Suburban Man: Dash

SUBURBAN MAN: Dash




The definition of “older” father has changed dramatically over the last few decades. At least that’s what I told myself when we had our youngest son. I was 39 at the time, and was more or less handling the challenge of two boys pretty successfully. I figured—what the heck. What’s one more? We have all the clothes already. We know what we’re doing. I’m still pretty healthy. By all means, bring it on.

Whoops.

Up until his first birthday I was still pretty sure I could handle it. I had seen wild children in the mall and at neighborhood and family gatherings. But those children obviously weren’t supervised well enough by their parents. My boys are pretty well behaved, and I believed it was due to my wife’s caring, nurturing, and disciplined home.

Whoops again.

Our youngest son, who we’ve nicknamed “Dash” after the character in the movie “The Incredibles” never learned how to walk. His first step was taken at full speed. The scientists from General Motors have actually moved into our home to study how anything can go from 0-60 mph in one second. I’m awaiting their diagnostic report.

It would be one thing if I was younger. There was a time when I could have chased down this child without pulling a hamstring or groin, or throwing out my back lunging for one of his nifty fake-out moves. Granted, it was at least twenty years ago, but at least I know it was possible at one time. My two older boys (10 & 7) can’t catch him. My wife (younger than me) can’t catch him. The neighborhood dogs can’t catch him.

The following is a true story. My aunt was having a backyard barbeque. Dash went into the house for a moment. What could go wrong? The house was full of something like twenty family members. Plus, there were enough toys inside to occupy a normal child for an entire afternoon. I didn’t think anything of it.

Suddenly a strange woman walked into the backyard with a 2-year-old in her arms. He looked remarkably similar to my son Dash. My aunt didn’t even know the lady…because she lived all the way down the street. Apparently Dash had run into the house, past a houseful of unsuspecting relatives, out the front door, and down the street without anyone noticing. We were lucky that this woman saw what direction he came from, because she grabbed him (probably with some sort of a cheetah-capturing device) and rang doorbells until she found the right house. Total elapsed time? 5 minutes.

One more true story before I go to rehab for my rotator cuff injury. On top of setting child speed records, Dash can unsnap his own car seatbelt. How did I discover this you ask? Well, it happened on a side street one day not too far from our home. I was driving when I heard someone jostling the spare change compartment. That’s odd, I thought. Dash is the only other person in the car with me and he’s firmly seat-belted more than three feet away from the spare change compartment. When I turned around, he was there. He had a big grin on his face and a dime in his hand.

I did the best I could to avoid cardiac arrest, pulled the car over to the curb, and got out so that I could crawl into the backseat. In the time it took me to do that, he jumped into the front seat, and inserted the dime into my CD player. Total damage: $600. Total elapsed time? One second.

So now that I’ve been an older father for 3 years, what are my conclusions? Has it been just like I thought it would be—no big deal? Um…well I was right about one thing—we didn’t have to buy any new clothing.

As for the other assumptions? The data is inconclusive. This child isn’t a representative sample. A professional athlete would have a hard time keeping up with him. It’s not just because I’m old…and out of shape…and slow…and really really tired.

At least that’s what I tell myself as the trainers treat my pulled hamstring.







Remember: All comments are welcome and encouraged (and all of them are read by me). Simply click on "comments" below this post or the "e-mail me" link on the right. I periodically post the best/funniest comments in a seperate post. Unlike other blogs they won't appear in the comments section--because I find that more people read the comments when they are part of a post.

Jokes for a Monday Morning

JOKES FOR A MONDAY MORNING



1. Two small boys, not yet old enough to be in school, were overheard talking at the zoo one day. "My name is Billy. What's yours?" asked the first boy. "Tommy," replied the second. "My Daddy's an accountant. What does your Daddy do for a living?" asked Billy. Tommy replied, "My Daddy's a lawyer." "Honest?" asked Billy. "No, just the regular kind", replied Tommy.
(A contribution from "C")


2.A businessman enters a tavern, sits down at the bar, and orders a double martini on the rocks. After he finishes the drink, he peeks inside his shirt pocket, then orders the bartender to prepare another double martini. After he finishes that it, he again peeks inside his shirt pocket and orders the bartender to bring another double martini. The bartender says, "Look, buddy, I'll bring ya' martinis all night long - but you gotta tell me why you look inside your shirt pocket before you order a refill." The customer replies, "I'm peeking at a photo of my wife. When she starts to look good, I know it's time to go home."
(A contribution from "P")


3. One of Microsoft Network's finest support techs was drafted into the Army and sent to boot camp. At the rifle range, he was given some instructions, handed a rifle, and a couple rounds of ammo. He loaded the rifle and fired several shots at the target which was fifty yards away. The report came from the target area that all of his attempts had completely missed the target. The tech looked at his rifle, and then at the target. He looked at the rifle again, and then once more at the target. He placed his finger over the end of the rifle barrel and squeezed the trigger with his other hand. The end of his finger was blown off -- whereupon he yelled toward the target area... "It's leaving here just fine; the trouble must be at your end!"
(A contribution from "B")




Remember: All jokes are welcome and encouraged (and all of them are read by me). Click on "comments" link below and send 'em in.

This week on Rick's Blog 1-16/1-22

This week on Rick Blog:










Monday Jan 16: Jokes for a Monday Morning





Tuesday Jan 17: Suburban Man/The challenges of being an "older" father with "very young" kids. I call this week's column: "Dash"



Wednesday Jan 18: The Bald Minute/Stage 3 of grieving for your hair loss is Bald Bargaining. Dave & I will make sure you are asking God for your hair back in the right religion.





Thursday Jan 19: From the Archives/A Tribune article about the exciting new technology being employed by the Steve & Garry show (when I was the producer). Yikes. This is going waaay back.




Friday Jan 20: This Week/News & Views about the top stories of the week. Complete with punch lines and your comments.




