Good Night

Really Kool people have very chilly chops. Sarcastic smiles only. No belly laughs. No wonderful, warm, wide "WOW-s" because that's not cool. Looks like Mother Nature has decided to get Kool. I don't like Kool...not Mother Nature's kind, nor the "chilly chops" people kind.

I wrote about it in my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot: "I like getting 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 gotten me killed a couple of times trying to do some crazy things that simply couldn't be done—not by me at least. But you know what? It's worth it. It's definitely worth it. Heat is neat. Happy, healthy and hot."

I'm sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair in my living room having survived another New Year's celebration. You too, I see. I've been trying figure out why we make such a fuss about New Year's, and I think I've got it. New Year's is a time when we give ourselves a chance to re-boot our lives. By the time we get to December most years, control, alt, delete doesn't work that well any more. We've got things so screwed up that the only way to make any sense of what we're doing is just to re-boot our whole lives. Start over. Do everything from the beginning again. Do everything like it was the first time.

I am sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair in my living room, just hoping I'm not disturbing you. Because I have just realized why the two weeks during which most babies are born in America are the last week of August, and the first week of September. That has to be the answer to the eternal question, "What are you doing New Year's, New Year's eve." So as I said...I hope I'm not disturbing you. Actually, as Big Louie, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie Louie Generation always says, "If you still have some moving parts left...move 'em."

I guess the Christmas cards have all been sent by now. No? Whoops. You're hoping for a little snow, right? You've had enough already? You're still a big fan of Santa tho. Aw come on. What do you mean you got crushed at Wallmart ? You can order my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot right at www.amazon,com How's that for a quickie plug. But hey...Christmas is coming, and that means Santa is not far behind. Again. One more time. And I love it.

It's time for Christmas Stories Part 2. Christmas "Once upon a times." I love 'em. There are lots of stories about Christmas in my book "Staying Happy Healthy And Hot" (available at Amazon.com...a shameless plug.) Because I was on the radio for so long I guess, I couldn't help but put some stories in there about songs that were one hit wonders...Christmas songs by composers who never had another hit. You'll hear my favorite recording of The First Noel. It's by my son David. You can't buy it, but it's here in the podcast. You'll also hear the tail of the "Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse"...mouse.

Some of the stories I'm going to tell you for the next couple of weeks I've told you before. So I guess you could say they're old stories. But Christmas is an old story too. Christmas is a happy, musical, smiling, crying, laughing, jolly, holy old story that will probably never get old..

Sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room reading some of your Christmas story emails, is beginning to make me feel like one of those department store Santas.

Here's one from Proud Podcast Participant Ellen F. Part of the note says, "I live in Manhattan, and watching the magic of Christmas unfold is about my favorite thing. I especially love taking my children to see and enjoy the Rock Center Christmas tree."

That twanged a memory nerve in me. I worked at NBC Radio for years, and every Christmas season, I walked right under that tree to the station which is in the RCA building, right next to the tree. Some nights, my Lady Wonder Wench came to the station with me.

It's almost time for "Mr. Story Man" to arrive. He's kind of a magic guy. He shows up here every night, dressed in a white fedora hat, wearing a bathrobe that says "Wiz" on the left side, and wearing crazy Caribbean bedroom slippers. My Lady Wonder Wench lets him help her get undressed for bed. I sometimes actually envy him while I'm just sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair. I wish I could get my Lady Wonder wench to think I'm as interesting and sexy as she admits he is when he takes her back to "Once upon a time" with his stories. He only stays for about ten minutes most nights. But those are the ten minutes just before she goes to sleep...the ten minutes before she starts to dream...about once upon a time. And she spends those ten minutes with him.

I got busted today on the Amtrak to New York City. It wasn't my fault. She protruded into my attention span, startled my hormones, and momentarily stirred my testosterone soup. It was momentary. It's gone now. Pffft. It was your typical momentary merely mental quickie. You guys will understand. I hope my Lady Wonder Wench will understand. Guys have no control over these things. And it's not fair that this is a problem only guys have...I don't think women have this problem. Or worse yet, maybe they do, but just not with me.

I am sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room, and I'm booted up. I'm booted up, not my computer. My right foot is booted up to knock off some of the agony of de-feet. My feet.

Remember the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat? I don't know about the thrill of victory, but I sure know about the agony of de-feet. De-feet started hurting a few days ago. So, I went to the doctor today. He put on his most serious face and poked my right ankle, looked up at me and asked "Did that hurt?" He had to look up at me, because when he poked, I instantly found myself looking down on him from the ceiling.

He said, "hmmm." I hate that when a doctor or an automobile mechanic pokes something and says, "hmmm." "Hummm" is usually an expensive and painful word.