Back when I was living in Modesto in 1980...San Francisco during most of or parts of the next couple of years and at home in Tacoma, Washington, I thought my parties...or entertainments...had a certain style. At some point back in the Twin Cities while giving parties in my 16th floor apartment I moved from the BYOB and chips and dips parties that seemed to be standard fare. I now realize that my pretensions to style were ludicrous. There didn't feature nose-picking contests but they were High Tea with the Queen either. Also, I don't consider myself naive. I just realized this is wandering all over the place. That's what happens when you try to watch America's Got Talent and blog at the same time. The point of this is that someone, tonight, told a joke and I didn't get it. Mainly I didn't get it because I wasn't up on some of the latest fads. Here is the joke:

Two ladies bought a lottery ticket together and they won 10,000 dollars to split. One lady says that she was going to get a face lift. The second lady says she was going to get her ass-hole bleached. The first lady says, "I don't think your husband will look very good as a blond."

I had no idea there was such a procedure. How would one know if they needed anal bleaching? I suppose someone could tell you, but if it is difficult to tell someone they need a breath mint, how hard must it be to say....and while I'm at it, you could use a little butt bleach. That reminds me of the guy who took a bath in laundry soap and all his things came out whiter and brighter than ever before. Also, can one assume that if a person doesn't floss, needs to use some hair conditioner, and should stop biting their nails that they also are suffering anal blight? Remember the special lighting in Joan Crawford movies that kept her saggy-neck in shadow? I wonder if candle-light would make things look better under there. Well. I did spend some time on the stage and Max Factor can make anything good. I just have to make sure I keep the make-up sponges separate.

I can't believe it has been a month since I last let you all (anyone?)know that I'm still alive. Just a comment, but isn't fall the best season of them all in Minnesota? Anyway, I checked my Rob Sherwood email and noticed that Moon had gotten a password for commenting on this blog. Oops! I better call a lawyer. Speaking of the Chinese....(That is quite the non-sequitor since Moon isn't Chinese and I wasn't speaking of them anyway...but now I shall do)

Just once in a while I have an urge for ice cream. Real ice cream...not soft serve. And certainly not the soy-based junk they have at so many places. In San Francisco, there is something special about getting the ice-cream urge, going out, walking by half a dozen hookers, three or four winos, and at least one urinator, to the bodega on the corner for a pint. I am sure some of that ice cream has been there since Feinstein was mayor but I buy it anyway. (If you want the fresh stuff you must donate to hezzbolah...sorry for the racist Arab comment...I mean to be trashing the Chinese)

This bodega is run by a Chinese family and most of the time, the clerk is eight or nine years old and quite fluent in English but not this time. I grabbed my pint of chocolate chip and paid the amah behind the counter. It takes about 25 seconds to walk up the hill to my front door.I was just into the lobby, waiting for the elevator, and gazing anticipatorilly at my ice cream when I realize I had grabbed chocolate chip MINT instead of regular chocolate chip. Oops! I returned to the store, made my way to the freezer. There was no regular chocolate chip. I was forced to grab a Rocky Road. At the counter, the old amah had been replaced by an old Chinese man who wanted to charge me for the RR. I explained why I wanted to switch in careful pigeon English "Me takee ice cream but no wantee...changee".... The man answered that no can change because how he know I hadn't tainted the mint chocolate chip. I explained to him that I had bought it 45 seconds earlier and he aid...."me no see"....After a few seconds I gave up and just left the mint ice cream on the counter and walked out with the Rockie Road. I haven't been back since. I am sure my picture is now posted with the legend. "Ice Cream Thief" and they are saving the melted mint choc. chip for evidence should I ever be taken to trial.

The Rockie Road wasn't very good. Lots of marshmallow but only one nut in the whole pint!

Not including the nut who ate the whole thing in about 2 minutes.

