Guest Blogger: Leslie Keiling

Leslie Keiling is the traffic reporter on the Steve Cochran show and the John Williams show every weekday afternoon on WGN-Radio. Before landing at WGN, Leslie and I worked together twice; on Steve & Garry's show at WLUP AM 1000, and on The John Landecker Show on WJMK. In addition to Steve & Garry and Landecker, Leslie has worked with just about every major radio star in Chicago over the past...ahem...twenty years.

She also happens to be a very gifted (and funny) writer. She was kind enough to contribute this piece about her mother to the blog. I'm sure many of you will be able to relate...


Entertaining Helen
by Leslie Keiling


I can't believe it's been almost three years since my mom Helen moved in with my husband Tim, daughter Allyson and me. It was a long time coming--what with her vision problems, heart problems, hearing loss, hip replacement, scoliosis. Ok, you get the picture. Funny, the minute you start talking about the issues of the elderly, you can almost smell the mustiness, with just a faint touch of medicine chest and Tegrin for character. There is certainly nothing glamorous about shower chairs and pill cutters, pressure sores and ingrown hairs. Some might even find these topics a little nauseating. Go figure.

In response, Tim, Ally and I have learned not to focus too hard on the down and dirty day-to-day stuff. What happens in Grandma's bathroom, stays in Grandma's bathroom. That is, unless she decides to bring it up at dinner. To help avoid this, we've learned to steer mealtime conversations away from gateway topics like "skin," "digestion," or "legumes." You learn to adjust. You take the good with the bad, and you work around it.

However, there is one aspect of my mother's care that has affected the fabric of this family down to the finest fiber of it's being; and that's a little thing we refer to as "Grandma's Entertainment."

To call my mom's eyesight poor would be an understatement. Macular degeneration has left her with nothing more than a hint of peripheral vision, so that things like watching TV and reading books the old-fashioned way are out of the question. But necessity being the mother of invention and all, we didn't give up. And just by chance we happened upon a little miracle. While most TV is too difficult for Helen to follow--sounds and pictures swirling in a busy blur--things are somehow entirely different when we're talking about Chicago Cubs baseball.

For over 85 years, the woman has shared the dream of so many other unrequited lovers of those North Side boys of summer--a dream that still burns brightly deep within that congested little heart of hers. Based on my mom's fervent commitment and nearly crazed determination, not to mention plenty of trial and error on our part, we have found a way to keep the Cubs in her life.

The set up must be precise. Helen must be seated in a wingback chair with a small throw pillow centered on the back cushion. The chair must then be placed exactly three and a half feet from the 52-incher. As Helen is seated, a nearby radio tuner is then set to WGN. This is very important. Unfortunately, the play-by-play heard on the television is presented in an unacceptable sound range. However, the tonal blend of Pat Hughes and Ron Santo, along with the dancing shadows on a field of green, amazingly create the perfect confluence that brings the games into heavenly clarity for mom.

Did I mention that the sound has to be turned up loud? I mean really loud. Really, really loud. The kind of loud that makes the dog hide under the bed. It kind of hurts everyone's ears, but it's baseball. And it's only about 150 games per season. When you break it down, it's really not that much. There is still a lot of time in any given day, week or year when there is no baseball.

And this leads us to Helen's only other, yet much beloved, form of entertainment: Porno. Yep, porno, as in pornography. When there's no baseball, there's always porno. Oh, nothing so crass as films and photos. This is pornography wearing the disguise of contemporary literature, presented to the masses through "books on tape." God love books on tape. Mom's outlook on life did a 180 the day she realized that losing her sight didn't mean having to give up her books.

Many of the same titles she read over and over prior to her vision loss were still available to her on CD and cassette, read by fine actors and vocal artistes. The problem is that there is only one type of book--bound or recorded--that mom likes, and that is the Romance Novel. Specifically, a type of historical romance known to aficionados as "bodice rippers."

These stories, written by authors like Roberts, Lindsey and Garwood, are set in locations like the old west, English manors, and ships at sea, anywhere in time from the 1500's to the early 1900's. Yet, they all have one thing in common. Somewhere in the course of boy meeting girl, boy losing girl, and the ultimate promise of love everlasting, there are at a minimum, two or three hot, crazy, steamy explicit sexual encounters. And let me tell you, these folks don't hold back. We're talking pages of passages involving words like throbbing, taut, wet, lapping, riding, core, tumescence, and waves. Anyone care for a cigarette?

Now, we're all adults here. We've all read items of a mature nature. But generally speaking, these moments take place inside our heads. Even if your lips move when you read, subject matter like this stays inside your noggin. That is, unless you are enjoying the aforementioned passages as presented by books on tape. Imagine someone like Edward James Olmos sitting in your living room reading Penthouse Forum at the top of his lungs. Imagine Glenn Close belting out the closed captioning from any pornographic film you can think of. It's a whole lot of way-too-loud way-too-information served up by none other than my 91-year old mother.

Perhaps the oddest part of all is that Helen doesn't really seem to notice. She gets so blissfully lost in the book that it's hard for her to undertand how this might be perceived by those within earshot. Within earshot, by the way, includes anyone inside our house and anyone passing our house on a day when the windows are open.

You should have seen my neighbor's eyes bulge the day she was served up a heaping helping of bedroom gymnastics just because she chose the wrong time to head to the mailbox. Needless to say, we've spoken to Helen about the matter. I kindly explained that she might unwittingly be presenting inappropriate material to an unappreciative audience...or scarier still, an audience that enjoys it too much. I explained that broadcasting this sort of stuff can get you arrested, and that considering the volume involved, she's pretty close to achieving broadcast status. In theory she is in agreement. In everyday practice, however, she's not quite so clear. I remind her regularly, but can't bring myself to harp or browbeat.

Headphones? We've tried them, but even the lightest pair "squeeze my head like a vice," she says.

Not so long ago, my daughter brought over her boyfriend. As we spoke in the kitchen, a pair of characters in one of mom's books began an intimate interlude...a loud intimate interlude. As I dashed to the other room to intervene, Ally yelled out what has become her regular response to these occasions; "You know, I'm probably going to need therapy because of this."

Maybe. Or maybe she'll just look back and laugh.








That's Leslie in the middle of the guys from the John Landecker Morning Show. We used to recreate some of the scenes from her mother's romance novels on the air as a regular bit...until the program director told us to stop.






Leslie was there in the Dominican Republic as Bridget and I renewed our vows on our tenth anniversary in 2001. We did it live on the air. That's John Landecker on the left, and if you look closely, you can see my two oldest boys Tommy and Johnny too. They were crawling all over us during the ceremony. (Sean was born the next year.)


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


Coming next week...A very funny guy who was recently named as one of the "40 under 40 Attorneys To Watch" by Chicago Daily Law Bulletin: Shawn Wood. He's written a funny piece about lawyers in the movies.

From The Archives: Johnny B

I wrote the following article for a magazine called "Chicago Airwaves" in 1993 to coincide with Jonathon Brandmeier's 10th anniversary on the air in Chicago. This was just after he moved to the afternoon slot on WLUP.

He has bounced around the dial a bit since then, doing different timeslots (mornings, afternoons, middays) at different stations (WLUP, WCKG, and two stations in Los Angeles), but last October he returned to the radio station and timeslot that made him famous: Mornings on the Loop. According to Robert Feder's column in the Chicago Sun Times, for the month of January, Brandmeier was back to #1.

My latest article about his return (and Howard Stern's departure) is coming out next week in Shore Magazine (www.visitshoremagazine.com) and I will feature it here on the blog in the next few weeks.

Until it comes out, please enjoy this trip back in time...


COVER STORY: APRIL ’93--CHICAGO AIRWAVES MAGAZINE
Jonathon Brandmeier: Celebrating Ten Years of Mayhem






I had a childhood friend named Nick. Nick was the ringleader. He got all of us to do things that we never would have done in a million years. It was a genetic talent. Occasionally we would tire of Nick always being in charge, and one of us would try to take control. It was never the same. We would always return the reigns to Nick. No one was more comfortable being the center of attention. Even our mothers loved him. He was a dangerous mix of charisma, charm, and absolute fearlessness. Without him, our childhood would have been boring.

Multiply Nick by a hundred, and you get Johnny B.

It’s hard to remember Chicago radio without Johnny. Ten years ago he came to Chicago amid much fanfare, and was anything but an overnight sensation. Most of us have vague memories of him storming through those TV spots as Mr. T. We didn’t know what to make of him at first. Despite comparisons to Steve Dahl, his show was really much different. Steve was more of the classroom smart-aleck. Johnny B was the ringleader. The ringleader can be annoying to anyone outside of his gang, but once you get in the gang, you’ll walk over hot coals for him. It didn’t take long before Johnny’s genetic talents brought just about everyone into his gang. Without him, the last ten years would have been boring. It’s been quite a ride.

