It’s 8pm on a Sunday night. In a few hours, we’ll talk on the radio again. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
The last time we talked, I was getting ready for the funeral of my 98-year-old grandmother. You’d think that this wouldn’t be that big of a deal with her being so old and all, but all that the get-together did was remind all of us that much younger people than my grandmother died and left us all grieving and wanting.
As the three or four of you know, my grandmother passed away on Saturday. She was 98 years old. I’m not sure if you’re supposed to grieve the loss or celebrate the full life. The answer, as with just about everything in life, lies somewhere in between.
It’s 11:26pm on a Monday night. I did a horrible radio/TV show this morning. The lights didn’t work and the producers couldn’t get a video clip to play. And since I had to talk on the air about the death of Terry Conley, I was in a rotten mood anyhows.
I shared this with listeners – “Whether I’m riding my bike to do this show or driving my car down Columbia Avenue, I always look forward to talking with you. Not today.”
The irony of the situation
is not lost on me.
Nor on my friend,
He was driving down the road
looking for a gas station.
He got shot in the head.
His sister and cops think
it was gang initiation.