Saturday, April 21, 2007

Celebrity Snippets: Ann Margret


Once a week long-time radio producer and author Rick Kaempfer shares his favorite brushes with greatness in a feature he calls “Celebrity Snippets.”







Ann Margret is an Academy Award and Emmy nominated actress. She turns 66 years old later this week.




I always knew that Ann Margret was one of John Landecker’s dream guests.

He had a crush on her when he was in his teens, and despite John’s long high-profile radio career, he had never met her, and never interviewed her.

Shortly after I was named John’s producer I began to investigate angles to convince Ann Margret to come on the show, but nothing worked. She really doesn’t like to be interviewed, and no matter what I said or did, her people wouldn’t budge.

The breakthrough came when she was cast in the lead role of “Annie Get Your Gun.”* The show was playing in Chicago for several weeks, and I knew that I would never get a better chance to book her.

Even though we had a host who clearly loved her, an audience which was demographically perfect for her (we were an Oldies station), and I had a great relationship with the publicity department of the show (Broadway in Chicago), the best we could get was a short recorded phone interview.

If it had been anyone else, I would have refused the offer. We almost never did recorded phone interviews during our ten year run on WJMK. Our first choice was always live and in the studio (we accepted less than that only for the biggest celebrities). Our second choice was taped in person, face to face. And our third choice was live on the phone. There was no fourth choice.

Nevertheless, John agreed to return to the radio station in the middle of the afternoon to record this phone conversation with her.

This required technical assistance. Unlike most major market radio stations, we only had one production studio that could record phone calls. Recording a phone call required kicking the commercial production director out of his studio to do it. Luckily for us, Al Urbanski—our commercial production director at the time—was one of the only radio production directors in the country that wasn’t grumpy and bitter. He was always positive, always happy, always had a smile on his face.

In this case, Al was especially excited. He happily turned over his studio for an interview with the great Ann Margret.

The interview itself, unfortunately, wasn’t memorable at all. Ann barely spoke above a whisper, which made it very difficult to record. The content was nothing special either. She wouldn’t speak about Elvis, which was John’s first question. She also didn’t have a great sense of humor, so John’s prepared material didn’t go over so well, and she wasn’t even really that flattered by John’s lavish praise and love.

After we finished editing it together, the interview was no more than five minutes long. We considered not airing it all.

The reason I remember the interview so well, however, really has nothing to do with Ann Margret or John Landecker.

A few hours after the interview was taped, our production director Al Urbanski collapsed at the radio station and had to be taken to the hospital. He died later that night. One of his last acts on this planet was recording that Ann Margret interview for us.

The next morning when we played the interview on the air, the room was somber. To be fair to Ann Margret, the interview might have been much better than we remember, but it will forever be tainted in our minds.

To think of that interview, is to think of Al.

We still miss him.



*The same morning the interview aired, the Chicago Sun-Times reviewed “Annie Get Your Gun.” If I remember correctly, they gave it the worst review in the history of the Broadway in Chicago series. Ann Margret, in particular, was singled out for her weak voice and lack of stage presence.





For hundreds of additional celebrity and radio stories, check out my book "The Radio Producer's Handbook," which is still available at Amazon, and Barnes & Noble.





If you missed any of the previous Celebrity Snippets, click here: http://celebritysnippets.blogspot.com

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Suburban Man: Separate Bedrooms?


By Rick Kaempfer




When I first saw the New York Times article about the latest trend, separate bedrooms for married couples, I scoffed. I don’t personally know anyone who has taken that drastic step, so I thought it was just one of those non-existent trend trends.

I didn’t really think about it again until I retired for the night.

Hmmm.

My wife and I are totally compatible in everyday life. We almost never argue. My weaknesses are overcome by her strengths. Her weaknesses are overcome by my strengths. Together we can take care of our children and our home with minimal muss and fuss.

On the other hand, we’re not sleep compatible at all.

Bridget falls asleep in seconds. It’s really incredible. If we could figure out a way to bottle and sell that, we’d make a fortune. Her head hits the pillow, and whammo! She’s out cold. I toss and turn—sometimes for hours and hours.

Bridget can shut down her mind at bedtime with a snap of her fingers. I prefer spending every night torturing myself for all the things I haven’t accomplished that day.

Bridget likes her flat sheet tucked in at the end, trapping her in a tucked-in-sheet jail. I don’t see the need for an extra layer of sheets at all, and when I’m trapped in the sheet jail, my legs feel compelled to break out.

Bridget likes it warm and cozy—she could sleep inside a furnace if she were wearing flame retardant pajamas. I like it ice cold. I could asleep outside in the middle of winter if someone would invent a nose warmer.

Bridget likes her mattress firm—Marine style. You could bounce a quarter on her perfect mattress. I like to be enveloped in a soft mattress—so soft that it’s impossible to get out of the bed without doing sit-ups. It’s the only exercise I get.

Bridget is a sleep Nazi. She needs a good night of sleep and will do absolutely anything to make sure she gets it—including going to bed at 7 PM if necessary. I’m a sleep freak. I like to stay up ridiculously late in my nice quiet house, enjoying the silence and solitude.

When I get to bed, everything has to be just so. My pillow has to be the perfect temperature. If I don’t fall asleep before it gets warm, I won’t fall asleep. My blanket has to be perfect. If I can’t completely wrap myself up in my blanket, I won’t fall asleep. If I’m not exhausted or in the perfect environment, I might as well not even go to bed.

See what I mean about not exactly being sleep-compatible?

We’ve used separate blankets since our second or third year of marriage. We have a king-sized bed, but it’s really two double beds pushed together, so we essentially have separate beds too. We might as well be Rob and Laurie Petrie from the Dick Van Dyke Show.

Separate blankets, separate sheets, separate beds.

It occurred to me while I was tossing and turning the night after reading that New York Times article that while we don’t technically have separate bedrooms, we’ve come as close to that concept as possible.

As a matter of fact, when I worked in radio, which I did for the first twelve years of our marriage, I slept on the couch more often than I slept in bed (I didn’t want to wake up Bridget at the ridiculous hour of 2:30 AM). For those twelve years, five nights a week, we actually did have separate bedrooms.

Come to think of it, maybe that’s why get along so well. She’s well rested enough to avoid crabbiness, and I’m too tired to be crabby.

It was probably the secret to Rob and Laura Petrie’s marriage too.


If you missed any previous Suburban Man columns, click here: http://suburbanmanarchive.blogspot.com

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Celebrity Snippets: Marilu Henner


Once a week long-time radio producer and author Rick Kaempfer shares his favorite brushes with greatness in a feature he calls “Celebrity Snippets.”






Marilu Henner celebrated a birthday last week. The multi-talented actress is probably best known for playing the role of Elaine in the hit television series "Taxi" from 1978-1983.


One of our all-time favorite guests on the John Landecker show was Marilu Henner.

Over the ten years the John Landecker show aired on WJMK, Marilu was probably on a dozen times. She was always entertaining, friendly, and personable…in short, a dream radio guest.

Marilu is a Chicago girl, born and bred, and has never taken on the airs of Hollywood. Her Chicago roots still run deep, and we found out just how deep that first morning.

“This is my niece,” Marilu said, introducing her to John. “She used to baby sit for you when your daughters were kids.”

“You paid me in record albums,” her niece replied. “I thought that was so cool.”

With that immediate connection established, Marilu had guaranteed smooth sailing for any and all interviews on our show.

Some of those interviews were truly memorable, too. I tell a story in the Radio Producer’s Handbook about one of those times.