I just checked and thanks to webmaster Mike, there is a new episode in the saga. It is self explanatory and the neat progression from San Francisco to Tacoma/Seattle is interrupted while I fill in some blanks. My memory of my landlady while I was at Brown was enhanced in an email from a friend who visited my basement. I didn't know Dalmatians got huge. And just like their masteress, they were nosy as hell. Literally. Their noses spent more time in my crotch than my Hanes. Every night I'd open the side door, let myself into the kitchen, and submit myself to some inappropriate dog noodling. Those spotted beasts gave great nasal.

Hope you enjoy and I can't wait for what I come up with next.

Rob

PS: The dancing this year on So You Think You Can Dance is spectacular. Later.

This is GREAT weather. It reminds me of a good humid day in Florida. And today the skies are cloudy, black at time (non-racist comment), and the rumble of thunder. I'm sitting in a gazebo, a Laurie King book handy, my mp3 player around my neck and a radio handy. I'm drinking diet Mountain Dew but soon some wandering woman will ply me with beer or wine. Since I had the time I thought it might be nice to give you some of my observations. Consider me as someone who spent a lot of time in near-by parts of Minnesota giving me an historical perspective. First of all, I should mention KDWB. In the past I've been hard on that station but I take some of it back. In fact, in a lot of ways, it hasn't changed that much from those old days. When you really get down to it whats the difference between Donny Osmond and Justin Bieber. Except that Donny was a virgin and Justin already has three or four kids. I heard Justin's latest 4,356 times over the week-end. That sort of limited the play-list and they could only play OMG about 3200 times. I have to apologize to anybody who has XM radio. I've had terrible things to say about sattelite radio and now I have to retract it all. Anytime I can drive around the Twin Cities listening to BROADWAY!!!! Give me show tunes and I'm a happy man. There I was in the drive thru at DQ and blaring from my radio is..."Beauty And the Beast.....a tale..etc...' Give me a Butterfinger Blizzard and Angela Landsbury and in my car it BONER TIME! Mosquitos! What did Minnesota do wrong to get them? The Como Park Zoo. I don't want to sound racist but....I have a question. Does anybody caucasion ever go to Como Park Zoo? I mean this is St. Paul for god's sake where are the drunken Irish? The zooteria...or zoosnackatron...or whatever the food place just totally sucks. $10 for one mini-donuts and a cheese curd? How can those animals manage on prices like that? Well that's it....oh wait a minute....not to be racist or anything but ....wtf is the deal with the check-out counter at Sam's Club and my kilbasa?

I thought you might like to know that I'm alive and kicking. Well....let's just say I'm alive. I have some big surprises for any readers who really really care comming up on my one year anniversary of not adding to My Story. At least I have written here once in a great while. I added a couple new pix to the FLickr page...just go to robsherwood.com...click on the pictures tab and you'll find some new things. Warning to cindy in CA....The Whoopie Woman returns. It doesn't really seem like the 4th of July. At least I'm spending it with some conservatives. It is nice that everyone agrees with me....but not very stimulating. I am going to sort of miss the fireworks in San Franisco. By one pm I usually already had my blanket out and was jealously guarding my spot with bags of snacks, a couple of books, and a supply of illicit drugs and alcohol. Tonight it looks like fireworks at Valley Fair....an amusement park in the Twin Cities-Minnesota. It's hot as hell....I love it....humid too....love that also....Take care....later.

Just a quick warning. JONAH HEX is the worse movie I have ever seen. Do NOT...I repeat....DO NOT go see it. Plus....the popcorn upset my stomach. Rancid popcorn oil you think?

I turned on the TV a moment ago to watch So You Think You Can Dance and America's Got Talent and instead.......Obama! Something about some oil thingy...or something. He's difficult to understand because of the negro dialect he sometimes uses....(according to Harry Reed). Maybe there is a Gene Rayburn repeat on the Game Channel.

UPDATE!!!! UPDATE!!!!

I suffered through the whole speech.....bottom line:
Triple the cost of Gas...Double the cost of electricity...