In radio, success is measured by cold hard statistics. Johnny has been a success by those standards. His ratings in the morning were astronomical, particularly in the most desirable 25-54 year old demographics. His ratings in the afternoon, while not quite at the same level, are still very respectable. Listening to his morning show had become a habit, and not everyone has gotten adjusted to switching him on in the afternoon (on a different station, no less, AM 1000).

Of course, his “troops” aren’t just casual listeners. They’re fanatical. Johnny has ridden the wave from success to success. His band, the Leisure Suits, has set attendance records at places like Poplar Creek Music Theatre, Alpine Valley, and the UIC Pavillion. So, you couldn’t get tickets to the sold out show? Fine, buy Chicago’s top selling video from ’89. You could have picked it up at 7-11. Don’t have a VCR? Fine, buy one of his tapes or CDs. He released one in 1984 that was Chicago’s top selling album. The one he released during Christmastime in 1986 outsold Springsteen’s live boxed set in Chicago. Just don’t feel like leaving the house? Fine, tune in his NBC television show. OK, so that wasn’t exactly Emmy material. He still leads the league in successful side gigs.

Yet, the main thing is still the radio show. Johnny is funny, Buzz Kilman (his newsman/bluesman/sidekick) is great, and just about every celebrity on the planet calls in; but the real stars of the show are the listeners. They call in and tell him what’s going on in town. They send him letters with bit ideas. They send him songs or “wacky weenies” promoting the show. Johnny simply takes it and runs with it. Before they know it, they’re wearing underwear on their head in a busy intersection, or they’re blowing up their speakers at his request. It’s just good clean fun.

Just ask Kevin Krause of Palatine. A few weeks ago the entire show took place at his house. When it was all said and done, the neighborhood had done the show for Johnny. Kevin, a budding meteorologist, did the weather (Johnny blew in a call to Tom Skilling and had him critique the performance—he asked Kevin to apply for an internship). Kevin’s friends were the live house band. Johnny sang along with them a few times, but they provided the music. The Mayor of Palatine, Rita Mullins, stopped by. Before she left, Johnny had her singing “I am Woman.” No matter what was happening, if the doorbell rang, Johnny would stop the proceedings and get the door. The show had the feel of a family gathering. Johnny had charmed Palatine, and made each and every one of them a star for the day.

It’s to his credit that he is just as comfortable at somebody’s house as he is doing an extravaganza. On April 1 he celebrated his tenth anniversary in Chicago. On April 2nd, the Chicago Theatre was filled to the rafters with his fans for Johnny’s Blowout Bash. Johnny knows how to throw a party. The celebrities were there in force to put on a show, but Johnny made sure that some of the people who made him what he is today were there too. Some of his favorite “Wacky Weenie” contributors got to perform their songs live. His fans were so devoted that some of the weeny ovations were as loud as the ovations received by the Bodeans during their live set on the show.

So now that the ten year celebration has taken place, what’s next for Johnny B? One of the main reasons he switched over to afternoons in the first place, was so that he could syndicate his show to other markets. The competition in the afternoon isn’t nearly as fierce, and very few cities have a show of Brandmeier’s caliber in that timeslot. When he first announced the change he told us; “I’d like to be on the air and rolling by April 1, 1993. I’m doing the show anyway, so what’s the difference? All we’ve got to do is turn it on somewhere. It’s not like my show is going to change. They’re going to take the show as it comes or they don’t take the show at all. I think that’s what Stern’s done very well…take it or don’t take it.”

I guess they’ll find out that “We’re all crazy in Chicago.”

We’re actually not that crazy. We just have a fun ringleader. Thanks for the ride, Johnny.





Rick’s Note: A few months after this article was published, Steve Dahl & Garry Meier’s fourteen year partnership fell apart, and the Loop was suddenly without a morning show again. After trying Kevin Matthews in that slot for awhile, the Loop eventually turned to Johnny B again. His ratings were huge again, but not long after that, the Loop was sold. The new company didn’t want to pay such a big salary, and Brandmeier became the midday host at WCKG in Chicago (hosting the show from his new home in Los Angeles—the only other major market he was ever able to syndicate his show). His stays at other stations, other markets, and other dayparts never came close to matching the success he had as the morning host of the Loop.



Celebrity Corner: The Academy Awards

This Sunday on the blog, in honor of the Academy Awards, I'll be reliving some of the memories I have of the twenty or so Oscar Nominees I've had the pleasure of meeting over the years. Among those I'll be writing about: Tom Hanks, Karl Malden, Tony Curtis, Charlton Heston, Julie Andrews, George Kennedy, Mel Brooks, Elliot Gould, Ann Margret, Linda Blair, John Travolta, Robert Duvall, Mary Tyler Moore, Harrison Ford, Albert Brooks, Adam Schlesinger (who is he? you'll find out), Stephen Rea, Tom Cruise, Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, Michael Douglas, and Bill Murray.

If you have any stories about your brushes with Oscar nominees, please send them in and I'll include your stories too.



If you've missed previous "From The Archives," click here... http://rickkaempferarchives.blogspot.com

Suburban Man: Dog Day Afternoons

“Dog Day Afternoons”
By Rick Kaempfer



When I tell people that I have three little boys, they say: “That must be a zoo.” And while it does seem to be a little zoo-like at times, I think I have a more appropriate analogy. It’s really more like a kennel.

Let me explain.

Like dogs, boys can be man's best friend. One-on-one they are lovable, playful, and accommodating. They come when you call for them and they follow commands pretty well. As long you show them attention, play with them a little bit, throw the ball around with them in the yard so they get some exercise, and feed them regularly, you couldn’t ask for a more loyal companion. When you have one boy, he can pretty much roam the house at will. Mi Casa, Su Casa, son.

Now add one more boy to the house and see what happens. At first they sort of sniff each other out (with boys, sometimes this can be literal) and get a lay of the land. If you watch them closely, and I mean very closely, you can keep the situation under control. They may nip at each other a bit, they may growl or bark, but for the most part if you closely supervise both of them, you’ll be fine.

Add a third boy to the mix and you might as well call animal control. Supervision is no longer possible. At best, you hope to contain potential destruction. Prepare yourself for this. You’ll need to be in shape, you’ll need to think fast, and you’ll need to have some sort of snack in your pocket at all times.

These pack animals (boys) have a system. A favorite trick is to go in three different directions at once, to throw you off their tracks. You'll have to make danger assessments on the spot. Where are they headed? Who can cause the most damage? The best you can do is follow the most dangerous one, and keep an eye on him, but don't forget to keep an ear out for the other two. No matter where they were heading, now that you’ve chosen to follow the dangerous one, the other two are regrouping somewhere.

This inevitably leads to the fight to see which one is the dominant male. This won't be quiet. You'll have no choice; you have to leave the dangerous one to break up the fight. They have sharp teeth and can do major damage if they aren't seperated immediately.

While you break it up, however, the dangerous one will get loose and begin hunting for danger. He’s got the nose for it, and he’ll find it. Is that a knife? Sniff, sniff. Is that an electrical socket? Sniff, sniff. What will happen if I put this razor in my mouth? Crunch. I bet this Drano will taste excellent in a sippy cup. Oooh, the stove. Let me just turn this knob here...

You can't worry about that at the moment because you've got a fight to break up. Herd the growling combatants into separate corners and take them on one at a time. Don't forget to keep your cool. Time is ticking--the dangerous one is loose and unsupervised.

The fighters can be returned to that perfect companion pretty quickly with a little positive reinforcement. Simply remain calm, show them attention, and ignore the strange noises coming from the kitchen while you get boy number one calmed down. Sometimes a hug works, but I’ve discovered that a playful belly rub, or a “whose my good boy” works better. (They also like it if you rub them behind the ears) If not, don’t forget about the snack in your pocket. This is a good time to pull it out.

Crash!

OK, don’t fear. That wasn’t coming from the dangerous boy in the kitchen. That noise came from the corner you’ve just herded boy number two. Of course you have to check it out, but do not leave boy number one without taking proper precautions. Point at him, and in a strong, firm voice, say “Stay!”

Then say it again...twice. Here’s a little tip that I’ve learned from years of experience: Always turn around on your way out of the room at least one more time to let them know you mean business. Say it with authority.

“Stay!”