The first thing John said to her on the air was: “We’ll be right back after these commercial announcements. Marilu and I are going down to Michigan Avenue in a taxi and we’ll be conducting the interview from there.” Marilu was completely thrown off, but went with the concept. She still got to plug the book she was promoting, but she also talked to a taxi driver about her show Taxi and had a wonderful time doing an interview that was completely different from the ten other interviews she had to do that day.

The taxi bit was so memorable we actually released it on our final CD: Landecker & the Legends, 20th Century Hits & Bits. The taxi driver was from Nigeria and had never heard of the show, so we gave him a Taxi multiple choice test. We played a clip from the show, and he had to guess the next line of dialogue among three possible choices. Marilu was not only a great sport about it, she really seemed to have a great time.

After that interview, she gave us her cell-phone number and told us we could call anytime. I only took her up on that one time—on John’s 50th birthday. She was pumping gas in LA when I reached her. I told her it was John’s birthday, and without prompting, she sang Happy Birthday To You ala Marilyn Monroe. The visual of her doing this sultry song in front of the other customers at the gas station was something that still sticks in my head all these years later (John turned 60 this year).

I have memories of one other Marilu interview, too, but only because it was so personally embarrassing. One year when Marilu came into town, John thought it would be funny to see if she did any nude scenes, and if so, to play the audio on the air and see if she could identify the scene.

This was in the days before celebrity nudity internet sites or YouTube or Google. I had to go to the video store and rent all the R-rated movies she appeared in to see if there were any nude scenes. On my last choice, The Man Who Loved Women, I found her only nude scene. She was topless in a scene with Burt Reynolds for about five seconds. I dubbed off the audio and brought the clip into the show so John could play it on the air.

However, I hadn’t considered that I would also be sitting right across from her when this audio clip was played. It took her only a split second to figure out what was going on, and she looked right at me.

“So, which one of you sickos watched that videotape to get this clip?” she asked. I’m told that she had a smile on her face, but I can’t confirm that because there was no way I could look her in the eye. She guessed correctly anyway. “It was Rick, wasn’t it?”

“He insisted,” John replied helpfully. “He said he had to watch it a dozen times just to make sure he got it right.”

Marilu thought that was funny, and I laughed too, but I must admit…that was an awkward moment.



(Marilu was so nice she even did an endorsement for my advertising agency: Marilu for A.M.I.S.H. Chicago Advertising)




For hundreds of additional celebrity and radio stories, check out my book "The Radio Producer's Handbook," which is still available at Amazon, and Barnes & Noble.


If you missed any of the previous Celebrity Snippets, click here: http://celebritysnippets.blogspot.com

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Suburban Man: Man vs. Squirrel

By Rick Kaempfer






Editor's note: This spring's early warm weather, followed by unseasonably cold weather, killed my tulips. I never thought I would fondly recall last year's battle with the fluffy-tailed rat...but alas, I do. Hence, the encore presentation.




Last fall I went to the florist with my three year old son Sean. I’ve always wanted some tulips in my flower garden, so I let Sean pick out a half-dozen colors, and we went to the register to pay.

“Be careful with these,” the woman at the register said.

“Why?"

“Squirrels love them,” she said. “You can’t even leave the slightest tulip bulb residue in your garden because they’ll dig up the whole garden until they find the bulbs.”

I eyed her suspiciously. It sounded a bit extreme. “What do you mean by tulip bulb residue?” I asked.

A tulip bulb looks a little bit like an onion, complete with a paper-like peeling. She pulled off a tiny piece of the peeling, and crumbled it into even tinier pieces, then held out a microscopic piece of that crumble at the end of her finger.

“C’mon!” I said.

“I’m serious,” she said.

That advice just sounded so ridiculous, I didn’t give it a second thought. Sean and I went home, and after giving great thought to the color scheme, we inserted the bulbs into freshly dug holes and covered them with dirt. We went inside and sat by the front window trying to imagine how great those tulips were going to look. I couldn’t wait until spring. It would be a moment that Sean and I could enjoy together, a beautiful merging of nature and nurture, two men and their flower garden; a Norman Rockwell painting.

My bliss was disturbed only moments later by a little rat with a cute fluffy tail. Disregarding my feelings entirely, he hopped right into the garden and started digging. I pounded on the window. He didn’t scare easily, but I finally got him away. When Fluffy was safely gone, I went outside to see what had attracted him to the garden in the first place. Sure enough, just like the florist had warned me, a tiny tulip bulb peeling rested at the edge of the garden like a flashing neon welcome sign.

I had to get to Fluffy before he put the word out. All witnesses had to be eliminated. I saw him in the nearby bush and charged at him like a wild boar. I was screaming at the top of my lungs like a Yoko Ono record, trying to be so menacing and intimidating that he would let squirrels know far and wide that this garden was strictly off-limits. Only a crazed fool would dare try to eat one of those delectable bulbs. Not with Yoko the charging boar ready to attack at any given moment.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t quite pull it off. Fluffy just stared at me for a few moments before calmly running about ten feet away. I didn’t stop charging until he ran another twenty feet or so. He wasn’t scared of me (or Yoko) in the slightest. He ran onto my neighbor’s driveway and held his ground.

I realized that this technique wouldn’t suffice. I had to take further action. If I couldn’t kill the squirrel or scare it away, I had to make my yard so unpleasant that he wouldn’t come back. I researched on the internet about the best ways to do this, and the first suggestion sounded like genius to me. Squirrels mark their territory like many other animals. If they smell the...um...markings of another, they will stay away. I could do that. I could produce markings. I did it successfully in the backyard to keep the skunks away a few years earlier.

But this time marking my territory was a little more difficult. Did I mention this garden is in my front yard? The direct approach was out of the question. (I didn’t feel like going to jail.) So I re-created a typical doctor’s office visit and “produced” a sample into a plastic cup. I then went outside and nonchalantly spread the sample around the garden.

About ten minutes later the squirrel returned. This time, instead of hopping right into the garden, he walked back and forth a few times. He seemed genuinely repulsed. Sean and I were elated and started celebrating, but Fluffy killed the self congratulatory celebration mid-high-five when he hopped right back into the garden and starting digging again. I had to run outside and do the wild boar-Yoko routine until he ran away, but I knew I was just buying myself a few minutes.

Now down one perfectly good plastic cup, I went back on the internet. The same website gave me another idea. It said to sprinkle red cayenne pepper all over the bulbs. The squirrels will still dig them up, but they won’t eat them. It was worth a try. Sean really enjoyed the digging up process, and I even let him sprinkle the red pepper on the bulbs. We went back to our station at the front window and watched. It only took a few minutes for the relentless Fluffy to return to his prey. This time Sean and I let him dig. Fluffy got the bulb out of the ground and started carrying it away to his lair, when he suddenly dropped it on the sidewalk in front of my house, and ran away. Apparently the undamaged bulb was not to his liking.

For the next few days, we went through the same process. Squirrel digs up bulb, squirrel drops bulb, Rick and Sean re-bury bulb. One morning there were a dozen bulbs on the driveway. But we never faltered, never gave up. Each time we calmly reburied the pepper-laced tulip bulbs. We knew we could outlast him. We were more resilient than Fluffy. Our life expectancy was more than 20 times his life expectancy. We were bigger, stronger, and smarter. He was just a squirrel and we have opposable thumbs. He was no match for us.

But here’s the thing about tulips. Your gratification is delayed for months. It wasn’t until last week when I saw the green sprouts emerge from the ground that I realized we had officially won the battle.

“Victory!” I screamed. I looked around for the sneezing squirrel. “Take that Fluffy! In your little face!”

Next time I’ll listen to the florist.



