Good Night

Whilst sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair in my living room I just saw a startling statistic. By the way how do you like that fast use of the word whilst? I haven't whilst-ed anybody in a long time. It feels good. But back to the statistic. 38% of New Year's resolutions have to do with losing weight... which can be translated to losing fat. If that was your New Year's resolution STOP. WAIT. THINK. Remember what Big Louie says in my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot. He says, "Fat is lost first from areas of high desirability." You want fat in some areas. Especially ladies. Think Dolly Parton. We saw Dolly Parton shortly after the Janet Jackson "wardrobe malfunction" a few years ago. She bounced out on stage and said, "Don't worry. I won't have a wardrobe malfunction. If I did, I'd wipe out the first four rows." Gotta think before you make important resolutions.

I have a couple of New Years wishes for you. New Year's wish #1 is "May your troubles this year last as long as your last year's New Year's resolutions." Lots of troubles are caused by simple confusion. For example, I was asking a woman on the phone about the status of an order from Amazon. She was taking a while and she said, "Please bear with me." I was shocked. I said, "I can't bare with YOU...I'm a happily married man." Confusion. I was using my credit card at a drug store, and the machine said "Swipe card." I didn't have to swipe a card, I already had one. More confusion. I saw an ad for a British web site that was selling land on Mars and Venus for 29 Pounds/ acre. They are now probably trying to get the rights to selling the Brooklyn Bridge. Confusion. A bunch of very bad guys are getting us very confused right now about much more serious stuff. Big Louie, the head guy of the Louie Louie Generation says, "Always speak up, even if your voice is shaking." It's in my book Staying Happy Healthy and Hot

I've been doing this podcast sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room for quite a while now. Not long enough to call it a "once upon a time-time," but it has been a long time. You think about things like that when a New Year pops up on the calendar. "Once upon a time." To lots of people it was a long ago "once upon a time" that the numbers on our years started with a one instead of a two. When you think "What's today's date?" do you sometimes still come up with a 19 something? I think most of us in the Louie Louie Generation stumble on that one once in a while. The last time it really was a 1900 something was 1999 of course, which was the year today's high school 16 year old kids were born. How did you get along all the way back then without your smart phone, or your car GPS, or your email, your texting, or your Netflix? Did you like your video tape recorder, and your fax machine, and how hard was it to learn to use Windows 98? One of the stories I remember b

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair right next to the Christmas tree in our living room...and I keep wanting to jump up and down and open presents. As a Louie Louie Generation guy, jumping up and down isn't something I want to do all that often any more. And I know what's causing this. It's about what's left of the little kid inside me who doesn't care that the rest of me is getting a little wrinkled. You probably have some of that little kid inside you too. The little kid who spends all year waiting for Christmas. Christmas is the center of that little kid's life. Go look for that kid...I'll wait. By the way, if you've forgotten how to find your kid inside, because that little kid has been asleep for a while, here's some help. If your kid has been asleep for too long, the first thing he or she will probably do when he or she wakes up is stretch and yawn. So check right now to see if you're feeling like stretching...and yawning. That yawn is a sure signal that the Chr

I feel like I am now preparing for Santa's visit, by installing a parking meter on the roof by the chimney. I bought an artificial Christmas tree. The Fed Ex guy just brought it. It's not like the traditional aluminum tree. This one is genuine green plastic. With the lights already installed. I don't know if I should have done it. For the last couple of years, we bought small trees that were growing in little pots. We planted them outside after New Years, and they both promptly died. Not what we had in mind. As a perspective, I worked at NBC radio for years. The studios were in the RCA Building at Rock Center in NY...right behind the Rock Center Christmas tree. We used to walk right under the tree to go to work every night. My Lady Wonder Wench was in favor of having a tree roughly that size of our own each year. Needless to say, that didn't quite work out either. We cut down our own trees a couple of years. Those were the years that I lifted our daughter Kris up on my shoulders so she could put our special s

Lots of Christmas stories coming in, and you'll find them either in the blog at www.dicksummer.com/dsblog or here on the podcasts. Here's one from Proud Podcast Participant Becky: Whenever I'm disappointed with my spot in life, I stop and think about little Jamie Scott. Jamie was trying out for a part in the school Christmas play. His mother told me that he'd set his heart on being in it, though she feared he would not be chosen. On the day the parts were awarded, I went with her to collect him after school. Jamie rushed up to her, eyes shining with pride and excitement.. 'Guess what, Mom,' he shouted, and then said those words that will remain a lesson to me....'I've been chosen to clap and cheer.' Thanks Becky. Lots more in this podcast.