Good. Now, boy two. Take a deep breath before you go talk to him. Keep in mind that whatever he has done has been done to get you away from boy number one. If you make a big deal out of it, you encourage future destruction. Did you really need that vase? My guess is that you didn't. So, don't worry about it too much. Time is ticking. Move boy two as far away from the shards of glass as possible--and let him firmly know you don't approve, but then show some love. I usually go right for the snack. The bigger the snack, the more time you’ve bought for yourself.

Before you can save boy number three from the most dangerous thing in your house (himself), you’ll need to look back in the hallway at boy number one, who by now is slowly slinking out of his corner. One more firm “Stay!” should buy you enough time to make it into the kitchen. Boy number three will have likely caused quite a bit of damage by this time, so you have to take immediate action. I recommend picking him up and sticking his nose right into the mess. It’s the only way he’ll learn.

NO DRANO! (nose right up to the bottle) NO! HOT! NO STOVE! (nose right up to the switch) NO! NO ELECTRIC SOCKET! OUCHIE! (nose right up to the socket) NO! SHARP! OUCHIE! (nose right up to the knife) NO RAZOR! OUCHIE! NO! WHAT’S THAT IN YOUR MOUTH? SPIT IT OUT. (put hand right into his mouth, pull out razor, stick it up to his nose) NO!

This boy needs to seperated from the pack and returned to his kennel...er..um... I mean bedroom. Don’t forget to toss a snack to each of the other boys on your way to the third boy's bedroom—and give them one more firm “Stay.”

If you've got earplugs, put 'em in. Boy number three will cry and whine and scratch at the door while he’s kept in his room, but at least he’ll know why he’s in trouble, and he won't be around while you're sweeping up the mess of boy two.

Whew.

That's what happens before mealtime. When they start smelling what you're making in the kitchen they will usually come begging. They'll pant as they pepper you with questions...

"What are you making Dad?"
"When is dinner Dad?"
"Is that my plate?"
"Is it done yet?"
"Is it done yet?"
"Is it done yet?"
"Is it done yet?"

This is usually when you snap and scream: "SIT!"

Like I said, it's like a kennel.

The scenario I’ve described above is what happens in my house every day between 4:00—6:30 p.m. or so. After the two older boys come home from school and before my wife comes home from work, it’s complete bedlam. And this is within the completely controlled confines of our home. What do you think happens when we have to do something in public?

Let’s just say that I no longer judge parents who buy those leashes. They make sense on so many different levels.




If you missed any Suburban Man columns, they can be found here: http://suburbanmanarchive.blogspot.com

Growing up German in Chicago

By Rick Kaempfer





Many Chicagoans are mourning the loss of our landmark German restaurant The Berghoff, which is closing its doors for good on February 28th. For those of us who were brought up in the German community in Chicago, this loss is felt on a much deeper level. Coming on the heels of the closing of “Zum Deutschen Eck,” “Hans Bavarian Lodge,” “Schulien’s,” “Metro Club,” “The Heidelberger Fass,” “The Golden Ox,” and others, a little bit of our history is dying along with it. This is a town that was built on the backs of its German immigrants.

The last wave of German immigrants arrived in Chicago after the war in the late 40s, through the end of the 50s. I was born in 1963. People my age and slightly younger were the last generation of Germans in Chicago to be brought up by off-the-boat German immigrants. I don’t mean to make that sound as if we were brought up by wolves or something (more like Wolfgang’s), but it is a rather unique experience that is difficult to understand if you haven’t experienced it personally.

On the surface Germans seem to be a relatively humorless and harsh people; reticent to show emotion. This is a shameful stereotype. If you had entered any of our German homes using traditional old-school German techniques, you would have seen happy bouncing children playing a game called “Hoppe Hoppe Reiter.” This is a cute game that recreates the thrill of riding a horse. A parent bounces the child on his or her knee while reciting a little German children’s poem. It doesn’t rhyme in English, but you can get the idea of its playfulness from the translation.

Bouncing, bouncing rider,
When you fall you scream,
Fall in a ditch,
You’ll get pecked (or eaten) by crows,
Fall in a swamp,
And you’ll....uh, oh, you’re falling now!
(Parent pretends to make child fall)

This is German learning. The lesson is clear: if you fall off your horse, something terrible will happen to you. It’s much more effective than saying: “Be Careful, Wolfgang.”

It’s a perfect example of why I get so upset when people imply Germans don’t have any emotions. Nonsense. Are you telling me that “terror” isn’t an emotion? We have that instilled in us at a very early age.

Pick up a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales sometime. Would you like to read the story of the boy who doesn’t trim his fingernails and then pokes his eyes out by mistake? No? Maybe I can interest you in the story about the boy who keeps his nose in the air when he walks outside and doesn’t see he is about to walk into a lake. This is valuable learning we’re talking about here: German-learning. Ask me how often I let my fingernails get too long. Never. How many times have I walked into lake because I wasn’t watching where I was walking? Not once.

What if the end of our German community brings an end to such common sense advice? It’s something to consider as a German landmark like “The Berghoff” closes its doors.

Let me give you another example of what we may lose. My grandparents gave me a comic book called “Max und Moritz” when I was a very young boy. This particular issue was a heartwarming tale of two bad boys who snuck into a mill to play—-even though they were warned not to do it. You want a happy ending? There are no happy endings for boys who don’t behave. Max and Moritz were crushed to death and ground up into tiny little pieces. That’s a lesson that stays with you a very long time. I’ve never stepped foot in a mill.

I could go on and on because there are hundreds of tales like this, each dispensing practical advice and life skills. The stories I’ve mentioned here just happen to be the ones that haunt me in my sleep. There are many others I managed to overcome. The one thing that German stories all have in common, however, is a moral. It’s usually some variation of “do what we say or something horrible will happen to you,” but at least there’s a message there. A perfect example of this is the most famous German tale of all time, “Hansel & Gretel.”

To summarize briefly, a little boy (Hansel) and his little sister (Gretel) were left in the woods to starve to death by their kindly father and evil stepmother. Hansel, however, brings a piece of rye bread, and leaves crumbs so that he can find his way home. Alas, birds eat the crumbs and the boy and girl are hopelessly lost. Luckily, they come across a house made out of candy. Unluckily, it’s the home of a cannibal witch who takes them prisoner, fattens them up, and is preparing to cook them. The clever children push her into the fire and kill her before she can complete her plan. When they finally make their way home, they are delighted to discover that their evil stepmother is dead too.

The moral of this story? Um...I think the cannibal witch symbolizes the evil stepmother, which symbolizes the...um...

OK, so not every story has a moral. But this one has become extra special to me nonetheless, because my father actually re-created it for me when I was a boy. I was four years old at the time and my little sister was three. This was 1967, a time when most of these great German restaurants in Chicago were still thriving. Anyway, my sister and I must have been behaving very badly, because my dad said he was going to drive us out to the woods and leave us there like Hansel & Gretel. He gave each us a piece of rye bread (I’m not kidding about this, by the way), put us in the car, and off we went. I don’t remember much of the car ride except total terrified silence.

Moments later we arrived at a convenience store. Dad ran inside, picked up a pack of smokes, and then turned the car back toward home. It wasn’t until I saw him smile that I knew we were going to survive the night. In retrospect, I think I figured out his motive. He probably realized that the original “Hansel & Gretel” didn’t have a moral, so he created one: Act up again and you’ll get the real “Hansel & Gretel” treatment. That’s German ingenuity right there.

What if that kind of ingenuity is being shuttered along with the doors of The Berghoff? It’s the sort of thing that I can’t think about for too long, because I get pretty emotional. I don’t even want to think about what will happen to this gritty town if we suddenly get soft. Without German restaurants, we’re taking that chance.


I’m finding out the hard way where this trend can lead us. I have three sons of my own now, and since my wife isn’t German, we’re not bringing them up using traditional German methods. I’ve already paid a heavy price for that. My mother smuggled my middle son to an Oktoberfest against our wishes a few years ago. He was a plump German-looking boy, and she thought he would look cute in lederhosen. By the time I sniffed out what she had done, I was too late. I arrived at the German restaurant to see my 3-year-old sitting at a table with a bunch of old-school Germans.

He had the saddest look on his face. When I went to comfort him, he looked up at me and said; “Dad, I don’t want to be a jingle boy.”

See? It’s already starting.

Do you really want to live in a city where a little boy can’t feel comfortable in lederhosen?












Strange Request: I've been hired to write a story about dude ranches for a travel issue of a magazine. Have any of you ever been to one? Care to share your story with me? I'd love to include you in the article. Click on the green word "comments" just below here and the e-mail will go right to me. Thanks.

