Well, we just concluded the first Illinois Winter Olympics which were held primarily in my front yard. The most popular event was Shoveling the Driveway, the gold medal for which was won by a neighbor from down the street who cleared a vehicle path in 12 minutes, 34 seconds – a new record. I took the silver and had a shot at the gold until I fell down and, knowing I had lost, began practicing for the snow angel event.

My friend F. Johnston was a double winner – taking home the gold for Bradley in two events – Car Jumpstarting (16 vehicles in 42 minutes) and Snow Writing (the entire Declaration of Indepen-dence in one burst — some credit must go to the six beers consumed moments before).

The Sand and Cardboard Under the Tires event went to M. Leppert of Kankakee who managed to get an entire refrigerator box and three buckets of sand under a 1994 Toyota Corolla.

Our only serious injury was to D. Rapier who won the gold in Cold Pole Tongue Sticking, but had to have the paramedics cut him free – yes, the tip of the tongue is still there.

There was quite a controversy over the Scraping a Windshield with a Credit Card event when J. Carter one of the younger contestants was found to be using a CD case.

As always, quite a crowd gathered for the Sidewalk Ice Dancing event, which was a thing of beauty. The winner, B. Rashkin performed to the music of Sade’s Smooth Operator. C. Erickson’s dance to Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love drew rave reviews from some but was too controversial for most judges.

The Icicle Whack was won by J. Simmone who sent a two foot Stalactite soaring fifteen feet over the trashcans and into the neighbor’s yard (actually into the neighbor’s small dog, which recovered once placed in a warm environment).

There were several injuries on the Icy Front Steps Climb but none seriously and three contestants did actually make it to the front door.

There was a touching family story when G. Reynolds won The Trashcan Chase and his wife Cathy took the gold in Snow Angel Making.

Salting the Front Porch was won by R. Denhart who managed to dump seven 30 bags in just under 8 minutes (a new record).

The Giant Snowman event was won by D. Horn whose nine foot in diameter base was an event record. The eventual height of 18 feet, 7 inches was just shy of the all time mark.

Loud cheering accompanied to Getting to the Mailbox without Falling was won by J. Garret who retrieved sixteen loads of mail before biting the ice.

As far as team standings went our home town, Kankakee, won with three gold, two silver and two bronze medals. Bradley was second with two of each category and forty three communities were tied for third with one medal each. The cities of Chicago, Peoria, Rockford and Joliet were not allowed to compete because of the likelihood that they contained citizens who were more skilled than ours. Also, we neglected to inform several other communities for the same reason.

All in all, it was a pretty successful launch, especially considering that most of us would have rather been doing something inside where it was warm.

Crazy Story #2
     This crazy story also happened while I was in Vegas working with Oliver Stone on his biography. It was at a weeklong confer-ence where students with the 500 top SAT scores were invited to hear inspirational talks from leaders in politics, business and the arts. While there I met Colin Powell, Norman Schwarzkopf, Robert Gates (head of the CIA at the time, now the Secretary of Defense), Richard Sessions (head of the FBI at the time), Kevin Costner, Bruce Willis, Demi Moore, Barbara Streisand, Bill Gates, Dolly Parton, Tom Selleck, George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, a slew of other famous folk and a guy who sold popcorn outside Caesar’s Palace.

     It was the last official night of the conference and, after the last speaker, Kevin Costner came up to me and said, “Hey, I’ve got a blackjack dealer coming up to my room so we can gamble up there instead of going into the casino. You and Oliver are invited. “Great,” I said. “Who else is going to be there?” Kevin began counting, “Let’s see…you, me, Oliver, Barbara (Streisand), Bruce (Willis), Demi (Moore), Tom Selleck and Barry Diller (former CEO of Paramount). Yeah, that’s eight. In like thirty minutes.”

     I told Kevin it sounded good to me but I would have to check with Oliver. Well, it turned out that Oliver had something else he wanted to do so we didn’t go which is probably good because I had been thinking: “What am I going to bet? What if I lose? What if I have to go home and tell my wife that I lost the house to Bruce Willis?”

     Sometimes God keeps me out of trouble.