Time to collect your Christmas memories, and your Merry Intentions for this Christmas, and Christmases to come.. Some have come in already, and you'll find some of them in this podcast. I hope you'll send yours to dick@dicksummer.com.

Thanksgiving is an anniversary for me. It was on Thanksgiving night a lot of years ago that I started the "Men Are Saints" campaign on WNBC Radio. I called it the M. A. S. appeal—Men Are Saints. The idea came from remembering a special Thanksgiving while I was watching my Lady Wonder Wench and our daughter Kris, our daughter-in law Brenda, and our sister-in-law Beth scurrying around preparing dinner, while our Tall-Guy son Eric, my brother John and I were otherwise occupied, and I was struck with an actual thought. I realized that we men are seldom given credit for our sensitivity, our intelligence, and our selfless behavior. For example, here in the Northeast, Thanksgiving is usually celebrated on a cold day. So where do we men traditionally encourage our women to spend the day? Right. In the warmest room in the house—the kitchen. While we, on the other hand, in a manly display of selfless courage, throw ourselves in front of the TV screen to protect our loved ones from the terrible effects of the cathode ra

Thanks for dropping in here on my podcast. I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room, and I like having your company. I mean I like having your company in the personal sense, I'm not into taking over companies...corporate takeovers...because I don't like vicious things. I don't like big vicious things like bad guys doing awful things in the middle east, trying to stretch a pay check that isn't big enough to cover everything, and maybe the bad medical test results lots of people have to deal with. I don't like little vicious things either...like Mondays...What a vicious way to spend 1/7th of your life, trying to cut a bagel in half without cutting your hand, figuring out who's supposed to go first at a 4 way stop sign...it's usually the guy with the most dents in his fenders...and don't you hate the damn mosquito that sneaks into your bedroom and buzzes your ear all night...why didn't Noah swat those two original mosquitoes when he had the chance. And speak

When is the last time you had fun? I mean flat out falling down laughing till the milk comes squirting out of your nose, jumping on the bed fun. And why has it been that long. I think one of the things you can do when things get grim is make faces at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Sooner or later that will make you grin. And when you've been in the bathroom for a while someone will pound on the door and ask if you're in there. Tell them no. A good surprise never hurt anybody.

Thanks for dropping in here on my podcast. I enjoy having your company. Daylight saving time is gone. That means the dark ages is upon us...until sometime in the spring. And I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room soaking it in. I love the night. It's a time full of heroes and villains, perfume traces, quick smiles that leave lipstick traces, black lace falling slowly to the carpet...soft, quick personal sounds... a lover's key in your front door...someone's breath close to your face, a stealthy thump you can't identify...maybe it's in the attic...a kitten crying somewhere outside...it's probably a kitten...probably. Fantasy faces sometimes look out of the dark...strangers sometimes...sometimes faces from your past...and sometimes...maybe...from your future. The night is a thick, moonlit fantasy forest.

We now have a lumpy mailbox, I've thought for a while that catalouges and junk mail must fight their way into my mailbox to spawn. But no. It's Bill our mail guy who's causing the problem. I caught him this morning...stuffing stuff including jumk mail from my blinking congressman into my mailbox.

Jane Doe and I were both naked, standing there looking at each other, separated only by a window. I'm not sure Jane was her real name, and I didn't know why she was standing there naked, looking through the window at me. She was barefoot, but her legs looked like high heels make a woman's legs taper up to a perfect curve at her hips. She had lovely big brown eyes, and a body that would turn any male into an animal. She was breathing heavily... watching me ...so carefully... waiting for me to make a move toward her. My Lady Wonder Wench wouldn't know, and wouldn't care. I knew she was naked in the bedroom with Bob. And I knew Bill would be in there with her in a few minutes. Bill was missing an eye, but for some reason she liked him better than Bob. Ha. Got your attention didn't I? Painted some pictures for you didn't I. That's called "Theater of the mind." What I was just telling you really happened. And some of those pictures probably connected you with parts of your body considerably south of your mind.

