Good Night

Valentine's Day is coming. That's a big deal around here. In some places it's not. I guess like a lot of things, it depends on the context. The context here is that my Lady Wonder Wench seriously disrupts the estrogen level for most of this zip code. When she walks around in her two piece...which is what I call her bedroom slippers...I often lose control of my eyebrows, my ears, my fingers, and many of my other parts, and I am...for a short period of time...once again...Lifeguard Man. So I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, scratching my head...which feels good by the way...trying to think of a new and better way to put how I feel about my Lady Wonder Wench into a Valentine's Day context.

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, watching my Lady Wonder Wench giggle...at the fact that I may never again be able to get up from my big, comfortable black leather poppa chair...because I've had my first real work out at the gym since we moved here...which was a long time ago. Actually all I did was swim in their 25 meter long pool. I did 800 meters. And I now have a real appreciation for the difference between a yard and a meter. A meter is approximately 6 miles longer than a yard. I need to put this in context for you. I was, in my "yout"...which is the Brooklyn word meaning young person...the chief lifeguard at Coney Island's Section 4. I was...at that time...I was...I believe the term is...ripped. There were days when I had paperwork to do in the lifeguard shack, but I felt that it was my duty to go for a stroll along the beach because I looked so good. That was then. This is now. I realized yesterday that I have spent a little too much time in my popp

In our constant struggle to save the world, stop the sky from falling, and keep Victoria's Secret from falling into the wrong hands...the ones with cold fingertips, the Big Louie Department of Defense and Fooling Around has decided that we have run out of options. It's time to target the tear mongers. We are about to launch our ultimate un-doomsday weapon...our "Whistle Missile."

What do you say about a year in which the Ancient Mayans tell us the world will end, and the groan and moan politicians and talk show hosts tell us the sky is falling, and the New York Mets don't have a starting pitching staff? Here's what Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation says: "Cheer up." And here's why he says that.

The Pimple People don't like hot. They're too kool, and they spell cool with a K instead of a "c". Maybe they avoid using a c, because they don't want to see...as in see where you are and what you're doing, see people...one at a time...see the magic all around you...and the magic inside you. Don't get lost. Keep finding yourself. That's my New Year's resolution. And I'm telling you about it now at the beginning of this new year as a warning. Because I am going to keep reminding you all year long, that if you want...you really can keep dreaming...and believing in your dreams...and you can keep turning them into your own magic, even if...sometimes ...the rabbit in the hat bites your hand...and people laugh at you, and tell you how not kool is is to be a dreamer.

We'll be wishing this "Very Merry Christmas To You" podcast until Christmas. And we'll be posting lots of the letters you've sent about what this time of year means to you on the blog, at www.dicksummer.com. The last story in this "A Very Merry Christmas To You" podcast is one I told you last year. And more than a few of you asked if I'd tell it again. So here it is... again. Like Christmas. And...yes...it really did happen... exactly this way. Merry Christmas.

I'm sitting here in my big, black, comfortable pappa chair in the living room, listening to some Christmas music. There's Christmas music all over the radio again this year. The Eagle's "Please come home for Christmas" is the fifth most played Christmas song on the radio again this year. Number four is Andy Williams "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year." "Feliz Navidad" by Jose Feliciano comes in at number three. Nat Cole's "Christmas Song" is number two. And THE most played Christmas song this year is Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" from somewhere around 70 years ago. All those artists had lots of hits in their careers. But the most popular Christmas song of all time was a one hit wonder.

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather pappa chair in my living room...and pretty soon I'm going to have to move it, because we always put our Christmas tree right between my chair, and the big stereo speakers our son Eric the inventor built for us a few years ago. We don't put up our tree till Christmas Eve, and it may be a bit early to be thinking about it right now, but that seems to be all the stores ARE thinking about. Some of them have had Christmas decorations up since just after Labor Day. Some people resent the fact that the Christmas shopping season seems to start a week earlier every year. I really don't mind. I like Christmas. People say, "Why can't we have Christmas all year long." Well the way it's being started earlier and earlier every year, by somewhere around 2020, it WILL be with us all year long.

I was sitting in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room just now, thinking about Thanksgiving. Among other things, 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 Thanksgiving watching what happened when my Lady Wonder Wench, and our daughter Kris, our Daughter in Law Brenda, and our Sister in law Beth were scurrying around preparing dinner, while the guys were...otherwise occupied. And I had an actual thought. It was then when I realized that men are seldom given credit for our sensitivity, our intelligence and our selfless behavior.

Holy Batman ! I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, rubbing my feet, and drinking coffee, trying to get over the uncomfortable suspicion that either the Grinch stole our mailboxes so we couldn't send Christmas Cards, or some bright light at the Post office Department decided that they could save lots of money delivering mail if they didn't collect it any more. It looks like our mailboxes have now gone the way of outdoor phone booths, rooftop TV antennas, hula hoops, lava lamps, and mini skirts.

