Surely, thought Carl with alarm, they don't expect me to memorize all this! There had to be at least five pages of rules & regulations. Or, with more annoying alliteration, "policies & procedures," as the fat man with the missing bottom teeth had told him in the tiny HR room where he filled out his paperwork. Jesus God, Carl almost muttered to himself, what you have to do to get a job these days.
"See Linda in room 12," the fat man had said, with a slight whistle, as his tongue pushed unopposed air through the gap in his teeth.
He glanced over the pages of company policy while he waited. Linda, of course, made Carl wait. Lindas were always making Carl wait.
Linda Meyer had been his high school guidance counselor, who had told him sadly that he wasn't "college material." He remembered sitting outside her office, missing lunch, just to have her glance over his grades, his SAT scores, his college applications, & then give him dire predictions about his future.
& Linda Smith, the first girl to kiss him, who made him wait for weeks before he could discover her badly padded bra.
& Linda West - who became Linda Strunk after a short-lived marriage - had been the minor Southwestern poet who had been his graduate advisor while he worked on his abortive master's degree. All those hours, waiting for her to finish some phone call with her fiancee, then later her ex-husband or her lawyer, they had worn him out. He had loved Robinson Jeffers so much, now he could barely read his name on a book's spine.
How many Lindas had he waited for his entire life? Linda Murphy, the other Linda Smith, the Linda who ran the dance studio where the Linda he was once married to took her daughter from a previous marriage, the Linda who had the bar who was born in Yorba Linda which is why she was called Linda ("I'm sure glad I wasn't named Yorba!") - his whole life a punishment of Lindas.
Linda Bingham was this Linda's name & she was friendly but curt. With professional perfunctoriness she highlighted the sections of the manual on which he would be tested after his training period. Everything, she said, is in this document, & she directed him to sign several forms.
She stood, asked him to wait, & left the office to get something approved. Linda's office, Carl thought, was tidy & tiny. There were no pictures on her desk, but she did have a corkboard the size of a dinner platter in the far left corner of the room, next to a Ziggy calendar. He didn't want to get up & be caught snooping so he leaned as close as he could from his chair to scan it. The usual cartoons were there - the obligatory Dilbert, of course, plus yellowing Far Side squares - as well as a couple of cards for birthdays or anniversaries. A small rectangle of paper the size of a fortune cookie fortune was the only thing he couldn't read, so he quickly got out of his chair to sneak a look.
It read, simply, "In the Zulu language, the word 'linda' means 'to wait.'"
Carl snapped back to his seat as if drawn by a powerful magnet. He felt like he should have know that fortune cookie fortune fact a long time ago.
& Linda Bingham made him wait twenty-two more minutes until she returned & welcomed him to the company.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
The High Cost Of Afternoon Napping
I'm up now! Why do you have to be so loud?
YES I did my radio shows last night. Self Help Radio at 9pm, Dickenbock Electronics at 10:30pm. & I put them up this morning at selfhelpradio.net like I said I would. Then I went back to bed.
Why? Because I was up late & it's a warm & rainy day today. If I had a job, I'd go to work. As it is, it's a nice day for napping.
I'm going back to sleep. Go, go listen to my radio shows. Just, you know, keep it down.
YES I did my radio shows last night. Self Help Radio at 9pm, Dickenbock Electronics at 10:30pm. & I put them up this morning at selfhelpradio.net like I said I would. Then I went back to bed.
Why? Because I was up late & it's a warm & rainy day today. If I had a job, I'd go to work. As it is, it's a nice day for napping.
I'm going back to sleep. Go, go listen to my radio shows. Just, you know, keep it down.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Fifteen Days Later
Self Help Radio returns! A new night! A new time! Same old radio show, though.
Starting tonight at 9pm on WMUL (that's 88.1 on your fm dial), Self Help Radio sits in its summer home for the three hottest months of the year. But if you're not in Huntington, don't worry, the show will be archived by robot pixies tomorrow at selfhelpradio.net. This blog will let you know exactly when it's ready for you.
Excited? Look, at least the show's not going to compete with "Lost." That would've sucked.
Starting tonight at 9pm on WMUL (that's 88.1 on your fm dial), Self Help Radio sits in its summer home for the three hottest months of the year. But if you're not in Huntington, don't worry, the show will be archived by robot pixies tomorrow at selfhelpradio.net. This blog will let you know exactly when it's ready for you.
Excited? Look, at least the show's not going to compete with "Lost." That would've sucked.
Monday, June 07, 2010
Whither At What Cost?
There is (was?) a record store in Dallas (it still exists, though not where I used to visit, & here's its website) which was probably the first giant record store I had ever seen. The owner was a puffy middle-aged man with deep set eyes who seemed to be continually surrounded by skinny "new wave" boys.