If you missed any previous Suburban Man columns, click here: http://suburbanmanarchive.blogspot.com

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Celebrity Snippets: Sam Kinison


Once a week long-time radio producer and author Rick Kaempfer shares his favorite brushes with greatness in a feature he calls “Celebrity Snippets.”





Fifteen years ago this week, legendary comedian Sam Kinison died at the age of 38.





One of the first in-studio guests I ever booked to appear on the Steve & Garry show was Sam Kinison. I'll be honest. It wasn't exactly difficult to do. It went something like this. My phone rang.

"Hello, Steve & Garry show," I answered.

"Who is this?

"Rick."

"Rick, it's Sam Kinison. Tell them I'll be up to the studio just after 4 today."

"OK."

Booked.

Sam obviously already had a relationship with Steve and Garry before I joined the show, and it was just understood that whenever he was in town, he would come on the show. Over the next few years I got to know him about as well as any guest we had on the show. He was a warm and friendly guy--a teddy bear--not at all like his on-stage persona.

But I didn't know that the first time I met him.

In the old Loop studios, the AM 1000 air studio was only a few steps away from the receptionist's desk. The receptionist was trained not to make the really famous guests wait at all, so she would simply open the door leading to the short hallway, and the guest would bump right into the producer.

In the late 80s, at the height of the stand up comedy boom, no comedian in America was more famous or popular than Sam Kinison. He had made a big splash on his first Letterman appearance, and had stolen the scene from Rodney Dangerfield in the movie Back to School.

His star was on the rise. I thought his stand up act was just about the funniest thing I had ever seen. I taped his HBO special, invited friends over to watch it, and we watched it over and over again. It was revolutionary.

Well that day, Sam was late. He wasn't just a little late, either. He was more than an hour late. Steve and Garry kept asking me if I had heard him correctly. After about twenty minutes or so it became another "I bet Rick screwed this up somehow" moment. In fact, I was even starting to believe it myself. Had I written it down wrong? Was it somebody just pretending to be Sam Kinison? Did I just dream the whole thing?

I was so upset about the berating I was receiving on the air, that I didn't even notice Sam walk past me. The receptionist had let him in like she was supposed to do, but because Sam was so late, he didn't bother checking in with me. He just walked right into the studio.

Not realizing he was on the air, Sam started swearing about the things that made him late. If you've ever seen his stand up act, you know what impressive tirades he could go off on. This was one of those profanity-filled tirades. Steve had to scramble to hit the delay button.

Unfortunately, the delay system wasn't really designed to get rid of more than one obscenity. After the button is hit, it takes another few seconds to re-engage. Until it does, you are live on the air without a safety net.

Unfortunately, Sam was so revved up about being late, and what had caused his tardiness, that it took him more than a few seconds to realize he was on the air. By then it was too late--quite a few unmentionables escaped into Chicago radios everywhere.

I think I actually saw my life flash before my eyes during those moments. I knew it was my fault that Sam wasn't stopped before he came in the studio. I began to flop-sweat. I figured that the legendary verbal beatings I had already received would pale in comparison to the one I was about to receive.

I was in the middle of composing my Last Will and Testament when something incredible happened.

Steve and Garry both laughed. Then Sam laughed. Within a minute, it was just another bit. They didn't break for a commercial for a good forty five minutes, and it was some of the most hilarious radio I had ever heard.

When they finally went to commercials, however, I stopped laughing and buckled up. I put my tail between my legs and went into the studio to accept my punishment. Before either Steve or Garry could say a single word, Sam jumped up to greet me.

"Hey, man," Sam said, "I'm totally sorry. That was completely my fault. I didn't check in with you. I was just so f***in late, and I knew these f***in guys would be pissed--I wasn't thinking."

He held out his hand, and I shook it. Steve and Garry didn't say a word.

Over the next few years as Sam's career kept rising (Wild Thing), he appeared on the Steve and Garry show probably another half dozen times. One time he brought Guns & Roses guitarist Slash with him. Another time he stayed on for almost two hours. Every time he saw me, he apologized again for almost getting me in trouble that first time.

A few years later he was gone.

I was doing an overnight shift on the FM station the night it came across the wires. Sam Kinison, a man that had lived life on the very edge of the cliff, had died outside of Las Vegas.

Sam was about as self-destructive as anyone in show business--it almost seemed like he was daring God to take him. Ironically though, when it was his time to go, it wasn't self-inflicted. A drunk driver had swerved into Sam's lane and crashed into his car head on. He never had a chance.

15 years later he's almost forgotten.

In my mind, however, he's one of the all-time greats.






For hundreds of additional celebrity and radio stories, check out my book "The Radio Producer's Handbook," which is still available at Amazon, and Barnes & Noble.


If you missed any of the previous Celebrity Snippets, click here: http://celebritysnippets.blogspot.com

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Half Empty: Someone Watching Over You


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 & Dave Stern




Not to be a bummer, but both of us are members of the dead parents club. Dave lost his father when he was only 13, and Rick lost his father when he was 25.

In other words, it’s been awhile.

When you lose a close family member, it’s really comforting to feel like they are watching over you, helping you through the tough times, and picking you up when you fall down.

On the other hand, do we really want them watching over us all the time?

Think about it. For every one moment you feel them helping you, how many moments do you want them to look away? For us the ratio is about 1:50. So what can you do when you don't want them to watch? Is there any way to distract someone in heaven? Try it.

“Hey Dad! Look behind you there! Is that John Wayne?”

That didn't work, did it? Maybe it's not such a great idea to have them watching over us all the time.

A fellow dead parents club friend of ours has a slightly different theory. He believes that his deceased mother looks over him, but only when he summons her.

But that’s not really a solution either.

What if you just happen to think about your deceased father when you’re buying a five dollar cup of coffee or a Japanese car? Can you feel his disapproving glare?

What if something reminds you of your mother when you eat your dessert before dinner, or sleep until noon, or wear a baseball hat in a restaurant?

Go ahead and try to distract her (“Hey Mom! Look behind you there! Is that Clark Gable?”), but we know it won't work, don't we?

If she can see, she can see. There’s no escape. You can’t hide in the bathroom. She can see through walls. Go ahead and close the door behind you. She can see through doors. She's stronger than Superman. There’s no kryptonite in heaven.

Your dead parent can see when you let your kids watch five hours of television.

She can see when you don’t hold the door for the old lady.

He can see when you pay somebody to shovel your sidewalk, or mow your lawn, or clean your house, when you're perfectly capable of doing that yourself.

Plus here’s another problem with the summoning theory. If your dead parent can hear when you summon them in your thoughts, that means they can get inside your mind.

Once they get inside, they’ll know everything. They’ll know about all the times you were “studying” with your girlfriend or boyfriend. They’ll know about all the times you looked them right in the eye and lied. Think about that. There’s not a single thought you can hide from them. They’ll even know the things you don’t dare say out loud. Those thoughts that you suppress deep in the recesses of your mind are still in there, and mom and/or dad could be listening to them right now.

In fact, if you believe in the summoning theory, since you’re summoning all of those terrible things you’ve said, done, or thought right now-- at exactly the same time you’re thinking about your dead parent--you’ve just put it all in a nice tidy summoning package. They won't even need to go searching for your disgusting inner-thoughts.

Way to go, sicko.

Do you feel her watching over you now? Yup. That answers the question, doesn’t it?

Sweet dreams.

Wait a second…she can probably see and hear your dreams too. Even THAT one.

Buckle up, bucko. When your deceased parent sees you again, you’re going to be grounded forever. And when they say forever this time, they really mean forever.

If that’s not an incentive to live a more healthy lifestyle, we don’t know what is.





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

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Suburban Man: The Sweetest Words in the English Language




By Rick Kaempfer





They may not sound so sweet to you, but I think the sweetest words in the English language are “Yes, Dad.”