Damn! I have to answer some email. While I was lamenting my iffy computer, my old buddy from Green Bay....now old and nearly senile....Mark (Marco) B...was in Duluth shuffling his daughter around or something. (I make note of these messages....do I have to pass a test too?) Because I was in Duluth for my birthday many assume I am still...In a way I am happy that Marco didn't have my phone # because if I had gotten a cell phone call and been miles distant when answering, I would have been irritated and sad simultaneously. Marco...we'll have to make plans. We'll meet in some Duluth restaurant. I'm sure I'll recognize you. You haven't changed much since 1966....have you? Also I heard from another Brown Buddy. I'm not being racial here, but actually referring to that Broadcast School from long long ago and far far away. Bill D...from Eveleth. Hockey player don't you know and career broadcast newsman. Retired now and living in Florida. On my list....(call). Claudia in Washington. OMG! I have to write soon before the excess underarm skin reaches her knees. (She can always wear cafcans...or Kaftans....of Kafcans.....or whatever the F...they are called) There are others....Kathy B, Cedar Rapids, Whoopie Woman, etc...etc....etc.....Come to think of it, instead of writing THIS shit I should have been answering mail. Too late now.

Just a moment ago I tried to get 'on-line' and...wonders of all wonders....it worked. A quick story. You might remember I was visited by a virus back a while ago and it totally screwed up my computers. It took a re-install to get things back to acceptable. Well, it seems that the little visitor just never went away and it has returned to harass me. I have been unable to get on-line since Monday...until just moments ago. Whether I will be able to duplicate things in the next few days...until another re-install...OR....some new computers....is the question. So....if I seem to be away for a bit...don't panic....I'm not dead....I can still ride my bike....the weather here is beautiful...and thanks to the internet where HERE is really doesn't matter. Take care.......and later

There is something wonderful about being the shining knight on the big white horse. Some damsel of a radio station is in trouble and the call goes out to someone...anyone....to ride forth, lance in hand, to smite smite the black knight and gather unto your bosom those Arbitron-bearing peasants.

Several places in My Story I have tried to describe how fun it is to listen to a radio station, list the perceived deficiencies, and swoop in to make wholesale changes. I will tell you this; it's easier to fix than it is to begin from scratch. In the theater I've thought about it often. I've gone to in-execrable productions that would have been fixable. Replace a character here, improve a set design, spend some time with stage business and voila!...a mistake is a triumph. There's a show I watch often called Holmes On Homes. This Canadian guy fixes the mistakes of previous contractors. He takes a Yugo and turns it into a Mercedes. Wonderful fun.

All this comes to mind because I have decided I would like to have a "do-over". This is not to say I'm disappointed in my life, but if it is fun to do over a radio station, a stage production, or a Toronto bungalow, think how much fun it would be to fix up your life.

At the top of things to fix: Be nicer to chimpanzees.

I met my first chimp in Austin, Minnesota. I was doing the Uncle Rob Show on KMMT-TV and the chimp was part of a petting zoo, or exotic traveling show at the local county fair. It's easy to be up-staged by a chimp. The in-studio audience was enthralled, I was enthralled...come to think about it....I think the chimp was enthralled. When the interview was over, the hairy thing leaned over, patted my cheek, and planted a huge chimp-lipped kiss on my mouth. It was at that moment when I truly understood how people can fall in love with the 'inner-person' and that the out-ward appearance is only skin deep. Don't get ahead of yourself. I didn't want to breed little chimp-Robs. I just think in a long-term relationship, I could have talked to her and she would have understood me.

