David Bruce Sinclair 1940-2009

To those of you who know me, you may or may not have known my dad. For the years that ensued after my parents split, his was a life of roller coaster up and downs, and in the end he is right where he always wanted to be. Sitting next to Christ.

He grew up on the north shore of Chicago attending New Trier HS in Winnetka. He lived on the stage there, and yearned to become an actor and singer, eventually attending The American Conservatory of Music where he met my mom. He had a tremendous voice, eventually touring the country with the Norman Luboff Choir in the early 60's. But the stage was not to be, and missing his young children back home, he fell back on his other passion, golf.

Starting as an assistant pro at Park Ridge CC, he went on to be head pro at Lake Shore CC in Glencoe. This was his the pinnacle of his success, and he stayed there for years. I have many fond memories of that place, including working summers there in the shop, cleaning clubs and shagging balls on the range. And endless lessons hitting balls into a net in the ladies locker room in the winter. Oh and he had a 1 for a handicap. It was during this time that he bestowed a great legacy on my brother and I, the perfect swing. Not to be followed by that handicap tho, I am still like a 15. OK, 20.

A bad back forced him out of the job he loved, and it was not long after that that he started a new family, eventually blessing us with new siblings Christine, Doug and Laura. In the intervening years, he tried his hand at numerous ventures, but I find it curious that he settled on a career as a painter. After all, Christ was a carpenter, no? And it was in His love that the final chapter of his life was written. At Cornerstone Community Church, he poured his all into the youth and the choir and was the producer of the Christmas musical for years. I can't even imagine the hours and sweat that went into producing a show that only ran once a year. But he loved it.

Then in 2001, he was diagnosed with dementia, a horrible disease that kills the brain and takes away a persons identity, bit by bit. It was hard watching the dad that I loved slowly fade away. When he could no longer sit and watch a simple soccer game, (he attended tons of my kids' sports events with pride and fervor over the years) I knew that it was the beginning of the end. But throughout it all, he always kept his temperament, and knew that this was the Lords plan for him. And he was OK with it. Not OK with having his life stolen from him just when he should be reaping the benefits of a long life, but OK with eventually being where he said he always wanted to be. At peace, sitting next to God.

To shovel or not to shovel...Is that a question?

As I lay vision to the frozen white wasteland that what was once my cul-de-sac, I am faced with one of those tough little life challenges. Do I shovel now, or wait until the snow plow buries my driveway on his way around the bend with a berm the size of a mini van? I know, not a great thinker in the grand scheme of things, but non-the-less a decision all the same. Why are we faced with these perilous choices so early in the morning? I guess I would rather only have to shovel once, but by waiting, I am opening a whole new can of worms.

If I shovel now, I can avoid the little tire treads of ice that will eventually form if I back the car out of the driveway without shoveling. But then that means having to put the boots back on when the plow comes, which in turn means all that lacing of the laces. Such a tedious chore, for a 5 minute jaunt into the face of the blizzard. And the gloves will probably still be wet from the first time out. Putting on wet gloves is like donning Derrick Rose's socks after a basketball game. Eeww. Plus, it is still snowing, thus the accumulation continues. Sort of like watching the inbox in your cubicle. Only drier and not as cold.

But have you ever sat and waited for the plow to come? It's like watching water boil. You know that the little bubbles will surely appear at some point, but if you sit and stare, it's like they are playing hide and seek, waiting for that moment when you leave the kitchen for one nano-second to break up an argument over the game TV in the basement. (XBOX or Wii?) When you return, the little baby bubbles are now full blown grown up bubbles escaping the boiling pot of water like a lobster only wishes it could. (Do they really scream when you put them in?)

And how is it then when I am out there in that one magical moment when the plow DOES appear, that the driver still has the nerve to fly by my driveway sending out a wake of snow that reminds me of a water skier spraying the crowd of onlookers? When the wife is out there, he not only slows down, but he ACTUALLY will plow the end of the driveway and remove the impending mountain. Should I dress sexier? Or flaunt what I got in the hope that the next guy is gay? Or buy a house not on the end of a cul-de-sac?

No, I am going to stick with my tried and true plan that never (almost) fails. I wait until I hear the roar of my next door neighbors snow blower, then innocently walk out with my shovel with a look on my face that says, "HEY, fancy meeting you here? What brings you out?" As I am typing this, I can hear the distinct "Ka-Blam!" of the driver dropping his plow on the street, followed by the grating din of metal on concrete, knowing full well that when I look, the berm will be there, and the decision of "To shovel or not to shovel" has been made for me. Now I know all you city dwellers without cars are either laughing at me or scratching their head saying, "Huh?" But I'll take the suburban "Berlin Wall of Snow" over putting my lawn chairs in the street any day.

Bear down, Chicago Bears, put up a...oh forget it.

OK then, so I called for a 12-4 season and to get twelve wins at this point the NFL would have to extend the season to 19 games. And we would have to run the table. I think it's that time Bears fans. No, not time to abandon ship and jump to the promising young Blackhawks or the maddening Bulls. It's time for Lovie to go.

Everything about the team sucks right now. The offense can't score in the Red Zone. His defense can't defend anymore. They took possibly the most exciting, dynamic, ridiculous return man in the history of the game and turned him into another nobody. Even the field is a joke. I mean, who installs new sod 5 days before a home game in the friggin' winter? Did you see the players slipping all over the field against the Rams? This is the biggest no-brainer decision they could make. Put in the damned artificial turf.

But back to what really matters. Now have the players completely lost their ability to do their job? I kinda doubt it. We could use a few upgrades but we have some talent on this team. The defense was supposed to regain it's dominance this year under the tutelage of our illustrious Lovie, who demoted the last guy because, guess what, the defense sucked. He infamously ran Ron Rivera out of town because he had the gall to suggest to Lovie that as defensive coordinator he should actually get to run the defense his way. His reward? He got canned. So King Lovie put himself up on his pedestal and did it his way. And his way sucks too.

We aren't fooling anybody on either side of the ball. Offenses run roughshod over us because our defense is outdated and Lovie can't see the forest through the trees. Defenses have our run game bottled up, our passing routes clogged with defenders, and our quarterback looking over his shoulder because, surprise, WE AREN'T FOOLING ANYBODY. Sitting on my couch I know what's coming, you don't think the opposing defensive coordinators got that figured out as well? Even special teams has been quite less than special this year.