Until recently, I don’t think I had heard the words “Yes” and “Dad” in the same sentence for over a year.

My oldest son Tommy hasn’t said it since the late 90s. In fact, I think he’s eliminated the word “Yes” from his vocabulary completely. My youngest son Sean has probably said it, but only because his vocabulary is still limited and he never stops speaking. The law of averages says that eventually those two words could have ended up in the same sentence. If they did, however, it was purely accidental.

On the other hand, my middle son Johnny recently reintroduced this phrase into his everyday lexicon, and he is reaping the rewards.

“Johnny, please take your plate to the kitchen,” I said.

“Yes, Dad,” he replied.

I’m not kidding. He really said it. At first I was too stunned to speak. I thought he might be sick, so I checked his temperature. Nope. He was healthy.

“Do you know what you just said?” I asked.

“What?”

“You just said ‘Yes, Dad,” I pointed out.

“I know,” he told me.

After that, he started saying it more. The following week I had to check my own pulse to see if I hadn’t somehow died and gone to heaven during the following exchange. He and Tommy had just come home from school.

“Let’s get crackin’ on the homework,” I said.

“Yes, Dad,” Johnny replied. He took his books out of his backpack, sat down at the dining room table, and started doing his homework.

Seriously. Just like that. The first time I asked! No complaining. No whining. No hiding in his room hoping I would forget it was time to do homework. Just “Yes, Dad.”

Only his brother’s usual whining and complaining made me realize that I hadn’t actually gone to heaven.

I thought that the homework “Yes Dad” moment was the pinnacle, but that moment still hadn’t arrived. It arrived the following day. When he finished his homework without complaint after school (again!), I let him play on his Nintendo DS. This is something I usually don’t allow because it gets ugly when I try to get him to turn it off.

He had barely begun playing, when I finished cooking dinner. I knew it was hopeless, but I called up to his room anyway.

“Johnny, dinner’s ready. C’mon down!” I yelled.

I knew I would have to call up there at least three more times before getting really angry and storming up to the room. This was the normal routine. I would yell. He would pretend he didn’t hear. I would yell again. He would pretend he didn’t hear again. Then I would storm up to his room, demanding he turn it off, screaming “didn’t you hear me the first three times I called up here?”

This time it was different. Before I could even make it back to the kitchen, I heard the words from upstairs.

“Yes, Dad,” he said.

I tried not to get excited. I reminded myself that he was probably just muttering the words while Mario spun around the racetrack in Mario Kart. He probably didn’t even hear what I was saying—he was just saying ‘Yes Dad’ out of reflex, hoping it would buy him some time. I figured it would still be another twenty minutes before he came downstairs for dinner. The force of the videogame was the strongest force in the universe—it couldn’t be broken that easily.

But I was wrong. He was standing right next to me.

“What’s for dinner, Dad?”

“Johnny?”

“Yes, Dad.”

I was stunned. “Um, will you help me set the table?”

“Yes, Dad.”

And he did!

His brothers, ol’ Whats-his-name and Whose-it, haven’t even noticed this dramatic turnaround in Johnny. They haven’t noticed that Johnny’s plate gets more food, or that I let him stay up later, or that I call him “my dear, dear boy.”

Maybe they’ll notice the different treatment “Yes Dad” receives when they see I’ve moved all of the money from their college funds into Johnny’s.

“Want some money for college, boys?” I’ll ask.

“Yes, Dad,” they’ll reply.

“I knew you could say it,” I’ll say. “Sorry—too late.”

They should have discovered those magic words in 2007 when their brother Johnny did. Now if they’ll just help me carry Johnny’s throne into the living room, maybe it will occur to them before it’s too late.




If you missed any previous Suburban Man columns, all of them are here: http://suburbanmanarchive.blogspot.com

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Celebrity Snippets: Richard M. Daley


Once a week long-time radio producer and author Rick Kaempfer shares his favorite brushes with greatness in a feature he calls “Celebrity Snippets.”





Richard M. Daley has been the mayor of Chicago since 1989. If he completes the term he was just elected to serve (with 71% of the vote), he will set the record for longest serving mayor in Chicago—surpassing his own father’s record.


By Rick Kaempfer


Today is St. Patrick’s Day, and nobody is a bigger symbol of the Irish Catholic holiday in Chicago than Chicago’s very own Irish Catholic Mayor Richard M. Daley.

I’ve met the Mayor several times over the years during my radio career. The first time I spoke to him was actually before he even became the Mayor.

It was 1989. At the time I was the producer of the Steve Dahl & Garry Meier show on WLUP AM 1000. Steve & Garry were celebrating their ten year anniversary together that year.

Unlike most radio personalities, Steve & Garry actually thrived on surprise. It brought out the best in them because they were both gifted improvisers. Periodically during this year-long anniversary celebration, I would get people from their past or well-known celebrities to make surprise phone calls during the show.

After a few of these “surprise” calls, they began to trust me. Whenever I would walk into the studio and point at the blinking hotline they knew it was going to be a call worth taking on the air. They didn’t know if was going to be a celebrity like Jay Leno or Albert Brooks or someone from their past—especially a person they had feuded with, or someone who had fired them, but they knew it was going to be interesting.

During the election campaign of 1989 when Richie Daley was running for Mayor, two of his biggest fans were Steve & Garry. They often played audio clips of Daley’s common sense wisdom, his tortured syntax, and his big hearty laugh.

When I called the future Mayor’s campaign headquarters, I didn’t think there was a chance he would come on the show. After all, Steve & Garry had a reputation. They were naughty. They had been fined by the FCC. They were considered “shock jocks.” Politicians usually avoided the show like a plague because they feared being associated with them.

Plus, Daley didn’t strike me particularly as a risk-taking politician. In fact, he was widely known as being exactly the opposite. I was lucky, though. Someone on his campaign staff was a regular listener of the show. He knew that Steve and Garry had been overwhelmingly positive, and he advised Daley to do it—to connect to the young voters.

The day he called I could hear how nervous he was on the phone. He asked me if it was OK to congratulate them on their anniversary. I said yes. He asked me if was OK to say something about Hawaiian shirts (Steve’s trademark at the time), and I said yes. He took a deep breath, and I put him on hold.

The call itself lasted only a few minutes, but it turned out to be great move by the Mayor. He didn’t slip up, he laughed heartily at everything Steve and Garry said, and he got off the phone before they said anything too controversial. Steve & Garry were thrilled that he called. The next day it also got a positive write up in two of the biggest gossip columns in Chicago. The man who was widely mocked for being an overly-cautious intellectually-challenged political lightweight had passed the test with flying colors.

Four years later I was producing the John Landecker show on WJMK. By then it was almost impossible to get Mayor Daley to do a radio appearance. His schedule was booked ridiculously far in advance, and he avoided any appearance that had even a whiff of trouble. We were just getting the Landecker show off the ground at the time, and I knew an appearance by the Mayor would give us instant credibility, so I pushed hard for an in-studio visit.

It took almost six months, but he finally agreed. We had him for thirty minutes, which doesn’t sound like much—but ask any producer in Chicago how many of them have gotten the Mayor to come into the studio for a thirty minute conversation. It simply doesn’t happen.

That morning he was relaxed and amazingly comfortable. John had classic tapes of Daley’s father, and the two of them talked about what it was like growing up in that household, what it was like at the ’68 convention, and what kind of rules and regulations they had in the Daley house. Landecker & Daley formed an instantaneous generational bond. It really was an entertaining interview—and the mayor was candid, warm and friendly.

