria really wasn’t any different from hundreds of small and mid sized industrial cities in the Midwest. It just had the double curse of being reliant on agriculture (ask Willie Nelson how well farmers did in the 80’s) and manufacturing.

Peoria fun fact: Grandview Drive, which Teddy Roosevelt is said to have called the "world's most beautiful drive", runs through Peoria and Peoria Heights. Radio and TV station WMBD used first letters of each word of that phrase for their call letters.

Peoria is the world headquarters for Caterpillar. In the early 80’s massive layoffs at Cat nearly doomed the city. By the time I got there in 1988, jobs were still scarce, unemployment was still high and you could still occasionally spot the stray “Will the last person to leave Peoria please turn out the lights” bumper sticker on a late model Ford.

Peoria fun fact: both Jack Brickhouse and Dan Fogelberg were from Peoria.

Now back to our story. I rented the top floor of a farm house in Peoria. The old farmer who owned the place had a sizable plot of land where he grew soy beans (mmmmmm tofu) and corn. He also kept some cows on the property to remind him of his dad (I swear that’s what he told me). One hot, muggy summer day (are there any other kind in central Illinois) one of cows came trotting up the driveway as I was cooking up a batch of Sloppy Joes for dinner. He looks up to me with those big cow eyes. Mooooo. I look at him and then down into the pan. I look back up to him and he’s still looking at me. Sorry, buddy. I dumped the ground flesh of my new friend’s brother in the garbage.

It wasn’t easy to completely break the meat habit. In fact, it took a few years to gradually remove red meat, chicken, pork and fish from my diet. The last time I remember knowingly consuming animal flesh was shortly after moving to Rhode Island in the early 90s. It was a shellfish call a Quahog. If you don’t know what a Quahog is, you’re not from Rhode Island and you’re not missing much. Although, the shellfishermen who gather Quahogs (Quahoggers) are the source of much local amusement in Rhode Island. Think of Jeff Foxworthy with a bad Boston accent. “You might be a Quahogger if you have a Quahog rake for regular days and a Quahog rake for holidays.” Guess you would need to know what a Quahog is to get it.

Rhode Island fun fact: The world's largest bug is on the roof of New England Pest Control in Providence. It's a big blue termite, 58 feet long and 928 times actual termite size.

Anyway, in the last 15 years the way our society views vegetarians and what it is like to be a vegetarian has changed greatly. I can’t imagine what it was like in the 60’s or 70’s. The only vegetarians were hippies and the only things available to eat were granola and twigs and berries (mmmm twigs and berries). Today, there are vegetarian gourmet restaurants that will be glad to charge you the same price for a grilled portabella mushroom as you pay for a prime rib at Morton’s.

Walk down the health food aisle of any mega mart and you will be bombarded with meatless products. The names show you how witty vegetarians are: Not Dogs, Fakin Bacon and Tofurky are a few of the products whose names will have you laughing all the way to the checkout line. I don’t eat a lot of these products, but people think that I am an expert on veggie burgers and the like so they will often ask me what I think of them and if they taste like meat.

So, to answer your questions: I like most of these fake meat dishes, but they are like junk food as far as fat and nutrition. If you are expecting to lose weight and suddenly become the most desirable person on the planet, just know that Richard Gere is a vegetarian, but so is Danny DeVito.

As for the question of tasting like meat. I think so. Then again, I haven’t had a hamburger in over 15 years, so I might tell you that handful of sawdust bound together with wet newspaper tastes like sirloin. It’s kind of like asking the Pope if he’s a leg or butt man.

There’s your primer on why I’m a vegetarian. As for the next most asked question: Do you mind if I eat meat? No, go right ahead. I’m sure the hormones and feces that you get mixed with the meat will taste delightful. Dig in.



