Dick Summer Connection

They say the wife is always the last to know.  So … to coin a phrase from one of my favorite movies:  “Who knew?”

 Giggle bites?  Truly b-a-d puns about John Lennon?  I know my Louie-Louie Lad has been feeling slightly off color lately but good grief!  This is going just a bit too far and even Big Louie His Own Bad Self cannot excuse it.  Apparently without my noticing it, the “bad bug” bit him.  I guess it’s because there has been a spate of “remember when” videos and emails sent to him.

 HE HAS REVERTED TO BEING A LATE NIGHT DISC JOCKEY !

 Yes, yes, I know that is exactly why I fell in love with him; well, almost exactly …

 I did not call him at night and ask him to “play Misty for me” …

I’m sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather pappa chair in my living room, kicking off my slippers. I need my toes because I don’t have enough fingers to scratch all my giglebites. Let me explain. Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation, has a new Louie-Louie Language word to describe an email that puts a smile on your face. He calls it a Giggle-bite. Because it’s a gigabite with a laugh. I told you that I had a little bumpy time with last week’s podcast, and courtesy of your own bad selves, I now have giggle bites all over me. And thank you for sending those gigglebites. Every time I scratch them they feel…very good. Thank you.

 Proud Podcast Participant Mike L, has added still another word to the Louie-Louie Language. Delouielouieslusional. Mike says, “Am I being Delouie-louie-lusional when I say the 60s had the best music? I cringe when I hear a Pimple Person say the Beatles were over-rated. They can’t see past their nose rings. All their music is so processed. The rawness is gone. It’s like buying an unfinished chair because you like the grain of the wood, and then plastering it with fifty coats of varnish.” Mike…never fear. You have not put the McCartney before the horse. You’re absolutely right. Sgt. Pepper is nothing to sneeze at. And there’s nothing like a stroll through Strawberry Fields, sipping a tall glass of cold Lennon-aid. And It is never delouielouielusional to be generous with your gigagiggles. 

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

1-    Why should J.L. Roundtee spend his money fast ?

2-    What kind of Klingon should show up at my party ?

3-    What are 17% of American drivers doing that keep anybody from flirting with them ?

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

 If you’re new to this podcast, let me explain the Louie-Louie concept. Louie-Louie folks are people for whom that song is an important part of the backround of our lives. Louie-Louie guys are the bedmates of choice for super models, Porn stars, and Catherine Zeta Jones wannabees…mainly because of our manly charm, the fact that we really love and take care of our women, and some of us have our nice cars and personal airplanes paid for. Louie-Louie Ladies are cherished for their loyalty, their laughter, and their cooking…in every sense of the word cooking. There is usually an age element involved. But Louie-Louie hood is more dependent on your attitude than on your age. 

I’ve met some kids who are Louie-Louie trainees. They are generous, smart, optimistic and funny. I like kids. I was at  Doctor Boyd’s office for a check up yesterday. The adults in the main waiting room all looked like they were part of a silent Halloween costume party. So I hid in the little section of the waiting room that’s called the kiddie corner, because it has a little rocking horse, and some toys, and a well worn copy of the Cat In The Hat. It’s wonderful to pretend you’re five again. I don’t think I fully appreciated it the first time around.

 Doctor Boyd eventually came out and said, “How are you?” I couldn’t resist…I said, “That’s what I want to know. That’s why I came to see you.” Fortunately, he has dealt with me when I get into that kind of mood before, and he just shook his head sadly…and giggled under his breath. The last time I was in to see Doctor Boyd, I asked him to write out a prescription saying that my only chance for survival was sex at least once in every 24 hour period. He said, “I can’t do that.” I said, “Come on… be a guy.” So he did, but he specified that there were no generics allowed…it was to be filled only with the cooperation of the one and only, the genuine, Lady Wonder Wench… which was fine with me anyway. Doctor Boyd is a typical Louie-Louie guy.

 There’s a story about how two typical Louie-Louie guys and a Louie-Louie lady are coping with their lives, in the Night Connections 2 personal audio cd. It’s called, Ms. Long Hair.

 I have no idea how Ms. Long Hair does it. She not only gets everything done, but she gets everything done with good humor, great care, and a certain…gracefulness. And the guys are tucking their testosterone away enough to take care of business, and the kids…and even smiling at each other. Big Louie would be proud.

 Ms. Long Hair is from the Night Connections 2 personal audio cd. If you like it, you can just keep the podcast. Or if you want a fresh copy, just download it from the Night Connections 2 icon on the home page.