Guest Blogger: Bill Holub

Bill Holub spent eighteen years laboring in the news department of WLUP Radio in Chicago. He wrote news for the likes of Buzz Kilman, Laura Witek, and Maggie Brock, and he hosted his own public affairs show on the station: "Chicago Street Talk." During his years at WLUP, he also introduced a young intern from his department to the producer of the Steve and Garry show. The couple was married a few years later. (Yes, I'm referring to Bridget and me, and yes that picture of Bill is from my wedding.) Bill has since left the radio business to pursue a career in computers.

Bill Holub is a huge baseball fan, and that's the reason I asked him to contribute to the blog. Every year at this time, when the pitchers and catchers started reporting to spring training, Bill would walk the hallways of WLUP saying...


THE SWEETEST WORDS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE
By Bill Holub

“Pitchers and catchers report”.

These are indeed the sweetest words in the English language. Friends have been hearing me recite this every year at this time. I once had an old poker playing friend who used to say the sweetest words have always been “I’ll play these”. This is the same friend who couldn’t win even when dealt a pat hand. That however is a story for another time and place, where an explanation of the relationship between the quantity of beer consumed, what the cards in your hand really look like and the amount of money you bet can be fully explored. It’s really something scientists should be looking at.

In the meantime, I apologize to all those who came here looking for a sentimental dialogue on romance. I’m sorry to say it but the sweetest words in the English language are not “I love you”. Now that I think of it, this may instead be a sentimental dialogue on romance and baseball.

It’s funny how the two always converge around Valentine’s Day. Spring fever is referred to as that time of year when things start to bloom as the weather changes and love is in the air. It is no coincidence that this is the same time the baseball season opens and brings hope to all of us diehard baseball romantics.

My love affair with baseball was re-ignited in 1987-88. There was only one place to catch baseball highlights from all over the major leagues back then. Once a week you could tune in to “This Week In Baseball” with good ol’ Mel Allen. During those two seasons I was hooked into witnessing two West Coast baseball Gods embodied in the forms of a young Mark Mcgwire and Jose Canseco. This is before anyone had ever heard of andro, anabolics and the other chemical cocktails that have since cast a pall over these two. Back then, I was treated week in and week out to mammoth sized home runs flying out of every ballpark in the country. The fact that these home runs were being hit by players wearing what my brother and I had always considered the coolest looking baseball uniforms in the world (the Oakland A’s green and gold) had me embracing the game I grew up on all over again.

By 1989 I was so hooked on this game I even started collecting baseball cards again, although as much as an investor as a fanboy. I also started another nasty habit that impacts my life to this day. That is when I started a fantasy baseball league with a bunch of guys at work. 1989 also happened to be a division winning season for my beloved Cubs, so I was in baseball heaven and haven’t looked back since.


THE NATIONAL PASTIME



I think we can honestly say that baseball is no longer the national pastime in this country. It has been supplanted by football. I can accept that. Although I would insist the true national pastime is gambling, which is the driving force that makes football the number one spectator sport in America. I suppose I could go off on a George Carlin type of rant here on the differences between football and baseball, but that’s not why I’m writing this piece.

I just want to point out there is one major difference between the two and that is commitment. I’m talking about the commitment between baseball fans and football fans. Football is a four month season requiring your undivided attention one day a week, or two if you’re both a college and pro fan. Baseball is a six month season requiring your undivided attention throughout with your favorite team(s) playing as many as five or more games a week.

Baseball is a commitment. I believe it carries as much of a commitment as love. They both require dedication and attention. They can both go awry despite the best laid plans. An early swan dive in the standings in May that ends a team’s season before it even had a chance can be just as painful as not having your phone calls returned after the second or third date. Meanwhile an October champagne shower celebrating a pennant or World Series championship is as sweet and memorable as a ‘yes’ to a question posed on one knee.


BASEBALL AND THE CINEMA



Once that warm baseball is back feeling starts sinking in every year, I like to get fully immersed by throwing myself into my favorite baseball movies before the games actually begin. This is my form of spring training.

You’ve got your “Bull Durham”, “Field Of Dreams”, “Major League” (only the first one, please), but there is one movie that hits me in the right spot. “City Slickers” is not a real baseball movie per se, but there’s one scene that remains among my all-time favorites. It’s where the three friends (Billy Crystal, Daniel Stern and Bruno Kirby) are on the cattle drive and passing the time by discussing their favorite baseball memories. Billy Crystal remembers the first time his father took him to Yankee Stadium as a kid and how he had never seen grass that green before. Mickey Mantle even hit a home run that day. Daniel Stern recalls how growing up he and his father never saw eye to eye, but they could always talk about baseball with each other. “We always had baseball” he says.

As for me, one of my earliest baseball memories was getting to take the day off of school with my brother because my Dad got opening day tickets to Wrigley Field. I still remember wearing our warmest winter coats and knit hats, waiting to sit down while the Andy Frain usher brushed the snow off our seats. They don’t make Aprils in Chicago like that any more.


THE SWEETEST SOUND




There is a sound that accompanies the words “pitchers and catchers report”. It is the sound of a ball popping into a mitt. The sound of a simple game of catch. It is more than the crack of a bat sound. The sound of a mitt popping brings the memories and feelings of a lifetime of baseball flooding your senses all at once. It happens every time, whether it’s major leaguers or just a game of catch with your dad or your kid. The week pitchers and catchers report there are no cracking bats, only popping mitts. The sweetest sound in the world. “Pitchers and catchers report”. The sweetest words in the English language.




Guest Bloggers coming in March: WGN Radio's Leslie Keiling, Attorney Shawn Wood, Radio personality and actor Doug James, and WFLD-TV Reporter Dane Placko


If you missed any previous guest bloggers, check them out at http://rickkaempferguestbloggers.blogspot.com

From the Archives: He's the President

It was the golden age of Presidential comedy. The President of the United States from 1993--2000 was beloved by many, but trust me when I tell you that nobody loved him more than the nation's comedy writers.



David Letterman started featuring classic Clinton jokes a year or two into Bush's first term because he missed the comedy potential so much. Jay Leno would go weeks without doing jokes about anyone else. The Daily Show cut it's comedic teeth during these years.

George Bush looked like he had comedic potential at first with his mispronunciations, but then September 11th happened, and now every Presidential joke offends about half of the country.

In the 1990s, we could laugh as one country, united in the realization that we were living in the golden age of Presidential comedy. A blue dress. A cigar. A really unpleasant whistle blower. An uptight First Lady. A chubby intern. An independent prosecutor who leaked the most lurid details. A Congressman leading the impeachment who himself had a youthful indiscretion (at age 41). An impeached President with a 70% approval rating. A 6-foot tall female Attorney General who kick any one of our butts. "It depends on what your definition of is is."

I could go on and on. I'm tearing up a little now remembering how easy it was in those days...

The John Landecker Show certainly took part in the comedy free-for-all. We had not one, not two, not three, but four songs about the President: "Big Macarena," "Intern with the Blue Dress On," "The Chipmunks Impeachment Song," and "He's the President." The biggest hit was "He's the President," which appears on Landecker & the Legends, Volume 5. Picture if you will, a man with a President Clinton mask on, dancing on-stage with the Legends as John sang this song. It was a regular part of our stage show for three or four years.

"He's the President"
(Landecker/Kaempfer)
(To the tune of "The Wanderer" by Dion)

Well there was slick Willie, talking on TV,
Said he didn't perjure based on technicalities,
We all loved his TV song and dance,
What's the matter with you Clinton can't you keep it in your pants?

He's the President,
Yeah he's the President,
In charge of foreign and domestic affairs.

Before you get feathers and before you get your tar,
JFK did it, and so did FDR,
Harding had a love child, Bill never went that far,
He just treated the oval office like the back seat of a car.

He's the President,
Yeah he's the President,
In charge of foreign and domestic affairs.

Well the ladies all look so fine,
And Bill wandered all the time,
With women 18 to 69,
But when it came to Janet Reno that's where Clinton drew the line.

Though Starr may be hated and the same with Linda Tripp,
Bill wouldn't have these problems if he just kept it zipped,
Now the only thing that's stiff is Bill's upper lip,
Or Hillary will go Bobbitt, she won't hesitate to snip.

The President.
Yeah he's the President,
In charge of foreign and domestic affairs.

So the whole country watched, the President's speech,
And some of us forgave him, and some of us preached,
But there's only a few hundred that he really had to reach,
The members of Congress with the power to impeach,

The President
Yeah, the President.
In charge of foreign and domestic affairs.

