Good Night

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, and I must confess until I started recording this, I was sucking my thumb. I guess that's a little like hanging on to the blue blankie. The key pad on my new Ipod is not kind to Louie-Louie Generation guys with thick thumbs. In fact Ipods are not kind to Louie-Louie Generation guys period. And it's not just because you could call me "Old Clumsy Thumbs." Ipods are also kind of a brain drain. Remember when companies gave you an instruction book when you bought something that was more complicated to use than just plug it in the wall, and turn the knob? The Ipod comes with a little tiny three page foldover instead. It says go to our website on the internet, and download the simple instructions. The simple instructions are 342 pages long. That's not simple instructions. I like looking at my Lady Wonder Wench. Because when she looks back, I don't see the reflection of some Ol Clumsy Thumbs guy with a major brain drain. I see

It's coming clean time. I think every life should have some kind of real meaning. Including mine. Some people make a big mark on life. I'll be content with making just a small smudge. One of the fascinating stories that came out about the rescue of those miners in Chile, is that some of them had mistresses. (Oh my.) The media didn't talk about them much, because talking about mistresses could cause trouble. Mistresses are a little like Stepmothers. They don't get much respect. Which is bizarre, because they sometimes become Stepmothers. I think many mistresses are misunderstood, and very much under-respected. The Pious guys roll their eyes to heaven when I say that. "Pious" is an old Brooklyn word meaning "full of pie." This podcast will explain my theory. (Every life should be examined one person at a time.) If you take what it says into your life, it will mean I've made my little smudge.

I've got to warn you about a group of people who are as close to useless as a BB gun during a rhino charge. And that's the Dreadful Drones. They are virtual people. They're not kids...they've done the time that could qualify them for Louie-Louie-hood, but they've totally missed the ‘tude. The Attitude. So they missed their opportunity. They never latched on to Louie-Louie hood. Big Louie claims that the only reasonable explanation for them is that during evolution, their ancestors were in the control group. A Dreadful Drone Dude, walks a couple of steps ahead of his Dreadful Drone Dude-ett...and he forgets that a dude should hold his dude-tte's hand, open the door for her, and talk to her every once in a while. He still chooses his breakfast cereal by what kind of toy is in the box. His idea of excitement is when the tv networks start their new fall season shows. His biggest ambition is becoming a tax accountant who has a loophole named after him. A Dreadful Drone Dude-tte thinks, "don't ask, don't t

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair, after a really tough day. Just popped the shoes. Don't know if I should put these socks in the laundry, or set fire to them. The way they smell may set off the fire alarm without any help from a match. I'm really looking forward to taking a nice, hot, shower in a few minutes. Tough day. But a good day. I got stuff done. Getting things done feels good. It makes you feel like you're in control. There's not a lot of that in control feeling around these days. You get out on the road and people are driving at speeds ranging from sonic boom to car wash...and all you want to do is get to work. You've got to be cunning to survive. Of course, Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation has been around long enough to give us advice on surviving in today's traffic. For example, Louie says, "Never pass a driver who's on a cell phone. Wait till he creams the truck ahead of him, then pass briskly on whichever si

Team work is important to guys. Team work. We help each other. We often even put aside our differences to help each other win the most important challenge we all face...which is convincing Louie-Louie Ladies that we lust lovingly, care completely, and protect passionately. Especially that first part. We cooperate with each other when we can. Of course, sometimes we can't. It's trickey. There are limits to team work. Mostly those limits have to do with ladies. We've learned that from history. We've learned for example about two famous pre-Louie-Louie Generation guys...one from Sparta and the other from Troy. They got into this huge fight over a pre-Louie-Louie Lady named Helen. Helen must have been hot. It's said she had a face that launched a thousand ships...so you can imagine what the rest of her must have looked like. So these two guys and their buddies really went at it...whacking away at each-other. But it seems that nothing could stop the powerful Spartan navy. And pretty soon, what seemed like mil