 Big Louie says, “Fish don’t know they’re in water. If you tried to explain water to a fish, he’s say, ‘water, what’s water ?” They can’t see it till you pull them out of it. That’s the way it is with people too. We’re so surrounded by people who think the same way we do, that it’s hard to recognize that the way we think, isn’t necessarily how everybody thinks.

 So I don’t think it’s Delouielouielusianal for us to get a gigglebite out of a podcast that offends some of the members of the Forces For Good In The Community. I think some of them are a little fishy anyway.

 And after much research, meditation and experimentation, I’ve found that the best way to deal with all these giglebites I’ve got right now is not to scratch them. It’s just to take a big dose of Doctor Boyd’s specially prescribed medicine.

Now get this straight:  my Louie-Louie Lad has been many things in his varied life, but he has not once ever been anything but a gentleman and anyone who thinks otherwise needs her head … or some other more appropriate part … at least examined under a very intense microscope.  Don’t get your knickers in a twist, guys  … (oh how I have always wanted to say THAT! The person probably responsible for Dick’s podcast being “removed” from the radio station is almost certainly a woman, one with her head up her armpit and with absolutely no idea of the difference between long johns and a wisp of scarlet.

 I was born and  raised in Boston, than which there is no more stuffy place in this wide world.  But both my parents were good guys and I was never allowed to be anything less than all the woman I chose to be.  I know the difference because they allowed me to learn … and then, of course, my Louie-Louie Lad taught me … and I am a quick learner … and besides that, it was and is fun.

 I suppose I should feel sorry for any Pimple Person or pseudo-Louie Louie Generation guy or girl who allows the world to dictate how and what they can or should feel.  But I don’t.  Each of us is an individual, living within the confines of society … but not even society can or should tell me who or how or when or why …

 I truly do believe that life is to be enjoyed … to the best of our ability … and anyone who figures to tromp on that had just better get out of my way.

Time for me to brush off some dust. The podcast that goes with this blog each week is for grown ups…Louie-Louie folks…of all ages. Big Louie, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation always says, “The word grown up describes a person who has been known to groan from being knocked down, but always gets up, brushes off the dust, and gets on with life.” That’s a grown up. I know a lot of you from emails, or phone calls, or even visits. And you’re all grown ups. So I guess you can stand hearing an offensive podcast without having it scar you too deeply. I have no idea why it’s offensive. I don’t want to offend you on the podcasts any more than I’d want to offend you in person. But I obviously screwed up somewhere.

 Here’ what’s going on. The podcasts are carried on a number of radio stations as a late night feature. One of the stations just informed me that the contents of one of the podcasts was so offensive, they are dropping the series. The podcast is titled, “Underwear or Lingerie,” and I have absolutely no idea why it would be offensive. So…help me out here. My email is dick at dick summer.com. I’d appreciate it if you’d listen to the podcast, and tell me WHY IT’S OFFENSIVE TO GROWN UPS !

 When I was a kid, I had a fantasy. I wanted to be the radio voice in the middle of the night that could make people (especially girls) all over the city feel safe and cared for…and beautiful. I knew that kind of radio voice could make guys feel comfortable, too…because that’s what  one radio guy’s voice  did for me.

 I grew up in Brooklyn. For a New Yorker, a trip from Brooklyn to Manhattan is called, “a trip to the city.” When I “went to the city” as a kid, I used to look at those sky scrapers in Manhattan, and it seemed to me like they must have erupted like volcanos from the concrete… probably pushed up by the power of the subways as they roared along under the streets.

 There are 14 million people in New York…and on a good day all of them are trying to cross the same street at the same time…and they’re all hustling because they’re late for work. You’ve gotta keep moving…24/7… when you live in New York. It’s a constant clang, pound and push…all day and all night. It’s exciting. But it wears on you. And after a while it can be a little frightening.

 I used to hide my radio under the pillow late at night. That’s how I listened to William B. Williams on WNEW in New York. Willie always started his show by saying…”Hello, world.” He was welcoming you to his fantasy world, where he would keep you safe and smiling, and comfortable.

 His voice made me feel like we were buddies. He’d tell a couple of jokes…and he’d kinda give me a friendly punch in the shoulder… and sometimes throw me a knowing wink when he talked to the girls we both knew were listening. Willie is gone now. And so is that kind of radio. I call it “Fantasy Radio.” I miss it.