An aside: when I was in high school, kids who looked like punks or goths or whatever were called "new wave." The wife, who's a decade younger than I am, pointed out some kids at the park yesterday & lamented that that was what they now call "goth." "Goth," she said, "meant something different in my day." But I apparently pre-dated the "goth" label. Suffice it to say, I was never anything but a kind of shambling mess.
This record store was pretty awesome to my high school mind. What seemed like millions of albums arranged alphabetically, on dozens of tables & on the floor, with cool posters (also for sale) all around the giant room. I didn't know or recognize most of them, of course - I gravitated immediately to the Bowie & Elvis Costello sections.
The biggest problem with the store was that there were no price tags. The owner, who was creepy & obviously gay, would simply stand there & you had to hold up what you wanted & ask the price. It became immediately clear that the amount one paid could be negotiated - if you were cute & flirty to the owner, for example, you'd pay less. As an ugly fat kid, I was at a tremendous disadvantage, although I think I once got a discount on an Elvis Costello import single by joking that I loved him so much I would marry him.
One had to give one's money to the owner, too. No cash register, just handing money & a wallet opened for change. The owner asked a friend of mine once if he could put the change in his pocket for him.
Rumors of course swirled around the alleged pedophile about criminal proceedings, but perhaps he was able to either keep his liaisons secret or he had some self-control. He seems to be doing fine now.
I only went to the store a few times in high school, & rarely returned once I went to college, although I did take my nephew to the place perhaps when he was in high school, which would have been in the mid to late 90s. I can't remember if prices were labelled at that point. But the "bartering" aspect of the store, with my own meager funds as a high school student, eventually made me come to loathe the store, despite its selection.
I just prefer to know what something costs up front.
An aside: when I was in high school, kids who looked like punks or goths or whatever were called "new wave." The wife, who's a decade younger than I am, pointed out some kids at the park yesterday & lamented that that was what they now call "goth." "Goth," she said, "meant something different in my day." But I apparently pre-dated the "goth" label. Suffice it to say, I was never anything but a kind of shambling mess.
This record store was pretty awesome to my high school mind. What seemed like millions of albums arranged alphabetically, on dozens of tables & on the floor, with cool posters (also for sale) all around the giant room. I didn't know or recognize most of them, of course - I gravitated immediately to the Bowie & Elvis Costello sections.
The biggest problem with the store was that there were no price tags. The owner, who was creepy & obviously gay, would simply stand there & you had to hold up what you wanted & ask the price. It became immediately clear that the amount one paid could be negotiated - if you were cute & flirty to the owner, for example, you'd pay less. As an ugly fat kid, I was at a tremendous disadvantage, although I think I once got a discount on an Elvis Costello import single by joking that I loved him so much I would marry him.
One had to give one's money to the owner, too. No cash register, just handing money & a wallet opened for change. The owner asked a friend of mine once if he could put the change in his pocket for him.
Rumors of course swirled around the alleged pedophile about criminal proceedings, but perhaps he was able to either keep his liaisons secret or he had some self-control. He seems to be doing fine now.
I only went to the store a few times in high school, & rarely returned once I went to college, although I did take my nephew to the place perhaps when he was in high school, which would have been in the mid to late 90s. I can't remember if prices were labelled at that point. But the "bartering" aspect of the store, with my own meager funds as a high school student, eventually made me come to loathe the store, despite its selection.
I just prefer to know what something costs up front.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
Preface To At What Cost?: The Price Of Obscurity!
In recent correspondence with Mr. Elmer Comma of the Latin American division of World Canadian Surprises, Mr. Augustine Stained had this to say, painstakingly typed out in a text message when clearly some abbreviation was in order:
To any and all sundry concerned, I must needs forsooth express extreme displeasure at recent events notwithstanding the overall profit margin in relation to certain we must admit ill-conceived and indubitably ultimately self-defeating measures implemented with regard to earthquakes in Chile & Haiti as well as but not necessarily influencing financial disasters concomitant to and created by the current British Petroleum so-called oil leak which stands to affect our bottom line and the earning potential of the myriad programs in the pipe (no pun intended) for the expansion of our Caribbean division, overseen by not only Mr. Comma but also several people in our British Ecuadorian office who have of course been carbon-copied on this text message. In furtherance of both opportunity-seeking as well as damage control I have scheduled for four p.m. today a conference call using only the most inclusive and cutting-edge of technology so please confirm your attendance for the server boys. Yours sincerely, Mr. Augustine Monroe Stained, Senior Vice-President for Catapults and Conviviality, World Canadian Surprises, North American Polar Ice Cap Division. Please forward.
This test message was not read by any of the people to whom it was ostensibly sent; however, the crime fiction author & National Public Radio commentator Mr. Morton Smug spent a full thirteen minutes reading it with undetectable emotion on an episode of "This American Life" to be aired in the fall.