I'm back here sitting in my big, comfortable, manly black leather poppa chair in my living room again, having survived another terrifying road trip, with my Lady Wonder Wench driving. We went to a family gathering a couple of states away, and the weather was too messy to fly there in our little airplane. I've told you about my Lady's creative driving habits and her tendency to swerve back onto the road when she sees a cop in my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot. But it was worth the frightening trip to see all those folks most of whom I haven't seen in years. Our daughter Kris and cousin Donna were the main organizers, and they did a great job. But I noticed that people have changed since I saw them last. I couldn't believe how some of them have become walking, talking wrinkles. But nevertheless lots of the conversations were about how good we were looking anyway. Many of us looked quite life like I guess. That seems to be happening to me more and more as I get older. People keep saying, "My you're lookin

I'm sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, and I think I've found a simple solution to a serious situation. The serious situation is how I feel about a world full of starving kids, screaming politicians, internet scams, hurricanes and blizzards, big piles of bills, and empty spaces that people we loved used to fill. Stuff that always seems to be trying to break our hearts. Unfortunatlely, I know that my simple solution won't feed the kids, stick a sock in the politicians' pie holes, delete the internet scams or pay the bills. But it seems to help me. It keeps my beaten up old heart going just fine. The price is right, and it's so simple some people think it's silly...and I don't care. I call it my "My Mental See-Saw" and it works for me...usually...not always...but often enough that I figured you might want to know about it. So I'ts in this podcast.

I have a confession to make. Sometimes I get up in the middle of the night, and sit here in my big, comfortable black leather pappa chair in the living room, and I sneak a look at my Lady Wonder Wench's magazines...in what is probably a futile attempt to learn something...anything...about women. When I'm trying to figure out what's going on in a woman's mind about a situation, It could give an asprin a headache it's so confusing. For example, here's a statistic that says 6 out of 7 women wear clothes to bed. Why do you people do that? One of the great lines in the classic Elizabeth Taylor/Richard Burton Cleopatra movie is when Cleo is giving Ceasar a hard time about his wife, and she says, "I hear your wife even wears clothes to bed." I suppose it's ok if you're a kid, and you're used to wearing your jammies to bed...but if you're a grown up Louie-Louie Generation Lady...you must have figured out by now that you shouldn't be in bed with somebody you shouldn't be in bed with. And if you ARE in bed with someb

Thank you for dropping in here on my podcast. I really enjoy your company. I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room trying to figure out how to explain why a guy wants to become a disc jockey, because I have to tell you about a wonderful thing that happened to me. Clint Eastwood understood that guys want to become disc jockeys mainly to get girls. That's why he loved starring in and directing "Play Misty For Me" all those years ago. If you're too young to remember, Jessica Walter was the young lovely, purring on the phone… "Dave, please play Misty for me." Every time the request line rings (it doesn't actually ring, it lights up), every disc jockey I've ever known gets a quick vision of a scantily clad young lovely, slowly flexing her long, tapered legs and licking her lips, just waiting to breathe her request into his ear. There is no other reason for a young guy to want to become a disc jockey. Until you get to the big time, the money stinks. Especially for a late

Thanks for dropping in here on my podcast. I very much enjoy your company. I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly black leather poppa chair in my living room trying to figure out how to break some news to you about something very big that's happening to me. But I think I'm going to have to put some context around it first. So here's a Quickie quiz...what famous pretend tv newscaster liked to describe his start in broadcasting as..."It all started at a 500 watt station..." (No fair going to Google.) For those of you who have perhaps wisely managed to avoid spending any time in the broadcasting business, here's a little context. Fire hose AM stations like (the late, great) WNBC and WNEW in New York and WBZ in Boston pour 50,000 watts of power from coast to coast at night. 500 watt stations are more like water pistols that sometimes squirt half way across the sandbox. Everything has to start somewhere, and like the famous pretend tv newscaster, I also started my career at a 500 watt station...WNRC in New

The only person who looks good early in the morning is my Lady Wonder Wench. That's why the good Lord made it so hard for us to get our eyes open early in the morning. When we first get up, our hair looks like we stuck a wet toe in a hot socket…our faces are a little off center from sleeping on a lumpy pillow and like most guys I have stubble sticking out of my chin. I think if we actually saw each other clearly early in the morning, the price of brown paper bags of exactly your head size and the head size of your nearest and dearest would soar beyond the means of most middle class families. And when they talk about traffic snarls in the morning rush hour, it doesn't refer just to too many car on the roads, it also refers to the expressions on the driver's faces.

Thanks for dropping in here on my podcast. I like having your company. I think I heard from my dad today. Dad has been playing keyboards with Beethoven's Big Band in heaven for quite a few years now. But I woke up this morning with a song called The Leader of the Band running around in my head. You know how that works...a song just starts going around and around for no apparent reason. I'm sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair now, but I just came back from driving down to the supermarket to get some flowers for my Lady Wonder Wench, and over to the post office to mail a note to my brother Jeff. On the way back, the radio station was playing the same song that was going around in my head. Dan Folgelberg was singing, "He gave to me a gift I know I never can repay. A quiet man of music, denied a simpler fate, he tried to be a soldier once, but his music wouldn't wait." That was Dad. He was a musician, a teacher, and a man...in the finest sense of the word. There's a story abou