Saturday Jan 21: Guest Blogger--Radio Legend and Rock and Roll Hall of Famer John Records Landecker will help us celebrate Wolfman Jack's birthday by telling us all about his experiences hanging out with one of the biggest radio stars of all-time.


Sunday Jan 22: A magazine article I wrote about one of my favorite topics...Beer.








Remember: All comments are welcome and encouraged (and all of them are read by me). Click on "comments" below, or the e-mail me link on the right. I periodically post the best/funniest comments in a seperate post. Unlike other blogs they won't appear in the comments section--because I find that more people read the comments when they are part of a post.

LAKE MAGAZINE ARTICLE: Men and their Chairs

The Sunday version of my blog is reserved for published articles I've written for various different magazines.

I've written quite a few that will be coming out in the next few months. After they hit the newstands, I'll post them here. The two that have already hit the newstands ("Snow Dome King," & "Best Microbrew"), will be posted here the next two weeks.

Also, coming in the next month or two:
"Morning Radio Wars" (a study of the Chicago morning radio marketplace)
"Unhandy Man" (a suburban man-esque admission of my handiness)
"Returning Home: Heidelberg" (the story of my return to my high-school hometown of Heidelberg Germany)
"Men Who Pamper Themselves" (trying to understand the concept, with interviews of men who like to go to spas)
and
"Breaking up with Technology" (my reaction to that Nokia commercial of the woman and her cell-phone)

But this weekend, I wanted to do something else.

Yesterday marks the 35th anniversary of the first episode of "All in the Family." That was a groundbreaking television show, and one that meant a lot to my family. Two years ago I wrote an article for Lake Magazine inspired by that show. I thought it would be appropriate to re-post it today.

Have a great weekend, and Go Bears.



Men and their Chairs

By Rick Kaempfer


From the Early Summer 2004 issue



20th Century Man and his Chair

“Edith, the chair.”
Those three immortal words uttered time and time again by Archie Bunker during the run of the television series “All in the Family” said more about the relationship between men and their chairs than an entire documentary could have said. How universal was the concept of a man and his chair? After the show went off the air, the Smithsonian Institute asked for and received permission to permanently display it in Washington.

Oh, Edith’s chair is there too, but anyone who watched the show knows that Edith wasn’t emotionally attached to her chair. To use perhaps the world’s first basketball-chair analogy since Bobby Knight left Indiana, Edith’s chair is to Archie’s chair like Scottie Pippen is to Michael Jordan. Her chair has a certain amount of greatness, but it’s really more noted for it’s proximity to Archie’s chair. It is honored to be on the same stage as greatness. Make no mistake about it; Archie’s chair is the centerpiece of that house, that family dynamic, and that television series. America related to it because nearly every home in America had its own version of Archie’s chair. And it was always, and this is not an exaggeration, it was always the chair of the man of the house. Others in the home may have dared to sit in it, but they knew in their hearts that their behinds were only renting the space.

My home was certainly like that growing up. We gave my father his chair for his 50th birthday. It wasn’t that special of a chair, just a standard beige cloth covered Lazy Boy. However, the moment we gave it to him, it was understood that this wasn’t a chair to share. He placed it in the best spot in the family room, with the best view of the television, and placed an end table next to it. His behind and his drink had permanent residences until the day he died.

I don’t want to give the wrong impression. My dad did let other people sit on his chair…as long as he wasn’t in the room. My brother and I used to fight over the chair at dinner time. We would race through dinner, shoving the food into our mouths as quickly as humanly possible, because we knew about the prize that awaited the “winner.” Dad always took his sweet old time eating, and there was a golden thirty to forty five minute window of chair occupancy available on a first-come, first-serve basis. The winner would get kicked out of the chair the second Dad entered the room, but those glorious moments in the big chair, in the “Dad” chair, were so symbolically precious. It wasn’t as comfortable as the couch and your time there was limited, but when you sat in the chair you were the man. The man of the house.

To this day when my mother is flipping through the channels and she comes across a rerun of “All in the Family” she is compelled to stop. It isn’t the appeal of Archie, Edith, Gloria or Meathead. It’s the chair. Seeing the way the family behaves around Archie’s chair reminds her of how things used to be in her house. It brings her back to the fondest time in her life, when everyone still lived in the house, when her boys fought over the chair, her daughter made fun of the boys for fighting over the chair, and Dad ruled the house from his beige cloth covered throne.

21st Century Man and his Chair
Archie Bunker and my father are no longer with us, but the legacy of man and his chair continues to this day. WJMK-Chicago radio personality and Berrien Springs resident Fred Winston knew exactly what I was talking about when I called him up to talk “chairs.” His chair is seventeen years old and may need to be repaired soon. “A little duct tape may be required,” he concedes, “but my chair is a womb like island in a sea of societal cacophony.” His deep baritone voice could have been narrating a National Geographic special as he said those words to me. It was as if he were describing a baby kangaroo poking his head out of his mother’s pouch.

Unlike 20th Century Man’s chair, 21st Century Man’s chair may end up in the basement or a private office, but one thing that hasn’t changed is the emotional attachment a man feels for his own chair. Winston treasures his because it’s been with him through thick and thin. “I recovered there, I napped there, and I held my puppy there. I’ll never get rid of it. My wife actually refers to it as my Archie Bunker chair and makes noises about getting rid of it. That’s when the foot comes down,” Fred told me. When I told him that Archie Bunker would be proud of his manly stand, Fred said, “I hope that my chair ends up in the Smithsonian too when I’m not around anymore.”

Unlike Archie Bunker, Fred allows other people to sit in his chair because he likes to spread his joy. Other men do not necessarily share Fred’s largesse. Chicago Tribune photographer and Miller resident Geoffrey Black has a more traditional view of his favorite chair. When I asked him if he allows anyone else to sit in his chair he didn’t hesitate with an answer: “Never. If they do they receive a scornful eye.”