If you'd like to read my previous guest bloggers, click here: http://rickkaempferguestblogger.blogspot.com

Half Empty: Our favorite diseases and injuries

They say that when you hit your 40s, your life is half over. We prefer to think of it as HALF EMPTY. Our age has finally caught up with our outlook on life. Remember, it is possible to turn that frown upside down...but you might pull a muscle.




Our favorite diseases and injuries

By Rick Kaempfer & Dave Stern


Remember the good old days when you used to make fun of your dad for all those funny grunts he made when he got up off a chair? Or how about all those carefree hours of laughter you had at the expense of your Uncle Gabe and his ear hair? You were a regular Henny Youngman back then, weren’t you? King of the comedy world.

Now let us ask you a question: How funny is your routine now that you’re blitzkrieging towards middle age?

Thought so.

Well, rapidly aging readers, don't fret. Your good buddies Rick and Dave are going to help you through the aging process a little bit. Obviously, as we get older our body tends to get a few more aches and pains along the way. It’s inevitable. The trick is to find the right aches and pains.

In fact, if you follow our lead, we can make the natural deterioration of your body a semi-pleasant experience. Simply get extremely mild cases of the following diseases and injuries, and your life may actually improve:


Tinnitus –Tinnitus is a constant ringing in the ears. What is the treatment? Sufferers need to sit in a quiet room free of all screaming children. To drown out the ringing, a constant sound in the background is permitted. Sporting events on television work perfectly.

Sleep Apnea – You don’t want to take a long afternoon nap every day, you are medically required to do so.

Jumping Frenchman of Maine – This real (Jumping Frenchman of Maine) disorder is characterized by an unusually extreme “startle reaction” to an unexpected noise or sight. For instance, your in-laws showing up unexpectedly at your door might elicit this extreme response. Perhaps the sight of the $400 pair of shoes your wife just bought might have similar consequences. Treatment options? Your loved ones must avoid any and all changes in your environment.

Hyper-extended elbow- Most orthopedic doctors agree that this is one of the hardest injuries to treat. People can have lingering pain from an injury they had many years ago (did somebody mention painkillers?). All manual labor, like helping your wife’s brother move for the third time in three years, should be avoided.

Compulsive Shopper – I’ll go to the store, honey! Just give me that credit card and whoopee!!!! What do you mean I’m absolutely forbidden to go to the mall?

Alien Hand Syndrome – This is an unusual neurological disorder in which one of the sufferer's hands seems to take on a life of its own. No, I did not intentionally flip off that bus driver; I’m ill. Honey, did I unbutton your shirt again? Darn hand.

Temporary loss of smell – Doctors are baffled as to why many men in their 30’s and 40’s temporarily lose their sense of smell. Equally puzzling is why many of the afflicted have young children in diapers.

Chronic Allergies – Allergies are a nuisance, but an allergic reaction to grass means you can’t mow the lawn. An allergic reaction to cats and/or dogs means you really should spend the next family gathering at Uncle Leo’s house sitting outside by yourself.

Heart Disease – This one’s a bit tricky. Go overboard and things could get ugly. However, many scientists think that deficiency in the vitamins B6, B12 and folate can cause cardiovascular disease. Guess what is rich in B6, B12 and folate……..BEER. Honey can you pick up my prescription at the liquor store on your way home?


Are there any that we’re forgetting? Feel free to send us your favorite disease and injury suggestions, by clicking on the word “comments” below.

We’ll have plenty of time to read them. We’re medically required to spend the rest of the day in our basements.



If you’d like to read previous “Half Empty” columns, click here: http://halfemptyarchive.blogspot.com

Suburban Man: Househusband Report Card

By Rick Kaempfer



This month I’m celebrating my third anniversary as a househusband. I’ll admit I was a little scared about what might happen to me or the children when I was placed in charge of the household three years ago, but it’s actually going pretty well so far…knock on wood.

If you asked me three years ago to give an estimate of the percentage of work I did around the house when I still worked, I honestly thought I was doing about 40% of the household chores. After being at home full time for awhile, I have revised that estimate downward slightly…to about zero percent. As it turns out, when I worked, my only actual contribution to the house was my paycheck.