A few years later, on the day John was given a special tribute by the Museum of Broadcasting in Chicago, Mayor Daley declared it John Records Landecker Day in Chicago. I believe he did the same for Steve Dahl a few years later when Steve celebrated his 20th year in Chicago radio.

I’ve heard all the horror stories about how hard it is to work for Mayor Daley. Rumor has it that he possesses a hair trigger temper. Judging by the incredible staff turnover, it’s probably true. I’m also not blind to the corruption in City Hall. His administration, especially in recent years, has been ethically challenged to say the least. Judging by how closely he worked with the people who have been indicted and/or sent up the river, he must be involved too. At the very least, he turns a blind eye.

For those reasons, if I still lived in Chicago, I probably wouldn’t have voted for him this time around—although his opponents weren’t exactly Abe Lincoln and FDR.

On the other hand, I’ll always appreciate those two times he let his hair down a little and took a risk by appearing on the Steve & Garry and John Landecker shows.



That’s the Mayor Daley I salute on this St. Patrick’s Day in Irish Catholic Chicago.




Last year for St. Patrick's Day, I asked my friend Brendan Sullivan to write about what is was like growing up south side Irish in Chicago. He did a nice job.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Half Empty: The Hidden Meanings of Flowers


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 & Dave Stern




Remember when flowers were considered the perfect gift for women? You could get them for your wife, your mother, your female friends, or your female co-workers—and nobody thought a thing of it—other than “Awwww. That’s so thoughtful.”

Those days are over. If you haven’t bought flowers for a woman lately, you’ve missed a complete transformation of flower society. Flowers are still considered a perfect gift, but now they are too perfect.
Man: I like to buy some red roses please.

Florist: Oh your wife will love these.

Man: It’s not for my wife.

Florist: Your girlfriend?

Man: No…a co-worker.

Florist: Do you want her to be your girlfriend?

Man: No...

Florist: Oh dear.

Man: What?

Florist: Red roses mean love.

Man: Oh. Sorry. Make it pink roses then.

Florist: Excellent choice. Would you like a soft gentle pink or a deeper pink?

Man: Um….

Florist: Deeper pink conveys a message of gratitude.

Man: Well…I’m getting her flowers because she got a promotion. It’s not exactly gratitude.

Florist: Are you her boss or is she your boss?

Man: Um…we’re sort of equals I guess.

Florist: Soft gentle pink conveys a message of admiration.

Man: Well, I guess admire her…

Florist: (grinning) In a slightly, where can this lead us, sort of way?

Man: No.

Florist: Then I’d recommend staying away from the soft gentle pink.

Man: What about white roses.

Florist: White roses say “You’re heavenly.”

Man: No. What about those peach roses?

Florist: Desire and Zest.

Man: No. The dark ones?

Florist: You mean the burgundy? Those mean “unconscious beauty.”

Man: No. The yellow?

Florist: Yellow roses stand for joy and happiness.

Man: Yeah…that sounds good.

Florist: How many would you like?

Man: How about just one?

Florist: Love.

Man: Two?

Florist: Engagement or marriage.

Man: Are you serious?

Florist: Yes.

Man: Six?

Florist: That means you’ll never forget her.

Man: No. What do you recommend?

Florist: I’d recommend an arrangement with the yellow roses as the centerpiece.

Man: OK.

Florist: What is her sign?

Man: What?

Florist: Her zodiac sign? If she’s an Aries, I’d recommend some tiger lilies or impatiens, if she’s a Taurus, I’d say go with a poppy or daisy, if she’s a Gemini—lily of the valley or lilac, if she’s a Capricorn—

Man: I’ll take a plant please.

Florist: What kind of plant? Would you like a…

Man: Plain, green.

By the way, just for the record, we didn’t make up any of those “meanings.” Feel free to save yourself some heartache and study the conversation before you enter the florist next time.

Another free service of your good friends at Half Empty.


By the way, tomorrow is the Ides of March. Seems like a good time to get an endorsement for our advertising agency from the leader of the band--Ides of March: Jim Peterik for A.M.I.S.H. Chicago Advertising

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Suburban Man: The Birth of Johnny Kaempfer



The date was March 12, 1998.









The headline on the Chicago Sun Times front page: “Cicero deal halts Rally by Klan”

The headline on the Chicago Tribune front page: “Clinton plans to join Ulster peace talks”

The headline on the Daily Herald front page: “Clinton refuses to say whether he will testify to grand jury”

The headline on the New York Times front page: “The World of Paula Jones”

But the biggest story was happening in Mt. Prospect, and only one reporter was on hand to break the story....Me. I called into the John Landecker show that morning to report the news flash. The cast of characters included John Landecker, sidekick Catherine Johns, and newsman Richard Cantu.

The following is a transcript of that important phone call.



John: Oldies 104.3, John Records Landecker, it’s 8:27, and joining us on the phone from the maternity ward is the producer of the program, Rick the German Boy Kaempfer. Good morning, Rick.

Rick: Good morning.

John: Rick, tell us what’s going on.

Rick
: Well as long as we’re plugging our kids (John had just plugged his daughter’s play), I’ve got a new one to plug.

John: Aaaawwwwright!

Rick: Last night around eleven thirty Bridget’s water broke and we didn’t even have time to make it to the hospital downtown, so we went to the one out here.

Catherine
: Oh, is that right?

Rick: And we have a new baby boy!

(Cheering and clapping in the studio)

Richard: Whoo Hooo! Congratulations. Two knucklehead boys!

Rick: And it’s a big one too.

Catherine
: How big?

Rick: 8 pounds, 6 ounces.

Catherine: That is pretty big. How’s Bridget doing?

Rick: She’s doing real well. I’m at home now. I came home to check on Tommy...

John: Wait a doggone minute! You went home to check on your other child before you called the show? Where are your priorities?

Rick: Sorry, forgive me. I’m hopelessly out of whack.

John: OK, 8 pounds. How long was it?

Rick: 21 inches...if you know what I’m saying.

Catherine: We know what you’re saying.

John: No, how long was the baby?

Rick: Oh, the baby?

Richard: Once more into the gutter.

John: So what time was this kid born?

Rick
: Two o’clock in the morning. They kicked me out of the hospital at 4:00, because Bridget has to share a room, and I came home and got a little sleep, and Tommy just woke me up, so I’m calling you right away.

John: So you’ve called all your family I hope.

Rick: Bridget called them.

John: But she had the baby.

Rick: Yeah, she had the baby in about two hours. It wasn’t that bad, although that’s easy for me to say. She was fine, what a trooper.

Catherine: And she wanted to chat, right?

Rick: Exactly.

Catherine: Now I want to know something. Does this child have a name?

Rick: Oh yes he does. His name is John Richard Kaempfer.

John: Wow.

Richard: You honor us, Sir.

John: Was he named after anyone?

Rick: Well, my favorite Beatle is John.

John
: John Lennon.

Rick: And of course, my favorite DJ....

John
: Really?

Rick: Yup. John Brandmeier.

(Everyone laughs)

John: OK, you got me.

(Call waiting clicks)

Rick: And actually John is also a name in Bridget’s family. Her grandfather was named John. And so is her brother.

(Call waiting clicks again)

John: I see you got baby waiting there.

Rick: Yeah, I think I may be popular today.

John: Well, we’ll let you go. Congratulations on the big news! So you’ll be back to work tomorrow, right?

Rick: Uh...well...

Catherine: John!

John: Just kidding, just kidding.

Rick: See you later.

John: There he goes. Proud papa.

(Click)

John: Oh wait! Darnit! I forgot to ask him if he taped it.

Richard: Are you kidding? Of course he did.

John: Because if there was ever a disc jockey who knows how to exploit a child, it’s....