Jump ahead twenty years or so. I was a regular at the San Francisco Zoo before they made their animal-friendly-improvements. They had a big cement island with a chimp family in residence. A 30-foot moat separated them from the gawking humans. They hated me. Seriously. I would do nothing and they would see me and (as Eugene Cussins on Escape to Chimp Eden says) begin to display. Their fur would fluff up, they'd begin rocking side to side, and sooner rather than later, they start ripping pieces of bark and scraps of wood from the logs scattered about for playing. They'd throw things at me and I'd laugh like a fool and they screech and...display. When I was really feeling silly, I would rock back in forth in imitation and not only would the chimps toss things at me, and screech, but they'd dash nasty notes on their typewriters and beg for Valium. Well, one time all the noise attracted a huge crowd. My chimp intimidation was so subtle only I (and the animals) knew the cause. This was when a couple of the hairy beasts decided to up the ante. When they disappeared into their hut, my suspicions were aroused to the point that I moved from the front row ground zero to farther back in the crowd. I was right! These two chimps had gone inside to visit some chimp-loo and came out the door armed with monkey shit. Next thing you know the shit was flying, the audience was scattering in panic, and much to the credit of our simian cousins...direct hits were being scored.

It was at this point the zoo keepers arrived and lured the chimps away from public view. Worrying that they might be getting a description of the serial chimp-teaser, I moved away to tease the giraffes. The last I remember hearing were the sounds of a mother berating a father for abandoning the baby in the stroller to the chimp-shit-deluge. (She was wiping the baby's face with a tissue!)

So...another thing to fix. First, I would have been more realistic about my future with the County Fair chimp. What chance does anyone have for true love with a carnie. Next, I would realize, no matter how nice you are, not everyone is going to like you...so I would have spent more time with the lemurs and left the chimps alone. And finally, I would have sacrificed my own body to prevent the chimp-poop assault on that little baby, saving it from growing up, the child of divorce.

It would be nice to fix a few things.

Well! Well! I just got back from my Northern Minnesota Round Table. Lots of politics tonight with a couple of our younger ones still beating the Obama drum. Damn the University of Duluth (Minnesota) for filling these heads with such mush. I am convinced that all the weed and LSD taken by the parents of the current generation has caused the head-bones of humans to finally knit together much later than in generations past. Being so prone to serious brain trauma has caused fuzzy political thinking, a sense of entitlement, and the total inability to get a Taco Bell Drive-thru order correct. Eventually, I feel like all the "seniors" are beating up on the "whipper-snappers" and if that keeps up my Round Table will quickly devolve into a Mall Food-Court Seniors Table. Before I go to bed tonight I want to watch a couple of episodes of Escape to Chimp Eden. That is a very good TV show and if I can scrape together the money I would love to visit South Africa and the Jane Goodall Ape Thingy. When you get older you find hair growing in the most unusual places. If it weren't for regular and dedicated clipping, scissoring, and plucking, all the fur would make the inmates of Chimp Eden welcome me as their American cousin. Jane Goodall would touch me inappropriately. It would be an unfortunate situation. Remember last year when the "pet" chimp ate the woman's face? I was sick about it. Not only did I feel sorry for the innocent woman (friend of owner) who suffered the attack, but I felt so sorry for that innocent animal. If I weren't so tired I would tell you about my San Francisco Zoo chimpanzee story. I'll do it later. So, we talked politics, Chimp Eden, travel to South Africa, train rides between South African and Zimbabwe ..or some other dark continental country, and Ricky Martin has come out and admitted he is gay.

....in other news, Angelina Jolie is nuts and the sky is blue.

"And he bangs, he bangs Oh baby When he moves, he moves I go crazy 'Cause he looks like a flower but he stings like a bee Like every BOY in history he bangs, he bangs....................."

Can it get any better? I am sorry, my friends, but there was cheering and standing O's at tonight's Glee Watching Party. There's another really good show...Justified. On FX.....and one of my favorites but the scheduling is all fucked up and I just don't understand what they are thinking....but Escape to Chimp Eden. I just realized that I have stories. (I hate your damn stories - Moon) It is only 10:30 but I'm tired and I've got a good book...so....to bed. Maybe I'll remember to do the stories tomorrow. Or not