Black’s oversized leather chair normally resides in his den. “Coming home late in the evening, I like to sit in my chair and read. That chair welcomes me home like an old friend. It’s comfy, the cushion is just right, the firmness is just right, but most importantly….that chair knows me.” If you see Black, don’t ask him about the chair. His house is under construction and the beloved chair has been put into storage. I asked him if he missed it, and the emotion was palpable. “More than I care to admit,” he replied.

21st Century Man and his 21st Century Chair

With the onset of 21st century technology, the chair can be more than just the centerpiece of a man’s home. Marketing Communications Consultant and Dune Acres resident Phil Dunne’s chair is the centerpiece of his daily home and work life. He actually conducts business from his corduroy cloth covered club chair. Jane Dunne spotted the chair while driving by the window of a LaSalle Street (in Chicago) furniture store. “The next day we were driving back to Indiana and she asked me to pull over,” Phil told me. “Out came the owner with ‘The Chair,’ covered in plastic, which he was barely able to fit it in the back of our Jeep. Now it has a side table for refreshments, a moveable stand for my laptop which plugs into the home network, and a holder for my wireless phone.”

While this high-tech accoutrement is mainly used for business, it does reside in the library of his Dune Acres home. “Our library is really the equivalent of a family room since it holds the TV,” he explained. Because of its presence in that room, the chair also has a more traditional Archie Bunker-esque role, especially during the weekends. “The chair is light enough so I can turn it into the room to join our company who are always made to watch and participate in the ‘McGlaughin Group’ on Saturday nights.”

While the arguments may now be about President Bush instead of President Nixon, very little has really changed since Archie Bunker’s chair was touching a chord in America’s homes in the early 70s. Like Fred Winston, Phil Dunne doesn’t forbid others from sitting in his chair, “but I have noticed that when we have people over for drinks no even thinks of sitting in it,” Dunne admits. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

21st Century Boy and His Chair

As for my father’s chair, it lives on fifteen years after his death. I took advantage of my proximity to my mother’s home (my brother lives in Detroit now) to claim the chair in the years after my dad passed away. It’s a little tattered, battered, and worn, but it’s now the symbolic centerpiece of my home; despite my wife’s insistence that the chair remain in the basement. Like my own father, I allow my sons to sit in the chair when I’m not in the room, but when I walk into the room, they scurry away. They know that it’s Dad chair. And now I’m Dad.

Unfortunately, they don’t stay away. Within a few minutes, they start climbing aboard. My six year old Johnny is usually the first one to climb on. His older brother Tommy, age 8, is always only a few minutes behind. When the youngest boy Sean sees his big brothers treating Dad and his chair like a jungle gym, he inevitably joins in.

Somewhere Archie Bunker is shaking his head at me. But unlike Archie, my chair isn’t under glass in a museum. It’s somewhere under three squirming boys and a crushed father, all fighting over the remote.





Remember: All comments are welcome and encouraged (and all of them are read by me). Simply click on "comments" below this post or the "e-mail me" link on the right. I periodically post the best/funniest comments in a seperate post. Unlike other blogs they won't appear in the comments section--because I find that more people read the comments when they are part of a post.

Guest Blogger: Spike Manton

Spike Manton is a stand up comedian, a sports radio host (formerly of "The Spike & Harry Show" on AM 1000 in Chicago), a radio sidekick/comedian (formerly with "The Steve Dahl Show" on WCKG), a radio host (formerly co-host of "The Morning Loop Guys" on WLUP), and a playwright (co-writer of the award-winning play "Leaving Iowa"). For more info about his play, check out www.leavingiowa.com

He's also a big Bears fan. But I'll let him tell you the rest of the story...


"Defending the Couchfan"

I am absolutely out of my head excited about the Bears game this weekend. My 9 year old son, Mickey, and my 7 year old daughter Samantha have been making plans all week about the game. Alright, mostly Mickey, but we’re bringing Samantha along as fast as we can. We are Bears fans in our house. At least, I thought we were.

But according to conversations I had and overheard ad nauseum this week, I am not actually a Bears fan at all because I won’t be at the game. This is a sentiment that seems to rear its misdirected head whenever the “Big Game” is upon us. It is a time when true fandom is only measured by how much you have paid for your seat, or how naked you are willing to be in 10 degree weather. Now, I’m not attacking the faithful that go to the game. Well, yes I am. But, I consider it more of a counterattack, a defensive assault on behalf of everyone rational, passionate Bears fan who might enjoy the camaraderie of his family and friends at room temperature, with $6 six packs instead of $6 beers and a padded recliner over near-concrete, frozen ass holders.

Allow me to tell you loud and clear, I will be on my couch, wearing a shirt (in spite of the balmy 70 degree temperature in my living room) watching the Bears game the only way you really can watch any football game – ON TV! I’ll be home, cultivating two future Bears’ fans, cheering, yelling and thoroughly enjoying the game in the comfort of my own home.

Now if you are simple enough to attack my preference for watching on TV, let me make some brutally obvious points that standing shirtless in 10 degree temperatures have left too many incapable of grasping. I see the game and you don’t. I can’t tell you how many times I get calls from friends on the way home from a game asking me “what happened on that play?” I tell them of course, because I was able to hear, watch and absorb every second of the action while they were trying to find a bathroom and a beverage. I would personally be too embarrassed as a “real fan” to call a lowly TV viewer for information. On the other hand, you might ask, if I actually saw more of the game, then who is the real fan?

Beyond all the logic and contradictions is the most unmistakable point. We, the TV people, have completely changed the game you are watching in your overpriced, not near a bathroom seat. We see the game so well on TV, that instant replay is now football law. After 30 years of yelling at the TV, “If I can see that, why can’t you?” the NFL caught on and made it the rule. I enjoy replay challenges more than anyone I know, because it is like a 2 minute jury verdict every time, where the official comes to midfield and says, “Again, we thank TV viewers for finally sharing with us their superior view of the game – thanks”

If you are one of the chosen who attend games, but don’t actually think you are the chosen ones, then I wish I could buy you that first overpriced beverage. But I won’t be there to do that, so I’ll make this offer. Call me after the game if you need to know what happened.