Mr. Augustine Stained continues to write long messages using only his iPhone & possibly a thesaurus, unaware that he was fired two years ago when the offices where he was supposedly working fell into the Arctic Sea, the glacier on which the office was built (on Mr. Stained's recommendation) having sunk overnight. Mr. Stained had begun working from home on that day. He enjoyed it so well that he chose never to return, which saved his life, although the current glacier on which he built his dream house will probably be gone in the next two years.
He in unaware of any lawsuits pending. He is still waiting for the 4pm conference call to begin.
To any and all sundry concerned, I must needs forsooth express extreme displeasure at recent events notwithstanding the overall profit margin in relation to certain we must admit ill-conceived and indubitably ultimately self-defeating measures implemented with regard to earthquakes in Chile & Haiti as well as but not necessarily influencing financial disasters concomitant to and created by the current British Petroleum so-called oil leak which stands to affect our bottom line and the earning potential of the myriad programs in the pipe (no pun intended) for the expansion of our Caribbean division, overseen by not only Mr. Comma but also several people in our British Ecuadorian office who have of course been carbon-copied on this text message. In furtherance of both opportunity-seeking as well as damage control I have scheduled for four p.m. today a conference call using only the most inclusive and cutting-edge of technology so please confirm your attendance for the server boys. Yours sincerely, Mr. Augustine Monroe Stained, Senior Vice-President for Catapults and Conviviality, World Canadian Surprises, North American Polar Ice Cap Division. Please forward.
This test message was not read by any of the people to whom it was ostensibly sent; however, the crime fiction author & National Public Radio commentator Mr. Morton Smug spent a full thirteen minutes reading it with undetectable emotion on an episode of "This American Life" to be aired in the fall.
Mr. Augustine Stained continues to write long messages using only his iPhone & possibly a thesaurus, unaware that he was fired two years ago when the offices where he was supposedly working fell into the Arctic Sea, the glacier on which the office was built (on Mr. Stained's recommendation) having sunk overnight. Mr. Stained had begun working from home on that day. He enjoyed it so well that he chose never to return, which saved his life, although the current glacier on which he built his dream house will probably be gone in the next two years.
He in unaware of any lawsuits pending. He is still waiting for the 4pm conference call to begin.
Saturday, June 05, 2010
The Stumbling Return
Driving into Huntington, West Virginia, from the east, yesterday at around 4 pm (Eastern Daylight Time), Bob Dylan on the iPod plugged into the car stereo, black clouds in the western sky.
Driving into the upward slanted driveway just to the right of our house (if you're looking at the house, in front), big drops of water like childhood tears beginning to splash inches apart, intermittently, on the windshield, on the roof of the car, on our heads as we got the dogs out & headed indoors.
Close flashes of lightning like mirages appeared in our peripheral vision, in vague reflections on the windows of our house & the empty house across the street, the sudden thunder following loudly, rumbling us & telling us that the lightning was touching ground very near our own.
Emptying the car with an umbrella's handle held between chin & right shoulder, rain getting all over my back, running down my legs, soaking the trunk of the car.
Giving up, calling the mother to tell her we're home safe, three thousand miles travelled in eight days.
Smelling an unusual home, thinking it looks more empty than we remembered it to be, smelling like dust & wood, still familiar & warm, & of course happy to see the cats, which (we are happy & grateful) remember us & greet us immediately.
Back home again, such as it is.
Driving into the upward slanted driveway just to the right of our house (if you're looking at the house, in front), big drops of water like childhood tears beginning to splash inches apart, intermittently, on the windshield, on the roof of the car, on our heads as we got the dogs out & headed indoors.
Close flashes of lightning like mirages appeared in our peripheral vision, in vague reflections on the windows of our house & the empty house across the street, the sudden thunder following loudly, rumbling us & telling us that the lightning was touching ground very near our own.
Emptying the car with an umbrella's handle held between chin & right shoulder, rain getting all over my back, running down my legs, soaking the trunk of the car.
Giving up, calling the mother to tell her we're home safe, three thousand miles travelled in eight days.
Smelling an unusual home, thinking it looks more empty than we remembered it to be, smelling like dust & wood, still familiar & warm, & of course happy to see the cats, which (we are happy & grateful) remember us & greet us immediately.
Back home again, such as it is.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Only Europeans Take Vacations
Americans take "time off."
So it shall be with Self Help Radio. As the only person dumb enough to host it, me, goes to Dallas, Texas, home of the world's biggest hair, to see a nephew get recepted (since he's already married, he's holding a late reception) (I suppose the place one holds a reception is a receptacle) (also, one should really get a receipt if you pay for a reception) there will not be anyone to host the show for the coming week. It's best to let it skip a week than force a reluctant "guest host" to man or woman the helm of what is a clunky drive of a show.
Plus! When Self Help Radio returns, it'll be at a new time, which is Tuesdays at 9pm. The shows should be placed on the web, as long as the show is on Tuesdays, on Wednesdays therefore. Blog entries will be modified accordingly. Accordions will be entered modifyingly. I would like a refill now, barkeep.