I know....I know. I go on and on and on ad nauseum but I can't help it. Granted, I can do without Olivia Newton John and Let's Get Physical...but, she popped by KSTP in 1977 and she was very nice and incredibly pretty. In fact, now that I think about it, I saw ONJ a couple of times. Sometime in 1975 I went to a radio convention of some sort in Las Vegas. Damn! I was just thinking about it and I haven't been back to Las Vegas since. What a change. The hotel-casino I stayed at was one of the oldies and I think it was torn down, rebuilt, and torn down again. Anyway...the 'big show' at the time was The Smothers Brothers with Olivia Newton John as the opening act. Maybe it was 1974? Of course some record promoter took a bunch to see her show. "Please Mr. Please ..don't play B-17". I did and I am still ashamed. What the fuck was "B-17" doing on U100? You see...all you U100 fans only remember the Jethro Tull and bad-ass rock and forget Olivia Newton John. What else do I remember from that radio convention? I rented a car and drove to Hoover Dam. I drove across it. Can you still drive across it or are there some terrorist restrictions now? I played roulette and actually won about 500 dollars. I cashed in my chips and (drunkenly) fell asleep on the bed in my hotel room at four in the afternoon. I was pretty high while I was playing the roulette too and it wasn't until a couple of years later I learned that I had really lost but some record guy kept replenishing my stack of chips. That's probably why I played that f'ing "Please Mr. Please...." A couple of hundreds fell out of my pocket during my nap and when the maid came to turn down the bed and put some chocolate on my pillow she found the money and turned it in to security. I got the money back and the maid offered to put a sheet on my bed and I told if she sheet on my bed I would Keeel her. (ha ha ha...heard that the first time when I was in the 2nd grade). Wait a minute! I just realized the other big GLEE song was Run Joey Run and that was another U100 mistake in 1975! This is getting serious. I'm looking at 50-75,000 extra years in purgatory. Seriously, I think we played Run Joey Run more as a joke than as a serious thing. Or not. We used to have a live studio audience at FM104 on Fridays and I think I dance around the studio to You Can't Touch This. (I think I have embarrassed myself in ever city I've been) I can't write anymore. It's 12:13am...I'm tired and I have to go to iTunes and download the GLEE songs....."Daddy please don't..." Later!

Sorry I haven't been around for a week or so...no excuses. If something interesting happens in the next 5 hours....I'll add something before I head off to bed.

Riding down Hennepin Avenue in Minneapolis, I tried to grasp both the changes and the similarities to the downtown I remember from the 70's. A couple of 24 hour main-stays were gone. Shinder's at the corner of 6th and Hennepin. I know it moved to 7th & Hennepin when I needed something to read at midnight, the old one was my destination. Plantation Pancakes. Gone. I didn't eat there often...maybe a dozen times over 20 years and I never had their pancakes. I did know someone who was a waitress for a bit...Paula Fagerwold...what a wonderful, gentle, soul. I even forgive her for writing my name and phone-number on the uni-sex bathroom wall. "Likes them long." I think I saw Augies and the Gay 90's. Maybe not. I know there was a gay bar on 5th. The first time I'd ever been in a gay bar was that one with Don Bleu, his wife, Ron Geslin (record promoter) and his wife. (You know don't you that straight people always say they go to gay-bars because the music is better....hmmmm) Don tried to get us in without a cover-charge but the only name on the list was Rob Sherwood. At least we all got in for free....and I lost my gay-bar virginity. Years later, in Modesto, a friend tricked me into my second gay-bar venture. Rather than wait for him in the parking lot (while he ran an errand in the BRAVE BULL) I agreed to go in with him. He assured me no one would even notice me. Less than 30 seconds after walking through the back door, at least three people had said, "Hi Rob", "Hey...Rob Sherwood..wow!"....or "Didn't I see you at a bar in Minneapolis with Don & Ron?" On another visit to the BB...(they had the best!!! dance mix...) we snuck Moon into the place. Moon was part of my Modesto FM104 Morning Crew and the morning show producer. He was also a gentle soul and was so out of place and uncomfortable in that dive. That was then.