VP CORNER
While I've never actually met a President before, I have met a Vice President. Dan Quayle was another favorite target during the golden age of Presidential comedy. I met him just after he and the first President Bush lost the election to Clinton. He was appearing at Marshall Field's and signing copies of his book. I got a press pass, and although he wasn't doing any radio interviews, I brought my tape recorder anyway. Seeing that I was the only press person to show up, he agreed to do a short interview with me. I found him to be very pleasant and engaging. The main topic of our conversation was the origin of the term "Hoosier" (he's from Indiana). We replayed the interview on the air the next day. When Quayle announced he was dropping out of the 2000 Presidential race about seven years later, I wrote a song about him too. It can found on the last Landecker & the Legends CD, "20th Century Hits & Bits".


I guess I'll never understand why our current Vice President feels he needs to go hunting this very nice man (Quayle). I hope he never successfully shoots him.



If you missed any of the previous "From The Archives," click here: http://rickkaempferarchives.blogspot.com

Suburban Man: President's Day

“President’s Day”


When you’re a little kid, there’s really nobody in the world more impressive than the President of the United States. It doesn’t matter what your parent’s political affiliations are, the President is in charge of this whole country. If you aren’t impressed by that, you aren’t easily impressed. I guess my oldest son Tommy isn’t easily impressed.

I’ll let you judge for yourself if he is a fan of the current President. When I took him into the voting booth with me (as part of his Cub Scout requirement) in November of 2004, he was aghast when he thought I had voted for him. He screamed it—“Dad, I think you accidentally voted for George Bush!”

I smiled weakly at the old people voting alongside me in my staunchly Republican district. Tommy wouldn’t let it go. “Dad, you better ask for another ballot.”

I said “Don’t worry, Tommy.”

I’m not going to tell you if Tommy saw it correctly or not, because that’s why we have secret ballots. My Dad hammered that into my head every election day. I would ask him who he voted for, and he would say; “None of your business.” (All part of the touchy-feely German love we shared at my house). In this case, though, I think he was right. Don’t insist on your son believing in certain politics, let him find his own way in the world. If your party of choice can’t convince him, they don’t deserve his vote.

I’ve tried to follow the same model with my kids. As a humor writer, I’m admittedly always going to be poking more fun at people in power than those not in power, but other than the occasional joke—I try very hard not to get into “I’m right, you’re wrong” politics with my kids. There is no reason to make this into one of those “if you don’t believe what I believe, you can’t live under my roof” kind of homes. I learned my lesson about the effectiveness of that strategy when my rabid-Cubs love inadvertently turned my baby brother into a White Sox fan.

Which brings me to my middle son, Johnny. Johnny is a traditional kid. He respects authority. He loves the President. In fact, he thinks the President is just about the most impressive person in the world. I’ve actually seen him clap when Bush appeared on television. It’s kind of cute.

The morning after the presidential election, the first thing Johnny asked me was: “Who won, Dad?”

I said; “George Bush”

He clapped, then raised his hands in the air triumphantly, screaming “Yeah!”

Tommy hung his head. He asked: “Was it legitimate this time?”

I said: “Looks like it.”

Johnny clapped again and said; “I can’t wait until I’m an eagle scout.”

Tommy and I looked at each with confused expressions. “Why is that Johnny?” I asked.

“Because then I can write a letter to the President!”

Someone along the way had obviously told Johnny that writing a letter to the President was among the perks of being an Eagle. When I mentioned to him that he didn’t have to wait until becoming an Eagle, he was so excited he went downstairs and wrote it immediately. Keep in mind that he was in 1st grade at the time, and was just beginning to learn how to write. This is what he wrote:

“Dear Mr. President: My name is Johnny. I’m 6 ½ years old. I have 2 brothers. Their names are Tommy and Sean. I like your job a lot. I’m only a Tiger Cub Scout. Well, that’s not all, Mr. President. I hope you have a nice day today. You’re my fav! From Johnny Kaempfer”

I love that letter.

I got the address to the White House and made him address the letter himself, figuring there was a better chance of getting a response if the envelope was clearly addressed by a little kid. For the next few weeks, every day after school Johnny would ask me if the President had written him back yet. I could see the disappointment in his eyes when I told him he hadn’t. I told him that the President receives millions of letters, and he can’t possibly answer all of them.

A few months later a big manila envelope arrived with the return address: THE WHITE HOUSE. I must admit, I was shocked. Johnny set his own personal vertical jump record (about three inches—Kaempfers can’t jump) when I showed it to him.

“Oh boy!”

I helped him open it. It was picture of George and Laura Bush, and a letter addressed to Johnny. Here’s a scanned copy of the letter...
















I know, I know. It's way too hard to read at this size. Here is what the letter says:

“Dear Johnny,

Thank you for writing. I always enjoy hearing from young Americans. During this important time in our history, you can help America by setting high goals, working hard in school, and helping others in your community. Our country needs your idealism, hope, and energy.

I also encourage you to strive to learn something new every day. You can read more about issues that interest you, current events, and the history of our country by visiting your library or by logging onto the White House websites, www.whitehousekids.gov and www.whitehouse.gov. By understanding the events of today and learning more about our past, you can become a responsible citizen and help make the world a better place.

Mrs. Bush and I send our best wishes for your future success.

Sincerely,

George W. Bush”

So, while most kids happily just took the day off yesterday, I had one in this house who actually celebrated President’s Day. His older brother didn’t. I agree with one of them more than the other, but is there a reason to pick sides? It’s not like it’s important. This isn’t like the Cubs-White Sox issue. One side isn’t always right, and the other side isn’t always wrong.

The only certainty is that both of them are wrong sometimes. To think otherwise kills your sense of humor. Look at what it’s done to Dennis Miller and Al Franken. Those guys used to be funny.

Raising a Democrat (Tommy), a Republican (Johnny), and an Independent (Sean) is just fine with me, because they'll realize there is more than one perspective in the world.

Raising a humorless kid?

I don't think I could ever forgive myself.



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

Guest Blogger: Dobie Maxwell

Dobie Maxwell is one of the most accomplished stand-up comedians working in America today. He'll be at Zanies in Chicago this week (Feb 21-26). I highly recommend his stand up act. I think I'm going to check it out again, if somebody wants to join me--drop me a line--we can go together. If you aren't in Chicago, keep a look out for his name. He plays in comedy clubs all over the country. (If you are in a town that has "The Bob & Tom Show," you've probably heard Dobie many times. He is a semi-regular guest on that show.)

I got to know Dobie when I was briefly consulting his radio show in Chicago. He was one of the Morning Loop Guys for a little more than a year. When the company that owned the station (WLUP) was sold, Dobie was fired along with the rest of the morning team.

Chicago Sun Times columnist Robert Feder described it this way in his Jan 14th 2005 column.

"In its farewell under Bonneville International, classic rock WLUP had its best book in more than a year. New owner Emmis Communications dumped "Loop Morning Guys" Dobie Maxwell, Max Bumgardner and Spike Manton just as they were showing solid growth."

Dobie responds: "Welcome to Showbusiness. That's just what happens sometimes. They blow out a morning show for no good reason, maybe just to give their friends a new job. That happens a lot in radio. So, Mr. Lucky gets it right up the asteroid. It was a great job, and working with Greg Solk, Max, Spike and Bruce Wolf, was working with true professionals in the biz."

Ahem, I'm sure he also meant to include my name in that quote.

One of his signature bits on that show was called the "60 Second Soapbox", a rant about the subject of the day.


I asked him to write one for President's Day, and this is what he sent me.



60 Second Soapbox: Presi-dense Day
by Dobie Maxwell

Brothers and sisters, misses and misters, flag wavers and time savers - thanks for taking time out to read my random ramblings. Before I expound any further on said topic, first let me say that I am a proud American. I love my country warts and all and I love to do American things.

I eat hot dogs, even though I know what's really in them. I vote whatever Tuesday they tell me to show up. Whenever I can I outsource jobs to countries whose names I can't even pronounce.

I wouldn't live anywhere else in the world if they paid me, except of course if I could be a judge when they pick the Swedish Bikini Team. I love the U.S. of A. and that's no B.S. All that being said, I think that President's Day in it's current form is totally useless and needs to be chopped down like George Washington's infamous cherry tree. I cannot tell a lie either, it's STUPID.