2 year old Tommy Kaempfer singing the jingle: John Records Landecker, Oldies 104.3.


Of course, I did tape it, by the way. It aired the next day. Friday the 13th.


By the time Johnny was three he was doing movie reviews and jokes on the radio. He also accompanied the show to the Dominican Republic for a live broadcast. That's him in the photo there chatting with Leslie Keiling.






Johnny is also the star of this article I wrote for Lake Magazine three years ago.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Suburban Man: The Evil Genius

By Rick Kaempfer




Being the little brother to two older brothers is a tough gig. If the little brother has a big taunting mouth, it’s much much worse. Every day becomes a life and death struggle.

Meet my youngest son Sean: He’s cute. He’s smart. And he’s lucky he’s alive.

Sean figured out about a year ago that no matter what he said or did, his brothers were never going to like him, or treat him well. So, instead of trying to win their favor, he went the other direction. Without succumbing to emotion or histrionics, he pursues his life goal with dogged determination: To make his brothers as miserable as possible.

On purpose.

As punishment for not liking him.

If it weren’t my house and my sons, I would find this battle incredibly entertaining. The battle begins first thing in the morning, every single morning. He usually gives them one chance. It goes a little bit like this:

Sean: Johnny, will you play with me?

Johnny: Get away from me Sean.

Sean: It’s OK, Johnny. You don’t have to play with me. I’m going up to your room to kill your favorite toy.

Johnny: DAAAAAAAD!

And that’s when I’m in the room watching.

God only knows what he says when I’m not there. He knows that Johnny (age 9) has a hair-trigger temper, and can’t let anything go, so he taunts him mercilessly.

Sean: Johnny, will you play with me?

Johnny: Get away from me Sean.

Sean: Your head is purple and when your head is purple you have to play with me forever. It’s a rule.

Johnny: That’s not a rule, and my head is not purple.

Sean: Yes it is.

Johnny: NO IT’S NOT PURPLE! YOU CAN’T MAKE RULES LIKE THAT!

If you were the adult walking into the room during this confrontation, who would you side with, the 4-year old seemingly talking nonsense, or the nine year old who is having a meltdown about the nonsense?

Sean is way too smart for his brothers. He can smell their weaknesses like a dog can smell fear. For instance, he also knows that Tommy has some quirky pet peeves, so he doesn’t waste time with anything less effective. He goes right for the throat.

It usually goes a little bit like this:

Sean: Tommy, will you play with me?

Tommy: Go away Sean.

Sean: You want my pickle?

Tommy: I hate pickles. Get that away from me.

Sean: Why? It’s only a pickle. See. Here it is, Tommy. A pickle. Look, it’s coming right at you. Can you smell it?

Tommy: AAAAAARGH! GET THAT AWAY FROM ME!!!!

Again—picture yourself breaking up this fight. Who is being unreasonable? The 11 year old boy screaming about a harmless pickle or the emotionless little 4-year-old innocently holding a pickle in the air? If you didn’t recognize the evil genius, you would side with the little guy every time.

It’s passive aggressive brilliance.

And it’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Every day as Tommy and Johnny are getting ready to walk out the door, Sean rushes up to give them a “big hug.” Does he do this because he loves his brothers? No, of course not. He does it because they hate him. He does it to rub it in their faces.

After they run screaming out of the house, Sean turns around and smiles. He smiles because he won again. He smiles because he’s playing them like a fiddle, and he knows it. They’re leaving the house screaming, and he’s home alone, with all their toys.

I must admit, I admire his mental toughness. They started this fight by rejecting his friendly overtures to play, and instead of rolling over and crying, he is fighting back. He can’t beat them physically (he knows this for a fact—they beat him up regularly), but he also knows they are no match for his evil genius.

The other day after Tommy and Johnny went running out of the house screaming, he came over to me and sat on my lap. He had a big smile on his face.

“We’re a team, Dad,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We’re a team, because Tommy & Johnny hate both of us,” he said.

“They don’t hate us,” I argued half-heartedly. “They really love us.”

“OK, Dad,” he said. Then, almost as afterthought, he added, “I have an idea for dinner tonight.”

“What?”

“Why don’t you do some of your cartoon voices for me?”

“Your brothers hate those voices,” I reminded him.

I could have added that the mere threat of doing my cartoon voices is enough to get them to do their homework, their chores, and anything else I ask, but of course, he knew that.

“They do?” he answered innocently, before flashing me that evil grin.

Wow, he’s good.

I always considered myself a bit of evil genius, but I’m no match for this kid. I’m going to have to keep a close eye on him. Within a few years he’s going to be eating me up and spitting me out without my even knowing it.

He smiled at me and gave me a big hug.

“I love you, Dad,” he said.

Uh oh.



If you missed any previous Suburban Man column, click here: http://suburbanmanarchive.blogspot.com

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Celebrity Snippets: Joseph Cardinal Bernardin

Once a week long-time radio producer and author Rick Kaempfer shares his favorite brushes with greatness in a feature he calls “Celebrity Snippets.”








By Rick Kaempfer






Joseph Cardinal Bernardin may seem like an odd choice for Celebrity Snippets, but I think it’s appropriate for three reasons.

1. It’s Lent and I’m Catholic.
2. The Cardinal really was a celebrity in Chicago.
3. I have a story that proves it.

In the 1980s and 90s, Bernardin served as the Arch Bishop of Chicago. I met him three times during those years, and each time made an impact on me.

The first time was at a church dinner at St. Constance church on the northwest side of Chicago. My grandmother went to that church and when she heard that Cardinal Bernardin was going to be coming, she was beside herself with excitement.

When she “invited” us to come, we knew it wasn’t one of those “come if you can make it” moments. It was more like an order. I was 20 years old at the time, and let’s just say I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there.

Cardinal Bernardin made his way around the hall, making a special point of talking to every table. When he came to ours, he stood behind me and put his hand on my shoulder as he spoke in his calm and gentle voice to my grandmother.

I have never seen her more excited in her entire life.

I know this is going to sound strange, but that moment in time is forever frozen in my memory banks. I can conjure it up at will (and I often do) whenever I want to see that expression on my grandmother’s face. But that isn’t the strange part. The strange part is how I conjure up the memory.

I look at my shoulder. When I look at my shoulder, I can see Cardinal Bernardin’s hand there, and I can remember the warmth I felt from his presence. When I feel the warmth again, the image of my grandmother’s smiling face immediately comes to me.

I know it’s odd. But I swear it’s true.

Ten years after that first meeting, I became Cardinal Bernardin’s neighbor. My wife and I lived almost exactly equidistant from the holiness of the Cardinal’s mansion and the debauchery of Rush & Division streets.

One morning I was returning from an overnight shift at the radio station, and he was out for an early morning walk. Instead of waving as I did the first few times I saw him in the neighborhood, I walked up and shook his hand. My grandmother had recently passed away, and I told him how much it meant to her to meet him that day. He smiled and thanked me. I know this is going to sound strange, but I felt that same warmth when we shook hands that morning.

Which brings me to the moment I realized that he actually was a celebrity.

It happened the third and final time I saw him--- at O’Hare airport, a year or so before he died. He was waiting to check his baggage, and my wife and I were rushing toward our gate. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted him as we walked by.

“There’s Cardinal Bernardin,” I said to my wife, who had never met him.

“WHERE?” she asked, turning around.

When I pointed him out to her, she was barely able to contain her exuberance.

“Cardinal Bernardin!”

He turned around and smiled. “Yes, hello.”