I could go on and on. But I just want to remind everyone that teams used to fear playing us. I want some fire. I want some creativity. I want some freakin' wins. I want Bill Cowher. He is out there, somewhere, waiting for a call from the Bears that is never gonna come. And we're stuck with Lovie.

Who are we really fighting? The enemy or ourselves?

On most every morning, I hit the snooze 3 or 4 times, prop open my eyelids with a couple of hypo-allergenic toothpicks, grab a cup of coffee, and read the Sun-Times cover to cover. Sports first, real news second. If somethings prods me to sit down and type, I do so when I hit the classifieds. But this morning, after laughing at Mike North and his assertion that D. Rose will never be a great player, I hadn't gotten past page 2 and I am fuming.

I want you to take a good hard look at this picture from 2004. In it, dead Americans are hanging from a bridge in Iraq, the work of some really nasty bad guys. The ordinary citizens of this region are cheering in triumph. And the dead bodies aren't just dead. The really nasty bad guys took the pleasure of mutilating them first. So it's fair to say the last few precious hours of their lives were spent in excruciating agony. And everyone in the picture is happy because of it. But that's not why I am so upset.

We eventually caught the really nasty bad guys, or at least the head really nasty bad guy, and took him into custody. Allegedly, 3 Navy Seals had been in charge of interrogating him, and in the course of their questioning, he got punched in the mouth. I'm sure it stung for a while, but he recovered to eventually be held accountable for his crimes. But here's where it gets absolutely ridiculous. The three Seals are facing court martial charges for assault. They are going to be kicked out of the Navy for a punch in the mouth. Now most of you know that to get to become a Navy Seal, you have to go through some of the hardest, grueling, and physical training this country can dish out. I'll guarantee you that the really nasty bad guy didn't receive one tenth of what these guys went through in Seal boot camp. Or one twentieth of what he dished out to the dead Americans. We trained these men to be the baddest on the planet, and now we are persecuting them for it. And that makes me furious.

This country's priorities are as messed up as Drew Peterson's. The rest of the world laughs at us as our President bows to foreign leaders and we punish our own soldiers for capturing our enemies. Didn't we capture and eventually put to death Saddam Hussein? We may not have put that rope around his neck, but we sure as hell gave the Iraqi's a big thumbs up when it happened. And now we have to ruin the lives of three of our bravest for basically giving a really nasty bad guy just a small taste of what he deserves? And how far up the ladder does the order come from? Is this Obama's idea of placating his party? Or the rest of the world for that matter? And who were the rats that squealed on them? How weak we have become in the face of our enemies.

I can hear the liberals charging in from the fringes already. We don't torture. We are not like them. We are above all this. I say, and pardon me, but FUCK THAT. This wasn't some bloody rampage by a couple of black sheep. These guys were doing their job. There aren't even one out of a hundred people that could do what these Seals do. Maybe not even one out of a thousand when you throw in all the tree huggers. These guys have been to hell and back for their country, trained to be bad ass mothers. And when they show how bad ass they really are, they get court martialed for it. You can't win a board game let alone a war when the 2 sides are playing by different sets of rules.


The other day, Brent Seabrook of the Blackhawks won the game in a shootout as the 11th player to shoot, a club record. In the interview after the game, pressed by hungry reporters, he refused to say what his strategy was on the game winning shot, unwilling to give any information to his opponents that could later be used against him. It's too bad we can't do the same. It's too bad that "Don't ask, don't tell" couldn't be extended to guarding our own interests, whether it be how we treat out enemy combatants in custody or telling the opposition in Afghanistan when we will stop fighting. It all boils down to the fact that in the eyes of the really nasty bad guys, the US is weaker today than we were on 9/11/2001. It's us against them. Haven't we learned anything?

The magic of the open mic night.

Ahh the open mic night. They can be fun. They can be magical on occasion. They can be loose and free, or they can be strict and controlled. Sometimes the overwhelming level of talent can be amazing. And sometimes not.


So I decided, being unemployed and not having to worry about getting up the next morning (except for the fact that I had to drive the 13 year old to school because she still doesn't realize that blow drying and straightening her hair is less important than setting her alarm herself and actually MAKING the bus), that I would have a little jam night out. Used to be, the old Donelli's Tuesday night open mike could turn into a musicians warehouse. Great drummers, guitarists, singers, and the like would turn out in droves for Tommy G, and you couldn't script that shit. A couple of nights it would be one drummer, him and me and maybe one other guy. Can't get off the "stage". But he always kept it loose and fun, knowing everyone by name, creating instant chemistry between sometimes complete strangers. And then there was last night.


Not that I am bemoaning anyone's heart and or ability, but in the end, a good set of earplugs would only have set me back a few bucks. I am sure in my turn up there I started to get annoying to a few of the patrons as well. Loud guitar, over the top solos. But there always seem to be the same people week in and week out who have made this their personal stage. The older couple singing duets to songs that NOBODY has ever heard of. The bass player who suffers from TMN syndrome. (too many notes) The drummer who really can't keep a beat. The singer who does the same 3 or 4 songs nearly every time. The guitar player who makes Neil Young's guitar solo's seem dynamic. The guitar player who doesn't know when to stop. The "white guy singing the monotone blues". The harp player that plays about 3 notes. And of course, the blues song with no foreseeable end in sight. Ever heard the 14 minute version of Mustang Sally? Or Watchtower with 3 guitar players each taking a turn after every stinking verse?


Now being in a band I get to do my thing on some kind of regular basis. I know, this is their night to stretch out a little and have some fun. But I never leave without having cringed at least 4 or 5 times a night. Maybe I should just stay at home and leave them in peace. But I really miss Donelli's.

My life as a chauffer.

So it's been a while, faithful reader(s). It's not that I have nothing to say, I mean American terrorists are killing our soldiers, the State of Illinois and especially the City of Chicago are in the worst financial crisis in a generation, we still can't figure out how to insure the population, cheesehead drivers are pissing me off, yada, yada, yada. No, I have no time for anything but eating, sleeping, working, cooking, and watching the Bears, Bulls, and Hawks. And its all because of basketball.

