Good Night

2018 will bring lots of new things. Some good some not so good. I like new things, and remembering new things that happened long ago. My first girlfriend, leaving my oldest son off at kindergarten for the first time, the first sniff of a real Christmas tree, the first time I flew an airplane by myself. This podcast contains a New Year's wish that I was afraid I would never be able to give you again. Happy New Year.

Santa isn't the only one who flies for Christmas. My Lady Wonder Wench and I did too. This podcast is about the memory of finding Christmas from 2,000 feet in the air.

If it weren't for dreams, Christmas would be just another cold winter night. This podcast is about dreams, and the dream our little Cecelia had about wishing you a Merry Christmas.

My favorite Christmas carol, played by my favorite Christmas carol player, and a story about an encounter with THE MOUSE from "Twas the night before Christmas all all through the house, not a creature was stirring except THIS DAMN MOUSE!

Santa is the guy who connects us with the feelings you had when you were a kid, and got your first Christmas train set, or when you were a little older and got your first Christmas kiss. He gets a bum rap these days for the loud, frequent and tasteless commercials. But give this podcast a listen, and you may find a genuine connection to...Christmas.

There's a little, excited, Christmas kid inside most of us. It has nothing to do with religion. It's a feeling that makes you want to jump up and down and open presents. We'll find that kid in this podcast.

Once again looking forward to the arrival of Mr. Turkey, Mr. Claus and Baby New Year. This podcast explains why it would be good for Mr. Turkey to talk to Mr. Easter Rabbit, and also why good Louie Louie Generation guys so very generously let our women spend the whole Thanksgiving Day in the warmest room of the house. While we risk our lives sitting in front of the dangerous rays streaming out of the TV tube.

Black lace falling quietly on a soft carpet, touch me looks flicking across rooms, warm hands in sensitive places, a lover's key turning in a lock...fantasies. That's what this podcast is about. Fantasies are the difference between underpants and a thong. Have a fantasy with us.

I love sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room. It's a safe place to tell you some of my favorite stories. If I tried telling you some of them in person, you might be tempted to tell me to stop bothering you and go play some old Louie Louie Generation appropriate games...like walk scotch, hide and go sleep, or spin the hot water bottle. You might even want to attach a banana peel to the tip of my cane. But ha...I don't have a cane. But I do have some stories. Here's one of my favorites. Once upon a time there was a scientist who cloned himself. One afternoon, the restless clone sneaked out of the lab, and ran down to a subway station, where he flashed all the passengers. When the scientist heard about it, he ran down to the subway station and ordered the perverted clone to stop flashing people. That scared the clone so badly because he had never seen the scientist so upset. He got so scared that he lost his balance and fell off the platform, right into the pat

Some of you have been listening to these podcasts for a while, so you will have some understanding of the testosterone tsunami that shook me today. This is no kidding. I saw a sign outside a medical building today that said..."This is National Breast Awareness month." My Lady Wonder Wench was driving, and in an instant I understood that old psychological precept: "Your unconscious mind is much faster than your conscious mind." My big mouth was connected to my unconscious mind at the time and it let out some kind of noise that sounded like "YYEEEHHHAAA STOP." My conscious mind would have shut my big mouth. My unconscious mind was faster. And it was really no competition. When I yelled, "Stop." My Lady Wonder Wench hit the brakes, the tires shrieked and smoked, our heads just missed the windshield and the cars behind us blew a car horn symphony. It was clearly time for confession. But when I explained that I just needed her to take my picture in front of that sign that said it was National Breast Awareness mo

Fantasies turn underwear into lingerie. Fantasies turn ordinary men and women into heroic movie stars, or dreadful villains. More importantly fantasies turn a relationship into a romance. A relationship builds over time, a romance just explodes. And a fantasy is usually the spark that ignites the explosion. Like lots of our friends my Lady Wonder Wench and I have been together for a long time. It has been good...and comfortable...living together. Comfortable is good. But it's also risky. The risk is that if we aren't careful, the spark that ignited the explosion that changed our relationship into our romance can get lost behind all the trivia that piles up as the years go by. No spark...no explosion. No explosion...no romance.

I'm sitting here in my big, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room ...and it's so comfortable. Not at all like the hard chairs and harsh fluorescent lights I remember from when I was doing the all night shows at WBZ and WNEW and WNBC. There were good things and bad things about being on the air all night. One of the bad things was there weren't many people listening, but one of the good things was that the people who were listening were really listening. It wasn't just some kind of background noise like daytime radio tends to be. And I remember that I had my own way of dealing with problems in those days. When the little voice in my head said, "You're going to regret saying this in the morning," I always said it anyway. Because I figured nobody could give me a hard time in the morning if I just slept late the next day. I felt that was one way to be a problem solver. No regrets. And I could sleep any time I had the time in those days...actually in those nights. Even while I was on the air. Some

Angela is a special lady. My Lady Wonder Wench and I have known her for a long time. I call her "Angels." She has a problem with the beast right now. She can use whatever prayers and/or positive power thoughts you can send her. Today's podcast will give you an idea of the funny way we met. "Angels" is a good, tough, Brooklyn lady. If anybody can beat the beast, it's Angels. Please help. She's special.

