There’s this underground swirl of spiritual pot smoking types that can’t get enough of anything Grateful Dead. We have yet to plug into that swirl. Our average podcast gets about 40 listens. We can count that.
It’s 8:31 on Saturday morning. Last night, since radio never sleeps, I hung out at the station fooling around with “This is Dead Air.” It’s a podcast that Lane Paradis the plumber and I do about the Grateful Dead. We play recordings of old Grateful Dead shows and then we talk. That’s the extent of it.
There’s this underground swirl of spiritual pot smoking types that can’t get enough of anything Grateful Dead. We have yet to plug into that swirl. Our average podcast gets about 40 listens. We can count that. Watermelon and Ghirardelli chocolate,
XLR chords and marketing pamphlets. Tom Petty, Grateful Dead and now James Taylor. Facebook Live, Twitter Live and A new surprise. All radio is good. Just some is better than others. Most Facebook Live video is bad. But it’s getting better. I don’t know what it is, but every once in a while I just gotta write a poem. It’s not something I set out to do. It’s something that just has to be done, like going to the bathroom.
Eight is a really cool number, especially when you make it with two circles toppled onto each other, and then tilt it. Eight is playful, open for anything. It’s 2:34 in the morning on a Friday and I wish I could sleep it all the way through to 4:30, but that rarely happens. We own our own business, and if any of the three or four of you do the same, I don’t have to explain it to you why you wake in the middle of the night.
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I run radio stations and a streaming video network in Hammond, Ind., and write this blog.
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November 2024
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