See you in a little over a week! xox
So it shall be with Self Help Radio. As the only person dumb enough to host it, me, goes to Dallas, Texas, home of the world's biggest hair, to see a nephew get recepted (since he's already married, he's holding a late reception) (I suppose the place one holds a reception is a receptacle) (also, one should really get a receipt if you pay for a reception) there will not be anyone to host the show for the coming week. It's best to let it skip a week than force a reluctant "guest host" to man or woman the helm of what is a clunky drive of a show.
Plus! When Self Help Radio returns, it'll be at a new time, which is Tuesdays at 9pm. The shows should be placed on the web, as long as the show is on Tuesdays, on Wednesdays therefore. Blog entries will be modified accordingly. Accordions will be entered modifyingly. I would like a refill now, barkeep.
See you in a little over a week! xox
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The End Of The Argument
That's it! No more arguing. I'm putting a stop to it now.
I have heard all the arguments up to & including the last one, which is a pretty long argument, & which is preserved in audio form at the Self Help Radio website. It's going to take a while to get through it, actually. It's a little confusing.
If you must argue, you must then listen to the show. If you're tired of arguing, you can understand why by listening to show.
No! You can't argue with me. Listen to the show.
It's arguably fun to listen to.
I have heard all the arguments up to & including the last one, which is a pretty long argument, & which is preserved in audio form at the Self Help Radio website. It's going to take a while to get through it, actually. It's a little confusing.
If you must argue, you must then listen to the show. If you're tired of arguing, you can understand why by listening to show.
No! You can't argue with me. Listen to the show.
It's arguably fun to listen to.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Self Help Radio: Argument Clinic
Tonight - I'm not going to argue about this - Self Help Radio is on for the last time in May 2010 at midnight in Huntington on 88.1 fm WMUL. (Also, while supplies last, you can see a picture of me on that page. I won an award.) I'll avoid another disagreement with you by putting the show up without any further discussion tomorrow on selfhelpradio.net. Let's just keep the peace, all right.
Can I embed a video here? No? I don't know how. So go over here to YouTube to watch Monty Python's classic argument sketch. I still laugh when I see this. It's quite brilliant.
Stupid git.
Not you, I was just quoting the... Oh here we go again!
Can I embed a video here? No? I don't know how. So go over here to YouTube to watch Monty Python's classic argument sketch. I still laugh when I see this. It's quite brilliant.
Stupid git.
Not you, I was just quoting the... Oh here we go again!
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Preface To Arguments/Whither Arguments?
It's two blog entries in one!
I must confess, I have had my head somewhere up my ass the past couple of days & I completely forgot about this blog. I have been busy, of course, working hard on Self Help Radio... Oh, I can't lie to you. I have been daydreaming about next week when I get to return to Dallas to celebrate my nephew's wedding & then to Austin see old friends. Then the wife went away on some weird retreat with her women friends, & I just sat, daydreamed & listened to music. Meanwhile the days went by & this blog didn't make a peep. It just sat here, waiting for me, weeping to itself.
So I'm sorry.
I really don't have anything to say about the show.
But I will have some things to say about the show after this one, which will be in June, since I'll be away in Texas for a week.
We're not going to argue about this, are we?
I must confess, I have had my head somewhere up my ass the past couple of days & I completely forgot about this blog. I have been busy, of course, working hard on Self Help Radio... Oh, I can't lie to you. I have been daydreaming about next week when I get to return to Dallas to celebrate my nephew's wedding & then to Austin see old friends. Then the wife went away on some weird retreat with her women friends, & I just sat, daydreamed & listened to music. Meanwhile the days went by & this blog didn't make a peep. It just sat here, waiting for me, weeping to itself.
So I'm sorry.
I really don't have anything to say about the show.
But I will have some things to say about the show after this one, which will be in June, since I'll be away in Texas for a week.
We're not going to argue about this, are we?
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
& It Happened
What happened? Self Help Radio happened!
Last night, barely noticed & frankly barely noticeable, Self Help Radio peeked through the cracks to ask the question "What happened?" & that's all that happened. Self Help Radio happened.
Don't believe it? You can listen to the evidence right in front of your ears at selfhelpradio.net. It's convincing. & damning.
Last night, barely noticed & frankly barely noticeable, Self Help Radio peeked through the cracks to ask the question "What happened?" & that's all that happened. Self Help Radio happened.
Don't believe it? You can listen to the evidence right in front of your ears at selfhelpradio.net. It's convincing. & damning.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Fits Night Out
It so happened that Fits had a night out. It also happened that Fits found himself for no good reason having a night out in Huntington, West Virginia. It happened to be the case that Huntington doesn't really have much of what one might call a "night life." Fits even happened to notice that a popular sports bar closed before midnight. How, he thought to himself, did such things happen? He could have guessed the answer: that's how things happened in Huntington!