I'm guessing that just from the sound of my voice, you can tell where I'm recording this podcast. That's not a hunch, it's a guess. Because I've given you lots of hints over the years. There's a difference between a hunch and a guess. A guess has a lot of figuring out involved. A hunch just hits you. If I thought I had a shot at having my Lady Wonder Wench join me for a night of passion all those years ago based on the fact that she was smiling at me lot, twiddling with her hair, and standing very close to me that would be a good guess. That's not what happened. I took one look at her and my head exploded. That was what you could call a major league hunch. No figuring out at all. There are bunches of important hunches in our lives that we usually don't notice. Lots of times it's because we tend to look at life through the wrong end of a telescope. For example, the stats say around a half of American marriages don't work out. That's awful. But take a closer look through the other end of that same telescope.

I am sitting here in my exceptionally comfortable and manly black leather poppa chair in my living room. It now has a small streaky spot on the left arm rest where I spilled a little coffee a few mornings ago. So it is now exceptional as opposed to perfect. It's like lots of you who are listening to this podcast right now...many of you are also exceptional, but you're not perfect. And that's good. Because nobody is perfect, and you are not a nobody.

I am once again sitting here in my big, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room, and let me tell you it's a lot more comfortable than the seat at gate D15 at Philadelphia airport where I was stuck a few weeks ago because of another cancelled flight. I told you a few podcasts back that the airlines are screaming for pilots because 96% of American pilots are guys, and in the last 30 years, young guys have had a 52% drop in testosterone which as you know is a key ingredient in being a guy. And although women don't have much testosterone, they have mostly estrogen which seems plentiful enough, but they aren't stepping up to fill the gap. They're not becoming pilots. And that's a major reason the airlines keep cancelling flights. Not enough pilots. Lots of people are making sex pretty complicated these days, and God bless them too. But not me. I like the simple fact that I'm one sex and my Lady Wonder Wench is the other. I'm a simple guy. I'm a simple guy but I have some complicated parts. I also expl

Please keep this podcast around for the next time you get so OUTRAGED that you're tempted to do something you'll regret. "Wind your watch" Mike said...between clenched teeth. Mike was my first flight instructor all those decades ago. His teeth were clenched because I had the plane stalled. It was pointed straight down and it was starting to spin, and I was reaching like a mad man for buttons and switches and pulling on levers...instead of THINKING. Mike was teaching me a pilot saying that goes: "When you notice that one wing just fell off, the first thing to do is to wind your watch." It's a reminder that it's not a good idea to just throw a bunch of switches and pull a lot of levers until you take a breath, and actually understand what needs to be done...THEN DO IT. Remembering to wind your watch is one way to break the momentum of fear, and it gives you a chance to get things back under reasoned control. It was a hard lesson well learned. Thanks Mike. Mike probably had to wind his watch at least ten tim

I am sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair in my living room...enjoying the fact that I have gotten over GROWING UP. That's a surprising statement from a guy who spent most of his life fooling around on the radio. So what made me say it? I figured out a little test for how you can tell you're getting over growing up today, and I passed it. Here's what I mean. Can I open my own peanut butter jars? Yes. Do I really understand how my car is going to get through a tiny little tunnel way up the road ahead? Yes. Can I can buy all the toys I want...within reason? Yes. Just no personal jets. And I can recognize that even if there are nasty things under my bed, I'm not afraid to go to sleep. And speaking about being afraid, I have come to the definite conclusion that it is better to be scared than to be bored. I have far more often regretted what I didn't do than what I did do in getting over growing up.

No, no, no, no. I do not believe this report from Harvard University. I'm trying hard not to fall out of my big, manly, black leather poppa chair while I'm laughing from reading this thing. This report says "Posting views on Facebook and other social media sites delivers a powerful reward to the brain similar to the pleasure from food and sex." No, no, no guys...that may be true...but only if you have food and sex while you're wearing your fully buttoned up, tight fitting white lab coat. There is something wrong with that study. And there are all kinds of studies like that these days. Dr. Gay Guzinski, M.D. of the American College of Obstetricians published a study just now that says, "Women who are multi orgasmic can and do remain so for their entire lives." So how does he know that? The only way he would know that for sure is if he spends way too many nights working late with his intern whose name is Desiree. It's all in the name of science...of course. Doctors, doctors, doctors...un-button your tight f

My lower reptilian brain just went on maximum overload red alert, sitting here in my big, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room. Actually my fanny is sitting here in the chair, it was my brain that just exploded. That happens fairly frequently when I watch the day's news on TV. It's the kicker stories at the end of the newscasts that get to me. Riots, threats of nuclear war, and another politician caught where his hand shouldn't be...maybe in a financial cookie jar, or on a lady's personal anatomy...I can deal with those things. But it's the stories at the end of the newscasts that sometimes light the fuse on my lower reptilian brain. As you probably know, they're called kickers. Here's one from today: "A new medical report says many men are having allergic reactions to a certain brand of latex condom. The allergic reaction causes severe swelling" My lower reptilian brain keeps yelling..."So what's the problem"...a condom causes swelling. At my age that could be a benefit. Here's another. "