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather pappa chair in my living room...just took off my shoes...ohhh that feels so good. It's like sneezing three times in a row, or long fingernails scratching your back, a long...warm shower...releasing a belch that starts right behind your navel, or let's be honest...there are few feelings as fine as the release of your personal fragrance of a combustible nature. From the time I get up in the morning, I look forward to the instant that my shoes come off at night. The smart guys in the white lab coats claim that depression, and irritability tend to be among the causes of flat feet. Seems to me that the frequent flapping of flat feet might be one of the causes of depression and irritability. And boy are my feet flat. And big. Very uncomfortable when I put them into my mouth...which...given what I have done for a living all my life...is frequently. I really do have big feet. For a guy my size. I used to be 5-11. Probably closer to 5-10 now. Louie-Louie

Sealth stuff sneaks in under your radar. That's why it's called stealth stuff. Stealth stuff sprouts on smooth flat surfaces...like tables...the tops of dressers...and kitchen counters. Yesterday, when I got back from the store with my nifty new all frequency desk lamp that will give me healthy virtual sunlight during the darker months, my new wi-fi transmitter that will let me use my lap top anywhere within a five mile radius, and my new ten terrabite external hard drive made in China and assembled in Tailand...my stealth stuff signal finally went off...alerting me to the startling scope of the danger I face from the rapidly accelerating level of stealth stuff that has...evidently...for years been stalking me. Sneaking up on me. But it may be too late. I work at my day job in my home office. But that deadly stealth stuff has now completely covered my desk...so where am I going to put the brand new stuff I just bought? The nifty all frequency desk lamp that will give me healthy virtual sunlight during th

As I sit here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair, her words swirl around in my head, and tug at the sides of my mouth...and I'm trying hard not to smile. Smugly. Nobody likes a smug smile...except maybe the smug smiler. Now...I'm pretty sure my Lady Wonder Wench is watching. The woman was a sales lady, and she said, "My what a nice body." And she was talking about me. And my Lady Wonder Wench was standing right there. And Lady Wonder Wench is sitting on the couch right across the room from me right now, and from the expression on her face I know she knows what I'm thinking. And she's thinking, "The woman didn't mean it, she's a sales person." And I'm thinking "Yes she did. But I know from experience I better not smile. Because I know Lady Wonder Wench will roll her eyes, sigh, and put her hand on her hip again. I mentioned the other day that I was going to wear my gold lame loin cloth and purple ostrich feather for my dinner date last Friday with Lady Wonder Wench. I saw it start her thinki

Who ever did the original design for human beings gave us tears for a reason. They're safety valves. Most women understand that and they're smart enough, and brave enough, to cry when the pressure inside is threatening to pop something important in their hearts. Most guys are neither smart enough nor brave enough to cry because most guys are afraid the other guys will laugh at them. That's a big reason that more men than women have heart attacks. When you're hurting inside, you're supposed to cry. If you don't you're working against your own chemicals. Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation says, "There are things you shouldn't fake. Don't fake driving a stick shift car, don't fake flying an airplane, don't fake doing electrical work, don't fake delivering a baby, and when you feel like crying...don't fake a smile."

Where the heck did it go? The lazy, crazy, hazy days of Summer...and the under the boardwalk nights, watching the fireworks...and making some of our own...and the most beautiful girls in the world in their summer dresses...and walking in the sand. There's still some time left, but as Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation always says: "Life is like a giant roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end the faster it goes." Time to grab a share of the Summer love you've got coming to you...it's going by pretty fast.

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, with what I think will be a nice surprise freebie for you. I just finished production on the brand new Night Connections 3 album. And for this week only, I'll send you a free download. All you have to do is send an email to dick@dicksummer.com, and say...sure send me Night Connections 3...for free. That's it. No strings. No obligations. No kidding. These are some stories that I really wanted to record. Most of the Night Connections stories were started in my head by things that phone callers told me when I was on the air in the middle of the night. They had nothing to lose by telling me what they were doing, and maybe they had something to gain getting things off their chests. They were laughing, and crying, and loving, and leaving...betraying each other and earning each other's trust. You can almost smell the middle of the night sweat and perfume in these stories...and the beer...and the fear.

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, recovering from the shock of the results of a certain look on our daughter Kristin's face. Her expression is well known in the family. Her left eyebrow goes up, she smiles a quick little tight smile, and her nose twitches. She's done that ever since she was an infant. It's a signal that she's going to make something happen. Kris is a biker chick, a lacy lady, a blue jeans babe, a proud mother of three great kids, and a talented artist. She's the kind of daughter who makes a guy hope he really is something like she thinks he is. And she's my Lady Wonder Wench's best friend.