I didn't start tonight with a plan to write about gay bars but there you have it. Must be because I watched GLEE earlier on DVR and as everyone knows....watching THAT television show will make you gay.

My Mom died on April 15th. Some years I don't remember that. I'd rather think of the day she was born. Or ANY day other than the day she was gone. Fitting that this horrible date is also the day the 'gubmint' picks our pockets. They are having a tea party locally. I'm going to limp down and check it out. Even though I agree with much of the Tea Party agenda, when a bunch of them get together I think a model railroad just might break out. (That is a very inside joke...) I had lunch early today and wouldn't you know it....someone called and wanted to take me to Old Country Buffet. I love lunch-talk...so I agreed to go but not to eat. That was an interesting experience. Lots of very fat people. There was a very fat guy at a nearby table who was celebrating spring in Duluth by wearing a tank-top. He was so hairy he was wearing an XXXL just to accommodate his bushiness. Buried in the foliage were a lot of tattoos. If he lost weight do you think the tattoos would shrink (like writing on a balloon) and with less square-inches of skin to cover, the fur get even thicker completely blocking out the skin art unless you wanted to groom him like a chimpanzee looking for tidbits? It was disgusting enough that I longed for someone in a wheel-chair with a urine bag to block my bread-pudding line-of-sight. I'm off. The festivities kick off at 4pm and I don't want to miss the beginning where they drag their nuts across each others' faces.

Usually I don't blog about the radio...except when I am being nostalgic or when something gets my ire aroused. I listen to very little music radio. It is just too depressing. When I want radio entertainment, it is usually something of the talk radio variety that gets my attention. Several of my favs I listen to on line so wherever I go, they go with me. But when I'm in Duluth, the local talk station gets my blood pressure up every time. The guy on locally, from 7am to 9am, has been on Twin Ports radio since I was a kid. Not to make a pun, but these days, he is just 'phoning' it in. Its like he has 25 3 X 5 cards and just reads them in order Monday thru Friday. Still, I listen. Following that bit of local arcana is a rank amateur and most days his rank amateur side-kick. He isn't a professional broadcaster and admits it but that isn't an excuse. Some old-timers have been in radio so long they have almost earned the right to 'phone' it in. The other local guy should be ashamed to take his pay-check. Not because he is bad. Not because he is an amateur. My complaint is...he isn't trying. He is just lazy. That's enough of that. Fucking Duluth. Who cares?

I left home yesterday with every intention of getting an IPad. My brother just got back from Las Vegas and I wanted to get together to hear the latest family dirt. If a restaurant features a buffet it ranks high on my brother's to-do list, so we passed on Buffalo Wild Wings in favor of the Sammy's Pizza buffet. (For those Californiasians and Bohunkians who are not familiar with Sammy's Pizza, its a local favorite that is neither the best or worst. It was the first pizza I tasted and I grew up eating it and grew old in California dreaming about it.) In downtown Duluth, I had to wait while a kid on a skateboard zipped by on the brick-paved First Street. For a moment I had a little nostalgia for San Francisco when similar kids on skateboards would careen down Jones Street. The buffet was good and we left on my IPad quest plus a stop for stuff at Sam's Club. On the way, we edged thru a left turn behind some college-looking kids on bikes, and later passed a guy with a back-pack jogging UP-HILL!!! After seeing all this youthful energy, I was thoroughly pissed off. Damn it. If you're going to be so young and healthy keep it to your fucking self! At Sam's Club I ran into the teacher who directed me in a play when I was in 11th grade. (More about that another time) Mr. Obst was his name and he is old. At first he didn't recognize me, but when I mentioned that play all the proper synapses fired and he remembered it all. On the way out of the Sam's Club parking lot my legs hurt, my back hurt, my knees hurt, my shoulder hurt, my brain hurt, the sun was too bright, I was having chest pains, my teeth itched, my tongue was fuzzy, and I felt a little acid-reflux. If I'd had a gun, I'd have found that up-hill jogger and scared the shit out of him! I skipped the IPad shopping, went directly home, and had some ice cream.

