Good Night

I'm sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, wrapping another toy airplane to send to the newest member of our family, three year old Cecilia. Cecilia had to bring our daughter Kris along when she came to visit us a few months ago, because the airlines don't let three year olds fly alone. Cecelia is that kind of three year old. Cecilia lives near a small airport, and Kris has taken her to see the small planes take off and land many times, much to Cecilia's delight. So she was really looking forward to flying in a big plane to see us. And she wasn't disappointed.

I am sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair in my living room, admiring my Lady Wonder Wench's curves. No, not those curves. The curves in her handwriting. She's working on her new novel, and she likes to write in handwriting. Cursive they call it. It is used almost exclusively by highly evolved human females. My lady wrote a beautiful blog about Cursive just the other day. When she finished it, she closed her computer and gave me a smile like I first saw on the face of the girl who sat in front of me in the 4th grade at St. Gregory's grammar school in Brooklyn. Her name was Kathleen McMullen. She was very smart. Every time Sister Mary Knucklebuster asked a question, Kathleen raised her hand with the correct answer. I couldn't stand her. She had pigtails. I dipped them in the inkwell every time she leaned back.

We're starting our seventh year together. Lucky seven. Some of you have been with us all the way, and some of you just jumped in tonight. Good and thanks to both. But some people aren't with us. And you know, I think they're really missing something. I hope you'll tell them about the huddle we have here. It's like a football huddle...lots of us gathered around, to help each other get to the goal...which is making it through the night...every night. We've been around long enough to know that the night can get pretty dark, and there are bad guys out there on the other team. You can't keep running the same plays, and expect to make any yardage. You've got to come up with some new wrinkles if you want to score.

Six years and counting. Here's part three of our 6th year anniversary celebration. As with almost everything in my life, very few things come out the way I expect them to. We did the 5 most downloaded podcasts of this year, then the five most downloaded podcasts going all the way back to the beginning...and I told you we'd have the five most downloaded stories from the Personal Audio CDs this time. And we do. Only there are six. And there are seven CDs. That's life.

Happy anniversary to us. This is our sixth anniversary, and this is the second of three special podcasts to celebrate the occasion. This time, we'll check out the top five most downloaded podcasts going all the way back to the beginning. Thank you for giving me a few minutes of your precious time for those of you who have been with us for years. And for those of you who have just joined our huddle, welcome...and let me explain that these podcasts track the constant struggle for respect, recognition and happiness that we Louie-Louie Generation folks wage...daily and nightly, against the insolent forces of the clueless Pimple People, and the Drab and Dreadful Drones...who have fallen into the clutches of the Dork side.

We're heading into our sixth year together. Thank you. Thank you for giving me a few minutes of your time every week again this year. Thank you if you've just joined us, and thank you even more if you've been part of this huddle for a long time. If you've just joined us, let me explain that this podcast is about the constant struggle of the Louie-Generation lads and ladies against the forces of the Pimple People, and the Dreadful drones. In other words...it's about the fact that real courage isn't always about beating your chest and hollering, "I'm number one." Sometimes it's just about a small voice at the end of the day that says, "I'll try again tomorrow." That's hard. But Louie-Louie Generation folks have been through plenty. And we've got plenty left. Plenty of juice. Plenty of juice for fun, for sex, for new ideas, and for turning fantasies into facts. Sometimes it's pretty tough. But one more day...we can do. And when we need help, we just remember what Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard

The Sixth anniversary of the Good night podcast is coming up. Drop me an email...dick at dick summer dot com, and let me know if there's a podcast or two that you might like to hear as part of the celebration. Did you ever look for something, and have somebody say, "There is is...it's right under your nose." The next time that happens, instead of saying something about having a senior moment, just haul yourself up to your full height, look that person right in the eyes, force your voice down to disc jockey pitch, and say, "You probably don't know, but there is a place right under your nose that's a blind spot. Therefore you can't really see anything directly under your nose. So button your lip." And that's really true. There's a blind spot right under the middle of your nose. And 99% of the guys listening right now, are checking it out, and 100% of their ladies are watching them in horror.

I am sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, having survived a "Richard" morning. As any honest, Louie-Louie Generation guy will admit, one of the good things about having some years in your rear view mirror is that eventually you learn when to say yes, when to say no, and when to say, Whoopie and when to say, Whoops. My Lady Wonder Wench saw a very loud, Whoopie coming this morning, and that's why she said, Richard. When she says RICHARD like that...it always gets my attention. My Lady Wonder Wench is the only person in the world, besides the IRS, the FAA, and the Department of Motor Vehicles that calls me Richard. And that's only when my testosterone has betrayed me, and I do something that can best be described as adolescent, immature, and or smarmy. I guess I hit the jackpot this morning.

Big Louie always says, "Relationships are full of careful choices, painful compromises, and mutual goals. Romances are full of hope, and fear, and sweat...and lots of stuff that makes the forces for good in the community blush." They're not shiny and pure. They get down in the good, hot, human mud, and roll around. When you become a Louie-Louie Generation lad or lady, it becomes obvious that life will eventually turn you into either one of the 3 Stooges, or one of the 3 Musketeers. And it's mostly your choice.

I'm back in my big, comfortable, manly, leather poppa chair, with a bit of a tan, a substantially thinner wallet, and a head full of vacation snap shots to run past you. Here's one...Walking along the beach with my Lady Wonder Wench, and all of a sudden, a big pelican came in for a water ski type landing...feet first. Here's another. In that same beach's parking lot, an old time Chevvy station wagon, with a license plate that expresses a deeply felt urge for many a Louie-Louie Generation lad and lass. It said, "I-Gotta-P".