So he happened to turn on the radio. The dial happened to be tuned to 88.1, which happened to be, in the city of Huntington, WMUL fm. As it happened to be midnight on a Monday, Fits happened to catch the radio show "Self Help Radio," which happened that evening to have the theme "What Happened?" Since Fits did not now what happened, he listened.
As it happened, someone interrupted Fits & he missed some of the program. Yet he happened to hear the host says something about archiving the show later on selfhelpradio.net. It was fortunate he heard it! If that had not happened, he would not have heard the entire show.
& that's how Fits night out happened. Or has it happened yet?
So he happened to turn on the radio. The dial happened to be tuned to 88.1, which happened to be, in the city of Huntington, WMUL fm. As it happened to be midnight on a Monday, Fits happened to catch the radio show "Self Help Radio," which happened that evening to have the theme "What Happened?" Since Fits did not now what happened, he listened.
As it happened, someone interrupted Fits & he missed some of the program. Yet he happened to hear the host says something about archiving the show later on selfhelpradio.net. It was fortunate he heard it! If that had not happened, he would not have heard the entire show.
& that's how Fits night out happened. Or has it happened yet?
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Whither What Happened?
Do you love the question "whatever happened to?" Like, for example, say you're a fan of some obscure television show or movie, & you start thinking, whatever happened to that dude who played the dude that everyone was all like, "Duuuude" when he came in the room? I know a few actors & actresses leave the industry for a particular reason - if they're young, sometimes it's school - sometimes it's for family - but a lot of times it's because of drugs - & a lot of the time it's because their stars just fell.
Not that there aren't resurrections. Some people get magically saved, like Neil Patrick Harris. But others just - they just disappear. It's the nature of the thing.
Some stay in Hollywood, living (one assumes) on the money they happily saved when they had "hit" television shows or whatever. Some apparently tour with shows, appearing in small towns (like Huntington) with vehicles written for them or adapted from current or classic Broadway plays. Some of these, by the way, are just fucking weird. Like I saw a flyer at the university late last year for this:"Thank You For Asking", a play about the life of Lucille Ball - directed by her daughter.
I am assuming people went. After all, there are a lot of old people in this part of the world. It does have quite the whiff of desperation about it, though, doesn't it? Like there wasn't even enough material to make a Lifetime movie about Lucille Ball.
But if you're like me, you're occasionally fascinated to find out someone who was only in your peripheral vision is still alive & sometimes still working in the biz. You may even be saddened or titillated to discover they've met a tragic end. Also, perhaps, you have a sense of closure - after all, their Hollywood story is over. Maybe.
I do sometimes imagine I was slightly more famous a long time ago - I was the smart-ass fat kid in a Nickelodeon comedy of the early nineties who was always humiliated by the geeky protagonist, & I left the show for a bit part in one of the "Home Alone" films (probably the ninth) which my agent imagined would lead me to better roles. Instead, I couldn't get a job so I went back to school, got involved with college radio, & now, married & forgotten, I do a minor radio show in a small town in obscurity. I'm just waiting for the folks at VH1 to give me a call.
Not that there aren't resurrections. Some people get magically saved, like Neil Patrick Harris. But others just - they just disappear. It's the nature of the thing.
Some stay in Hollywood, living (one assumes) on the money they happily saved when they had "hit" television shows or whatever. Some apparently tour with shows, appearing in small towns (like Huntington) with vehicles written for them or adapted from current or classic Broadway plays. Some of these, by the way, are just fucking weird. Like I saw a flyer at the university late last year for this:"Thank You For Asking", a play about the life of Lucille Ball - directed by her daughter.
I am assuming people went. After all, there are a lot of old people in this part of the world. It does have quite the whiff of desperation about it, though, doesn't it? Like there wasn't even enough material to make a Lifetime movie about Lucille Ball.
But if you're like me, you're occasionally fascinated to find out someone who was only in your peripheral vision is still alive & sometimes still working in the biz. You may even be saddened or titillated to discover they've met a tragic end. Also, perhaps, you have a sense of closure - after all, their Hollywood story is over. Maybe.
I do sometimes imagine I was slightly more famous a long time ago - I was the smart-ass fat kid in a Nickelodeon comedy of the early nineties who was always humiliated by the geeky protagonist, & I left the show for a bit part in one of the "Home Alone" films (probably the ninth) which my agent imagined would lead me to better roles. Instead, I couldn't get a job so I went back to school, got involved with college radio, & now, married & forgotten, I do a minor radio show in a small town in obscurity. I'm just waiting for the folks at VH1 to give me a call.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Preface To What Happened?: What Prefaced?
