Archive for February, 2010

More Words from Lady Wonder Wench

Saturday, February 27th, 2010

Okay, so here I am again … and I didn’t expect this, although as Big Louie, H.O.B.S., would say … whadda ya gonna do?

 DB is actually in pretty decent shape, although a week in the hospital and another week in rehab (where everyone was kind enough to put up with him) has made him just a tad … grouchy.  Good word, that.  He is now walking almost like a big cat … albeit a very sad cat … and I figure he will probably live long enough to get back in an airplane, provided I let him … the smile is mostly there and even when the exercises hurt like blazes, he just grunts … what a guy!

 In case no one told you, our oldest son Dave is doing the podcast again … he sounds a good deal like his dad and also has the same sort of ditsy humor.  But he was absolutely correct about plastic mayonnaise jars; how can you keep lightning bugs in a jar that is made of some unknown goop?  Glass is the only way to go …

 And in spite of all our snow … I am driving my car just to get away.  DB is not pleased that he has to let Randy use our snow blower to clear the driveway … not that Randy is complaining … and Bernadette makes the best darned soup anyone ever tasted.   It’s awfully nice to have neighbors like that, even though DB feels he isn’t taking proper care of me. 

 He is …

The Lady Wonder Wench Connection

Saturday, February 20th, 2010

Our Guest Blogger is Lady Wonder Wench Summer:

Big Louie, his own bad self, is standing in the corner and laughing at me.  ‘S okay, I ignore him anyway …

 Dickie Baby (I will explain that later) is presently attempting to gather himself and his knee into some semblance of “I’m fine; don’t worry about me …” which is, of course, a very big laugh.  Guys just do not deal well with big operations and the attendant pain.  Not that I blame him this time … the thing must hurt like hell … but DB is about the stubbornest guy I’ve ever known and he is not going to let a little (!) knee pain keep him from taking care of me now that he’s home. 

 And that, of course, is the whole story.  He has always taken his job (me) very seriously.  But didja ever watch a handsome older man with a devastating smile try not to wince every time he moves?  Not nice …

 He hates everything about this hospital … and rehab … stay.  He says he doesn’t think he ever “hab-ed” so how come he had to “rehab” … ?  I, of course, just smile … what else can I do?

 Having spent some time in a hospital myself, it’s kind of difficult to explain to the husband of Wonder Wench that this too shall pass.  I know it will, even if he doesn’t quite believe that.  There is never anything “nice” about a hospital.

 I didn’t realize just how scared I was until I had to wait for Dr. M to come tell me the operation was over and a success.  No, not that something would go wrong with the operation … of being in the darned hospital!  I couldn’t stop shaking … and even when our daughter Kris came to hold my hand and have a smiling look at Dad, the insides were on a course to go bump in the night … so between worrying about DB and whether or not I could handle going every day to see him, believe me the nerves were flying every which way but calm.  And I couldn’t let him see that (he did eventually ‘cause he knows me so well) … so I smiled and talked and took Kris around (until the snow put a crimp in that) and did an amazing job of pretending …

 But he’s here now … and it is so wonderful … and I can really sleep tonight instead of worrying … although, Big Louie, if you are so smart come up with a good plan to take that stupid pain away!

 Dickie Baby?  Oh, well, when our niece Julie was little her grandmother showed her a picture of herself (Catherine the great) and my Dick as a baby and told Julie that it was “Dickie as a baby” … and being so little herself, the only thing Julie remembered is Dickie Baby … and she has called him that ever since, even though she’s in her thirties now.  A lovely young lady with a very impish smile …

 I am not afraid of much … hospitals, leaning out over empty spaces (unless I’m in an airplane), water over my head … being alone … I am good company for myself but I have to know that he is somewhere close so I can hold his hand sometimes and see his smile and hear him whisper my name …

The Puma People Of America

Sunday, February 14th, 2010

I’m sitting here, like a lump, in my big, comfortable, black leather pappa chair in my living room. I wasn’t always a lump. Before my leg attacked me, I moved like a puma.  I thought exercising my leg would make it work just fine again, but I was wrong. It just didn’t happen. Picture running up and down steps like Rocky…ok …now try to picture it without being able to bend your knees.