In one week, I/the wife ferried the kids to 14 practices, watched 4 games, and drove 25 miles to lessons twice. Dinner doesn't exist during basketball season. It's more like snacks on the go, power bars and apples. And when you finally do get time to eat, it's like 9:30, and who wants to get all full that late? And eating together? Forget it. I've had nights where I've made four different thing at four different times. So much for conversation.

Now my son lives and breathes basketball and plays on his high school team in winter, a travel team in spring, and an in house league in the fall. Spread out, and not too bad. But my daughter is in 8th grade and plays for her middle school team, made the high school feeder team this year, and still plays park district ball that I coach. All at the same time. So we are part of 4 teams right now and the driving really makes me yearn for February 1, the day my son gets his drivers license and I can say "Here, go pick up you sister."

Don't get me wrong, I love every minute of the games. All the driving around is worth it when you are sitting there, and they make a basket and look right up at you, just to make sure you were watching when they did.

Has Obama become just another politician?

It is becoming obvious that The Guitarman is starting to get a little too political for his own britches. That being said, I have to stay on topic for one more day.

There is an old saying that goes something like: There would be no politics without politicians. OK, I just thought of it. It is entirely possible that it has been said before so it could be an old saying, but it begs the question, ? As POCA rolls onward, the Permanent Obama Campaign Apparatus (with a nod to Steve Huntley for coining the phrase), complete with events scheduled around the country to celebrate his first year in office, maybe the question should be, was he ever anything else but?

On the radio this morning, I heard The Presidents press secretary doing the usual post election tap dance in response to the Republicans gaining the controls of New Jersey and Virginia. He said something to the tune of Obama "...not being a factor in the race." But I'll bet had the Dem's took those two gubernatorial races, the horns would be blowing from the tallest ivory towers in the White House. Maybe he was a factor indeed, for the other guys.

But the thing that really got me going was a comment The Prez made on the whole health care thingy. He made it clear that passing health care reform was urgent, and it needed to be done before the end of the year. Now is Obama doing this in the best interest of the country? Or in the best interest of his party? After all, 2010 is a critical election year for the senate, and no doubt most senators will vote whichever way will get them the most votes toward re-election, Democrats and Republicans alike. But is The President pushing hard for reform now so that it doesn't become a campaign issue next year? We need to get it right, which he has said in the past. We don't need the country's top politician playing politics on such a delicate issue. Even Democratic Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid said, "We're not going to be bound by any time lines."

After Clinton's first 2 years in office, the country spoke, and gave the Senate majority to the Republicans. The White House is scrambling to try and keep this from becoming a repeat of 1994. But the country works better with checks and balances. Giving too much power to any one party can be hazardous to the country's health. In 2012 he will run for re-election, and in my eyes that is a good thing, mostly in that it will keep Hillary off the ticket for 4 more years. But what decisions will be made in the coming years that will be influenced by this? Please, Mr. President, can you just do what is in our best interests, elections be damned?


Side note: The Guitarman would like to thank shky69 for becoming his third follower. This entitles you to a free ice cream cone at the McDonald's of your choice. Just send me the bill.

An answer would be nice.

Another day, another recent story of senseless bombings, attacks, and outright cowardice to innocent civilians and soldiers alike in the Middle East. A bombing in Baghdad last week kills 155. Today 100 are dead in Pakistan in a marketplace. The number will surely rise. And October has been the deadliest month in Afghanistan since the start of the war. One thing is surely clear. The people that would do harm to others feel that this is the way to accomplish their goals. But what exactly are those goals?

In Austin Powers, Dr. Evil is easy to figure out. Power and world domination. Same goes with just about all the bad guys in all of the James Bond movies. By the end of each, 007 had it figured out and the bad guys met their maker in some cinematic extravaganza. But Obama is no Bond, just as Bush and Clinton were no Austin Powers. And therein lies the rub. We don't know what the hell these people want and we are no closer to figuring it out. I'm not even sure THEY know what they want either. You could say hatred of all things American, but then why the hell are they killing each other? In the name of religion?

It seems to me the best way to defeat your enemy is to know your enemy, and until we know exactly what makes them tick, all the troops in the world won't make a difference, be it 40,000 or 4,000,000. This enemy is like a hydra. You cut off a head, and it grows back. But in this case, for every head you cut off, 2 grow back. For every terrorist (insurgent) killed, excuse me for not being PC, dozens more are kidnapped (recruited), brainwashed (trained), armed with an AK47 and sent on their merry way.

So what is the answer? Hell, I am just a guy who likes to play guitar and prattle on and on about cheesehead drivers, stupid people, and bad politicians in a blog that 2 people read. What do I know? But I know what isn't the answer. Bombing them back to the stone age, hanging Sadaam Hussein, holding POW's for eternity, it all sounds like sweet revenge. But in the end, we are just throwing wood on the fire. A fire that will continue to burn until we ask why does it burn. And actually get an answer.

I want to be a liar when I grow up, just like you daddy!

And I thought I was a bad parent!! Well, not in the sense that many of you might think. We don't give our kids alcohol or drugs. We don't let them hold wild unsupervised parties. They have to do their homework before they are allowed to have fun. They can't go out past curfew. They are held accountable when they break the rules. Yada, yada, yada. Our greatest sins are giving in too often, doing too much for them, and letting them send 10,000 texts every month. OK send and receive. But we also don't tell them to lie, and we don't force them to get tattoos against their will, both of which recently happened to some sensationalism.

Everyone has heard the story of "the balloon boy" by now. Little Falcon Heene was supposedly carried away by a homemade weather balloon, only to have been found supposedly hiding in his garage. Turns out the parents made it all up for publicity to get on a reality show. (How about getting a job instead?). But the worst part, aside from wasting the taxpayers money searching for the boy and shutting down the nearby airport, was that they told the kid to lie to back up their scheme. And they were only busted by his youthful ignorance. On CNN, the father looks right into the boys eyes and asks why he didn't come out when they were calling for him, and he replies with all the wonder of a six year old, "Um, you guys said, that, mmm, we did this for the show." You could almost see the confusion running through his brain. Do I say what my dad told me to say, or do I answer his question truthfully? Poor kid, his parents are despicable.