"Preface" is one of the those words, like "ascertain," that I read & knew the meaning of long before I heard it spoken, so when I myself first spoke it, I pronounced it wrong. (Yes, I said pre-face, not prefiss.) The same with "metropolis," now that I think about it (met-ro-pol-is, not me-trop-o-lis). Or "reprise," which I pronounced like in "reprisal." (I still do, in my head.) That's the astonishing thing about reading - though you're encouraged to look words up, but many times you simply suss meanings from context &, before you know it, you've added a word to your own vocabulary that "sounds" like it "sounds" in your head & whose "formal" meaning you've never actually cracked a dictionary to read. I remember the above words because someone corrected me, just like, recently, I corrected some kid at the radio station who referred to a band (it was the La's) as "the L-A's" (like you'd shorten Los Angeles) simply because no one had ever said their name out loud to him. Who knows how many words I learned that way?
I know I am not using the word "preface" entirely correctly, because of course a preface is technically an introduction to a book or other written work, not a radio show. I beg your indulgence. I also am grateful you haven't called me on it in - what - eight hundred some odd blog posts? Your restraint is appreciated. Or are you just ignoring me? You know who also ignores me? Little robots.
In fact, I have more to say about little robots but it's time to walk to doggins. Can we talk about little robots some more later? Or should I preface that with a more general discussion about robots of all sizes?
I know I am not using the word "preface" entirely correctly, because of course a preface is technically an introduction to a book or other written work, not a radio show. I beg your indulgence. I also am grateful you haven't called me on it in - what - eight hundred some odd blog posts? Your restraint is appreciated. Or are you just ignoring me? You know who also ignores me? Little robots.
In fact, I have more to say about little robots but it's time to walk to doggins. Can we talk about little robots some more later? Or should I preface that with a more general discussion about robots of all sizes?
Friday, May 14, 2010
How To Successfully Rescue A Cat In This Day & Age
Do you know how you constantly see posters people put up for missing pets? They're so heart-breaking, & I can't even imagine what the statistics are about animals lost versus animals found. I find myself so saddened by each new flyer.
About a week ago, a neighbor went around & put a flyer in everyone's mailboxes (at least on our street) for this fellow:
The flyer said he was a male Maine Coon. He certainly is a handsome fellow, yes?
Last night, after my wife had worked all day & I had been sitting around all day listening to music & gaining weight, & specifically after dinner, I said to the wife, "I missed you today. Why don't we take the dogs out for a walk before it gets too dark & you can tell me extremely interesting stories of your academic world." Maybe I didn't say that last part, but I think that's what she heard, because that's what happened.
At the end of the walk, night already fallen, I saw a tiny cat on the fence of someone's house, & said hello to it, like I do. I didn't recognize it from the flyer, but the wife did. She made me drag the boys home (which was a chore, because of course they wanted to be with their mother, & oh boy a cat!) & try to find the flyer. We put the little kit in a cat carrier & I found the craigslist entry while she walked up the street & stole a flyer from an empty house's mailbox.
We were pretty sure it was Teddy, the cat in the flyer, but we called the number & we responded to the craigslist listing. Since the story has a happy ending, you know the cat made its way home, although the owner this afternoon (she was out of town last night) was still skeptical until she saw him. Teddy himself stayed in our guest room & availed himself of room service, as he was very hungry from being out in the world for over a week.
So how do you successfully rescue a cat in this day & age? Pay attention to the flyers! Pay attention to strays! Be more like my wife, not like me - don't just say hello to neighborhood cats, but look them in the eye & say, "Didn't I see your picture on a telephone pole?"
The owner of Teddy wanted to give a reward, but I told her the only reward we wanted was to make sure he stayed indoors. I told her if we found him out & about again, we'd keep him. He was a very sweet little cat.
I'm glad he's home.
About a week ago, a neighbor went around & put a flyer in everyone's mailboxes (at least on our street) for this fellow:
The flyer said he was a male Maine Coon. He certainly is a handsome fellow, yes?
Last night, after my wife had worked all day & I had been sitting around all day listening to music & gaining weight, & specifically after dinner, I said to the wife, "I missed you today. Why don't we take the dogs out for a walk before it gets too dark & you can tell me extremely interesting stories of your academic world." Maybe I didn't say that last part, but I think that's what she heard, because that's what happened.
At the end of the walk, night already fallen, I saw a tiny cat on the fence of someone's house, & said hello to it, like I do. I didn't recognize it from the flyer, but the wife did. She made me drag the boys home (which was a chore, because of course they wanted to be with their mother, & oh boy a cat!) & try to find the flyer. We put the little kit in a cat carrier & I found the craigslist entry while she walked up the street & stole a flyer from an empty house's mailbox.
We were pretty sure it was Teddy, the cat in the flyer, but we called the number & we responded to the craigslist listing. Since the story has a happy ending, you know the cat made its way home, although the owner this afternoon (she was out of town last night) was still skeptical until she saw him. Teddy himself stayed in our guest room & availed himself of room service, as he was very hungry from being out in the world for over a week.