Rick's Note: A man can dream, can't he?




If you'd like to contact one of our guest bloggers, click on 'comments' below this post. That will e-mail it to me, and I will forward the e-mail to the guest blogger. (You can also e-mail me by clicking the e-mail me link on the right.) If you have a question for the guest blogger, I'll badger them for you until they respond.

Remember: All comments are welcome and encouraged (and all of them are read by me). I periodically post the best/funniest comments in seperate posts. Unlike other blogs they won't appear in the comments section--because I find that more people read the comments when they are part of a post.

This Week News & Views (Jan 8-13)

This Week

News & Views




*Friday the 13th
Today is Friday the 13th. Why is this supposedly such bad luck? Most people think this goes back to the Last Supper when Christ and his apostles numbered thirteen. Less than 24 hours later he was crucified. If memory serves, it was on a Friday.
=Call me superstitious, but I’m not messing with that one.





Top 3 Political stories of the week.*
(*An equal opportunity offender)





1. Samual Alito Confirmation Hearings
WASHINGTON--The hearings for Associate Supreme Court Justice Nominee Samuel Alito were held this week.
=I know this just shows how odd I am, but every time Alito said "Stare Decisis" (pronounced Starry Dee Sisis) I thought--"Great Radio Name". Come to think of it, it's an even better Exotic Dancer name.
=Everybody is talking about Alito's wife being driven to tears, but there was an even more memorable moment if you ask me. Senator Charles Schumer (D-NY) said that Alito had "special shoes" to fill if he replaces Sandra Day O'Connor. The camera cut to Alito and he raised his eyebrows and smiled. Apparently he had no idea how exotic the perks were.

2. Ted Kennedy's children's book
BOSTON (AP) Senator Ted Kennedy and his Portuguese Water Dog, Splash, have co-written a book called "My Senator and Me: A Dog's Eye View of Washington D.C." The book is due to be released in May.
=Ted Kennedy has a dog named "Splash?" Now that's a wacky sense of humor.
=He also has a fish named "Mary Jo"
=I wasn't there for the birth because he didn't call anyone for eight hours, but you should see his cute litter of kittens..."Ick," "Quid," and "Chappa." I'm not sure about the birth order.

3. Bush calls for an end to irresponsible debate about the war
WASHINGTON-- President George W. Bush has made several speeches over the past week in attempt to frame the debate about the Iraq war. He said he "welcomes debate", but that "the American people know the difference between responsible and irresponsible debate."
=Harry Belafonte--He's talking about you.
=The President did actually identify irresponsible debate: "anyone who says we lied, anyone who says we went for oil, and anyone who says we went for Israel is providing comfort to the terrorists." According to the latest Washington Post/ABC News poll, that's approximately 54% of America. That's a hell of a sleeper cell.
(Note to Feds: That was a joke.)


Every Picture Tells a Story


















*I love Mug Shots
The website TheSmokinggun.com put out it's list of top 2005 mugshots this weekend. Check out the full list at the link above, but here are my favorites. See if you can identify them...
=The two woman above are the cheerleaders who were arrested in the bathroom stall...together. I include them because they were with the Carolina Panthers; this weekend's Chicago Bears opponent. You know the smiling guy below. I included him because he was in the news this week, announcing that he would not seek to get his old job back. The number #1 mug shot on their list is the guy with the paint on his face. He was arrested for stealing spray paint, and then inhaling the fumes from paint cans. That's got to be one of my all-time favorite pictures. Do you think he was guilty?









































*Chicago called fattest city in America
Men's Fitness magazine has ranked Chicago as the fattest city in America, based on our love of television and lack of exercise. The magazine said that Chicago has the worst workout environment in the country.
=That's why I don't work out. The environment stinks. Really honey, look, this magazine agrees.

=As a Chicagoan, I do have one request: Please ask George Wendt, Dennis Franz, and Jeff Garlin to stop bragging about their Chicago roots. It's starting to take a toll on our rep.



=By the way, Baltimore was chosen as the fittest city in America by the same magazine. No doubt this is due to the svelte frame of Baltimore Sun columnist Jack Germond.



Other Stories you might have missed


*Inventor of LSD celebrates 100th birthday
GENEVA, Switzerland (AP)- Swiss chemist Albert Hoffman, who discovered the mind-altering drug LSD and was its first human guinea pig, celebrated his centenary Wednesday — in good health and with plans to attend an international seminar on the hallucinogenic.
=That seminar will be the first international seminar illuminated exclusively by black light.
=His children; Rainbow (75), I.C. Spots (70), and Microbus (69), sent their best wishes from Haight Asbury in San Francisco.

*Marcus Vick arrested
SUFFOLK, Virginia--Marcus Vick, the quarterback for Virginia Tech booted off the team this week for his behavior on and off the field, was charged with pulling a gun on three teenagers during an altercation in a restaurant parking lot. Vick has announced he is turning pro and will enter the NFL draft.
=Who would draft a guy who was kicked off his college team, intentionally tried to injure a player in a game, and has been arrested multiple times?
=He was "packing" heat, right? I say Green Bay takes him.
=One team that definitely won't take him? Saints.

*Mouse pays man back for tossing him out
FORT SUMNER, N.M--Luciano Mares, of Fort Sumner, caught a mouse inside his house and wanted to get rid of it. "I had some leaves burning outside, so I threw it in the fire, and the mouse was on fire and ran back at the house." The home and everything inside it was destroyed by fire.
=I believe this is what John Lennon called "Instant Karma."
=The mouse was heard singing this song:
"M-I-C. See me run away. K-E-Y. Why? So I can burn your...H-O-U-S-E."