I'm sitting here in by big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, and as you can probably tell, I like it here at home. That's why my Lady Wonder Wench and I don't take many traveling vacations. We like being home. Willie Nelson likes being on the road. Willie's current road trip included a theater not too far away from here last night, so we grabbed a couple of seats because we both like his music. The theater was packed. Lots of the people had long beautiful hair, very fancy hats, and stylish boots. And there were quite a few women there too.

I like the dark. Diversions dissolve in the dark. Diversions like your aching back, your visiting mother in law, and even your job. If you're not afraid of the dark, and you let it dissolve the diversions in your life, you begin to see some faces looking at you. And sometimes one of those faces is...yours. It can be spooky. Especially the look in your eyes. But seeing your own face looking back at you in the dark...can really be an eye opener to some of the things you didn't know about yourself.

I was sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room last night, watching a stink bug crawling up on the wall toward the ceiling. I knew that if I mentioned this to my Lady Wonder Wench, who was sitting in her usual spot on the couch...right under the bug...she would run right out of her socks into the kitchen, and she'd trip and hurt herself. I didn't want that to happen. On the other hand, I was a bit concerned that if I didn't tell her about it, the bug might fall down from the ceiling, and land in her lap. In which case she would skip the running part, pull a Star Trek move...and just kind of beam herself into some parallel universe, leaving only her t shirt, skirt, socks, and hair, behind on the couch, as sad reminders of the wonderful, sexy, happy life we had when she lived here in this universe with me.

I just got an email that knocked me right out of my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room. It said, quote, "Richard, why are you wearing your mother's bra?" My head went zap...and flashed me the most bizarre picture I have ever seen. Perhaps flashed isn't the proper word here. The email went on to say that I must modernize my bra, with a seamless microfiber pullover model that features a ribbed band that eliminates rolls, wires and adjusting straps. And for God's sake...I shouldn't wear an old fashioned bra that hooks in the back or front. When my eyes stopped rotating long enough for me to regain conscious thought, I couldn't help wondering where the hell does this thing does hook.

I'm sitting in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, mourning the loss of my hevele. I know it's missing, because my friend Susan, who runs the post office down the block just asked me about it. Susan and I have been friends since I awarded her my first Gruntled Post Office Employee Of The Month award. It was a bar of Hershey Dark Chocolate. She is usually very up-beat and pleasant. But today she looked at me and said, "Why do you look so disheveled?" Disheveled ? Now, I don't take a bow every time I pass a mirror, but on the other hand, I don't think I look like my hobby is stepping on rakes either. And I am in reasonably good health...my doctor recently assured me that regardless of my age, I am still not showing many of the early signs of mummification. And I reminded Susan of what Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation always says, "It's wasteful to throw a whole face away, just because it's banged up a bit."

It's comfortable sitting here in my big, black, leather pappa chair in my living room...which is good...because I had a head snapping experience today. A total stranger, suddenly stuck his face into my bathroom mirror this morning. It was quick. All of a sudden, he was staring me down, just a fist's distance away from my face. It was like I was playing peek-a-boo with some sinister, Mr. Fist In The Face...and a little voice in my head said he had something important to tell me.

Time to tuck another summer away. Sunrise, sunset. To everything there is a season. And this is the season when Summer falls asleep. The long, laughing, lazy, crazy, hazy days at the beach, the nights full of soft lovers voices under the boardwalk...Saturdays in the park, itsy, bitsy, teeny, yellow polka dot bikinis, roller coasters, Italian ice cups, baseball, the sound of crickets, and lawn sprinklers...you can feel them all slipping away...into fall.

Strange week. Two natural disasters and a natural wonder all in the same week. I was sitting in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair the other day, and I felt the earth move. Really. An earthquake. I've felt the earth move before, but never when my Lady Wonder Wench was in some other room. My Lady Wonder Wench frequently creates testosterone tsunamis which cause hormonal power surges in guys all over our zip code. It is very difficult for me to describe what Lady Wonder Wench looks like without using my hands.

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, listening to the soft, Summer, night sounds. In fact, I just recorded them. They're so...calm. So I put them in this podcast for you to do a soft Summer sound chill out.

"Time Marches On" But the parade stumbled this morning. It stumbled. And that shook me up. This gets a little strange, but bear with me, because it may happen to you some morning if you're a member of the Louie-Louie Generation like me. When I opened the curtain and looked out at our back yard like I do every morning, the sun was hitting the trees from a strange angle. It wasn't the winter angle by any means. It didn't even look like fall. But this morning, it wasn't middle of the summer soft like it has been since early July. It was like something out of the "Twilight Zone."