And then there's the lesser known story of a Hispanic gang banger in CA holding his son down against his will while another man tattoos a gang symbol on him. Like some sort of brand to let everyone know it's his boy. Apparently the boy asked for it. So which is worse, allowing your 7 year old to get a tattoo, a gang tattoo, or making your son get a tattoo? Either of which has sealed this poor kids fate for the rest of his life.

So every time I let a curse word slip out in the presence of one of my kids, every time I let them have consecutive sleepovers because they begged me, or every time I give them $20 for the mall or Six Flags, I think I am the worst parent in the world. OK, third worst, right behind Richard Heene and Enrique Gonzalez. And maybe the Ramseys.

I'm not so think as you stupid I am.

The dumbing down of America continues, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

I first started noticing things like, NO TURN ON RED signs at intersections where there previously wasn't one. Some idiot caused an accident, or more likely scores of idiots, and now smart drivers pay the price of having their option taken away from them based on someone else's poor judgement. Or the disclaimer stickers they put on things, like the one on the iron that says "Caution: HOT". It's an IRON. Or the one on the lawn mower that tells you not to put your hands inside where the blade is while the mower is running. Well duh. But I did hear the story of the guy who picked up his mover to trim his bushes, promptly removing a few of his fingers. He sued the manufacturer and won because there was no warning anywhere that told him not to do it. (CME trading floor story, probability of being true 50%)

But the latest is getting downright scary. Are drivers too dumb now to notice that they are weaving across the center line on their own? The car will steer you back to center. Or about to hit the car in front of them? It will "prep" the brakes for you. Are we so in-attentive that we forget the cruise control is on? No need, HAL will slow the car down. Or that there is a car in the dreaded blind spot? WARNING LIGHT! Yes all these features are the newest gadgets to hit the auto industry. Wonder how much all that development cost. Here's a concept. Teach the drivers better and spend the money on alternative fuel development instead. The best is the Lexus that actually parks the car for you. No need for drivers ed classes to bother with parallel parking anymore, just make sure the kid makes enough dough to buy a Lexus and the car will do the rest. Why all these tecnho gizmo's? Because we are becoming too dumb to not have them.

So every time some idiot does something stupid, you can be sure someone will take up the charge and make sure that we slap a warning sticker on it, or pass a law to protect the rest of us. Like its contagious or something. I have a friend who always says, "80% of the people in this world are stupid." Or maybe 90%. I think it started lower and has crept up after all these years. I say, given a chance to do something stupid, people will never let you down.

So whats the big hurry anyway?

So in case you are just waking up and haven't heard the miraculous news, President Obama has won the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts to...I mean, for the amazing work he has done to...hold on a sec. What is it that he has actually done to deserve this great honor? That's right. NOTHING.

Now I am not picking on him because he hasn't accomplished much in his 8 months in office. In fact he has been a busy little beaver, holding beer summits in the Rose Garden, giving billion of dollars to hand picked wall street firms, and flying half way across the world to give yet another rah-rah campaign speech to help Chicago get the 2016 games. No, I am picking on him because this is further evidence that we are putting him on a pedestal before he actually deserves it. Never mind that the deadline for submitting nominations was Feb. 1, a mere 12 days after he was sworn in. Someone must have thought he was doing a heck-uva job already. The reason then for the award? According to the Nobel Peace Prize committee, they "...attached special importance to Obama's vision of and work for a world without nuclear weapons." Basically, they gave it to him for what he has said he would do. In other news:

The PGA has awarded Tiger Woods the 1st place trophy for all the tournaments he plans to enter for the 2010 tour, based on the evidence that other players just don't stand a chance. Quote Phil Mickelson, "We whole heartily agree that this is the right thing to do. He is just too good. The rest of the field and I will now play for second place."

George Lucas has been awarded the first ever pre-emptive Oscar for his next big screen project. "Bar Wars", to begin production in 2011, is the story of two brothers from outer space, who vow to be the first extra-terrestrials to open a bar on the planet earth. But the evil Bud Viser and his legions of Dark Lagers, stands between them and their dream. "I don't really even have a script yet, just an idea I scribbled in a bar napkin one night," says Lucas. Good enough for us, says the Oscar committee.

The Chicago city council has voted unanimously to abandon all future elections for the office of Mayor. "Mayor Daley has proven time and time again that he loves nothing more than the Great city of Chicago, and it would be our honor to see him die in office at the ripe old age of 96."

And finally, the Cleveland Cavaliers have been awarded the 2010 NBA championship. David Stern said, "I love Lebron. And with the addition of Shaq to the team, I just don't see the sense in playing the regular season and risking injury to either player."

I don't know about you, but I think I am going to go the Ted Willaims route and have myself cryogenically frozen for a while. Hopefully when I wake up, Chelsea Clinton won't be President for the sole reason of her last name. Don't laugh, it could happen.

What would Mr. Rodgers do?

Now at the end of my last rant, I mentioned blowing off someones head with a Glock for the mere inconvenience of spoiling the Bears game for me. A bit of an exaggeration, and no I am not going to recant or apologize. That's the beauty of blogs. I just wanted to talk about the whole issue of guns in the home.

Now I don't own a gun, yet, but that may soon change. (For those of you out there considering burglarizing my house, I do have a pitching wedge by the bed. I considered a long iron, but I like the added heft of the wedge, as well as the shorter shaft thus enabling a less cumbersome swing inside the confines of the bedroom.) A few recent articles in the paper have begun to sway me. Last week I brought the attention of two stories in the same paper to the wife's eyes. One was the tragic story of the downstate IL family who were found murdered in their small town home. Five dead, no one in custody. The second was that of an intruder shot to death by a home owner after a break-in in Chicago. Now if you had to pick one, which family would you rather be?

The argument for a gun basically states itself. It's the counter argument that's gets a little fuzzy. Both of my kids are responsible teenagers, no worry about them playing with daddy's "toy". Both are old enough to know the dangers, and yes both are reaching that dreaded age where the talk of ready access to a suicide weapon can't be overlooked. Also we don't live in some huge, opulent house that screams, "Come rob me!!", our neighborhood is modest and quiet in a supposedly tranquil suburb. But I believe now it is the prudent thing to do. And the wife agrees with me. It was the third article in this morning's paper that maybe convinced me.