 I got to be a late night voice on the radio…even got to work with Willie and some of the other giants who lived in that little transistor box. And I think it’s a shame that we now have a couple of generations of kids who have never heard that kind of radio.

I don’t want to sound wrinkled and old beyond recognition…because getting wrinkled was not one of the fantasies I had when I was a kid. But I think if you’re a member of the Louie-Louie Generation…and you remember the Lone Ranger, and black and white tv, and bb guns…you’ll understand what I mean. And if you’ve been listening to the podcasts that go with this blog for a while, you’ll know that no matter how many birthday cakes you’ve sliced, you’re a member of the Louie-Louie Generation if a lot of your conversations these days includes words like “prostate,” “ouch,” “vitamin E,” “stress,” “diet,” and “what…what did you say?” 

Look…wrinkles may be sneaking up on us Louie-Louie Generation people, but contrary to what the pimple people think, our biggest concern is not getting our teeth stuck in each other’s wrinkles…our vital juices have not all turned to prune…and many of us are still looking forward to the disorderly, vigorous, and entirely disreputable remainder of our lives. And those of us who are still in love clearly understand the difference between a relationship and a romance. And the rest of us are well aware that although sex without love is a meaningless experience… as meaningless experiences go…it’s one of your better ones. 

Louie-Louie guys are the bed mates of choice for super models, porn stars, and beautiful young 22 year olds because of our worldly charm, our courtly manners, and the fact that some of us have a little money. We’re experienced. We know enough to tie up and blindfold the dog in times of… physical tenderness. Louie-Louie ladies also have their lives under control. They realize that if things don’t go well in a tender moment, it’s best to wait till your partner leaves to put in an emergency call to somebody better. And perhaps most important…Louie-Louie Generation people have learned to trust the words of Big Louie…his own bad self…when he says, “the more seriously you take yourself, the more foolish you look.”

 Dick’s Details Quiz – All answers are in the current PodCast at www.dicksummer.com

1- What unusual thing did the Perdue University Marching Band do right on the field after drinking lots of beer?

2- What very physical thing do lots of people do in their showers?

3- What one word in the English language makes me sick?

Scoring:

3 right – I Love New York

2 right – Chicago’s My Home Town

1-right – Moonlight In Miami

0-right – El Paso

 An email came pouring in to Dick@DickSummer.com  from proud PodCast participant Tom the Hugger about last week’s PodCast. He says in part…”When I went to Catholic school dances, the nuns and priests used to discourage dancing real close by tapping us on the shoulder and telling us to leave room for the Holy Ghost. This led me to think of the Holy Ghost as some kind of perv for wanting to dance between me and my girl. Of course, even I was smart enough by then not to mention that to Sister Mary Knuckle Buster.”

 Another note… this time from proud PodCast participant Dick B, who says, “I like your PodCasts because they make me think back to when times were slower…or maybe we just didn’t have as many responsibilities.” Thanks, Dick. The email address is Dick@DickSummer.com .

 But I digress. Back to the point. It’s fantasies that keep Louie-Louie people from becoming cynics. Cynics don’t believe in fantasies. They’re always looking for a sure thing. There’s always at least a touch of “maybe” in every fantasy. And cynics don’t like anything but sure things. Cynics are chicken. And chickens aren’t sexy. Fantasies are sexy…wearing lingerie instead of underwear…the pretty girl turning the frog into a prince and living happily ever after…the guy on the white horse swooping down to rescue the fair maiden from a fate worse than death. I like fantasies like that.

 So that’s why I do the PodCasts. I love the power of the fantasies that a voice on the radio can create late at night. But Fantasy Radio is gone…and I don’t think it will ever be back. So when you tell me that the PodCasts make you feel comfortable…and safe…and beautiful… and connected…thank you…from that long ago Brooklyn kid with his radio under the pillow.  You’ve let me live my fantasy…one more time.

 So, I certainly don’t want to offend you with the podcasts. And it would really help me if you’d listen to the current podcast, and let me know what you think the station thought was offensive. They wouldn’t tell me.

 My Email is, Dick@DickSummer.com. Give it to me straight. I’m a grown up. I can handle dusting myself off.

So it’s called don’t do what you don’t want to do … 

 Which is why you didn’t see me yesterday …

 Oh, not that I didn’t want to razz Big Louie His Own Bad Self.  But I truly do figure those Louie-Louie Lads are just getting a little above themselves.  Since when is it all right NOT to do the laundry?  Or NOT to shop for groceries?  Or pay the bills … or the income tax man … or go to work and get your job done? 

