It’s 3:44 on Monday morning. Hopefully, the three or four of you are asleep. I’ve been up for a couple of hours. Several factors will have to meld together for this week to make sense.
A longing to break
free of the noise.
Clear, open terrain, sky.
On the fifth of July
will be silence.
When I left the Board of Trade at 40, I didn't know what I wanted to do. I was lost. So Alexis and I bought two radio stations and a newspaper. It seemed logical at the time.
Look up, see a
coming hard right at you.
You freeze. Oh no. I’m dead
from one bad choice.
Enough about me. What are the three or four of you doing this Sunday morning? I write and I write about the death of radio and what it’s like to live a life of local radio – and what the Region is like – but I don’t you know if you also sit on the bed in your underwear living life through a laptop.
It’s 12:36 in the morning and, per usual, I’m wide awake. Alexis and I went to dinner at Doc’s in Dyer for Valentine’s Day. She ordered wings and brisket with cole slaw and potato salad. It’s enough food for Valentine’s Day meal and tomorrow at court.
“That’s what I do, too. it’s enough for two meals. One today, one tomorrow,” said the owner, a retired physician with children in New York and Columbus, Ohio.
I run radio stations and a streaming video network in Hammond, Indiana, and write this blog.