Right across town, in another cul-de-sac, in another relatively modest neighborhood, a guy wakes up to find an intruder in the house. Turns out the home owner catches the guy by sitting on him on the front lawn until police arrived. I guess it was lucky for each man that neither one had a gun. I don't think I want to take the chance that 1) the guy who breaks into my house is unarmed, or 2) that he is one of the 2% of the population the I actually outweigh. Besides, my golf swing is good, but it's not what it used to be.

So it looks like gun store, here I come. Going to go with a nice loud shotgun. Nothing like the distinct sound of that chck-chck a shotgun makes when you cock the weapon. Hell that sound alone should be enough to send intruders scampering away in fear. Now that last article listed the streets of both accoster and accostee, and you know what? They were friggin neighbors. That's right, some loser tried to rob his own neighbor. What would Mr. Rodgers sing about now?

If its not the flu, then what is it?

It must be a sickness. Or a disease. Either way I know I am not right in the head. It happens on an annual basis, lasting anywhere from 16 to 20 weeks. It first starts sometime around mid day, usually. But curiously only once a week. Mostly on a Sunday. The symptoms are frustration first, followed by confusion and/or bewilderment, which in turn leads to anger and intolerance, lots of swearing, and finishing with embarrassment. On occasion, though rare, jubilation. And I haven't been to the doctor. You see, my malady is the Chicago Bears.

Oh how I envy the occasional fan, able to watch the game with modest detachment, cheering the highs, ignoring the lows. Even scoffing indifferently at some meaningless early season turnover. This for me is impossible. I can't put the game in context. Hell, I can't even put one play into context. Life itself hangs in the balance of the next snap count. Remember week one this year? A loss to the hated Packers, and worse yet, losing our captain on defense for the whole year. By the end of the game, spit flying from my mouth faster than the cuss words can come out, I had lost my voice. Good thing no gig coming up, not good for a singer to scream until his lungs bleed. The next morning I was in a foul mood. Brows furrowed, with a sneer across my lip, the wife asked what was wrong. 16 years of marriage and she still can't figure out that a loss to the Packers on opening day is like someone taking a red hot Samurai sword and shoving it up my ass. At least she knows enough to be out of the house at kickoff.

So there I sit, in total isolation. I can't go to a friends house to watch the game, I wouldn't be invited back. EVER. My kids can barely stomach being in the same room for even a quarter, knowing that at some point, the lid is going to come off the pot. They won't even have friends over, lest they hear the dad upstairs telling Lovie Smith or Ron Turner what a piece of crap that last call was. As if I don't know they can't hear me. Thanks for that piece of reality. No, no, I am alone in my misery, unable to even enjoy a beautiful comeback like we saw against the Steelers in week 2 because of the general ineptitude of the whole game. Is there something I can take? Does anyone have a Valium?

Now I love the Cubs. And the Bulls. And am gaining new found respect for the Hawks organization. But it is the Bears they drive my motor. It is the part of the year I look forward to the most, and least. If I am out of the house for any part of the game, all I can say is thank God for the DVR. Radio in the car is off just in case some smarmy DJ decides to blare out the score and ruin my day. I have even sat in the stands at one of my kids sports games with my hands over my ears going"...LA,LA,LA...!" to drown out the possibility that someone in the crowd might utter, "Did you see that Hester ran one back today?", at which point I would whip out my Glock and put a bullet between his eyes. Am I sick? Probably. I only wish I knew what to call it. Oops, gotta run, pregame started. Can't miss Waddle, that f*#king idiot.

The real X-Men.

So assuming most of you haven't heard the story I will give you the basic facts. On Friday morning, an unloaded handgun was found in the bathroom of Warrens O'Plaine campus where my son is a sophomore. 2 thoughts immediately went through my head when he sent me a text message (the school actually TOLD the students to text/call their parents, bravo!! ) relating the news. 1) he was safe in his classroom with about 30 other students and 2) don't tell the wife until it is all over. Before I could even finish the second thought my phone was ringing. You see, he had sent the text to both of us.

I could hear it in her voice, she was fraught with both concern and worry. I'm leaning towards the 80/20 split with worry the big winner. OK 90/10. I wasn't worried in the slightest. Yes even with school shootings across the country in the last 10 years a painful reality, I was concerned about the fact that this hit so close to home this time, but I will repeat...I was not worried. I heard his voice on the phone, and there are probably 2500 kids on campus. Doing the math in my head I knew the odds were slim that he was in harms way. I am not a worrier by nature, as the wife seems to have us both covered on that front.

Is this a girl/guy thing? Or am I alone on this? Does it make me an unconcerned parent? I think I involve my self TOO much sometimes in my sons life. For instance. In our school you can go on the web site and check each class, grade for grade, on every test, quiz, homework assignment, binder check, lab report and speech. (If they had this when I was in HS my life would have been HELL.) Sometimes even before he comes home from school I will be standing at the front door wanting an explanation for the D he got in English 2 hours ago. So at the end of his 1st semester the teacher asks the class who wants to know how many time their parents had checked up on them. Hands shot up and students heard numbers like 52, 26, one kid got a chuckle when his number was 95. Our number? 156. Poor kid was the laughing stock of the class. But I was never worried that he would fail, just wanted to make sure his freshman year got off on the right foot. But the wife? After 2 weeks she was in tears over his grades, sick with worry that he wouldn't graduate and go to college. Again, I wanted him to get with the program a little better but the thought of not getting his diploma in 4 years never entered my mind. She was consumed by it.

So dear readers help me out. Am I alone? How does it work in your house? Are there guys who lose sleep when their young teen stays out late? Or when they first get their drivers license? Or do we all sit on the couch with remote in one hand while mindlessly scratching with the other telling the better half to relax? Am I a heartless bastard or is it just that damned extra x-chromosome gumming up the works?

Look, in the sky!! Its a bird, its an airplane...

So you can't stick with the Guitarman because he rambles? So lets try small doses on random topics:

Article in today's Sun Times-Men in Burqas try to attack oil facility in Pakistan. So its cowardice enough when fanatical Muslim terrorists hide amongst their own people so that when the bombs come raining down they can say that we are massacring innocent civilians, but now they are actually posing as women so that when we demand that women remove their head covering at checkpoints and the like the same ones that shoot at us or blow themselves up can accuse us of insulting their women and their religion. Riiight. Insults are so much worse than bullets and bombs.