If we all did exactly what we wanted … and not any of what we should … who would do the figuring for those pesky bank thingies like I’ve just been doing ?  Or sell fuel oil to people who need it like one of our granddaughters… or design computer programs or amps for musicians …like two of our sons… or keep the airways as safe as possible …like some air traffic controller friends… or teach aspiring pimple people how to be musicians …like two of our sons… or dig in the dirt and fix gardens … like certain Wonder Wenches … or make my Louie-Louie Lad laugh?

 Yeah, I know, there has to be a time for “us” … but it still has to be squeezed in between all that other stuff.  You do like to eat, don’tcha, Dick?

I was diligently drinking my morning cup of coffee today, seriously considering the possibility of starting to work to finish the report I’d been working on for a couple of days, because it’s due tomorrow morning, when the phone rang. I put the half full coffee cup down next to the computer, kicked my chair back, tripped on the rug, and as I grabbed the desk to keep from falling down, I knocked the coffee into the computer key board. The call was from a telemarketer. And it was recorded. I hit the call back button on the phone to ream the company out, and a phone company recording said the number was out of service. I walked over to the kitchen to grab a paper towel to sop up the coffee, forgetting that I had used the last of the roll last night. Fortunately, I was wearing an old shirt, so I looked around to be sure my Lady Wonder Wench wasn’t watching, and I reverted to my bachelor days. Without thinking, I pulled the shirt up out of my trousers, and started wiping up the coffee. But in the process of trying to get the coffee out from between the computer keys, I must have hit the delete button, and the report I was going to finish disappeared from the screen, replaced by a notice that said I was trying to perform an illegal operation, and therefore the program would close down to protect the computer, and I should see the network administrator.

 So…just as I’m standing there with my shirt soaked with coffee, steam pouring out of my ears…saying some very naughty words, the front door opens, and my next door neighbor’s little kid walks in to sell me some Girl Scout cookies. That’s when the business phone rings, and it’s a guy from a network of daytime only radio stations wanting to sell me some commercial time on their most popular show, which is about canning vegetables.

 It was definitely time to take a deep breath, and sit down…here in my big, comfortable, black leather Pappa chair in my living room. So I did. And I’m still here. And I think I better stay here for a while and calm down. I’m getting to like sitting here…calming down. It gives me something to do. I’m getting to like it so much that I’m going to make a point of doing it at least once a month. Maybe more often than that. I’m going to call it my, “Don’t Do What You Don’t Wanna Do Day, do wah, do wha.”

 I was going to call it my, “Do Exactly What You Wanna Do Day,” but sometimes things I can’t control happen, which makes doing exactly what I want to do impossible on that particular day. For example, sometimes I want to take the day off and go flying in my little airplane, but there’s a thunderstorm. Or sometimes I want to watch the New York Mets play baseball, but it’s January. And worst of all, occasionally my Lady Wonder Wench comes down with a headache. So it’s “Don’t Do What You Don’t Wanna Do Day, do wah, do wha.” And it’s “Wanna” not “Want to” because some days I don’t want to prissy around with proper diction. 

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

1-      What’s with the 8 insect legs in your chocolate bar ?

2-      What does an exploding donkey have to do with an airplane ?

3-      What can you do with stewardesses using only your left hand ?

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

 We need some research in order to make future “Don’t Do What You Don’t Wanna Do Days, do wah do wha” work out. And Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie generation has come up with some good ideas. For example, a great way to start your day would be by just going back to bed. Slip some popping corn into your pancake mix. Maybe the pancakes will flip over by themselves. If you’re going through a revolving door, do it on the push from the guy in front of you. You may feel the urge to do some research of your own on the subject. If you do, and you want to send me the results, my email address is Dick@Dicksummer.com. If you don’t want to send me the results, just sit there, and tell me “It’s one of MY Don’t Do What You Don’t Wanna Do Days, so do wha, do wha to you Dick Summer.”

We can’t over do this. If every day were a Don’t Do What You Wanna Do Day, we’d never pay our income taxes, we’d never pack up all our stuff and move to another city, and we’d never answer a call from another telemarketer. Wouldn’t that be awful? And we’d exercise only our good judgment. We’d  never anything that would make us sweat. I have never seen anybody exercising sweaty parts with a smile on his or her face. And sometimes, exercising sweaty parts can create a problem for exercising good judgment. There’s a story about that in the Night Connections personal audio cd. It’s called, the Workout Woman.