I can't guarantee proper paragraphs, the Queen's English, or even the least bit of cogency. When I was going to Brown Institute about 147 years ago, there was a fellow student, a hockey player, from somewhere in northern Minnesota...what we call, the Iron Range. I can't remember his name and I think I am confusing him with another fellow student from somewhere in western Minnesota. THAT guy was a baseball player and eventually did sports on TV...maybe in Duluth, when I was elsewhere. Anyway, like many people from the Range, the hockey player was a Bohunk. Does anyone use words like Bohunk anymore? Bohunk...Dumb Swede....Finnlander....? Is Bohunk as bad as what is now referred to as the n'word? In San Francisco the 'community' has embraced the Q-word...but some are quite offended by the F-word. (THIS F-word is the perjoritive...not like the F-U word. Mostly THAT F-word, I use as an adverb or adjective). I saw a play once..TWIGS...where a character says to her husband..."You are an odd man." In 1962 there was something odd about your basic Minnesota Bohunk. In Prague, the capital city of one of the most Bohunkian countries in the world, the Czech Republic, they are NOT odd. Perhaps there is some sort of Darwinian process that has the effect of taking a perfectly normal Czech-Bo and when they become a Range-Bo..they become ..well...odd. (My Range-Bo friend was a wonderful Catholic, tho, and even made a Novena while I knew him). If the Czech Republic changed its name to "Bohunkia", would they be embracing the slur and trumping the slurers? I intended to compare the street people in Prague, San Francisco, and Duluth but I traveled a different road. Maybe tomorrow. Aren't you glad you didn't have to be hear to deal with all this in person?

I have been lonesome for the past few days. I got used to having people around talking to me. Come to think about it, I got used to having people around to listen to me talk. (If you think I had stories in 1990, Moon, I've had 20 years to gather a whole bunch of new ones.) Most recently, I spent a happy week with family in Belle Plaine. My youngest G-nephew informed me he wants to be an actor when he grows up and the year older g-nephew has decided he wants to be professional gamer. With luck they will both be rich and will send me money for the Snickers machine in the old-folks home. Either way, the new choices are a step up for both of them. Before they were hot to work at Target and Famous Dave's. Speaking of Famous Dave's, my week back in Minnesota began on Monday with a Devil's Spit Burger at Famous Dave's. Usually I order the brisket...but I decided to cast caution to the curb. Wow! Best burger I've had in a long time. In order to be home for Easter, I caught a bus from Minneapolis on Easter Sunday morning. I thought it would be empty...I was wrong. Fifteen or so others were traveling north. When the bus reached North Branch, I was first in line for the Burger King potty. (My aim is all that good anyway, and in a moving bus it is disastrous.) I was tempted to do a double cheese, but by this time it was 1:15 and we were eating 10 minutes after I arrived at 2:25....I figured I could starve a little for an hour and ten minutes. Especially with the cinnamon roll and milk snack I bought to tide me over. My brother Tim made a great meal. By six I was really home, loaded with left-overs and by noon on Monday, was already bored. Or lonesome. Or bored AND lonesome. "Would you like some wine?" "Why yes I would." And so I'm back...from outer space. I just walked in to find me here with that sad look upon my face......

It's after 11pm and I am back...but not for long. Don't despair. I'll be back...again....right after Easter and hopefully I'll keep on top of the site and the blog. I have lots to write about but my V8 is down to about 5. Already this is taxing my brain and I have to take a nap. Anyway...see you all in a week or more..... Wondering? Rob

After being thoroughly punished for using computers in internet cafes and accessing that Lactating Midget Transvestite site, I shouldn't be surprised that some guy in Japan decided my Yahoo email directory was ripe pickings for erection enhancements and extremely realistic latex toys. Now, with some new addresses and passwords, I feel like a new-born baby.