So how do you successfully rescue a cat in this day & age? Pay attention to the flyers! Pay attention to strays! Be more like my wife, not like me - don't just say hello to neighborhood cats, but look them in the eye & say, "Didn't I see your picture on a telephone pole?"
The owner of Teddy wanted to give a reward, but I told her the only reward we wanted was to make sure he stayed indoors. I told her if we found him out & about again, we'd keep him. He was a very sweet little cat.
I'm glad he's home.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The Case Of The Inflammable Pajamas!
If you want to solve this case, just remember, the words "inflammable" & "flammable" mean the same thing!
The clues are sprinkled all over this week's episode of Self Help Radio with some extra clues kinda shoved difficultly into this week's episode of Sugar Substitute. Sure, the shows purport to be parts 27 & 28 of the "Indiepop A To Z" series but surely you know that things aren't always what they seem!
You can solve the crime in no time (well, ninety minutes each) by listening to either show exclusively at selfhelpradio.net. Do it soon! Or else the bad guys get away with it!
The clues are sprinkled all over this week's episode of Self Help Radio with some extra clues kinda shoved difficultly into this week's episode of Sugar Substitute. Sure, the shows purport to be parts 27 & 28 of the "Indiepop A To Z" series but surely you know that things aren't always what they seem!
You can solve the crime in no time (well, ninety minutes each) by listening to either show exclusively at selfhelpradio.net. Do it soon! Or else the bad guys get away with it!
Monday, May 10, 2010
But What If I Can't SEE Tonight?
Y'see, I had an eye exam today. I am getting older & it's getting hard to read when I am in my bed at night. So I went & during the exam, my eyes were hella dilated. If the wife hadn't brought me some sunglasses, I don't think I could've made it home in the bright afternoon sun.
It's better now, though, so I don't know what I was worried about. I do a radio show at night! It's dark! Dilated pupils are perfect for that.
Did I say tonight? I'd better get crackin'! Midnight, 12 o'clock am, WMUL, 88.1 fm in Huntington. Will you miss it? Don't worry! It'll be archived on selfhelpradio.net. I promise.
It's better now, though, so I don't know what I was worried about. I do a radio show at night! It's dark! Dilated pupils are perfect for that.
Did I say tonight? I'd better get crackin'! Midnight, 12 o'clock am, WMUL, 88.1 fm in Huntington. Will you miss it? Don't worry! It'll be archived on selfhelpradio.net. I promise.
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Whither Indiepop A To Z # 27?
Also, since Sugar Substitute will be following, I'll be doing Indiepop A To Z # 28.
But let's talk today about motherfuckers. Because, according to my Ziggy desk calendar, that's what today is. That Ziggy, he's so outrageous. I just think, wow, that's weird, because you'd think, with the number of motherfuckers you meet all the time, that every day is Motherfucker's Day.
I can see, however, that some people might be offended by this. Bad Ziggy! Still, they might also be offended by the full story of Anna Jarvis, the West Virginian who founded Mother's Day, who came to hate how people celebrated it. (You know, like they celebrate every holiday.)
As for the indiepop stuff, look. I started it, I'll try to finish it. At least we're in the Fs. It could be worse. We could be stretching this out longer than it should be stretched out. A show every other year. Now there's a smallish chance it may one day be finished. Probably not, but still.
Onward.
But let's talk today about motherfuckers. Because, according to my Ziggy desk calendar, that's what today is. That Ziggy, he's so outrageous. I just think, wow, that's weird, because you'd think, with the number of motherfuckers you meet all the time, that every day is Motherfucker's Day.
I can see, however, that some people might be offended by this. Bad Ziggy! Still, they might also be offended by the full story of Anna Jarvis, the West Virginian who founded Mother's Day, who came to hate how people celebrated it. (You know, like they celebrate every holiday.)
As for the indiepop stuff, look. I started it, I'll try to finish it. At least we're in the Fs. It could be worse. We could be stretching this out longer than it should be stretched out. A show every other year. Now there's a smallish chance it may one day be finished. Probably not, but still.
Onward.
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Preface To Indiepop A To Z # 27: OH NO NOT AGAIN
Oh yes yet again!
Going to Columbus now... We'll talk tomorrow.
Going to Columbus now... We'll talk tomorrow.
Friday, May 07, 2010
I've Been To Lonelier Parties
Kristin stumbled over cracked concrete. She smoothed her skirt mechanically with her free hand, the cigarette in the other letting some of its ash fall. Behind her, she heard Alex do nearly the same thing - only in heels.
"Where the fuck does he live?" Alex said.
The street was dark, the lights strangely unlit though it was past dusk, early evening. Clouds had rolled in but decided to stay. Last night the moon was almost full, & the summer stars had been weirdly bright.
"That's his SUV," she said, though she didn't point. Or Alex couldn't see if she had.