She smiled back at him and stared for a moment, not knowing exactly what to say, before she shook his hand and said: “I’m your biggest fan!”*

Doesn’t that sound like something a celebrity might hear? I thought so too, and that’s why I’m including him in Celebrity Snippets today.

That, and I figure it can’t hurt to spread some good will during Lent. I can use all the help I can get.




*Just because someone is a fan of the Cardinal doesn’t make her a Cardinals fan. That’s an important distinction.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Half Empty: Middle Aged Vanity Plates


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 & Dave Stern



"Yah. Say, Lou, ya hear the one about the guy who couldn't afford personalized plates, so he went and changed his name to J2L 4685?"
-Marge (In Fargo)



When you drive about a million miles a week hauling your kids to swimming, soccer, day care, school, ballet, play dates, karate and more like we do, you end up seeing quite a few vanity plates.

We’ve noticed one disturbing trend, however. Not nearly enough of "our kind" (middle aged people) are indulging in the vanity plates fad. It may be because of a lack of vanity, or it may be because we're too busy to come up with creative plates appropriate for our age bracket.

With that in mind, we've done the heavy lifting for you. Feel free to steal any of the following...


If you suffer from an NLG-PRS8 you probably will URN8-3XPM. So you should probably PB4U-ZZZ. If you’re still PSNG-OF10 you should CA-PDR. In either case you will probably get a PROS8-XAM which WL-SUK.

If people call you 4-IZ you’ll probably 12-CBTR. So go to an optometrist where he might say you have BAD-IBALZ. He might prescribe BI-4COLS for you. Please be aware that any of these plates might get you stopped by the police.

It’s more than likely that you have -CSH-FLW and O-LOTS if you have 3XX-3XYS. Let’s face it 6KDS-ENUF. Thankfully, you have NO-NRG, NO-6-DRYV and NO-6UL-RGS to make any more. Hang in there, because when the KIDZRGONE you can once again NJOY-LF and T IT UP.

You’ll say TIH2 HO (mirror image) when you get DWNSZD and LOSE401K after 30YR-WK4MAN. Sure it was a 5HITJOB but it beats being NDR-MPLYD.

For those of you who take vanity to extremes and want to advertise it, tell everyone about your PNS-NPLT, or getting your TNADONE. Sy Sperling and his friends might prefer pointing our their 2PAY.

For those of you who are already at the grouchy curmudgeon stage, and want to spare any subtleties, SCRAM, UP-URS, URN-ZWAY and FUH QUE work nicely.

And finally, if you’re a Cub fan try W8-2NXYR.

We hope we were able to provide you with a few ideas. As always, no charge. Your vanity is our reward.



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

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Celebrity Snippets: Dan Quayle

Once a week long-time radio producer and author Rick Kaempfer shares his favorite brushes with greatness in a feature he calls “Celebrity Snippets.”






The Academy Awards are tomorrow night. For the first time ever, a former Vice President of the United States could win an Oscar. I never met that Vice President (Al Gore), but I did meet the man who held the office before him: Dan Quayle



Dan Quayle had been out of office for less than a year when I met him at a Marshall Field's book signing. I was the only member of the press to show up.

I'm not kidding.

To be fair, the press was told in advance that former VP Quayle wouldn't be taking any questions--he was just there to sign books and meet the public. That scared off everyone else. That, and the fact that he was already considered old news. He had just become an ex-Vice President.

Of course, I went for comedy reasons. I figured that I would get him on tape, or I would get someone on tape telling me to get lost. It was win-win.

When I arrived at the store, the PR person told me politely that there wouldn't be any questions. I promised her that I didn't have a lot of questions...only one. It would literally take one minute. The Vice President overheard me say that, sighed, and nodded to her. I had the go-ahead.

Unfortunately, I didn't really have a question ready. I was certain I would get the brush off--so I hadn't properly prepared for success. It wasn't until moments before the Vice President waved me up, that I finally thought of a question. His first question to me, however, changed my plans.

"Are you with a wacky morning show?" he asked when he saw my microphone and recorder.

I admitted I was.

"Is your question going to be crude?" he asked, his eyes looking for the PR person to intervene, just in case.

"No," I promised. "Nothing crude."

"Are you going to make fun of me?" he asked.

"No," I promised, and frantically searched my brain for a replacement question.

"OK," he said. "What is your question?"

It came to me at the last second--only because as far as I'm concerned--I had never heard a good answer to the question. I knew he was from Indiana, so I asked...

"What is a Hoosier?"

He smiled, and launched into his answer without hesitating or stumbling. It was a lengthy answer, with many layers, about a contractor named Hoosier from the 1800s, who preferred hiring stout and sturdy workers. He found that those kind of men tended to come from Indiana, so over time, "Hoosier" became shorthand for 'Indiana workers.'

(When I was writing this, I went on the Internet to find out if Quayle's definition was correct or not. Apparently no-one can answer that question definitively, there are several different definitions, but I did find his definition elsewhere. At least he wasn't making it up.)

When he finished answering the question, he leaned over and hit the stop button on my tape recorder. Then he smiled and said "Thanks. You had me nervous there."

"Are you kidding?" I said. "I was the one that was nervous. I was talking to the Vice President."

He waved his hand modestly. "Happy to do it."

I have to be honest, my overall impression of the man was very positive. Of course, I still had comedy obligations, so when he officially retired from politics just before the 2000 Presidential election, I still wrote the following song...

AUDIO: "So Long Dan Quayle"
(Vince Argento on vocals, Dan Quayle on malaprops)

It's nothing personal. Just doing my job.




Tomorrow's Oscar host Ellen DeGeneres was previously featured on Celebrity Snippets

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Half Empty: Movie Rental Tips for Wives


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 & Dave Stern




Whenever the Oscars come around we are reminded of two things.

1) No one has the right to wear shoes worth more than the combined worth of our two homes.
2) Our only hope of seeing a movie we actually want to see is by uttering the following phrase: "I'll go to Blockbuster, thanks."

Our wives often volunteer to run this errand for us, but history shows that they are completely unable to choose a film worth watching. Most DVD boxes have gigantic flashing red lights saying "DO NOT RENT THIS MOVIE!", but our wives don't see those lights.

We figured that our wives may not be the only wives that don't see the lights, so we've volunteered to spell it out more clearly on behalf of husbands everywhere. No need to thank us. This is another free service of Half Empty.


Ladies--when you see the following types of movies, keep walking...


Disease Movies -
A movie about cancer? DO NOT CHOOSE THIS MOVIE. Do you really consider this appropriate Saturday evening relaxation? In fact, any and all life threatening illnesses are not acceptable. Consider this one of the golden rules of movie renting. The only exception to this rule is if the film is based on the real-life relationship between teammates Brian Piccolo and Gale Sayers. Now that’s a disease movie.

“Period” Pieces –
1) If the words “Victorian England” are found anywhere on the box, step away from the movie immediately. If for some reason you didn’t bring your glasses or you're having trouble reading the fine print, if the cover has a woman wearing a foofy dress or carrying a parasol: DO NOT CHOOSE THIS MOVIE.
2) If the movie stars Helena Bonham Carter, Daniel Day Lewis, Judi Dench or Ralph (prounced “Raif”, what a blowhard) Fiennes: DO NOT CHOOSE THIS MOVIE. By the way, Meryl Streep is this/close to getting put on the list.

Triumph of the Human Spirit Movies

He has no arms and legs and becomes a great painter. Very impressive, but...DO NOT CHOOSE THIS MOVIE. We’re really not interested, thanks for asking. Don’t get us wrong, we think it’s inspiring when the guy with no arms and legs becomes a great painter. It's just that we have fully-functioning limbs and can't spread cream cheese on a bagel without cutting ourselves--and we really don't need the limbless painter rubbing that in our faces.