Everyone has seen Superman, right? Didn't it annoy you that nobody could look in the face of Clark Kent and be like, "Dude, you look EXACTLY like Superman. Wait, you ARE Superman! Whoa!!" Fast forward to today. Everyone with a daughter in between the ages of like 6 and 13 can relate. Can't anyone at that school look in Miley Stewart's eyes and be like, "Dude, you look EXACTLY like Hannah Montana. Wait, you ARE Hannah Montana! Whoa!!"

President Obama appearing on Letterman to pitch his health care plan via the airwaves reminds me of a current former Illinois politician going on a TV blitzkrieg to sell his version of his truth. Here's a novel idea: Why didn't you just sell it to congress instead of giving us another inspirational speech?

If fate had any place in the real world, Kanye West would wind up retired in Arizona with wife Serena Williams screaming at him, "What do you mean you took my last steroid pill? I'll walk over there and shove your VMA Music Award down your f%&king throat!"

So Rep. Joe Wilson loses his cool and yells at the president for what he considers less than the truth. Classless and rude no doubt. So the senate rebukes him and sends him to his room with no supper. Gee, if only the Pelosi-ites could muster up only HALF the enthusiasm for the health care thingy as they do for the evil Republicans we might actually see 46 million Americans finally get health insurance.

And would someone please tell Jimmy Carter to SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!!

Whew, glad I got that off my chest.

I'm not going to clean that mess!!

Chores. That has been a bit of a four letter word in our house for quite a while. As in trying to get the offspring to not only do the intended task, but do it without whining. Good luck with that. As the parent of a 2 teenager household, it has become increasingly cumbersome for The Guitarman and the wife to gently nudge the aforementioned duo to get off the couch, off the Xbox, off the Wii, and complete just a few minor tasks without complaint, something that I'm sure most of you with older kids can appreciate, and those of you with younger, less opinionated children will come to learn. Like I said, good luck with that.


Oh I know there are few parents who have raised their kids the right way, watching them become perfect little ladies and gentlemen who always say please and thank you, always keep their room clean, and always do their homework first. Well, 2 out of 3 and bad, as a matter of fact, its downright awesome. But chores. Why is it that kids can't understand that we weren't put on this earth to serve them? Ok maybe we are, up until they are 8 or 10 years old. But at some point, becoming self sufficient is imperative, as we don't want to see our 28 year old kid on the living room couch, with Xbox controller in one hand while giving us the bird with the other. So how do we get our kids to do some bloody work around the house?


Threats don't work, generally, in our house because a) I don't have the balls to follow up on most of them and b) its actually a bonus to go to your room for a while. We tried allowances. Paid weekly if we decided they lived up to their end of the bargain. For a couple of weeks, things got done, and slowly but surely, they stopped altogether. So, I figured that I would just not mention the word allowance for a while and it would sink in. Months passed, and they seemed to relish the trade off. No allowance? Cool! That means no more litter box! Yeahh!! But we finally found a system that works, much to the amazement of both of us. Its what I like to call, Pay-per-chore. $2 to empty the dishwasher or clean the kitchen, $3 to clean the bathroom or litter box, etc. The grosser the chore, the higher the bribe. At the end of the week, we tally it up and pay it out. I know its sounds crazy, but it works. Sometimes they actually argue as to who gets to do the chore.


Now what works for me might not wok for you, especially if you have neat, uncluttered house, with a spouse who loves to clean, or better yet, a housekeeper. But who needs a housekeeper when you have kids, right?

Bear down, Chicago Bears! The real audacity of hope.

Bear down, Chicago Bears, make every play clear the way to victory;

Bear down, Chicago Bears, put up a fight with a might so fearlessly.

We'll never forget the way you thrilled the nation with your T-formation.

Bear down, Chicago Bears, and let them know why you're wearing the crown.

You're the pride and joy of Illinois, Chicago Bears, bear down.

If you call yourself a Chicago Bears fan, trivial as it may seem, you must know the words to the fight song. Not should know, not will know someday, but know it cold. And it doesn't count if your version goes something like this;

Bear down, Chicago Bears, da da da da da da da da victory, etc.

Why you might ask? Hell I don't know, but it just sounds better when you know the lyrics. But what does it mean for Bears fans this season? Is this year different from any others? I say, hold on to your hat. It all starts and ends with Jay Cutler.

How many times in years past has the team had those 13-10 squeakers where you were saying to yourself, "The D played great, if we only had an offense...?" So whose fault was it that we didn't? Certainly not any one person, but a collaborative effort unseen by any other pro sports team. Oh sure, there are perennially bad teams in sports, like the NFL Lions or the NBA Clippers, but those teams have nothing on the Bears futility in the most important position in any pro team, the quarterback.

So I blame, in no particular order, Dave Wannstedt, Jerry Angelo, Michael McCaskey, Lovie Smith, Dick Jauron, John Shoop, Bob Avellini, Steve Fuller, Rusty Lisch, Greg Landry, Mike Tomczak, Doug Flutie, Jim Harbaugh, Peter Tom Willis, Will Furrer, Erik Kramer, Steve Walsh Kramer, Dave Kreig, Rick Mirer, Steve Stenstrom, Moses Moreno, Shane Matthews, Cade McNown, Jim Miller, Chris Chandler, Henry Burris, Kordell Stewart, Rex Grossman, Jonathan Quinn, Craig Krenzel, Chad Hutchinson, Kyle Orton, and Brian Griese. My apologies to any member of the Bears back office, front office, side office, coaching staff or player I forgot to mention.

Now will Cutler wave a magic wand and make all of this futility go away? OF COURSE HE WILL!! It is my choice to go through the NFL season with blinders on believing this will be the year. That's what we Bears fans do. My prediction for the season: 12-4 Now that's my audacity of hope.

The reality of hope.

Tonight as President Obama makes probably the most important speech of his career since becoming the leader of the free world, The Guitarman would like to weigh in on the subject. Dangerous waters I know, and I will try and keep it short and sweet, but I will borrow a word from the presidential playbook. Hope.