It’s like that old joke about cats and dogs. Dogs look at you and go, “Wow, you feed me, pet me, love me…You must be God!” And Cats go, “Wow, you feed me, pet me, love me…I must be God.” So, even though I love cats and fawn over them and do all that kitten bull shit, I still will follow about any path that gets them to do something I want. After all, it’s not like you can train them. In short, when I saw the look in Caper and Sweetpea’s eyes when I turned on the vacuum cleaner, I knew what I had to do. And the truth of it is that the vacuum cleaner did most of the training. Anything that large, that noisy, with a weird shape that breathed – that was something to recon with. So the fear part of the training was easy. At first I didn’t chase them with it. At first I cooed and shut it off and then I realized that they were never going to accept the vacuum cleaner, especially as a regular, weekly part of their lives. So why not do something with it? Use that fear to get the cats to obey.
Fear with no love is not any kind of a real God so if I really wanted the cats to be good – especially if I wanted them to be good when the vacuum cleaner was off, then I needed to show them some love – the warm fuzzy God behind the thunderbolt. So I always push the vacuum cleaner away from the cats to minimize the fear – they were already so fucking scared of the thing that they were about to blow up. And then I would sing happy songs or enthusiastically hum rock anthems while I vacuumed and cooed at the cats. Since I’m pretty damn sure they can’t distinguish between me and the vacuum cleaner when I’m running it, I felt I was showing them the loving side of the cleaner. That really didn’t work, but it did calm them somewhat. Slowly, they got used to the terror of the mighty Hoover being coupled with the warmth of an old David Crosby song. It was slowly working. At night, the vacuum cleaner, not just a huge source of power but also now their sort of mutual friend, sat silent vigil over the litter box less anyone but Dad try to change it (don’t worry about that) Then on Saturday when Mom worked and Dad was off because writers who live very long never work on Saturdays, well, especially Irish writers don’t. On Saturdays the old dirt sucker roared to life sending al the nonhumans to another room. But then I would make some vague cat sounds and sing parts of “Almost Cut My Hair” or “Cowboy Movie” and the cats would begin peaking around the corner.
Now, I’m not certain that the litter box is more orderly or that they leave the dog alone more, but they have been going straight into their room at night without slinking under the sofa or some kind of unbelievable chase down. The reason I have to keep them in the room (my home office by the way – that litter box is just fucking great for the computer) is that they race top speed around the house at night. They’ll pounce on you bed, slam each other into walls, knock the damn curtain rod down and scatter the dog’s dry food bowl all over the kitchen in frenzied play. Since they’re locked up, they do less of that shit, too. And they’re trained. At night Caper begs to go in there and Sweetpea moves as soon as the food hits the bowl – food is another great motivator – so it all kind of works. Course I still have to wedge the door and stick my old electric typewriter in front of the door so they can reach under it and open it. Then I wedge this exercise ball that my wife has yet to blow up since Christmas. My wife works so much that she barely has time to do anything. She’s amazing. And I contribute too. I pay big chunks of bills when I get paid which is often but not regular. So money is sort of always a surprise. So I help out doing dishes and vacuuming, especially on Saturday when she has to work and I can stay home and do chores. And I trained the cats.

Crazy Story #1

            So I’m in Vegas working with Oliver Stone on his biography.  We’re attending a weeklong conference where students with the 500 top SAT scores have been invited to hear inspirational talks from leaders in politics, business and the arts.  While there I met Colin Powell, Norman Schwarzkopf, Robert Gates (head of the CIA at the time, now the Secretary of Defense), Richard Sessions (head of the FBI at the time), Kevin Costner, Bruce Willis, Demi Moore, Barbara Streisand, Bill Gates, Dolly Parton, Tom Selleck, George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, a slew of other famous folk and a guy who sold hot dogs outside the Mirage hotel.

            I have a ton of stories from these four days.  One of them involves meeting Bruce and Demi.  It’s Saturday afternoon and the casino in the Mirage is jammed with people.  Here come Bruce and Demi strolling through and Oliver says we should go over and say hello.  So we walk up.  Bruce has his head pretty much shaved for an upcoming role and he is very nice and down to earth saying things like, “I’m gonna change and then see if I can make some dough on one of these crap tables.” A very Bruce Willis type of comment. Demi, on the other hand, is cold and pissed off.  She is wearing a black nylon blouse that is totally see-through with nothing underneath and she’s complaining that people keep staring at her.  I’m thinking, “You’re a huge movie star, you’re with another huge movie star, it’s Saturday afternoon in a crowded Vegas casino and you’re wearing a see-through blouse…and you’re upset that people are staring at you?”

            You gotta forgive celebrities sometimes because they just don’t get much of a clear shot at reality.