Foreign Films

Wow, you really don’t know your husbands at all, do you? If we wanted to read a book we wouldn’t have rented a movie. The only acceptable movie with subtitles is Airplane. The only acceptable movies with accents must contain the words, “Monty Python’s” in the title. However, if the movie contains a sticker with the words: "NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN UNDER 17," we will probably relax the no foreign film rule.


Black and White Films

Three Stooges, OK. Everything else, not so much.

Breakfast at Tiffany's
DO NOT CHOOSE THIS MOVIE! We know, we know, Holly Golightly is the craziest heroine ever. She also never shuts up, and she never makes any sense. If she was one of your friends, we would beg you never to invite her to our home.

Movies about dancing
Have you noticed that we’ve never taken you dancing and that we flop-sweat at weddings? Here’s a little secret, WE HATE DANCING. We don't like doing it, and we really don't like watching it. That means we hate musicals, too. The only exception is a musical about Hitler written by Mel Brooks.


See how simple this is?

Please keep these simple rules in mind next time you choose a movie, and you won't have to put up with us snoring through another one of your picks.

Unless, of course, that was your intention in the first place.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Suburban Man: The Suburban Oscars




By Rick Kaempfer




I’ll be watching the Oscars just like everyone else this weekend. Unfortunately, for the third year in a row, I haven’t seen a single one of the nominated movies (other than those in the animated category). I’ll be watching strictly to see if either Martin Scorsese or Peter O’Toole becomes the Susan Lucci of the Academy Awards.

Because those of us with children tend to feel a little left out on Oscar-night (we don’t get out much), I’ve decided to create the Suburban Oscars.

To qualify for a Suburban Oscar, an actor or actress must have performed in a film that takes place in the suburbs. The film also cannot be a new release. Any film less than two years old is disqualified.

Winners of Suburban Oscars will receive a trophy and a suburban gift basket, but only if they fly me out to Los Angeles to hand-deliver it. (I will also accept a flight by the company that released the film.) Otherwise the trophies and gift baskets will be kept in a safe place for next year’s winners.

Without further ado, I now present the Suburban Oscars.

The nominees for most for “Most Precocious” performance by a child in a suburban-based film are…

Jonathon Lipnicki in “Jerry McGuire”
Peter Billingsley in “A Christmas Story”
McCauley Culkin in “Home Alone”
Drew Barrymore in “ET”
Heather O’Rourke in “Poltergeist”

And the Suburban Oscar goes to: This precious child

The nominees for “Best Teen Angst” performance in a suburban-based film are…

Sissy Spacek in “Carrie”
Toby McGuire in “American Beauty”
Mary Stuart Masterson in “Parenthood”
Ally Sheedy in “Breakfast Club”
Sean Penn in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”

And the Suburban Oscar goes to: Really?


The nominees for “Best Rich Teen Angst” performance in a suburban-based film are…

Tom Cruise in “Risky Business”
Matthew Broderick in “Ferris Buehler’s Day Off”
Timothy Hutton in “Ordinary People”
James Dean in “Rebel without a Cause”
Dustin Hoffman in “The Graduate”

And the Suburban Oscar goes to: Him

(You’re welcome, ladies.)

And last, but not least, the nominees for “Best Teen Time Travel Performance” in a suburban-based film are…

Michael J. Fox in “Back to the Future”
Keanu Reeves in “Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure”
Kathleen Turner in “Peggy Sue Got Married”
Krispin Glover in “Back to the Future”
Alex Winter in “Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure”

And the Suburban Oscar goes to:You know it's not Kathleen Turner


Congratulations to all of our winners.

Each of you can have your people contact me at the “E-mail Me” link on this page. When you plan my accommodations for delivery of the award, please keep in mind that I have three kids, so I’ll need five airline tickets, and at least two hotel rooms. We’ll handle all other incidentals, including mini-bar.

(By the way, the real winner for “Best Rich Teen Angst” would have been him, but he’s not able to fly me to Los Angeles at the moment.)

Next year, come on back for our second annual Suburban Oscars, when we'll honor more performances you've actually seen. If you have any suggested nominees for "Best Suburban Mom" or "Best Suburban Dad" performances, feel free to send them in to Suburban Oscar headquarters.

In the meantime, enjoy the real Academy Awards this weekend.

I have to rememeber not to go to the bathroom during the "In Memorium" segment this year. The Anna Nicole Smith tribute is going to be heartbreaking.



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

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Half Empty: Valentine's Day


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 and Dave Stern



Here’s a question for you lovebirds who have been married for a long time: Have you renewed your vows yet?

If you haven’t, you might be a little surprised at the refreshing honesty expressed during the renewal vows these days. They use an entirely different script than they used for the original vows.

Your good friends at Half Empty have managed to acquire a copy. We’re printing the script here so that you can mentally prepare yourself for the big day.


RENEWAL OF MARRIAGE VOWS FOR COUPLES MARRIED MORE THAN TEN YEARS

Clergy: Do you (insert husband’s name), promise to… step over the laundry basket instead of carrying it up the stairs, wipe up spills with your socks, use the imaginary brakes when she drives, never replace a toilet paper roll, push crumbs under the fridge rather than pick them up, pretend to listen with an uncanny ability to nod at the appropriate times, remember nothing—ever, never find anything even if it’s in front of your face, buy less than 70% of the items on your grocery list, mix all colors and wash everything in warm, pretend like you’re asleep when she wants to talk, think that twelve hours of television a day is an appropriate amount for a four year old, and expend the minimum amount of effort on everything you do every single day….as long as you both shall live?

Husband: I do.

Clergy: And do you (insert wife’s name), promise to…leave an unsaid ‘dumbass’ at the end of every sentence with the tone of your voice, have a strong opinion on literally every subject, roll your eyes within two seconds of him opening his mouth, break every traffic law when you drive—even for short distances, pick the absolutely worst movie every time you go to Blockbuster, think that ballroom dance and yoga classes would be a fun couple’s activity, make snide comments about his appearance, yearn for more culture in your life, restack the dishwasher every single time he does it, expect him to tolerate your bad moods while cutting him no slack ever for his bad moods, and point out that he is doing everything the ‘wrong’ way every single day…as long as you both shall live?

Wife: I do.

Clergy: Wow. Well, then, I guess you really are man and wife. You may kiss the bride.

Husband & Wife: Is that really necessary?

Clergy: OK, you may now go to your separate televisions.

Crowd: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwww.

Cue the music: “Trading Spaces” and “Monday Night Football” (at the same time)

A show of hands: Who has a tear in his or her eye right now?

What can we say? We do too.

I guess we’re all just hopeless romantics.






Do Rick and Dave have even more love to share today?

Why yes we do.


Look, we don't like to brag, but we know a thing or two about love.

On this Valentine's Day, we're not just going to give you one measly column to help your love life. No sir. Today, we'll give you 4 more.

True love--4 ever.

Are you a wife looking for harmony in your relationship? This column is for you: 10 Questions you should never ask your husband

Are you a boyfriend or husband, desperately trying to understand your woman? This column is for you: Quiz: How well do you understand your woman?

Are you a woman who really wants to attract a man? Boy, have you come to the right place. This column is for you: 9 Ways to Attract a Man

Are you a husband who wants to be able to make your wife laugh again? We've been there, buddy. This column is for you: 10 things a husband can say to make his wife laugh

Are you a husband or wife who doesn't want to overpay for a nice romantic dinner at a restaurant tonight? Sorry. We're love counselors, not miracle workers.




Love may be one of our specialties, but we write about so much more. To read any of our previous columns, click here: http://halfemptyarchive.blogspot.com