*Movie Review
=I don't like doing movie reviews because I see so few of them, but if you get a chance, you simply have to see this one. It's powerful.





















Reader Response

Regarding last week's 'This Week' rundown
"As Johnny Carson said--Good stuff. Keep this up and you should have your own column"
--O
"Very funny. I laughed out loud while reading your blog (especially about Clinton and The Who) and had to explain it to my seatmate."
--A
"Awesome. I know how hard this is to do. I even made you my home page, but, c'mon: Ice Cold Germans? Are there any other kind?"
--S

Regarding Dave Stern's guest blog about dads of newborns.
"Awaiting the arrival of my third son I got thirsty and left the room for a diet Coke. The soda machine was nowhere near the delivery room so it took some time to get back to the room. By the time I returned , my 10 pound son was already on his way out. Hey I was thirsty!"
--J


Regarding Sunday's post: The Santa Threat
"I loved the Santa article. I still use the Santa threat--but they aren't buying."
--S


Regarding Suburban Man
You know you're a suburban guy when:
=You own a grill and a complete set of matching grill tools
=You can debate the finer points of 10-10-10 versus 5-10-5 fertilizer (or even have an inkling what those numbers mean)
=You not only know what they're talking about on the traffic report, but actually listen
=Just thinking about parallel parking makes you break into a cold sweat
=You've actually comparison shopped for patio furniture
=A trip on the subway is an excursion for your kids, not transportation
=You can't remember the last time you haled a cab without a phone
--W


Miscellaneous
"I look forward to your goofy/off beat humor every morning, but my favorite so far was your contest winning poem."
--M
"Good Content. Your son's favorite joke (Monday's post) is a keeper."
--D
"I've got you bookmarked and plan to check it out regularly"
--R
"You are a sick, twisted weirdo. Then again, I like sick, twisted weirdos."
--T



This Week in Severance

*I just got back notes from my editor regarding six of the chapters in my upcoming satirical novel about the media business ("Severance"). It's getting there; almost no changes this time. Although any similarity to actual persons is strictly coincidental, people who have read the chapters I'm working on this week think that Rush Limbaugh and Dan Rather won't be pleased. I have no idea why.

*Every week I'll provide links to articles that explain the current (sad) situation of the media. That, after all, is the inspiration for my novel.


http://www.nytimes.com/2006/01/12/business/media/12disney.html
http://www.broadcastingcable.com/article/CA6298786.html?display=Breaking+News&referral=supp
http://www.smartmoney.com/bn/ON/index.cfm?story=ON-20060105-000634-0932
http://www.mediabistro.com/tvnewser/cnbc/eisner_an_almost_insatiable_curiosity_an_incessant_questioner_30676.asp
http://www.csmonitor.com/2006/0110/p03s03-ussc.html
http://www.newyorker.com/fact/content/articles/060116fa_fact

From the Archives: Elvis

This week marks the 71st anniversary of Elvis Presley's birth. You've probably seen a story or two celebrating the life of the King of Rock and Roll.

"From the Archives" has a different way of celebrating. Instead of celebrating what he did in life, "From the Archives" will celebrate his birth week by remembering the day his peaceful rest was disturbed. The year was 1994. Witnesses near Elvis' grave at Graceland said they heard "spinning" noises the day Michael Jackson announced he had married Elvis' girl Lisa Marie.




During that time, John Landecker and I imagined what the King might have been saying as he spun round and round. The following lyrics accompany the tune “Burning Love,” and John performed this as Elvis (in full costume) for the first couple of Landecker & Legends tours.

(Warning: Content is rated PG)

“Use Your Glove”*
(Landecker/Kaempfer)

Lord almighty, Lisa Marie’s so surprisin’,
Just like Priscilla, she gave her old man the heave ho,
But girl, girl, girl, this new husband that you’ve acquired,
Is a llama owning, crotch grabbing, monkey loving, scary freak show,
So tonight when it’s time to retire,
And he’s wearing your dress he admired,
Say not tonight, Michael I’m tired.
Use your glove

Ooh ooh ooh, Michael is so mesmerizing,
He plays with the kids and pretends to be Frankenstein,
He comforts them when it’s raining and the sun ain’t shining,
That’s OK—as long as they ain’t no kin of mine,


So tonight when it’s time to retire,
Surround the kids with barb wire,
Put a damper on his desire,
Spurn his love.


Lisa Marie babe, listen here to your daddy,
Put the rights to my songs in a safe and throw the key away,
Daddy’s motto was ‘Takin’ Care of Bizness’
But I never did no business with a man that change his face every day.


So tonight when it’s time to retire,
And he’s wearing your dress he admired,
Say not tonight, Michael I’m tired.
Use your glove.

*This song also appeared on “Landecker & the Legends, Volume 1.” (One of the six CDs we released to benefit Lambs Farm in Libertyville). Last summer the band reunited to do a few gigs (setting an attendance record in Arlington Heights). Check out the website of The Legends at www.thelegends.net That website will also list the upcoming concert dates for Landecker & The Legends, if they decide to do some more shows this year.


*A week from Saturday John will join the blog as my guest blogger.

The Bald Minute: Bald Rage

THE BALD MINUTE by Rick Kaempfer & Dave Stern

"Bald Rage"




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 male 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 (balding) leave no bald stone unturned as we look at each stage closely and 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 on the right to inquire.)


R: Welcome to another episode of “The Bald Minute.” Today’s Bald Minute subject?

D: Bald Rage

R: Often, a bald man suffering through the second stage of grieving for his hair loss--

D: Anger & Rage--

R: …experiences sudden bursts of uncontrollable anger. Often the trigger for his rage can be something as simple as hearing a certain type of music.



D: For instance, Hair Bands. That’s one that really rubs it in our face, don’t you think?