 She was out of town on business. Staying at a hotel. Alone. Hotels are like giant masquerade parties. They give you a chance to unwind, relax, and if you want, you can temporarily become someone else. There are no reminders of what you could, or should be doing. No reminders of who you really are…and subtle suggestions of who you might like to pretend to be…just for the night. There is no adult supervision. Other guests are prowling around…at all kinds of hours…checking in, checking out…making noises you probably shouldn’t be hearing. There’s a sense that anything could happen. And for the Workout Woman… it almost did.

 The Workout Woman is in the current podcast. It’s from the Night Connections personal audio cd. If you like it, you can just keep the podcast. Or if you want a fresh copy, just download it from the Night Connections icon on the home page.

 I have been sitting here so long…a little while longer and I could be declared a land mark. I guess I could cop out and say I’m meditating. But I kind of like the idea of telling people…hey…this is my Don’t Do What You Don’t Wanna Do Day…do wah, do wah. And if anybody says I’m just wasting time, I’ll tell them what Big Louie, his own bad self always says. “It is better to have loafed and lost, than never to have loafed at all.”

The e-coli virus in Europe has mutated far beyond what anyone ever expected.  And I KNOW HORSES!  Do not ever believe that what an animal has cannot be caught by a human.

PLEASE

BE

CAREFUL …

 As for that Louie-Louie Lad of mine … I dunno what his problem is … he sure tastes good to me.  Oh … that’s not what he meant …

 Now look, Big Louie, good taste is usually in the eye (or the mouth) of the beholder.  Fart machines are REALLY not part of ordinary life … or even unordinary life … I oughta know, one of my relatives thinks it is fun and heaven help him if he ever tries it around me.  Is it just that guys have a much lower sense of “cute” ?  Burps and farts and other noises from various body parts do nothing to amuse me … and anyone who projects that sort of fun only gets my goat … or horse, if you prefer …

 I must admit that my Louie-Louie Lad very seldom goes that far on purpose (that I know of) and he projects good taste all over the place.  How else can even Big Louie His Own Bad Self explain the gentleness and care with which he looks after me?  It’s been nearly three years since I decided to dismount while in motion and the roof is beginning to fall apart for me in some ways … but that good tasting Louie-Louie Lad of mine just smiles and says, “Okay, so we can’t run the marathon … but we can climb in our little airplane and fly somewhere for lunch …” and he never says “Get a grip” … or “Grow up” …

 He is beyond good taste …

I must taste bad. Especially to mosquitos. They simply don’t bother me. My Lady Wonder Wench is in the bathroom applying itch ointment to a mountain of mosquito bites to surprisingly personal places. She obviously tastes good. Which figures when you look at her. But that makes her a human salad bar for mosquitoes.

 There is a difference between tasting bad, and bad taste. Tasting bad makes you mosquito proof, keeps you from sucking your thumb when it’s time to write a check for your income tax, and keeps elderly aunt kisses at a minimum when you are a child. Bad taste is wearing a nose ring with bi-focals, spiked hair and a bald spot, and short shorts with varicose veins. Big Louie, his own bad self, The Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation always says, “Don’t sweat that stuff. Just wear what ever you can still button that doesn’t itch, and can still pass the sniff test.” You like to wear a thong with your depends… go for it. 

 There are some things that are more important than good taste. That’s a lesson I learned a long time ago at a friend’s funeral, of all places. I’ll tell you about that in a minute.

 I think the words used in most advertising for Louie-Louie Generation people are certainly in bad taste. Regularity, insomnia, dentures, arthritis, indigestion, erectile dysfunction. That last one is not only in bad taste, it’s confusing. If you watch the commercial, it seems to be about a guy who went to see Alice, his girl friend, and certain of his bodily parts fell asleep while they were supposed to be paying attention, so he and Alice spent the evening together soaking in separate bath tubs. Makes no sense to me.  

 When is the last time you saw advertising for us Louie-Louie Generation folks with words like designer jeans, beer, health club, casino, skiing, sexy beaches…fun for the whole family. Actually…the truth is…nothing in life is fun for the whole family. I think that’s why some guys never have families. Priests for example. But what kind of life is that ? You give up your sex life, then every Saturday night people come and tell you about theirs in confession. Must drive priests nuts.

 I could never figure out why some things are considered in bad taste. Sticking your tongue out at somebody for example. Your tongue is a very intimate part of your body. Some people use it to add a significant level of eroticism to their kisses. It seems to me that showing someone such an intimate part of your body should be considered kind of sexy. Guys should be telling their buddies,  “Hey, my girlfriend Alice let me see her tongue last night. She started rubbing it around on the tips of her teeth, then she tossed her head back and stuck it right out at me.”