As in I hope he realizes that this isn't a speech, but a movement. A cause. A defining moment in our history and his legacy. I hope he stops the campaign talk and all the feel good moments that have delivered him to this point and give us some nuts and bolts. Like where he stands, hopefully on one side of the fence or the other. I hope he will he tell us how he is going to pay for it. Or rather who is going to pay for it. I hope he will ignore the lunatic fringe ("He is going to kill my Nana!") and focus on what matters. And I hope he does away with the the whole shirtsleeves rolled up sans tie look that for sure got him a few votes in the election. He has already won over all of those who would be swayed.

But my biggest hope is that he follows in George Bush's example. Huh?! Didn't see that coming did you? Criticize W all you want but don't fault him for taking an unpopular stand to do what he thought was right at the time. He made a decision in the best interest of our country, and all I am asking is that Obama do the same. Please make the decision on what you believe is the right way to handle this health care reform thingy, rather than with an eye to 2012.

I'll even give you my stance. I am for the public option, without forcing those who can afford the private option to do the same. And I am for forcing the private insurance companies and drug companies like Pfizer ($44.5 billion in profit last year, yes that is a "b" for billion) to stop being 100% profit driven and share the wealth so that this country can get healthy again. There, I have given you my stance. I can only hope that the big O can do the same.

Butterflies are free to fly, just stay out of my stomach.

Why do people get nervous? Is it some underlying feeling of impending failure? Failure to ourselves? Meaning: I couldn't do it, ergo I suck. Or failure in the eyes of others? Meaning: he couldn't do it, ergo he sucks.

Remember that first time you had to stand up in front of your classmates and deliver some hastily written convincing argument that you weren't quite sure convinced even yourself? Ok, I don't remember the actual "first" time, but more of a collective memory of every time I had to give a speech in class. And maybe you were one of the sickos who actually relished in the moment. But not me. I hated it. But why was I nervous back then? I guess I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of the unforgiving eyes and ears of my classmates. And then the speech is over, I get a B, and nobody is making fun of me until summer vacation.

Fast forward 15 years. I'm at college, my first actual band is forming, and we have a gig. It first started a few days before, that queasy feeling deep down in your gut. Was it something I ate? I ask myself. No, I know this feeling, I'm nervous. The morning of the gig. Didn't sleep. Can't eat. Can't remember the chord change to Louie Louie. (We actually played a Toga party for my frat and learned most of the music from the Animal House soundtrack) Now its a few hours away and I can't get off the toilet. Gonna hurl? Want to but can't. Can't wait for it to be over. Why am I doing this to myself? You love it, remember? So again, why am I nervous? I guess I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of the unforgiving eyes and ears of my frat brothers and their girlfriends. In the end, we played good, and everyone was so drunk they probably wouldn't remember the party itself let alone a missed chord. Today I can play in front of 200 people and not feel a thing.

Fast forward to yesterday. I wake up, and I have the butterflies again. Eat some eggs and a bagel, and I feel like I am going to hurl. Why the hell am I nervous? Oh yeah, soccer game. Every spring and fall on the day of the first game I feel nervous. No, I don't play for some over 40 men's recreational league, I coach my daughters soccer team. Doing the quick math in my head, this is probably the 45th to 50th team of my kids' I have coached in soccer, basketball, baseball, softball, and football, from kindergarten through 8th grade. And I am still getting nervous. Why? I guess I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of the unforgiving eyes and ears of my players parents. In the end we won the game 7-0 or something, we're not supposed to keep score. But I am finally realizing something after all these years. The only person who ever cared was me.

What am I trying to say? Don't be afraid of failure, because in the end, it's all just perception. You never fail for trying, you only fail when you don't even try. The Guitarman getting serious. Doesn't that make you nervous?

...and you can put the load right on me.

Lest everyone start thinking that I am a road rage-aholic, I will now put the subject of driving behind me. I promise. And talk about more inspiring things, like music.

Take for example that my band plays the song Knock On Wood by Eddie Floyd and Steve Cropper, covered by just about everyone. Countless times singing the lyrics and never once listened to what I was singing about. Finally hearing it on the radio one day I figured it out. Boner. That's it? This song, that has been covered by the likes of Eric Clapton, Otis Redding, Ella Fitzgerald, James Taylor, Seal, Ike and Tina Turner, Wilson Pickett, Percy Sledge, David Bowie, even Michael Bolton, PLUS dozens of other artists most people, including myself, have never heard of, is about an erection? Inspiring? I guess from a certain perspective.

How about Buffalo Soldier by Bob Marley. I love Marley, RIP. We even named our first cat, RIP, after him. Sing the refrain. Woi yo yo, woi ya yo yo, woi yo yo yo yo yo yo yo. Catchy, right? OK, now sing the refrain from The Banana Splits, that 70's show on Saturday mornings. Tra la la, la la la la, tra la la la la la la la. Ok who's ripping off who? Considering Buffalo Soldier wasn't recorded until 1980, and the Banana Splits ran from 1968-70, it doesn't take a genius to figure out the a 25 year old named Robert Nesta Marley was sitting in front of a TV set watching cartoons and writing songs.

One last realization. Listen to the lyrics of The Weight, by J.R.Robertson and popularized by The Band:

Take a load off Fanny,
take a load for free,
Take a load off Fanny,
And (and) (and) you can put the load right on me.

Wouldn't that make a great ad for Kohler toilets?

"...it's Czechoslovakia! It's like going into Wisconsin."

First The Guitarman would like to make one thing very clear. He does night plan on making a career out of writing about driving. Even though 2 out of my first 3 posts involved the subject, it is impossible to talk about my trip the Door County this past weekend without going 3 for 4.

Is it in the water? The genes? Are they born that way or do you have to go to school to learn the fine art of DRIVING LIKE A COMPLETE ASS!! But before I rip into cheesehead drivers, I must first say it was a very pleasant trip. Nobody yelled "Bears suck!" at me this time as I paraded around in a Bears t-shirt. The lady at the go-cart place even gave me a free ride because she said I "...spent so much already today." I appreciate the nice gesture but still wondered if she was thinking all the while, sucker. And PC junction was not crowded, and the train did not spill my food on me this time as it came around the bend.