Besides myself, elephants are the only other mammals that can’t bend their knees. And they look terrible in running shorts.

 I used to move like a big cat. A leopard would be a good example. So would a mountain lion, or a cougar, or a panther. All those cats are called pumas. They all feature a sly smile, a pet-able purr, and more pounce to the ounce. That’s the way I was till this leg attacked me. And I will be again.

 In fact, let’s start a new movement among the Louie-Louie Generation. We’ll call it the “Puma People of America.” It’ll be for Louie-Louie Generation folks who like to move like big cats, like having our backs rubbed, and spend as much time as possible brushing against certain nicely turned legs.

 The Puma People of America. If you want to join, you have to take the Puma People Pledge. You must do at least one “Puma Person Pounce” per week. For example: If you meet a nice lady at a bar, you might help her out of such a dangerous environment by inviting her to the safety of your apartment. And if you are that nice lady, and you are a Puma Person, you will pounce on the invitation…so to speak.

 What do you think? Are you in ?       

 That should be fun. And thinking about having more pounce to the ounce will give me a little more incentive to go get this thing done. Knee replacement sounds ugly, because it is. Why couldn’t they call it something a little more pleasant. Why couldn’t they call it capping your knee for example. It’s a much nicer picture.

 Lots of my friends are trying to cheer me up. They keep telling me, “You’ll wish you had it done ten years ago.” Hey…you… friends…are you wearing your mail order contacts backwards, or have you run out of chocolate and valium again. I DO WISH I HAD IT DONE TEN YEARS AGO. Then I wouldn’t have to have it done this week.

 I went for a pre-operation check up today. Nobody was smiling. The lady at the desk printed out a bunch of labels. I said what’s that for. She said those are patient stickers. I said I thought the nurses with the needles were the patient stickers. She didn’t smile.

 They put me on a treadmill, and said “run.” I did. And the doctor started a stopwatch. I said what’s the record for this thing. He said 27 minutes. I said ok, and I must admit my leg made me hop more than run, but I was game. I have always been highly competitive.

 It started when I was a sperm, and I successfully won a swimming race against a zillion other sperm swimmers…that’s why I’m here today. I played a lot of competitive sports when I was a kid. Kids in Brooklyn made up competitive games. When people put their Christmas trees out on the street in January, we would set fire to them, and you’d have to burn all the needles off using only one match. Which meant you had to start at the bottom, then pick the tree up by the trunk and hold it up straight to get the needles at the top. It was a competition to see who could get all the needles and who couldn’t.

 Even when I eat my breakfast cereal, I have to compete with myself. The last spoonful in the dish has to have at least one cereal flake and a little milk. That takes timing.

 So there I was in the hospital. I was happily huffing and hopping…and at 12 minutes he stopped the treadmill. I said “Why did you do that…I was doing fine. I was going for  a new record…28 minutes.” He said “You did fine…for a guy your age.”


 If he had been standing a little closer, I’d have grabbed his stethoscope and blown revile right in his ear. It’s hard to come up with a funny line when your fists are clenched that tight, so I just said, “Wait till I become a Puma Person again.” He didn’t smile either.

 Dick’s Details Quiz. All answers are in thc current podcast.

1- Why will I be snoring big time when my operation is done?

2- What’s my problem with romantic monkees ?

3- What keep an octopus from becoming a cheerleader ?

 Dick’s Details. They take your mind off your mind. 