Things go bump in the night...you get scared when the floor creeks, or some dog starts barking down the street, and your aches and pains, both physical and emotional always hurt the most at night. I always liked being on the air at night, because I like being a voice that can tell you a story, make you smile a little, help you feel safe at night. It's like guys on a team pick eachother up. I just finished talking to an old friend. He's scared tonight. And angry. Those two things go together. He's scared and angry because he's buying the message of the Fearful Fringe. He is fully expecting Armageddon, The Collapse of the American Way, and a sky full of Black Helicopters by next Thursday at the latest. The Fearful Fringe see boogie men everywhere. And the all news channels just love them, because rule number one of the news business is, "If it bleeds, it leads." And the Fearful Fringe bleed in buckets. I call them the Fearful Fringe, because they're scared, and I think they live just around the edges of the

The job has been driving me nuts. So have the kids and grandkids. Nothing but bad news on tv. And my feet hurt. It's been that kind of week. I was thinking...I need a change of scene...fast. It was definitely time to tell Scotty to beam me up. Come on Scotty, zap me. Get me out of here. That's what I was thinking. And all of a sudden...Zap...I saw a quick window of opportunity. And I opened it, and I stuck my left arm out.

I'm sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room...I was just having some laughs with my Lady Wonder Wench, and I was thinking this is the best life has ever been for me. Just laughing with my Lady. Pretty basic isn't it. Among other things, we were discussing the possible mating rituals of Big Bird, and Oscar the grouch. And the ethics involved if you are at the ten items or less fast checkout lane. For example, if you have 6 apples, that's one item if they're in a bag. And 6 bananas without a bag, is also one item, because they're all attached to each other. But suppose you have two grapefruit, and there's no bag big enough for both of them. I maintain that since they're both grapefruit, that's one item. She claims reasoning like that is due to the fact that I'm from Brooklyn, and therefore I am inclined to cheat. And I remind her that if we get in the back of the slow lines, we could be there so long, we'd be in danger of being enveloped by a glasier. And I te

I am sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair in my living room, and I am shrinking. I can't feel it, but I now know for sure that I am shrinking ! Isn't that what the Wicked Witch of the West said in The Wizard of Oz? I am shrinking. Because my age index is pretty high, but my maturity level hasn't kept up with it, I often wonder if, "I'm shrinking" is what psychologists say when the phone rings while they're working. "I can't talk to you now, I'm shrinking." Can you imagine listening to a shrink dealing with a manic depressive patient. "Cheer up. Calm down. Cheer up. Calm down." That would wear anybody down. Maybe that's why they call Psychiatrists shrinks. They're all worn down.

Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation, says there are six gears on your love boat. There's neutral...when there's nothing going on. There's pre-fore-play...like when Lady Wonder Wench is taking a shower. There's fore-play, like stuff having to do with feathers. There's Play, of course. Then there's After play, which is the gear that most people don't think about. And there's reverse... which is a condition that is marked by silence, serious sulking, exaggerated politeness, needing your own space, having an affair, or moving to seperate states. Those are the six gears on your love boat. If you don't deal with number five the right way, number six will hit you. And your love boat will back up and crash on the rocks.

I spent the afternoon in a Manly way. I was felling trees with my chain saw. Then I tossed huge logs into piles that stacked all the way to the roof. Well...part of the way. Then, when I was sure my Lady Wonder Wench was watching out the window, I stalked all over the property for signs of bears or other predatory wild life, which haven't actually been seen here since the James Madison administration...but my Lady Wonder Wench was watching, so I figured I'd go stalking around with my shotgun ready...just in case. All in an afternoon's work for a Manly Louie-Louie Generation guy.

What we have needed for so long is the opposite of the word..."Hello." A catch all statement that definitively puts an end to a phone conversation without offending anybody, or making you lie... too much. A simple but effective statement to terminate a phone conversation with any one without hurting any feelings. A statement so simple, emphatic and believeable, that even one of the Pimple People would understand. A statement with class, with feeling, with urgency. In short a statement that any Louie-Louie Generation guy or gal can use with confidence, clarity, and even a touch of élan.

Valentine's Day is a great excuse for some extra hugging, and kissing, and general fooling around. I have heard that some people get so carried away they even hug the nearest tree. Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation puts that into perspective. He always says, "It's ok to hug a tree. As long as that's as far as it goes." And at the other extreme are a couple of guys I know who just ignore Valentine's Day. I guess they've just grown up too much to enjoy themselves anymore. And of course, there are quite a few folks who are taking another heavy hit to the heart this Valentine's Day. And unfortunately, it's true that sometimes...the hottest loves end in the coldest words. That's tough. I've been lucky. The last time that happened to me was with a blonde. Blue eyes. We were in Kindergarten. Her name was Joanie. And she didn't even open my Valentine's Day card. Kind of made me feel like just another sock in the laundromat of life. That was a long time ago, and I've

It is leap year, but I am not leaping from my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair, because I have found that I don't bounce nearly as well as I used to. That's such an athletic word...leap. It suggests a finely muscled athlete... perhaps in a leotard...soaring into the air. I don't mind doing the soaring, but I don't like being sore, so it's the crashing back to the ground that sometimes bothers me.

Suppose you were God, and you wanted to make a really nasty, cold month...which if you were God, you'd have a perfect right to do. Maybe you wanted people to know, and appreciate, that just as you could make a stinking hot month like August, you could make a crappy cold month too if you felt like it. In your mercy, you'd make it shorter than the other months, but it would be really nasty cold. So you made the month, and gave it the name February... because, FeBRUary has that nice kind of cold BRRR sound in there. Now suppose your clueless people keep leaving out the BRRR. They keep calling it Febyouary. If you were God, wouldn't you kind of tighten down the cold screws a little, hoping people would get the point?