I like reading my emails while I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room. It's comfortable. I like comfortable. But like anybody else, except with your oh so very koolest guys. That's kool with a k. I sometimes get frazzled and furious. I have at times started fist fights. And I have been known to leak suspiciously around the eyes at sad movies, or moving music. Very un-kool. And I don't care if you know it. So...an email just came in from proud podcast participant Betsy Kemp. Betsy says, "This is no good. We need to keep our quarterback nice and mellow." Betsy, I am usually a mellow fellow. I like being that kind of cool. But I don't spell it with a K. See... I also like being hot. Getting hot has gotten me into a lot of trouble in my life. It's left me with scars from fights, and scars from love affairs, and it's gotten me fired from radio stations, and damn near got me killed a couple of times trying to do some things...some crazy things...that simply couldn'

You've heard that "Time flies when you're having fun?" Well time also flies when you drop your clock. I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather Pappa chair, with time on my hands. Sort of. Actually...I have pieces of my living room clock...which I dropped...in my hands. It looks like the clock is dead...it's just a bunch of little pieces on the floor. I was trying to set it to pick up the signal from some Godforsaken transmitter in the mountains of Colorado...which the government uses to keep clocks like this accurate. I don't know much about Colorado, except that the time coordination transmitter is there, and expensive people go to Aspen to mate. My Lady Wonder Wench and I went to Colorado once so she could buy a horse. I was never clear as to why when we live in Pennsylvania, she had to go to Colorado to buy a horse. Have you any idea how many Pennsylvania horses must have looked up at our plane and felt rejected. Guy horses must have a very high rejection rate when you think about it...b

It is so...comfortable, sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room. I guess part of it is that as a Louie-Louie Generation guy, I'm past the age where I always have to prove that I'm just as good as I never was. Louie-Louie Generation guys are comfortable. We know that "He who dies with the most toys wins." But on the other hand, we also know that he doesn't get to play with them, because he's dead. The Pimple People haven't figured that out yet. They're not comfortable. They're always scrambling trying to catch up with us. Big Louie, his own bad self, has a statement for the Pimple People. He says, "Pimple People of the world, you shall indeed inherit the earth...after we're done with it." I'm always amazed at how un-comfortable Pimple People guys are. This is no kidding. You can't make this up. There is a National Coalition for Men. Their stated goal is to "Help emotionally adrift men." They deal with big deal problems like should a man open a door for a woman? Sho

Tonight, I'm the masked man...sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room. The mask probably isn't important. You probably wouldn't recognize me anyway without my blue leotard and red cape, with the big L for Louie on the back. If you're new to this podcast, this is about life for the Louie-Louie Generation...lads and ladies for whom that song has been a big part of the background of our lives. It's not just about age. It's actually mostly about 'tude. Attitude. We've got it. We don't age. We ferment instead. I'm hiding my face from Face Book. And not only am I not a Face Book friend, I am a twitter quitter, and painful as it may sound, I've lopped off my link at linkedin. I'm not anti-social. I just think some people take the word "friend" kinda lightly. Or maybe I take it too seriously. But I really love my friends. I don't have very many of them, and you know who you are. You have my email address and my phone number. You can get in touch with me any time you

I'm looking at a dangerous new 32 inch wide flat screen hole in my living room and in fact in my life and yours. You can disappear down that hole... and boldly go... nowhere. And lots of people do. As you may have figured out, I had to replace an almost perfectly good twenty some odd year old TV set before its time. I wanted to wait till I could afford a new 3d TV, so I could watch Catherine Zeta Jones movies the way they were intended to be seen. Through slightly steamed up glasses. But my trusty old Zenith was driving me nuts with the closed captioning which it decided to turn on all by itself, and I couldn't turn it off... without the original changer, which has long since joined the original rabbit ears in Howdy Doody Heaven. And I didn't want to hear what most of the tv people were saying the first time around, without having to read it fifteen seconds later, in a voice recognition printout that has switched the language to the Klingon setting. A long time ago, when the kids were little, I always wis

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