Every year I get my cheapo calendar from my insurance agent with the bad toupee and every year I flip through it to see how many Friday the 13ths there are or if there are any sexy pictures of hot babes who've been in car accidents the previous year. There never are and like a BAD neighbor, it annoys the hell out of me. I also check to see when the holidays are and inevitably there is always a Monday set aside for President's Day. I seem to remember as a kid that both Lincoln and Washington's birthday were both around the same time in February and were each a separate event but someone must have stuck a feather in them both and called it macaroni.

I always thought being President of The United States was something to shoot for, but evidently it's only something to shoot AT. Old Honest Abe took a bullet for our land and he gets his birthday clumped in with a guy with wooden teeth and some furniture and bed sheet sales. That's not a very good way to pay tribute to Mr. Stovepipe hat, even if we did put him on TWO pieces of our money. $5.01 is NOT payment enough for such a major disrespect.

George Washington got a raw deal too. Here is a guy who did it FIRST, and had to go through life with a hairdo that looks like Buckwheat walked home in a blizzard and he doesn't even get his props, even though he got two pieces of currency too. A buck and a quarter doesn't cut it.

But what about all the other esteemed leaders of our land? They don't get even one iota of love on this meaningless 'holiday'. When was the last time a Rutherford B. Hayes question was on a final exam to qualify for citizenship? Is there a Chester A. Arthur Memorial in Washington D.C.? How about ANYWHERE? Presidents are like Super Bowls, there aren't that many of them and they are supposed to be special but most of them usually fall far short of expectations.

I am usually reminded it's President's Day when I go to the bank on a random Monday and am caught off guard when the door is locked as I try to beat the rubber checks I wrote over the past weekend to the teller's window. I then curse and swear and try to calculate how much in fees it will cost me for the bounced checks, and never ONCE do I take time to honor our esteemed and long dead forefathers of freedom.

I think rather than close banks and post offices and make everyone angry and inconvenienced, I say we have a national trivia contest to learn the facts about ALL our former presidents, not just George and Abe. That way if we know about the past we can maybe do a little better when electing them in the future. We should know what Nixon's favorite wrestling hold was or if Harry Truman could do a cart wheel or if Jimmy Carter had webbed feet. There have to be all kinds of random bits of information that slipped through the historical cracks over the years. I think we as Americans have a right to know. What kind of booze did Ulysses S. Grant like the best? Did Thomas Jefferson play Yahtzee? And just how big WAS that stick Teddy Roosevelt carried?

The prizes could be a year off paying tax or free unlimited postage for a year. The government is already broke so this little perk wouldn't make it any worse. This way we'd all look FORWARD to President's Day and wouldn't be so stupid when it comes to actually knowing anything about who's in charge and ultimately makes decisions that affect all of us. I don't know about you, but this seems like a great idea to me. I'm sure it will seem even greater when I stupidly go to the bank on that Monday like I usually do, even though I wrote this article and it should serve as a warning. I may be too stupid to heed the warning but there is still hope for you. Good luck!

I'm Dobie Maxwell, proud American. And THAT is all the people need to know.




Dobie teaches a stand up comedy class at Zanies. This is the book he wrote for that class.




Dobie has one CD out and is in the process of putting out another one. Check out his website: www.dobie.com

This Week News & Views (Feb 11-Feb 17)

This Week News & Views
By Rick Kaempfer





There really was only one story this week, but it was a doozy...


*Dick Cheney Shoots Man
CORPUS CHRISTI, Texas--The Vice President of the United States, Dick Cheney, accidentally shot a hunting partner during a weekend quail hunting trip at a lobbyist's ranch in Texas. The victim, 78 year old Attorney Harry Whittington, was shot at close range in the face, neck, and chest.
Katharine Armstrong, who witnessed the shooting from the car said "he was peppered pretty good." While recovering in a Texas hospital, Whittington suffered a mild heart attack.


It's a big story, but I couldn't really think of an angle. Oh no, wait a minute. Here are 24 angles.

1. It took Cheney 95 hours before he made a public comment. I guess, under the circumstances, he decided it wasn't a good idea to shoot his mouth off.

2. When he finally did talk to Fox News, he explained that he kept the story hidden so that the truth would be told. (Cough) Okey dokey.

3. The pundits were aghast that the reporters were so callous that they didn't even ask how Cheney was feeling. I'm sorry, did you just use "Cheney" and "feeling" in the same sentence? I think that's officially grammatically incorrect.

4. When Brit Hume asked Cheney if this accident had made him reconsider his love of hunting, Cheney pointed out that he did cancel the Sunday hunt that was scheduled. And you thought he had no feelings.

5. Typical biased media. The press only focuses on the bad things about Cheney. Why don't they ever report about the people he didn't shoot?

6. When Brit Hume asked him how close he was to Whittington, Cheney said they were acquaintances--not close friends. "This was the first time we were hunting together," he said. I'm guessing it's also the last.

7. I thought Cheney's re-creation of the shooting was pretty convincing. Cheney said, "Harry, can I ask you a question?" and Whittington responded, "Sure, Dick. Shoot."

8. Cheney admitted he had one beer earlier that day. Police have determined that alcohol wasn't an issue in this case because they interviewed him only fourteen hours after the shooting and he wasn't drunk. Somewhere on Long Island Billy Joel is firing his lawyer.

9. Cheney also wouldn't let them look at the gun. That one I can understand. Everyone knows you can't trust weapons inspectors.

10. The "witness" to the shooting, Katharine Armstrong, who later described the shooting in detail to the press, said her first reaction upon seeing the security staff running into the field was concern something had happened to the Vice President. Cross-examining attorneys refer to that kind of quality "eye witness" as a "LaTroy Hawkins fastball right down the middle."

11. The third person in the hunting party, U.S. ambassador to Switzerland & Liechtenstein Pamela Pitzer Willeford, allegedly asked; "Who wants to shoot first?" And Whittington responded: "I'm game."

12. Should the U.S. Ambassador to Switzerland and Liechtenstein really be in Texas when the Winter Olympics are underway? This is the only time every four years that anyone cares about either country.

13. As he lay on the ground, the victim said; "Mr. Vice President, I think you hit me in the heart." "Shake it off, Harry," Cheney responded. "I've been living without one since 1991."

14. The strangest part of this story is the way they broke from protocol. Usually they shoot the messenger.

15. In the Brit Hume interview, Cheney used the word "accuracy" eight times. Um, Mr. Vice President...I'm thinking you should stay away from that word for awhile.

16. Cheney's own health is so fragile, he has an ambulance follow him wherever he goes. That may have helped save Whittington's life in this case. At least this time the lawyer ended up in the ambulance instead of chasing it.

17. Republican tort reform. One lawyer at a time.

18. I found myself feeling sorry for Brit Hume during the interview. He did ask one tough question--and Cheney didn't like it. Hume implied that there was plenty of information that could have been released to the public on Saturday night even though they didn't know Whittington's exact condition. That's when Cheney produced a note from Epstein's mother.

19. Brit Hume said earlier this week that he didn't think "anyone in the country feels deprived that we didn't learn about this story for a few days." You've got to love his journalistic instincts and curiosity.

20. Hume also said he got the interview because "Cheney wanted the biggest audience possible." That's absolutely true. Other than the three network newscasts which have up to five times more viewers, and the network newsmagazines which have even more viewers, Fox News has the highest ratings. It wasn't because Cheney read Hume's quote in #19.

21. This was traumatic for Cheney. After he shot the man he had Vietnam flashbacks. Oh no wait, sorry. Wrong guy. He had Vietnam flashbacks after he drank his beer at lunch that day.

22. The reaction among Democrats has been predictable. Ted Kennedy pointed out the double standard: "Cheney left a woman (Katharine Armstrong) in a car too, and nobody is giving him a hard time about it."

23. Don't you wonder what kind of beer he was drinking at lunch? My guess: Killians.

24. Of all the days for the White Sox to get booked to visit the White House, it just happens to be the day news comes out that the Vice President shot somebody in the face. It turned out to be a good thing for Paul Konerko, who may have been a tad underdressed.












This Week: ALMANAC

*Susan B. Anthony Day (Feb 15)
This holiday honors one of the first women’s rights advocates. She dedicated her adult life working for women’s right to vote. It wasn’t enacted into law until fourteen years after her 1906 death.
=I always celebrate this day by buying the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.

*Yoko One’s Birthday (Feb 18)
The widow of John Lennon, who this past week was given the honor of opening the Olympic Games in Torino, will be 73 years old tomorrow.
=She is starting to look a little closer to her age lately, but, knock on wood, she still has her pleasant singing voice.