 The Puma People of America. More pounce to the ounce. I like that. There’s a certain amount of grace to that thought. And it’s a little sexy. You could set it to music and call it “The Tiger Tango.” Get some body like Catherine Zeta Jones to dance it like she did in that Zoro movie. There’s a story about a dancer who was moving like a puma in the Night Connections personal audio cd. It’s called, The Tiny Dancer. Just like George Harrison said…there was something in the way she moved…I think her ex was kicking himself when he saw her. Good. Sometimes a boot in the behind can be a step forward. The story of a Tiny Dancer is from the Night Connections personal audio cd. If you like it, you can just keep this podcast. Or if you want a fresh copy, just go back to  and download it from the Night Connections icon on the opening page.

 I guess inside every Louie-Louie Generation person, there’s a kid wondering what happened. Sometimes it’s hard to remember what Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation always says: “When some pimple person gives you a hard time, don’t get even…get odd.” That’s good advice. Good advice is good.

 Baseball players are always giving advice. The current  big leaguers are always doing commercials saying, “Don’t do drugs.” Ex-Big-Leaguers do commercials saying…”here…drink this beer.” And Louie-Louie Generation ball players do commercials saying, “Hey, take this pill and go have sex.”

 Now if you don’t think those of us who are members of the Louie Louie Generation know what we’re talking about…let me ask you…if you’re a Puma Person, which of those three pieces of advice sounds like the most fun to you.

 My son David will be doing next week’s podcast. He’s our podcast master…and besides being a senior computer programmer, he’s also a professional musician. Dave has his own website and podcast. It’s at I have no idea what he’s going to do for the Good Night podcast, but I’m willing to bet you’re going to like it.

 And my Lady Wonder Wench will be writing next week’s blog. She’s a published novelist, and she’s been my wife and girlfriend for a long time. I don’t know what she’s going to write about. But when I asked her to write the blog because I’m going to be in the hospital, she gave me a very strange smile. So I think that will be good too.

 Wish me luck. I’m off to Puma Person Hood.

“Here’s Looking At You Kid”

Saturday, February 6th, 2010

Once upon a time, a pretty, talented young lady by the name of Connie Francis sang a tune called, “Stupid Cupid.” If you’re a member of the Louie-Louie Generation, you remember it well. In honor of Valentine’s Day, I took a very un-scientific poll of a bunch of Louie-Louie Generation friends of mine, and the results shocked me. More than 90% of them…both sexes…just kinda blew Valentine’s day off.  One guy even said, “That Cupid stuff is just stupid.”

No. It’s not.

 I like Valentines’ day. As a member of the Louie-Louie Generation I’ve had enough of Cupid’s arrows stuck in my backside to re-supply the Indians at Custer’s last stand. And some of those arrows really hurt. But as Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation always says, “Kiss the boo-boo, learn a lesson…and move on. Or better yet, get someone to kiss the boo-boo for you.”

 The first arrow Cupid shot at me had the name “Jeanie Campbell” on it. She was 6, and I was 7.” It hurt a little…and I didn’t even understand why. But it taught me I could take a little hurting… even the kind I didn’t understand. It sure wasn’t stupid. It was an important lesson. Through the years, some of that little guy’s arrows with other names on them went pretty deep. Lots of boo-boos needed to be kissed. Fortunately, my Lady Wonder Wench is the number one boo-boo kisser in the world. Well, my world anyway.

 One of the guys I talked to said, “I’m too old for that kind of thing.” Big Louie went nose to nose with that guy. Louie told him, “You’re never too old as long as you have enough moving parts.”

 I like Valentine’s Day. You get to tell somebody, “I love you.” And maybe you’ll get to hear it back. Lots of times it gets sexy. It comes at the beginning of baseball’s Spring Training season. “My Funny Valentine” is a great tune. And it’s not very expensive. What’s not to like ?

There’s a history to Valentine’s Day. It seems there was a priest by the name of Valentinus, who lost his head courtesy of Claudius the Cruel on February 14th in the year 269 AD. Supposedly, Father V. healed his jailer’s blind daughter, fell in love with her, and left a note for her in his cell the night before his execution. The note said, “I love you. From your Valentine.”