But getting there. And back. Every time we schedule a trip to my folks place, I think to myself, I have to make that drive again. Oh it's easy enough, route wise, 3 to 31/2 hours tops. But why oh why does the cheesehead driver putz along in the left lane with a dozen cars behind him? And speed up when you try and go around him? And don't get me started on the construction zones. Am I the only person who refuses to get over LITERALLY a mile before the lanes merge? This happened not once, but twice. Each time a multitude of lemmings, swerving their cheese-mobiles out of their lane in a futile gesture to keep me behind them, were trying to say to me, "Don't be that smart, FIB. Be a putz like us!" (Note to my brethren Illinoisans: FIB = F*#king Illinois Bastard) Of course it's a phenomenon that is not restricted to our neighboring state to the north, but its just, worse. WAY worse.

OK that was harsh, and I have a lot of friends in Wisconsin. So, my apologies if I offended you. Unless you happened to be on the highway between here and Sturgeon Bay this past weekend.

That guy pisses me off!

OK how many times have you been in the car when some idiot does something to piss you off? If you said never, then you either a) don't drive, or b) are a nun. According to Arbitron’s National In-Car Study, did you know that the average person spends nearly 3 hours a day in a car? Thats a football game. Or three episodes of Survivorman. With commercials. Enough to drive the average edgy American driver insane. So have you ever thought to yourself, "...gee, I wonder how many things actually piss me off on the road?" As The Guitarman refused for 21 years to take the train to the city, he developed a love-hate relationship with the highways and his fellow drivers. Loved the time it saved me, hated the other drivers. So, in no particular order, have any of you ever been pissed off at:

The guy that won't let you pass. (and to save time, space, and angry responses from any offended persons, "the guy" will officially refer to both men and women, black or white, of any nationality or sexual gender) The guy in the left turn lane that stays behind the white line after the light turns green. The guy in the right turn lane that won't turn right on red. The guy that merges from the left lane to the right at an intersection with no right turn lane thus depriving you of your ability to turn right on red. The guy who speeds up in the parking lot when you are backing out of your space. The guy who actually STOPS on the entrance ramp to the highway. The guy who actually STOPS on the highway to let someone on the entrance ramp merge. The guy who's speed goes from 10 under the limit to 10 over the limit and back again because he is texting on his cellphone. The guy from Wisconsin. The guy from Illinois with a Packers license plate holder. The guy in the left lane doing 1 mph under the speed limit. The guy that changes lanes right in front of you and then slows down. The guy that changes lanes just before the intersection at a red light just to be the first one and then drives like Mr. Magoo when the light changes green. The guy two cars in front of you who throws a McDonalds cup out the window then jumps the curb while trying to get YOUR license plate number for telling him he is a litterbug. The guy on the country road doing less than the speed limit with 10 cars behind him waiting to pass who miraculously speeds up when you finally get the dotted yellow line. The guy from Wisconsin. The guy who hits his brakes on the highway because he doesn't like how close you are. The guy who blocks both lanes when two lanes merge even though he is STILL A FREAKIN MILE from the actual spot where you merge. The guy who has no idea that the oil filled emissions from his car are contributing 12% to destroying the ozone. The guy in the Mercedes. The guy in the Mercedes from Wisconsin. The guy coming at you with no clue that his bright lights are on. The guy who rides your bumber on the highway indicating you are driving too slow, forcing you to get out of his way, only to watch him pass you on the left, change lanes in front of you, and then slow down again, forcing you to get back in the left lane and pass him, thus allowing him to get behind you once again and start the whole bloody mess over again.

Have I left anything out? Oh yeah, the guy who complains about EVERYTHING. He pisses me off too.

Please press 1 if you are currently unemployed.

Being unemployed really sucks.

Not the part, though, where you get a tidy little sum in the mail from the state while you are actually at home NOT working. A state, mind you, that is currently in the neighborhood of $11.5 BILLION in debt. Not that they can NOT afford it, as probably a good percentage of those might just hang themselves if they didn't get their handout, thus depriving the state of the taxes generated when they spend the money, not to mention the taxes that will be paid come April 15 when they have to give some back.

Not the part, either, that you aren't actually working. Work, by definition, is actual work. And who wouldn't appreciate a mid life break, after spending 21 years in the harshest possible environment? No, not the government. And no, not the sanitation department either. I'm talking about the trading floors in Chicago. Where you go in, eyes wide open to the splendor of utter capitalism, and come out a true vulgarian, looking like what comes out of a meat grinder, unable to convince the real world that you weren't WASTING YOUR FRIGGIN LIFE developing a skill which cannot be used anywhere else.

Nor the part where the kids are off to school, the wife is happily at her job, and the amplifier is turned up to 11 while you insert a solo into a Green Day song that would make Jimi Hendrix rise from the grave. Which, of course, is followed by two hours of Survivorman, who is somewhat more believable than Bear Grylls of Man vs. Wild. Although Bear tends to lean a little more towards the "disgusting" factor, I think he does this just for ratings. Not to mention the whole "fraud" conspiracy thing. Les is the kind of guy you could sit with in a bar having a beer and maybe some roasted grubs.

No, the part about being unemployed that really sucks is.....

Give me a minute. I'll think of it.

Excuse me, but I think you've dropped something.

You can’t make this stuff up.

Stopped in traffic I see a McDonalds cup fly out of a window 2 cars ahead. First thought: get out of car, throw it back in offending vehicle. Traffic starts to move, so I did the next best thing. As I pull along side, I notice a young 25ish woman yapping away on her cell phone. Fate steps in for the first time as the light turns red, and we are next to each other. My icy stare goes completely unnoticed, so I ask her if she has ever heard of a garbage can. Ignoring me. I ask her if she would throw that on her street. More yapping. Here's where it gets fun.

Traffic starts to move and she quickly accelerates to within 6 inches of the bumper in front of her. I pull along side and repeat question number 1. She finally glances at me, mutters “hold on” into cell phone #1, proceeds to pick up cell phone #2 and mouths to me something that curiously sounds like, “duck poo”. She slows down as if to get behind me and a scene flashes in my head. She gives my license plate to some over testosteroned boyfriend who shows up at my door to remind me that his muscles are bigger than mine.

In a flash I am now behind her. She speeds up and cranes her neck to try and read my front plate in her rear view mirror but is not quick enough as I reach my street and turn off. As I glance back, I catch a glimpse of her for the last time. Her car jumps the curb and she side-swipes a street sign, and I’m thinking, there is justice in the world on occasion.

Moral of the story? Never get into an argument with a woman who carries 2 cell phones. That and MYOB.