They could hear laughter & chatter on a dark nearby porch. The plastic creaking of a cooler opening, followed by the rustling of wet ice as a bottle was lifted out, gave clues to the women though they still couldn't see anything or anyone.
"Someone didn't pay their bills," Alex muttered.
"I think they just haven't turned on any lights," said Kristin.
They heard the sounds of some Eagles' greatest hits record as someone opened a door, & Kristin turned to Alex & said, "Of course they're listening to that shit."
"Snob," laughed Alex, as she stood side-to-side with Kristin at the top of the sidewalk.
"Kristin!" a voice called out, & David was soon in front of them, holding a sweaty beer, pleased to meet Alex, offering her a damp hand.
The Eagles were replaced over time with Hall & Oates, or perhaps a band doing Hall & Oates covers, because the lead singer was a woman. Alex had been sitting on the back porch watching a small group start a fire, which they stood around, watching. Occasionally an insect zapped itself to death in unearthly blue at the far end of the porch, but Alex had gotten used to that sound. She had said something to someone earlier about wishing she had not quit smoking.
Kristin said, "Hey."
Alex said, "Hey."
Kristin said, "Are you ready to go?"
Alex said, "You want to go already?"
Kristin said, "Well, it's nearly one. Didn't you have that brunch thing?"
"I don't feel like I drank anything at all." She felt for the beer bottle at her side, shook it to remind herself it was empty.
"Hey," Kristin said, "you missed the whole porn party thing."
"What porn party thing?"
"David's friend George has a video camera," Kristin said. "He has apparently been visiting these web sites that are supposed to be like amateur porn filmed on parties. He spent the night trying to get people to have sex on camera."
"Oh no."
"He kept coming up to women & asking us to pretend it was Mardi Gras."
"Good lord."
Kristin laughed. "Someone took his camera away. Then they videotaped him throwing up in the bushes outside."
"Ha ha," Alex said.
"Do you mind," Kristin asked, "if I have one more cigarette before we go?"
"Sure," said Alex, & Kristin went inside again.
A sudden light in the corner of the backyard was shone on a balding, pudgy guy with a ponytail urinating by the back fence. The light came from a video camera. The handful of people in the backyard burst into laughter.
"Fuck you!" said George. "Fuck all y'all!"
"Where the fuck does he live?" Alex said.
The street was dark, the lights strangely unlit though it was past dusk, early evening. Clouds had rolled in but decided to stay. Last night the moon was almost full, & the summer stars had been weirdly bright.
"That's his SUV," she said, though she didn't point. Or Alex couldn't see if she had.
They could hear laughter & chatter on a dark nearby porch. The plastic creaking of a cooler opening, followed by the rustling of wet ice as a bottle was lifted out, gave clues to the women though they still couldn't see anything or anyone.
"Someone didn't pay their bills," Alex muttered.
"I think they just haven't turned on any lights," said Kristin.
They heard the sounds of some Eagles' greatest hits record as someone opened a door, & Kristin turned to Alex & said, "Of course they're listening to that shit."
"Snob," laughed Alex, as she stood side-to-side with Kristin at the top of the sidewalk.
"Kristin!" a voice called out, & David was soon in front of them, holding a sweaty beer, pleased to meet Alex, offering her a damp hand.
The Eagles were replaced over time with Hall & Oates, or perhaps a band doing Hall & Oates covers, because the lead singer was a woman. Alex had been sitting on the back porch watching a small group start a fire, which they stood around, watching. Occasionally an insect zapped itself to death in unearthly blue at the far end of the porch, but Alex had gotten used to that sound. She had said something to someone earlier about wishing she had not quit smoking.
Kristin said, "Hey."
Alex said, "Hey."
Kristin said, "Are you ready to go?"
Alex said, "You want to go already?"
Kristin said, "Well, it's nearly one. Didn't you have that brunch thing?"
"I don't feel like I drank anything at all." She felt for the beer bottle at her side, shook it to remind herself it was empty.
"Hey," Kristin said, "you missed the whole porn party thing."
"What porn party thing?"
"David's friend George has a video camera," Kristin said. "He has apparently been visiting these web sites that are supposed to be like amateur porn filmed on parties. He spent the night trying to get people to have sex on camera."
"Oh no."
"He kept coming up to women & asking us to pretend it was Mardi Gras."
"Good lord."
Kristin laughed. "Someone took his camera away. Then they videotaped him throwing up in the bushes outside."
"Ha ha," Alex said.
"Do you mind," Kristin asked, "if I have one more cigarette before we go?"
"Sure," said Alex, & Kristin went inside again.
A sudden light in the corner of the backyard was shone on a balding, pudgy guy with a ponytail urinating by the back fence. The light came from a video camera. The handful of people in the backyard burst into laughter.
"Fuck you!" said George. "Fuck all y'all!"