 Most holy people get a little uncomfortable about romance. Especially the kind where there are fingers and flesh involved. One Christian web site has come up with an idea to keep our minds off our fingers and flesh, by selling “Valentine’s Day cards from God.” It seems to me that us simple Louie-Louie Generation guys could call God excessively stiff competition. No pun intended.

 And the Pickle Puss People have come up with a competing day for people who don’t want any part of romance. They call it “Singles Awareness Day.” The initials of Singles Awareness Day, I think appropriately are SAD. I think SAD is…sad. Men and women belong together. There are some exceptions of course  and God bless them too. Let’s just say lovers belong together.

 But it’s romance that keeps lovers together, not a relationship. There’s a difference between a relationship and a romance. Business have relationships. Lovers have romances. A relationship develops. A romance explodes. A relationship makes progress. A romance makes sweat. Mutual sweating is a great help in keeping the people who are doing the mutually sweating stuck together.

 Dick’s Details Quiz. All answers are in the current podcast.

 1-    Dirty hands can give you a cold. What can give you a warm?

2-    How much does the “Average American” eat in a year ?

3-    What naughty thing do ¾ of American women do with their bras ?

 Dick’s Details. They take your mind off your mind.

 Once upon a time there was a pre-Louie-Louie Generation guy who was injured in a fist fight in the navy. Maybe the nasty guy took a swing at him because he had a funny name. The injury left him with a slight lisp. He had big ears too…and and a big heart. Not exactly the makings of a career as a movie star. But that’s what he became. The biggest movie star of his time. His name was Humphrey Bogart.

 Some younger Louie-Louie Generation folks may not remember him. But the rest of us will never forget him. Especially on Valentine’s day. He made a lot of movies. But mostly…we remember an old black and white film called, “Casablanca.” One of the things that made the film, was that it featured a tune that I hope will never go away. “You must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is still a sigh. The fundamental things apply, as time goes by. Bogart and his co-star Ingrid Bergman really got it right in Casablanca.

 In one scene, he looked at Bergman, who was possibly the most beautiful woman in the world at the time…he looked right at her…for a long time…and he smiled that crooked smile…and he said, “Here’s looking at you kid.” And they cut to a tight shot of Bergman’s face, as she filled the screen with her eyes.

 There’s the story of a Valentine’s Day dinner with my Lady Wonder Wench that I think Bogie and Bergman would have understood in this week’s podcast. Maybe you’ll understand it too. I hope you’ll at least give it a listen…especially if you’re feeling a little like Cupid is a real mean guy. And just in case you could use a little Valentine’s Day back rub, there’s one waiting for you in the podcast too.

 Cupid isn’t stupid. And as every Louie-Louie Generation member has experienced a few times, the little guy’s arrows can be weapons of mass destruction. But I think if you like the idea of doing some serious mutual sweating…and sticking together…you may have to take a chance and change your tune. “Stupid Cupid” isn’t going to do it for you. You might try that tune the Association did. They called it “Cherish.” You don’t hear that word very much any more. It’s a good word. And slightly sweaty.

 Or, if you’re a really big fan of the mutual sweats…turn up the steam and get into that tune the Troggs did…”Wild Thing…You Make My Heart Sing.”  Or better yet, Peggy Lee’s “Fever.”

 Unfortunately, according to my “Stupid Cupid” poll, an awful lot of people, even some in “good relationships” have “Lost That Lovin Feeling.” It’s a big loss. A terrible quiet. An awful power failure.

 Do you suppose some of it is due to a lack of guts ? Are so many people just afraid to stand up and tell Cupid to take his best shot?

 I know that sometimes…when there’s only one “Wild Thing” left in the wreckage of a romance…that hurts. Bad. But even if you’ve “Lost That Loving Feeling” you haven’t lost everything. Remember that gorgeous song from the musical Cats:

 “Memories, all alone in the moonlight, I can dream of the old days, Life was beautiful then.

I remember the time I knew what happiness was, Let the memories live again.”

 Memories count too.

So thanks anyway, Jeannie Campbell. Wherever you are.