 Passing wind is considered to be in such bad taste that you can’t even discuss it in polite company. Which is silly for several reasons. I mean a fart has no taste at all. It just smells bad. But lord it feels so good. It’s even better than sneezing. My Lady Wonder Wench doesn’t like to sneeze. But I do. I don’t like coughing, but I sometimes sneak peeks at a bright light just to make myself sneeze.

 Picking your teeth is considered to be in bad taste. But brushing your teeth gets you a gold star. Singing at the table is out. Why ? There are great drinking songs, but there are no eating songs. “No…mustn’t sing at the table. Just shut your mouth and eat.” How are we supposed to do that? “Don’t eat with your mouth open, and for God’s sake don’t blow on the soup either.”

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

1- Why should women never hook up with a stinker ?

2- What does the average Congressman do much better than the average American?

3- Why aren’t there any trees in New York’s Times Square?

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

 Just as there is a difference between tasting bad and bad taste, there is a difference between bad taste and something that can get really nasty. For example, if a guy forgets his wife’s birthday you could say he’s showing bad taste. If that same guy forgets he has a wife, that could get really nasty. There’s a story about that in the current podcast. It’s from the Night Connections 2 personal audio cd. It’s called…A Temporary Friend.

 That happened to a friend of mine. He’s a hard working guy…a nice guy. He’s always got time to listen to your feelings. He’s comfortable around guys, and women say they feel safe when he’s around. He thought he was just being a friend. Then she walked into the kitchen, brushing her hair, and something…just…happened. 

 A Temporary Friend is from the Night Connections 2 personal audio cd. If you like it, you can just keep the current podcast. Or if you want a fresh copy, just down load it from the Night Connections 2 icon on the home page.

 There’s a time and a place for good taste. But sometimes there’s something much more important. Good taste is never more strictly observed than at a military funeral. I have a friend by the name of Joe, who now rests in peace in the Calverton, New York military cemetery. Joe was a very well known writer, a real friend, and a bit of a rascal. He liked doing weird things. Things that were in terribly bad taste. For example, one night he loaded a water pistol with warm water, put it in his pocket, and stumbled into a bar pretending he was drunk. He leaned against one of the other guys at the bar and pulled the trigger on the water pistol, sending warm water down his pants. I’m not sure how he got out of there alive. But that was Joe.

On the very sad day when he was laid to rest, my Lady Wonder Wench and I took part in something that some people would say was in terribly bad taste. But I learned something far more important than that.

 There was an honor guard rifle salute. When the last shots were fired, a shaft of sunlight reflected from a bugle’s brass flicked across our faces at the grave site, as another soldier…standing tall, at attention… played…taps. Such a lonely sound. Precise. Respectful. Tearfully Final. The flag was folded, and presented to Joe’s widow. White gloves…good taste.

 But then, when the coffin was lowered into the ground, as Joe had requested in his will, the bugler added a few bars of Joe’s favorite song. It was in terribly bad taste. But we sang along…as Joe wanted us to do. We stood together there…in the bright sunlight…three of his ex wives and a small group of his friends…all kind of sad and huddled together…and we sang: MIC…we’ll see you again pretty soon…KEY…why? Because we loved you. MOUSE.

 And under the tears…there were a few quiet smiles.

All right, all you Louie-Louie Lads and Lasses … and you too, Big Louie His Own Bad Self … this is a warning, wake-up call, call it what you will … pay attention … 

As you may know, I know a little about horses.  And there has been a large epidemic of herpes-virus cases all across the country affecting horses of all kinds.  Vets continue to say that people cannot get the virus from those horses affected.  But those same vets will tell you they really do not know.  What they mean is, they don’t know how this virus acts and who it can affect.

 We have a close friend in California whose young son has just been diagnosed with that same herpes-virus … they apparently caught it in time and he will not lose his eye … and the important fact is, he has had absolutely nothing to do with horses.

 What this means is, of course, I repeat … they do not know.  Period.  So …  if there are kids in your life … or you know someone who has kids … or there may be kids in someone’s future … if that kid gets ill and the doctors say they don’t know what is going on with that kid, make sure someone gets those same doctors to look into the herpes-virus.  If you wait too long … it just may be too long.

 Damn, I hate this … but never, never take an “I don’t know” for any kind of answer.

Please …