The two or three of you who read this might have noticed that Jean the mean website machine changed the format of this blog so that every time I reach the end of a paragraph it double-spaces to the next paragraph. "Your eyes need resting points," Jean texts me.
Thanks, Jean. Now can you tell me what to blog about?
This isn't my first rodeo with writing aimless shit, you know. I've actually been doing it for 36 years now. Whenever I don't have much to do I pick up a notebook or typewriter (remember those?) or desktop or laptop or iPad or napkins or the backs of bills that I owe and I just write shit down. It never really leads anywhere but by the time I'm done filling up the back of a NIPSCO statement or another Purdue Cal notebook or an aging laptop I feel a little better anyhows. That's all that journaling or blogging or whatever has been for me - a little release. Kind of like looking at the ceiling fan and reaching down and thinking of that one chick at the train stop outside of Walnut Creek, California, on the way to a Dead show... and next thing you know you got a little release.
Double-space THAT, Jean. I suppose doing radio is a release of a kind too. You start talking at 530 in the morning and then by mid-morning your'e on the way to the health club to see about looking at your own genitals one day. There's always that overhang in the way and no matter how many sit-ups you do or miles you walk on the treadmill while watching Fox Sports News you still can't get a real good look at your junk unless you bend over a little.. or look in a mirror. But don't do that. There's few things more embarrassing than your wife walking in the bedroom and you're standing there naked looking at your junk in a mirror. File that under things to be avoided at all costs. Like crying at a movie and taking a crap only to look over and there isn't any toiletpaper.
Once again, Jean, double-space that visual. You can give your eyes all the resting spots in the world but you won't be able to shake your head hard enough to remove the inner visual of me sitting on the toilet looking to the side with dismay as I realize an empty toiletpaper roll. Yikes. How did I get here?
Anyways, I did another radio show today amidst heavy construction. I must sound like a broken record on the air - wow, there goes the roller... look at the concrete truck... another backhoe yanking up concrete two feet away from a tanker roaring by at 50 miles an hour. Yes, I say that stuff directly on the air.
And I interview people. Like Lake Central baseball coach Jeff Sandor today. And TF North teacher Speski, who saved a kid from drowning in Florida. Al Hamnik too. People called in like Lefty (John Nuaracy) and that's always a hoot. He's on the front page of The Times again for going after mayor McDermott and his campaign finance report. He's entertaining if not entirely accurate.
One day closer to the Grateful Dead concert on July 3rd. Wife, two kids and me going to see Bob and friends at Soldier Field. I could of course instead sell the four tickets. They're great seats and they're going for a bout two grand on Stubhub... or even more. APIECE. That's another semester we could pay for with that. But in the end it's much more educational to go to a Grateful Dead concert than to sit through a semester of MicroBio or course on Charles Dickens. You learn things at a Grateful Dead concert. Practical, everyday things. Like bring toiletpaper with you and be careful where you go for release with that little hottie from the Walnut Creek train stop.
All radio is good, just some is better than others.