Now that Bridget and I have switched roles, I’ve been incrementally moving that percentage up from zero, but I’m still nowhere near my wife’s previous 100%. There are two good reasons for that: Rick and Bridget. There are some things that she simply won’t allow me to do, and some things that I simply refuse to do.

Let me give you a few examples.

Kid-Care

I can handle the discipline…although I’m not exactly using textbook techniques. I can handle the homework…although I’ve got maybe one more year before the math is beyond me. I can handle illnesses…although I still pray that nobody vomits unless Bridget is home. I even potty-trained Sean all by myself—and that’s a minor miracle. However, I will never, and I have never taken the boys to the mall by myself. I hear mothers talking about taking their kids to the mall all the time, and I think…On purpose? You’ve got to be kidding me. Never, ever, ever. Not gonna happen.

Cleaning

The boys and I clean up the house from top to bottom every Friday. We tidy, sweep, dust, vacuum, and scrub. Everything in the house looks wonderful on Friday night when the wife comes home from work. Everything, that is, except for the bathrooms. We are forbidden from cleaning the bathrooms. Apparently, our idea of clean isn’t the same as hers.

Cooking

I cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single weekday. This is my favorite job—and I’ve really gotten into it. I have about two dozen recipes I rotate, depending on my mood. The one thing I won’t do, however, is pick the fat off the chicken. That’s one of my lingering psychological problems caused by working at Brown’s Chicken when I was in high school. I know it’s weird, but if Bridget wants me to cook chicken, she has to pre-pick the fat.

Laundry

I can do it, but apparently not very well. If something is white—I’m not allowed to touch it. Luckily, after the first few times I did laundry, we don’t have much of anything that is still white, so it’s not really an issue.

Shopping

I’ve gotten quite good at grocery shopping. I usually plan out my menu for the week before I go to the store, and then I zip in and out of the aisles getting exactly what I need. I draw the shopping line, however, at Wal-Mart. The aisles are too small, the store is too crowded, and the departments make no sense to me. (The pets are right next to the pharmaceuticals?) The place actually gives me the creeps.

Report Card

I asked Bridget to grade me in the five main househusband categories to see how I was doing after three years on the job. She pretended she didn’t hear me at first, but finally relented and gave me her assessment.

She gave me a B+ in child care and cooking, a B- in cleaning and laundry, and a C in shopping. (That’s better than most of my college report cards.) Then I asked her the big question: What percentage of the overall housework do I do now? She thought about that one for a long time, and after giving it a great deal of thought, finally replied: “I’d say about 70%.”

70%?

That’s better than I thought. Considering that the only things standing between me and the 100% ideal are vomit, chicken fat, dirty toilets, shopping malls, bleach, and Wal-Mart, I’ll take it.

70% is still a passing grade, right?


If you'd like to read previous Suburban Man columns, click here: http://suburbanmanarchive.blogspot.com

SHORE MAGAZINE ARTICLE: Best Festival in Indiana

I wrote short little pieces about the best festivals in Illinois, Indiana, and Michigan (as chosen by the readers of SHORE MAGAZINE). You can see the online version of this magazine at http://www.visitshoremagazine.com. Last week, I focused on Michigan. This week, it's Indiana.



(From the July 2006 issue)




Tied for Best Festival in Indiana: Pierogi Fest & Valparaiso Popcorn Festival


Pierogi Festival, Whiting, Indiana (July 28-30)

Pierogi Fest in Whiting Indiana is a food festival you’ll never forget. With “more pierogi than they have in Warsaw,” and virtually every other kind of ethnic and American food, you’re guaranteed to leave the festival with a full stomach. But it’s not just the great food and the “perfect for the atmosphere” polka music; it’s the unbridled spirit of fun that attracts such devoted fans. Wacky appearances by Mr. Pierogi, and the International Polka Parade on 119th Street (that you have to see to believe), makes Pierogi Fest one of a kind.