R: But what can a Stage 2 bald man do about it, Dave?

D: Well, for one thing, it’s perfectly OK to hate all members of all hair bands during Stage 2.



R: Ratt, Whitesnake, Poison, Guns & Roses, Motley Crew?

D: Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.



R: But we’re not advocating violence against hair bands. We’re more civilized than that.

D: We recommend using words to convey your anger.

R: For instance, if you’re ever lucky enough to meet a member of a hair band, try saying this to the preening rocker…

D: “I’ll come check out your set after I grab a corndog and ride the Tilt-A-Whirl.”





R: Remember, it’s OK to hate during Stage 2 grieving.

D: It’s what makes it the most fun of the five stages.

R: For more information about bald rage or balding, check out our upcoming book, “The Bald Handbook.” Reporting for the Bald Minute, I’m Rick Kaempfer.

D: And I’m Dave Stern.




ATTN: BALD OR BALDING GUYS!
We're accumulating a comprehensive list of celebrities worthy of our hate (think thick lucious hair) during Stage 2 grieving. Send us examples, by clicking the word 'comments' below, or the e-mail link on the right.



BALD BONUS!!!

Here's a music tip for you Stage 2 balding guys. If you like folk rock, and have a hankering for James Taylor...

His old stuff will tick you off. Not very good.





But, wow, is his new stuff good.

Suburban Man Reaction

I was really nervous about posting this column today because it exposes me as the fool I am. Thanks for making me feel better. I'm not alone.


"When I started working 20+ years ago my boss would buy computer games, copy them, and return them the next day.Through relentless (but goodnatured) pressure he convinced me to do the same. However, like you, I couldn't return them - mostly because of feeling foolish and possibly getting caught. (My boss was barred from Toys 'R Us - no kidding.) So I ended up with many hundreds of dollars worth of unreturned Atari games and told my boss I returned them. I can now return things. But only because my wife was sooo disappointed in me when I couldn't. She had to come with me the first time, though."
--B

"I beat your record. I returned my first gift when I was 48, and I only did it myself because it was from my wife. Don't use my name, I don't want her to know."
--A

"It's not just a gender thing. I'm a woman who also hates returning gifts. I think it's a guilt thing. Can I ask you a personal question? Are you Catholic?"
--J

Rick responds: "I didn't think it was that obvious, but yes I am."


Thank you also to those of you who completed the following phrase. You know you've become Suburban Man, when...

"Your neighbor says hi, and you know his name."
--S

"You start parallel parking your mini-van and you realize this is the first time you've had to do it since you bought the car."
--L

"You tsk tsk a neighbor with a brown lawn."
--T

"Your daughter comes home at 9 and you've already dialed 9-1-..."
--D

"You'll happily meet anyone downtown as long as it's not during the week, and not during the weekend."
--P

"You know the difference between and can give directions to Lake Forest, Lake in the Hills, Lake Zurich, and Fox Lake."
--A


Thanks also to Daily Herald columnist Ted Cox for mentioning my blog in today's Daily Herald. It's in the Suburban Living section. He wrote:

"Producer Rick Kaempfer who worked with Steve Dahl and Garry Meier and came up with many of the parody songs on John Records Landecker's late, lamented morning show on Oldies WJMK 104.3 FM, has started a blog at http://rickkaempfer.blogspot.com. He delves into his radio archives on Thursdays."

Coming this Thursday, I'll feature one of those parody songs. It was inspired by an event that made Elvis Presley spin in his grave. Next week, John Records Landecker himself will be a guest blogger for a day.

How to Contribute: Q & A

I've been getting quite a few questions about how to contribute to the blog, so I thought I would answer them here for all to see.



Q: Why doesn't my comment show up immediately on the blog?
--P

A: I have this blog set up a little differently than some other blogs you might have seen. The comments all go directly to my e-mail. I see every one of them, but I'm not publishing them in the comments section. Instead I accumulate them and put them out in seperate posts (where more people will read them). I'll have one later today about Suburban Man.


Q: Where do I click to send a response?
--C

A: You can either click the comments link below each post (again, note above why the number next to comments will always say zero), or click the e-mail link on the right. I see every comment sent either way.


Q: I have a few friends that want to be included in your regular e-mail blog update list. Where should I send their e-mail addresses?
--P

A: See the answer to above question. Same thing. I'm happy to add anyone who wants to be added to the list.



Q: I only received one e-mail update on Monday but nothing for the rest of the week. Why is that?
--F

A: I only send out an e-mail update once a week (so I don't become too much of a pest). Check out what is coming for the week on Monday (I tease the whole week on Monday), bookmark the site, and then come back on the days you think there might be something of interest.


Q: Do you take requests?
--B

A: Sure. If you have a bald subject you'd like Dave & I to address in the Bald Minute, or you have something from my archives you'd like to see, by all means, send in your request. If I have it, I'll post it.


Q: For your Jokes segment on Mondays, do the jokes have to be clean?
--H

A: Yes, please. This is a family-friendly site. Don't look at me that way. "Clean Jokes" is not an oxymoron.




Thanks for all your questions and comments. Keep 'em coming. I greatly appreciate them.

Suburban Man: My First Time

SUBURBAN MAN

“My First Time”


This is kind of embarrassing to admit. Until last week I had never returned anything to any store. Not once. Never.

I accumulated this unblemished 42-year-record with various different techniques over the years. First and foremost, I kept each and every thing given to me as a gift. Even if it didn’t fit. Even if I didn’t like it at all. Even if it was obviously re-gifted. I always defended this as simply being polite. If someone went to the trouble of giving me a gift, the least I could do was display it, or wear it, or put it deep into a closet for the rest of my life.

