I can't tell if I want to blog for the three or four of you tonight. You ever get that? You hold to a principle that you're not going to force something... but then again you may never get around to it if you don't put some old-fashioned elbow grease into it.
4:47am on Friday.
I should be on my way to the station already but I feel as if the four or five of us should talk every day or it loses something
It's still the week leading up to the presidential primary in Indiana. There's word that Bill Clinton's coming to the area on Sunday, and murmurs that Donald Trump is also. That's unfortunate in that Alexis and I are scheduled to get up on Sunday morning to drive three and a half hours to Bloomington to see nephew Craig play for IU against Northwestern in baseball. Alexis said it best yesterday.
"This is embarrassing. He's my nephew from my side. And yours on your side - and we've never gone to see him play college baseball?"
2:42 in the middle of the night. I think it's Thursday.
It's a little hard to tell what day of the week it is. There's that much shit happening.
Yesterday of course I drove a couple of hours in traffic to Purdue West Lafayette to watch Bernie Sanders give his "political revolution" speech. And the day before that - it must have been Tuesday - I drove a mile or so across Hammond to watch Hillary give her "manufacturing is king" speech. I don't why I'm putting so much of myself into covering this. The morning after Hillary's speech I tried to talk about it on the radio, and the only people who called were Hillary haters. They called in droves. And make no mistake, I'm grateful whenever someone calls in with passion and resolve.
3:07pm in a McDonald's after the Bernie Sanders speech.
Relatives all over the place.
Yesterday I showed up at the Hillary soiree at Munster Steel and there was my second cousin, the Math teacher turned quality control inspector. He wears a white hardhat. I hardly know him but we look kinda similar and when we shook hands… yikes.
“You have my hands,” I almost told him… but then again there’s this dark family secret that I really don’t have time to go into right now. I’m stuck in a McDonald’s in Lafayette, Indiana, waiting for some photos to upload. It's taking forever. The guy at the next table is on the phone talking about who should pay for a broken sink in an apartment. Then nosy reporter in me wants to ask him more questions: do you rehab apartments and you messed up an install? Do you rent an apartment and somehow you busted a sink and now you're arguing with your landlord? Do you make sinks and this one's faulty? There's a story everywhere, even in a McDonald's in Lafayette, Indiana, on a rainy day after a Bernie Sanders speech.