Reader Response

Regarding John Moran's Guest Blog on Divorced Dating

"Hey John, do you ever use your sons to troll for hot moms? I like to do it at the doctor's office."
---A

John Responds: "Thanks for the tip. I'll include it in the rotation of Target, the grocery store, and all kid's sporting/school events."


Regarding last week's "News & Views"

"You actually used the word 'Kvetching'. OK, I busted up at that one. I think, other than Joy Behar, you are the only non-Jew I've ever heard use that word! And willingly and correctly, too..."
---L

Rick Responds: "You're a mensch for noticing."


Regarding Suburban Man's Valentine's Day dilemma.

"I sympathize with your consternation about Valentine's day and the appropriate gift, but I'm sure it has to do with your cultural heritage as well as your sex. German's are simply deficient in the romantic gene:
Russians - ballet
Greeks - theatre
French - the Louvre
Italians - opera
Germans - celebrating the prince's wedding--Octoberfest (no Hallmark card for that holiday)"
---W

"I have to agree with High Maintenance Women. My ex (the martyr) used to say that she didn't want flowers, but it was a ruse. Beware if she starts asking you what her favorite color is; it's a trap and the first sign of trouble."
---J

"Well...what did you get for Valentine's Day from your wife? You have to update us."
---B

Rick responds: The smarty-pants actually gave me a heart-shaped box of chocolates. I bet her secretary picked it out.


Regarding the Bald Minute

"It seems that there are two types of bald men: One in whom the man
predominates, and one in whom the baldness predominates. Examples:
The Man Predominates (Michael Jordan, Bruce Willis, Sean Connery)
The Baldness Predominates (George Costanza, of course, Judge Alito, and
most T.V. weathermen)."
---C

Dave responds: Excellent point. Which one is Dick Cheney?

From the Archives: Hats off to Harry

Milo Hamilton, the Houston Astros Play-by-Play man and former Cubs broadcaster, has written a book. In the book "Making Airwaves", he has taken quite a few shots at a Chicago icon--Harry Caray.


Among the things he wrote about Harry in his book:

*After Harry left the White Sox to take over the Cubs job, he talked to Milo. Harry told him "Well, kid, if I were you, I'd leave town."

*Milo didn't like the way he broadcasted. "He rode the managers, he rode the players, it didn't matter. He treated everyone the same way. In short, he was a miserable human being."

*When Milo was hospitalized for leukemia in 1982, Harry responded on the air that he "Couldn't understand how a guy can take time off during the season. Unlike some other broadcasters I know, I've never missed a game."


In my nearly twenty years in Chicago radio (and even before that), I ran into Harry Caray many times. Does Milo's version of Harry sound like the Harry I knew? Judge for yourself. Here are a few examples of my Harry encounters.



*In 1984, my radio station in Champaign (WPGU) was carrying the Cubs. I got to go to the affiliate reception at the Hyatt Regency in Chicago with the General Manager of our station (who happened to be my girlfriend at the time). We met Harry, had a few cocktails with him, and he nearly pushed me out of the booth to hit on my girlfriend.

*In 1989, I was producer of the Steve and Garry show. It was their tenth anniversary on the air together, and I called people from their past to relive the memories on the air. Since Harry was the play-by-play man for the White Sox during Steve & Garry's famous Disco Demolition stunt, I called him at his home (he lived in a hotel in my neighborhood). When I told him what show I was calling for, he went nuts on me, and called Steve and Garry every name in the book. Needless to say, he didn't come on. (In fairness to Harry, I called Jimmy Piersall next and he was even more belligerent. I hadn't even heard some of those words before. Whew.)

*In 1994, I was the producer of the John Landecker Show. It was the week before the strike and Harry was our guest. We told him the interview would be about two things; the strike and Harry's encounter about Elvis (a great story we had heard him tell to Bob Costas. Remember, this was an Oldies station.) When John brought up Elvis, Harry said he didn't want to tell the story. When John said he thought the strike was really going to happen, Harry basically called John stupid--saying that there "was no way in hell that will happen. There's too much money at stake." The interview lasted about two minutes.


Granted, I cherry-picked those stories from my many encounters. There were other times he was a great guy, an accomodating guy, and a fun guy. I was actually a huge fan, and I never took any of this stuff personally. For every bad encounter, there wa s a good one. In short, he was human.

So is Milo right? Probably. Is Milo wrong? Definitely.

I could tell that Harry never remembered my name when I saw him, but he did recognize my face. He called me "Kid," like I'm sure he called everyone else under 70. Heck, Milo said he called him "Kid," so maybe he didn't stop at 70. Despite his flaws, Harry was larger than life. Anyone who ever met him, remembers it well.

When he died, I was inspired to write the following song. Landecker & The Legends performed it that whole summer, and it appears on "Landecker & The Legends, Volume 5." It's to the tune of "Hats of to Larry" by Del Shannon. You may not know the tune, but you can still see my affection for him in the lyrics.

"Hats Off to Harry"
(Landecker/Kaempfer)






When I went to Wrigley Field,
And the seventh inning came,
You weren't in broadcast booth,
It will never be the same,

We miss you Harry, Holy Cow,
I'm here at the old ballpark,
Waiting for your last bow,
But it's God's Plan,
To take away the main Bud Man,
Harry I'm crying in my beer for you.

Though you mispronounced some names,
You are in the Hall of Fame,
Baseball will never be the same.

Hats Off to Harry,
We'll miss your glasses,
We'll miss you in the booth,
Checking out the lasses,
Cruel twist of fate,
Chip's broadcasting behind home plate,
Harry I'm crying in my beer for you.

Bye Harry Caray,
It's not the same,
No more Ryne Sanderson,
No backwards names,
You're the only one,
Who could make a lousy team such fun,
Harry I'm crying in my beer for you.
For You.
For You.
For You.

I also wrote the following article for "Upbeat Chicago" magazine in 1992. This is to show you I didn't just get sentimental about him after Harry died. I really was a fan.



There's Nothing Like Fun From The 'Ol Ballpark
by Rick Kaempfer

From Upbeat Chicago


It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. My wife rolled out of bed around noon, her usual weekend wake up time, and I was ready for her. The picnic basket was packed to the gills, the cooler was packed with a few frosty cold ones, and the blanket was folded nicely.

"Are we going on a picnic?" she asked.

I nodded in the affirmative, and off we went to Lincoln Park. She was still groggy and groaning.

It was time for a bribe. I handed her a book she had been longing to buy. The groan was replaced by a smile, which was then quickly replaced by a scowl when I pulled the radio out of the picnic basket.

"Are we really going to be listening to a baseball game?"

I comforted her. "No, we're going to listen to two baseball games."

I always thought that listening to sporting events on the radio was an underrated form of entertainment. If the announcers are good, the experience can be more exciting than watching the game on television or live at the ballpark. I decided to attempt to prove this to the most skeptical anti-sport fan around.

She comes from a family of White Sox fans, so I thought I would hook her more easily with that game. After all, the Sox are a better team. They're in first place, and the city is catching White Sox fever. Right? Wrong. Not this groggy little filly. John Rooney and Ed Farmer are a good team on WMAQ. They are efficient, polished broadcasters. Unfortunately, they don't really inspire the same kind of excitement as their television counterparts. In fact, after about two innings we suddenly had two groggy campers. I switched it over to WGN.

It was the third inning. Thom Brennaman and Ron Santo admittedly had a better game to work with, but instantly that excitement I was looking for was in the air.

Brennaman is one of Chicago's most underrated broadcasters. He's young, but he is also a first rate baseball announcer. He has a natural delivery, a self assured confident air about him, and most importantly, an engaging personality. His barbs at Santo come frequently, but they are done without the slightest trace of animosity. It sounds like two good friends just chatting about the ballgame, complete with just the right mixture of unabashed rooting and playful sarcasm.

The age difference doesn't seem to matter. Brennaman was still more worried about getting his box of 64 Crayola Crayons when Santo covered the hot corner for the Cubs in the 60's and early 70s. Still, he directs the flow of the broadcast. At the age of 29, he handles the pressures of the big time with ease and grace.

I found myself wishing he wasn't about to switch over to TV, but I knew it was time for the man that is now the Cubs/WGN franchise; Harry Caray. He works the middle innings on the radio. It has become fashionable to bash Harry over the last few seasons. I admit that I laugh at his mispronunciations and occasional gaffes.

I don't know why, but this season I also appreciate Harry more than I have for years. It seems he has regained his edge; his ire turns on the Cubs more easily, his cackle at his own expense is infectious, and his love of the simple things connects with the fan in all of us.