This technique was working nicely for me until I got married about fifteen years ago. Suddenly, some gifts weren’t just for me anymore. They were for both of us. I tried to use the same technique with my wife, but she wouldn’t go for it.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked.
“I guess," I explained, "the gift-receiving politeness-gene is only carried in the Y chromosome."
“That’s crazy,” she would say, “Take it back. We don’t need five cow-shaped creamers.”

I pretended to give in, but I merely kept “forgetting” to return it. Eventually she would just get frustrated and take it back herself. She even came around to accepting this odd personality tick of mine, and stopped asking me to return things.

This new post-marriage technique continued to work after we had children. For ten glorious years whenever our children received gifts that weren’t appropriate or didn’t fit, Bridget returned them. Then, without even realizing the implications, I volunteered to stay at home and raise the kids while Bridget returned to work every day. It wasn’t easy, but I was adjusting pretty well to everything until disaster struck this year.

One of our kids got “fat pants.” I’m sure that’s not the technical name, but when your son is so skinny he makes Mary Kate Olson look like John Goodman, just about every pair of pants look like fat pants on him. And my other kids, while not quite as skinny, also have very little chance of fitting into these pants as long they continue eating an all-white-food non-caloric diet.

One night after work, Bridget walked into the room holding the gigantic pants in her hand. She looked at me, and my heart started pounding. I realized what she was going to say. This was my job now.

“You have to return these,” she said.
“He may grow into them,” I said. “Maybe we can get that surgery where they staple an extra stomach on.”

No dice. I had to confront the ugly truth. I was afraid to return anything because I had no idea what to do or where to go. I was planning on hiding the pants and pretending like I returned them, but she was on to me. This time no matter what I said or did, I wasn’t getting out of it.

“At Target they only give you a store credit,” she said.
“You think I don’t know that?” I replied testily.
“Don’t spend it,” she said. “Just bring me back the receipt.”

She had me. I started sweating. I didn’t sleep that night. By the time I arrived at Target the next day, I was in the midst of a full-fledged anxiety attack. I settled down a little when I found the return desk without much problem. It couldn’t be missed; the line was about six miles long.

I was pretty sure I was ready to go, but I double checked everything.
*Fat Pants—Check.
*Gift Receipt—Check.
*Picture of my sons to prove that these pants couldn’t possibly fit—Check.
*List of the foods my sons will eat without being threatened—Check.
*Pictures of my friend’s and sibling’s kids to prove the pants couldn’t possibly be given to someone else we know—Check.

I rehearsed the true story in my mind a dozen times. I figured the store detective conducted these interrogations and I wanted to be ready for him or her. Doubt suddenly crept in; what if they thought my kids were too dangerously skinny? What if they called the authorities? What would I say? The guy in front of me was called to the counter. It was almost my turn. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

Before I could even rehearse again, another “service representative” was free.
“Next please,” she called.

"Please be gentle with me," I joked. "It's my first time."

She didn't even look up. Uh oh. Humorless alert. I was a dead man.

Thirty seconds later, she handed me a plastic card.

“What’s this?” I asked.
“That’s your store credit.”

”Just like that?”
“Yes, sir,” she said and looked over my shoulder. “Next please.”

“Wait a second,” I said, holding up my hand to stop the person behind me. “That's it? No questions?"
"Like what?" she asked. "You have the product, you have the receipt."

"What if I didn't have a receipt?" I asked.
“If it’s in re-sellable condition,” she answered, “and we still carry the item, we’ll take it back.”

This was mind blowing.

“So it doesn't matter when I got it as long you still have it in stock and it's in good condition?" I asked.

She was openly sighing now. “Yes,” she said.
"One last question," I said. "Could you point me to the cow-shaped creamer section?”










Suburban Man Question: Last week one of the readers of Suburban Man had a great premise. "W" said "You know you've become Suburban Man when..."

Fill in the blank and send me your responses. I'll post them all later today.

This Week on Rick's Blog (1-9/1-14)

Hopefully you've bookmarked the site, because this blog will have new material every day. Coming up this week...




*Tuesday Jan 10th: Suburban Man does something for the first time in his life. And let's face it--he's no spring chicken. There aren't many "firsts" left.


*Wednesday Jan 11th: The Bald Minute examines the second stage of grieving for your hair loss--anger and rage at those who didn't lose it.




*Thursday Jan 12: We celebrate Elvis’ birthday week by remembering the time he began spinning in his grave.



*Friday Jan 13: This week in review (News and Views about Alito, The Smoking Ban, The Illinois state reptile, and did we mention it was Friday the 13th?)




*Saturday, Jan. 14: Guest Columnist: Sports-Radio Host and Award-Winning Playwright Spike Manton gives his NFL playoff picks.





Also: New this week, an opportunity every day to answer a reader question. Keep sending the good, the bad, and most importantly the funny. I've already heard from several hundred of you from 22 states and 4 countries.







JOKES FOR A MONDAY MORNING
Three jokes to start your week






1. An 82-year-old man went to the doctor to get a physical. The doctor cautioned him about his age and sent him home with a lecture on the proper lifestyle. A few days later,the doctor saw the man walking down the street with a gorgeous young lady on his arm.

At his follow up visit, the doctor said to the man, "You must really be doing great!"

The man replied, "Just doing what you said Doctor: 'Get a hot mamma and be cheerful.'"

The Doctor said, "I didn't say that. I said you've got a heart murmur. Be careful!"


2. (This is currently my favorite joke. It's a little odd.)

Q: What did the Zen Buddhist say to the hot-dog vendor?
A: "Make me one with everything."


3. (This one is my son's favorite joke. He's told it many times)

Donald Rumsfeld gave the president his daily briefing. He concluded by saying: "Yesterday, 3 Brazilian soldiers were killed."

"OH NO!" the president exclaimed. "That's terrible!"

His staff was stunned at this display of emotion, nervously watching as the president sat, his head in his hands.

Finally, the president looked up and asked, "Just how many is a brazillion?"