“It’s definitely the best,” according to Shore reader Roman Sawczak.

Actually, it’s tied for the best, with...

Valparaiso Popcorn Festival, Valparaiso, Indiana

Another one of a kind event is the Popcorn Festival in Valparaiso, featuring the nation’s only popcorn parade. This festival was started in 1979 as a salute to Valparaiso’s very own Orville Redenbacher. Popcorn Fest is held every year the Saturday after Labor Day (this year it will be September 9th), and draws between 60-75,000 attendees to downtown Valparaiso.

Guest Blogger: Kim Strickland

Kim Strickland is a pilot for a major airline, a novelist, and a mother of twin boys. Her novel "Wish Club" is about a women's book group that reads a novel about witchcraft and tries one of the spells for fun, only to have the spell actually work. Nuttiness and mayhem ensue. ("Wish Club" is coming in 2007 from Three Rivers Press, a division of Crown Publishing Group.)

Kim is the yin (City Mom) to my yang (Suburban Man). In our dueling columns we've discovered that the only real difference between us is our area codes. Oh, and I think she's a chick, too. And a mom. Check out some of her other great columns. I have a link on the right--listed under Links to Rick's Picks (A City Mom).





Al's
By Kim Strickland






My sons’ hair is too long and scraggly and this makes me ecstatic, because it means I get to take them to Al’s—their barber. I love Al’s. It’s quiet there.

I don’t know whether the silence is a result of my presence, or whether it’s just a man thing. I don’t care. I revel in it.

My boys, twins, were two when I brought them in for the first time and it’s as though, even at that age, they somehow psychically intuited that men don’t talk at Al’s. Silence for an entire hour. I was in heaven.

They were born with full heads of hair. And it never did fall out, as I was warned by well-meaning relatives, but it did turn red, then blond, as it grew and grew. And grew. They needed haircuts at six months. I couldn’t bring myself to do it until ten months, when it became clear there was no avoiding it. While crawling around, they’d begun to continually bonk their heads on our dining room table due to limited forward visibility.

I cut their hair myself for a while and thought I was doing a decent job, until my babysitter asked, and I quote, “Where do they get those haircuts?”

Perhaps it was time to enlist professional help.

But they were only one and a half. Would they sit still? Would they cry? Would they bite? I chose a Supercuts because it was nearby, but mostly because no one there knew us.

I told them they needed to sit still or they might accidentally get poked with the scissors, or worse—I grew solemn, their eyes grew wide—they might end up with bad haircuts.

They sat like they’d been hypnotized while Rosa cut their hair, a process made difficult by the fact that their mother was taking flash photographs to preserve the memory. I distinctly remember Rosa blinking at me with irritation after one particularly blinding shot. Despite the adversity, everyone survived. They even got great cuts.

We continued to see Rosa for about six month and all was well, until the whole idea began to grate on my husband. (Read: No sons of mine should get their hair cut in a salon.)

“But it’s not like it’s a girlie salon,” I told him. “Men get their hair cut there too.”

He looked unconvinced.

“I’m pretty sure the woman who owns the place is really a man—what with the Adam’s apple and all.”

This did not help my case.

Which is how we came to Al’s, my husband’s barber. Al’s probably been cutting hair at his place on Grace Street longer than I’ve been alive. He’s often nodded at a man walking into his storefront shop, telling me, “I’ve been cutting his hair since he was their age,” while pointing at my boys.

The walls at Al’s are covered with wood grain paneling that’s covered with taxidermied fish, fishing trophies and other such fishing paraphernalia. There are stacks upon stacks of sporting magazines and the Trib is always on the coffee table, but I never read when I’m there; I just stare at the fishing trophies or the stuffed larged-mouth bass on the wall, a goofy expression on my face, secure in the knowledge that neither it nor my sons will burst into a rendition of “Take me to the River.”