The Cubs hit a long ball. "It might be", his voice raised to meet the excitement of the game. "It could be", the cheer of the crowd reverberated. "It is!" And it was like I was there. Only better. The imagination paints a much more vivid picture than reality.

I lifted my frosty cold one to toast the man when he said "There's nothing like fun at the old ballpark."

I turned to my wife to clink cans with her. Surely Harry must have turned her around. Finally, after all these years I had created the perfect scenario for her to appreciate what I have loved since childhood. She had a big smile on her face. Her imagination was painting a Rembrandt.

Unfortunately, she was fast asleep.

The Bald Minute: Bald Love

In her book “On Death & Dying,” Elizabeth Kubler-Ross identified the five stages of grieving; Denial & Isolation, Anger & Rage, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. The bald or balding man goes through the same stages while grieving for his hair loss, but no-one recognizes or acknowledges that pain. Until now.

In our upcoming book, “The Bald Handbook,” co-author Dave Stern (bald) and I (bald spot) leave no bald stone unturned as we look at each stage closely to help the balding male cope with his painful reality. Until the book comes out, this blog will present nuggets and pearls of wisdom from the book in short weekly segments, we call…”The Bald Minute.” (This feature is available for radio syndication…click on the e-mail link to inquire).


"Bald Love"
By Rick Kaempfer & Dave Stern






R: Hi and welcome to another installment of the Bald Minute. Today's Bald Minute subject?

D: Bald Love.

R: Dave, let me share a letter from a female fan. She writes, "I read somewhere that bald men have higher testostorone counts. I always tell men that are losing hair that they shouldn't feel bad--they're manlier."

D: Amen, sister. Have you ever noticed how many beautiful woman end up with bald guys? Testosterone is not the only reason.

R: It's true. Beautiful women do have pretty impressive olfactory glands. They can smell testosterone, but they can also smell something else Stage 5 bald men have an abundance of...

D: Money.

R: And why is that, Dave?

D: When a bald man reaches Stage 5 Acceptance, he no longer spends money on the following items:
• Shampoo
• Gel
• Mousse
• Rogaine
• Propecia
• Hair restoration specialists
• Baseball hats
• Sombreros
• Derbies
• Fedoras
• Foam-cheese heads
• Emu Oil
• Wigs
• Hair-weaves
• Combs
• Brushes

R: That adds up over time, giving the Stage 5 bald man more spending money than other men.

D: And the Stage 5 bald man also becomes more successful at work, because he no longer spends his work day doing the following:
• shopping for hats
• trying on hats
• washing and maintaining hats
• reading hat catalogues
• ordering hats from catalogues
• writing angry letters to makers of sham bald products
• writing letters to attorneys of sham bald products
• testifying at Grand Jury hearings against sham bald products
• explaining to the cops why you punched your bald-joke-loving brother-in-law
• stalking and taunting Benecio Del Toro
• hunting animals for their hair


R: That's quite an attractive male cocktail you're describing there; virile and rich.

D: But you'll never know that, bald brothers, until you reach Stage 5. Give up the combover, and start working through the stages of grieving for your loss. Testosterone can only take you so far.

R: For more information about bald acceptance...

D: Including our plan for taking over the world...

R: Look for our upcoming book, "The Bald Handbook." Reporting for the Bald Minute, I'm Rick Kaempfer

D: And I'm Dave Stern.





BALD BONUS: BALDS IN THE NEWS

Big week for Balds in the News

STAGE ONE--DENIAL ALERT
*Canadian Hockey Goaltender Jose Theodore tested positive this week for Propecia, which the Olympic committee says is often used as a "masking" agent. Theodore has been taking Propecia for eight years, despite having a full head of hair.

How many of our bald brothers ran out to the store and bought Propecia after hearing he has a full head of hair? Guys, this isn't a story because the Propecia gave him a full head of hair. It's a story because he had a full head of hair and he shouldn't be taking Propecia.


STAGE ONE--ISOLATION ALERT
*In last week's Bald Minute we talked about "Isolation." No matter how many times we point out to balding men that there is no place to hide in the world, some balding man still thinks he can do it. The latest example--Explorer Steve Fossett. After getting in a balloon and flying around the world (those things have to come down sometime, Steve-o), you would think that Steve would have learned he couldn't get away. Last week he tried to stay in an ultra-light airplane forever. It didn't work out, either.

Steve...we implore you. Give it up. There is nowhere to hide. Acceptance is the only way.


STAGE TWO--ANGER ALERT
Even when working through your stage 2 rage, bald on bald attacks are never okay. Target fullheads or you're wasting valuable bald rage.


STAGE TWO--ANGER CLARIFICATION

When we say "target fullheads" Mr. Vice President, we don't mean it literally. Next time, try a verbal attack. Yes, I know it's annoying the man still has a full head of hair at 78 years of age, but there are more subtle ways to address that.


STAGE TWO HALL OF FAME

What do these two Vice Presidents (Aaron Burr and Dick Cheney) have in common? Hmmm. Let's see. Is there a physical similarity? Hmmm. Do they have similar hobbies? Well, yes on both counts. But they are also both members of the Stage 2 (Bald Anger & Rage) Hall of Fame. Cheney gets his award for shooting a guy this week, but to be fair, he was already under consideration for his love of torture. Burr not only shot a guy (Alexander Hamilton), he was accused of treason for attempting to invade Mexico so that he could then invade America and name himself President. Cheney's good, but he's not that good. Yet.




If you missed any previous Bald Minutes, click here: http://thebaldhandbook.blogspot.com

Suburban Man: Valentine's Day

By Rick Kaempfer



I’ve been told that everybody in America knows the ground rules of Valentine’s Day. Even though it’s supposedly a holiday for lovers, the responsibility for a gift is strictly a one-way proposition. The man is expected to get the woman a gift, and the woman is expected to receive that gift.

I never bought that concept and I thought my wife didn't either. She and I agreed not to get each other anything for Valentine's Day shortly after we were married, and I fully intended on keeping my end of the bargain. Inevitably, however, a well-intentioned high maintenance woman in my office (it wasn't always the same woman, but it was always the same message), would convince me I was a moron for not getting a gift.

A typical exchange would go something like this:

"What did you get your wife for Valentine's Day?"

“She said she didn’t want a gift,” I would say.

“Trust me,” High Maintenance Woman would reply, “She's only saying that because she doesn’t want to sound greedy.”

“Really?”

“Listen to me,” she would say, “If you don’t bring home a Valentine’s gift, you’re a dead man.”

Even though I was pretty sure I understood my wife better than High Maintenance Woman did, I started doubting myself. After all, I’m just a man. I can’t be expected to understand something as complex as a woman—-even the woman with whom I’ve chosen to spend the rest of my life. Who understands a woman better than another woman? She might be right.



Inevitably I would stop at the store and pick something up for my wife, and every year when I handed her the gift she was mad at me.



“I thought we agreed not to buy each other anything?” she would say.

“Did you really mean that?” I would ask.

“Of course I did. I said it, didn't I?”

I felt like such a fool. Why didn’t I trust my instincts? The next day when I told High-Maintenance Woman about my wife’s reaction, she explained that my wife was obligated to be mad at me to save face.

“That makes no sense,” I would say.

“Did she give you the traditional gift?” High Maintenance Woman asked coyly.

“She didn't get me anything."

"Not even the (wink) traditional gift?"

"There’s a traditional gift for a man?” I asked.

She winked again.

Oooooh. I get it. I’m slow, but I’m not that slow.

“Those are the ground rules?” I asked.

High Maintenance Woman nodded. “Everybody knows that.”

I never told my wife about these conversations, because I never knew what to believe. On the surface my wife is such a sensible and practical woman. It’s one of the main reasons I married her. I didn't want to believe that she had been living by these imaginary rules for all these years without telling me.

What if she is really a totally different person beneath the surface, waiting ten or fifteen years to show me her real self? What if she has just been pretending to communicate with me by using the traditional method (words) while actually integrating a devious subtext? My whole world could be built on a series of false assumptions.

That's the sort of thing I didn't want to know. Ignorance is bliss.

On the other hand, this is the year I'll find out if it's true or not. Now I’m the one at home, taking care of the kids, cooking the dinner, and (sort of) cleaning the house. If High Maintenance Woman was right (and my wife would know if she was or not), then I’m the one that should get the gift this year.

I already did my part. Yesterday I made a big point of reminding my wife not to get me anything. We’ll see if she brings me something or not.

If she does, I’m willing to give her the traditional gift in return.

Although, I’m still not 100% sure I know what that is.







This is the funniest Valentine's Day card I could find. Think she'll like it?







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