We're always looking for jokes. If you have one you'd like to submit, click on the pencil at the end of this post or the e-mail link on the right. I'll give you credit if I use it during "Jokes for a Monday Morning."

SHORE MAGAZINE ARTICLE: "The Santa Threat"

By Rick Kaempfer


From the Winter 2005-2006 issue


You may not know the name Haven Gillespie, but if you’re a parent, he has given you the gift that keeps on giving. Since 1934, American parents have quoted this wise Kentucky philosopher on a regular basis; especially during the months between September and December. J. Fred Coots may have written the music that makes Gillespie’s words more memorable, but it’s the words themselves that have resonated with parents.


Haven Gillespie wrote the lyrics for “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”



While it’s certain that parents used the Santa threat well before Gillespie wrote the lyrics for that song, he gave the threat credibility. I think that’s the secret to the song’s longevity—a reason why it has become a standard; a beloved holiday song. The music may be warm and comforting, but the lyrics are a none-too-subtle threat.


You better watch out,
You better not cry,
You better not pout,
I’m telling you why,
Santa Claus is coming to town



If you’re a parent that hasn’t quoted that song at one time or another, then you’re a saint. The temptation is simply too strong. When the little darlings are acting up, crying, or whining, and it’s during those glorious months between September and December, a simple humming of this song will often stop them in their tracks. It’s the Santa threat.

Sure, Santa brings presents, but he’s a little scary.

You better watch out!

Sure, Santa brings presents, but he hates whiners.

You better not cry
You better not pout

Parents may have told their kids this before 1934, but when the words are in a song, they have gravitas. Keep in mind this song was written during the Great Depression when children already knew they weren’t going to get much. The 1934 Santa had a much smaller bag, and he wasn’t going to bother putting toys in that bag for whiners or complainers. That must have been pretty obvious to kids in 1934, but I’m still glad Gillespie put it in the song. It’s not obvious to my kids. As a matter of fact, between January and September, I tell them not to whine, cry, and pout all the time—and it’s like I’m saying ‘blah, blah, blah.’ But during the autumn months, I simply sing Gillespie’s wonderful lyrics. It gives my words power and meaning, because…

Santa Claus is coming to town.

While the first verse is great for handling simple whining and crying problems, the second verse of the song is positively visionary. This is the verse that lets my kids know that the entire matter is out of my hands. I’d love to help them out, but I’m not the one keeping the list; Santa is. Take it up with the bald fat man at the North Pole. He’s the one that controls the presents, and he’s not around, so you’re wasting your breath begging me. What is the kindly old man doing right now?

He’s making a list,
He’s checking it twice.




I have probably said those words a thousand times in my ten years of parenthood. My oldest son Tommy nods knowingly when I sing it. Don’t question Santa. The man is a stickler for detail. Dad forgets things all the time, but he’s not keeping a list. That Santa character is the real deal. I once heard Tommy explaining to his little brother that Santa has people everywhere—a network of spies that rivals the KGB. You may run, but you can’t hide. Don’t believe me? Listen to the words…

He’s going to find out who’s naughty and nice.

I know I’m speaking for most parents in this country when I say: Thank you Haven Gillespie. Thank you for the crying, thank you for the pouting, thank you for the list, and thank you for making him check it twice, and thank you for not mincing words. It’s the “N” word, kids. It’s naughty. Case closed. You probably just made the list, and Santa isn’t the kind of guy who fools around. He’s a stalker.

He sees you when you’re sleeping,

That’s probably the scariest line in the song. I like to sing it in a sinister voice.

He knows when you’re awake.

I’m betting that not many parents use that line, but I have two boys who share a room. I’ve opened the door on school nights more than a few times to sing that line. It silences the boys instantly—like magic. I love that line, but not as much as I love the refrain. It’s what gives the song a happy ending—a course of action.

He knows if you’ve been bad or good,
So be good for goodness sake.

Now that’s just the Santa threat in the most direct terms possible, but it comes with a positive message, even if it’s said through a forced smile. When a child is pouting, or whining, or wailing, or fighting, or doing anything at all other than what Mom and Dad want them to do, the solution is right there.

Be good for goodness sake.

Got it? Good. Now go to your room.

Most kids don’t even know the rest of the song. The next few verses are full of boys and girls having a jubilee, and kiddie cars and curly head dolls…but kids have a very hard time remembering those verses. The message of the first two verses and the refrain are still ringing in their darling little ears.

And for that, we should all thank Haven Gillespie.

If he hadn’t passed away in 1975, we would be calling him right now to commission another song. By ten in the morning on December 25th, if you try the Santa threat again, even if you sing the most powerful holiday song of all time, you will probably get a reaction something like this:

“Santa’s already been here. Look at all these presents! He loves me!”

I know I speak for most parents when I say it’s time for a new song to cover the time from December 25th to September 1st. That’s a long time to parent without such a powerful threat. Consider this a plea to the Haven Gillespie of the 21st century. I don’t want to be greedy, but if the words could say something about video games being taken away forever, that would be great.




Rick's Notes: Shore Magazine www.visitshoremagazine.com is a brand new magazine for the tri-state area (Illinois, Indiana, & Michigan). With a readership per issue of 150,000, Shore Magazine is quickly making its mark in the tri-state area. Here is how Editor and Associate Publisher Pat Colander describes the magazine: “Shore is for real people who embrace the quality, quantity, and density of living right now. A magazine that’s original, authentic, passionate, understanding, literate, irreverent, relevant, inspiring, fun, smart, outrageous, understated, sensitive, enthusiastic, important, trivial, but always compelling. A magazine that makes us laugh, that gets it, that knows who we are right at the center.” Shore is distributed in Chicago, Northwest Indiana, and Southwest & Central Michigan.


Some of my articles to look for in the next few issues...
"Morning Radio Wars"
"Unhandy Man"
"Returning Home: Heidelberg"
"Breaking up with technology"