It amazes me the lengths a mother of young children will go to in order to find some quiet time. I suffer the irritated looks of other patrons, “A woman? Here?” and the uneasy body language they exhibit as they wait their turns next to me, but they are always polite, and offer up their chairs for me when we walk in. At Al’s, chivalry may be annoyed, but it’s not dead.

When the boys and I leave, I often wonder if they burst into conversation about the game or hot babes or whatever it is men talk about when women aren’t around. I suspect the truth is, they don’t.

After our first visit, Al gave the boys lollipops, then said, as if he’d somehow psychically intuited it, “Now guys, no more going to the girlie salon. You’re men now. You come to the barber to get your haircut.”

Gladly, Al. Gladly.



To read other guest bloggers, click here: http://rickkaempferguestbloggers.blogspot.com

Half Empty: "Nine Fine Political Whines"

They say that when you hit your 40s, your life is half over. We prefer to think of it as HALF EMPTY. Our age has finally caught up with our outlook on life. Remember, it is possible to turn that frown upside down...but you might pull a muscle.







NINE FINE POLITICAL WHINES

By Rick Kaempfer & Dave Stern





You know those little moments that irk you, that get your blood pressure boiling for no good reason, that make you grit your teeth and pretend you aren’t incredibly irritated? You don’t say anything because it’s obvious that whatever is bothering you is your problem—not anyone else’s—and why should you bother other people with something that is probably just a pet peeve?

Ah, but there’s your mistake. A glass of fine whine goes with any dish. When you get a taste for it, stop by and visit one of us. Our whine cellars are particularly well-stocked.

For instance, we have nine fine whines to get you started. All of these are served in the political arena.

1. “Partisan”
Whenever we hear someone like Ted Kennedy or Dick Cheney ripping the other party for partisan politics, we laugh out loud. Apparently mirrors are unavailable for purchase in Washington D.C.

2. “Hypocrite”
If you accuse someone of being hypocritical because he is using the exact opposite argument he used previously, and yet you disagreed with him both times, there’s a minor flaw in your own argument.

3. Staying on Message
When everyone in your party (and both parties do this now) says the same thing, using the exact same words, that is incredibly creepy. Maybe we can elect robots and program them.

4. “Treason”
The punishment for treason is death. If that’s the way you really feel, then go ahead and use the word, but we think you should forever be referred to this way: “Joe Schmo, who has called for the execution of his political enemies, said this today…”

5. Party Mascots
The mascot for the Democrats is the ass. Nice choice. The mascot for the Republicans is the elephant; the animal that produces more excrement than any other animal. Nice choice. Why not just abandon subtlety altogether and go with the weasel and the snake?

6. Staged Photo Op
Every element of your appearance is managed; from the hand-picked crowd that is told when to cheer and applaud, to the focus-group tested slogan emblazoned on the elaborately designed backdrop, to the pre-approved script, and….how are you different from Hollywood again?

7. “Nazi”
Decide for yourself if this label is getting out of hand. The following debates on the Senate floor all involved at least one Senator comparing someone on the other side to Nazis: Terry Shiavo, gun control, global warming, the threat of filibuster, immigration, and we’re not kidding here…Social Security. And the Senate is the polite house of Congress. At least they preface the charge with “My dear friend and colleague.”


8. James Carville's Diction
It's not exactly Cajun, and it's not exactly human. Are we the only ones who can't understand a word that man is saying?

9. “The Elite”
We love the use of this term by the people elected to national office, who are by their very definition “America’s Elite.” Maybe this is where we can build a foundation of agreement—when they say that “the elite” is out of touch with “real Americans,” there shouldn’t be anyone in this country who disagrees with that position.



Got any others? Feel free to send them in by clicking on the “comments” link below.

