The flip side of the coin?
I rather enjoy working on the radio, even if it is in the far Midwest, or wherever Indiana is. I haven’t a clue. Eastern Time Zone on the charts, all I need to know. I think it’s cold there, in that Eastern Time Zone. If I recall, from my geography, Indiana is next to Canada, like Maine and Washington State. And Canada is this mile-wide stretch that ends at the Arctic Circle. And from the Arctic Circle, it’s about two miles to the North Pole.
What really does inconvenience me, though, is the fact that I’m missing the usual Monday night fare at the Alamo (Draft House) downtown. However, the radio program does provide two things: traffic and customers, and I suppose, if I have to miss a little fun, that’s just the way it is. Monday nights, on the radio. Kind of like an answer to Monday Night Football.
Business & Motivation:
I don’t even remember how this started, although, I’m sure I cataloged my experience some place. Yesterday morning, I clicked through on a comic strip I read online and I had dejá-vu experience. Perhaps it was the pre-dawn, pre-coffee buzz. Or lack of buzz. Maybe the neurons weren’t firing in sequence. A little later, I realized that I’d read that strip, last week, in a newspaper.
Hint: that’s the way the strip’s creator, the author, manages it. It’s really a good idea, too. Since newsprint, that almost dead medium, is the primary source of income, the website shows material that’s one week old. Sound familiar?
Two-meat Tuesday’s special:
1. Hot dog in the afternoon.
Apparently, there’s an ad running – I wouldn’t know – I don’t own a TV – that shows a convenience store opening in the morning, and the hot dogs have been on the grill since the night before. That’s TV, the land of make-believe. But I did select just such a hot dog for a morning nosh while on dash to hit the postal box. At least it looked like it had been there for days – well done. The hot dog was well-done, not the PO Box.
2. BBQ at night.
I do like some foods well-cooked, like that hot dog. Two-meat platter, a little late in the evening. I was with one client, and I ran into another client, both paid up for readings. That’s nice, walked out with more money than I walked in with.
But better than cash, to me, was the line scrawled across the top of the to-go box full of leftover brisket. A snippet from the dinner conversation.
“Not monogamous, not committed, not a relationship,” which was what a male was saying to a female, but what that female was hearing? Like ever other word?
“Monogamous. Committed. A relationship.” And her counter to his comment?
“Oh! We’re engaged now!”
