Good Night

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 side has less debris."

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 millions of little Spartan seamen burst through the Trojan defenses...and well...you've lived... you know the kind of trouble that can develop from that.

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 Generation Guys do get worn down...in part from the pressures of taking good care of our Louie-Louie ladies. And we do take care of them. Ask my Lady Wonder Wench. She now sometimes says "Size isn't every thing." And I like the way she purrs when she says it.

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 the darker months, the new wi-fi transmitter that lets me use my laptop halfway to the next town, and the ten terrabite external hard drive made in China and assembled in Tailand. I found myself standing there yesterday, looking at where I last remembered seeing my desk...with the stuff I just bought in my hands...then... I heard the phone, and it took me ten rings to find it...covered...no, buried... under huge heaps of sinister, stealthy stuff.

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 thinking process...which went something like this: "He really hasn't bought any clothes since the Clinton administration. I'm going to clear out his closet."

The thing most women including my Lady Wonder Wench don't really understand is that it takes time for a guy to break in his clothing so it's comfortable. Even Louie-Louie Generation ladies don't seem to understand that. A guy's jacket is just getting broken in after a decade or so. As long as I can still zip up a pair of Jeans, they're good to go. A guy wears a shirt for three or four days...as long as it passes the under the arms sniff test, what's wrong with wearing it one more day?

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 [email protected], 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't be done...not by me at least. But you know what? It's worth it. It's definitely worth it. Heat is neat.