Suburban Man: Cartoon Father

By Rick Kaempfer






My oldest son Tommy fancies himself a cartoonist. Ever since he was five or six years old he has been drawing a comic strip he calls “Gate’s Comics.” The stars of the strip are three brothers named Gate, Gooey and Baby Phil (approximately the same ages of Tommy, Johnny & Sean) who engage in wacky hijinks while trying to avoid their parents.

My wife Bridget is not a fan because the mother in the strip is always angry. Tommy usually draws her with a red face and furrowed brow, and she almost always has smoke coming out of her ears. Any strip involving “Gate’s Mom” has some sort of an angry punch line, but it usually doesn’t go overboard. For instance, I think her head has only exploded once. I’m not sure why Bridget doesn’t like that character. After all, it could be much worse.

Take Gate’s Dad, for instance. Gate’s Dad is stupid. Really, really stupid. Whenever Gate’s Dad stars in a strip, he can be counted on to say or do something hilariously moronic.

I’m sure many of you already have a phone in your hand dialing the good folks over at DCFS to have these children removed from such an angry and stupid home. That’s usually the reaction adults have to the strip. They look at us and wonder…

But Tommy swears this comic strip is completely fictional. When I point out to him that the three children bear a striking resemblance to himself and his brothers, he nods. When I say that the realistic portrayal of the brothers causes people to assume his real-life mother is always angry and his real-life father is a dim bulb, he nods. When I subtly suggest he should think about changing those characters, he won’t compromise his artistic vision.

“Why didn’t you base Gate’s parents on your real parents?” I asked.

“Because I needed someone funnier,” he said.

Ouch. That hurt, but I understood it from a comedic perspective. He’s a little too young to draw nuanced characters at his age. Angry Mom is just a vehicle for angry jokes. Dumb Dad is just a vehicle for dumb jokes.

“Fine,” I said, “but if you keep drawing the mom and dad characters like this, you have to stop showing this strip to your teachers. They’ll think we have some serious problems at home.”

“No problem,” he agreed. “Besides, Dad, I couldn’t draw a cartoon dad like you because there already is one.”

I braced myself. I was praying he didn’t say Homer Simpson. Just because a man loves bacon and beer doesn’t make him Homer.

“Who?” I asked with my eyes closed.

“Calvin’s Dad,” he said.

I knew he was talking about the father in the Calvin & Hobbes strip, but I didn’t remember exactly what kind of a father Calvin had, so I did a little research into my cartoon counterpart. It didn’t take me long to find him on Tommy’s bookshelf. Calvin’s dad is prominently featured in almost every Calvin & Hobbes collection.

The first time he appears, this is the exchange:

Calvin: “How come you always read me my bedtime story and not mom?”
Dad: “Because reading the bedtime story is the Dad’s job.”
Mom: “And it appears to be the only ‘Dad’ job around here.”
Calvin: “Left the dishes for mom again, huh?”
Dad: “This story is called ‘Why Prince Charming remained single.’”

Sigh.

Here was the next strip…

Calvin: “Dad can you fix my beanie? I broke the propeller trying to put it together.”
Dad: “This isn’t so bad. You just snapped the battery case. There, good as new! Now just let this sit awhile so the glue can set.”
Calvin: “You did it! You fixed it! I can’t believe it! Hey Mom! Dad fixed something!”
Mom: “He did? Your Dad?”

Sigh.

Here's one more to complete the portrait...

Calvin: Dad, how come old photographs are always black and white? Didn't they have color film back then?
Dad: Sure they did. In fact, those old photographs are in color. It's just the world was black and white then.
Calvin: But then why are paintings in color? If the world was black and white, wouldn't artists have painted it that way?
Dad: Not necessarily. A lot of those great artists were insane.

Sigh.

What can I say? Tommy is right. Calvin's dad might be my clone.

Oh well.

At least he’s not stupid.






(Special thanks to Bill Watterson, the author of Calvin & Hobbes)

If you'd like to read any previous Suburban Man columns, click here: http://suburbanmanarchive.blogspot.com