Back in 1968, I spent six weeks at Brown Institute memorizing the FCC 1st Class test questions and Kel was one of my class-mates. Rather than falling for my hacked email, he dropped me a note and prompted me to write (again) about my Christmas Tree Obsession.

I leave it up always.

I just like Christmas too much and knowing that no matter where I travel, when I get back to my stuff, my Christmas Tree will be waiting. I don't have a theme tree. It is just an eclectic Christmas tree loaded with white lights, colored lights, old-fashioned lights, LED lights, and and mixture of old, new, and home-made decorations. It twinkles nicely in December as well as in July. What's the deal behind it?

When I was in high school I read about a Hollywood icon from the silent picture days who at that time, in his old-age, was fabulously wealthy, not from his movies, but from Los Angeles real-estate. There were pictures of the living room of Harold Lloyd's mansion and in it was a huge-year-around Christmas tree. I remember commenting to my grandmother (or someone) that it would be "neat" or maybe "swell" to have a Christmas tree year around.

Now we should jump ahead to September 1971. I was moving from an apartment on McKnight Road (not far from KDWB) to a townhouse apartment close to Downtown St. Paul. I had lived in the apartment for a little more than a year. I had a Christmas tree to move. I bought that white-flocked Christmas Tree for Christmas 1970. In January of 1971 was coming off a year of being mostly crazy or high and undecorating and discarding my Christmas tree was not on my agenda. In spite of the fact this was an actual, once alive balsam, the needles didn't fall off. Maybe it was a magic tree or maybe the flock just held the needles in place. Either way, it was a fire disaster waiting to happen and by April of 1971 I stopped lighting the lights and kept at least 10 feet away when smoking.

At some point in the summer I removed the lights. The needles remained and the silver and gold bulbs and garlands sparkled appropriately. It was easy to dredge up my "Harold Lloyd" excuse for keeping that dusty-flocked-white-kindling. In September when I moved, I was determined that the tree would come with me. The branches were so brittle, our attempt to squeeze it out the door was doing major damage and thanks to some helper's suggestion, we tied a rope to the tree and lowered it down from the balcony. For the next three years it took up space in the corner of the dining area. When I moved to Meadowlark Lane in Burnsville to be close to U100, the tree came along, at various times being on the first floor and the second floor. (The crazy place had 5 levels)

My move to KSTP in 1976 and a 16th floor apartment across from the U, doomed my almost five year relationship with my tree. It no longer had the look of a snow-frosted Christmas tree. Now, it was more the color of late-winter slush and if I spent any time near to it, my eyes would water, my lungs would clog, and my skin would itch. Although we actually moved the tree to Minneapolis, it never made it to the second floor. In a moment of decision, I consigned it to the basement dumpster.

My next Christmas tree was in Modesto in 1981. A real tree. A month after Christmas I made the mistake of breaking the tree apart and burning it in my fireplace. The needles turned to ash and there was a wonderful "snow" storm in my neighborhood. In San Francisco for Christmas 1982, I bought a wonderful tree in a rainstorm. It didn't last past January. The year round tradition returned in Tacoma with my first fake tree. Back in Modesto I kept a tree until I moved to SF in 1993. For almost 8 years my tree was in storage...waiting. In 2002, I decorated my tree and it remains today, soon to celebrate its 8th Christmas. At least once a year I de-decorate it, dust the bulbs and such and up-date the lights. Now, it's not just a Christmas tree. It's me.

I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and a very happy 2010.

Rob

In my old age I've gotten terribly afraid of big bridges. I have always hated the Bay Bridge between Oakland and San Francisco. The eastbound bridge is better because it is "downstairs" but the westbound bridge is terrifying. But there are worse bridges. The High Bridge between Duluth and Superior is not only scary as hell but dangerous. I think a couple of cars flip off that bridge every year. But here is my scariest bridge. The Mackinaw Bridge. Long Long Long. High High High. Makes me want to start smoking again. Back in the days when I smoked and Ken Copper drank, we used to often talk about the sit-com CHEERS. I liked it but I remember Ken thought it was the perfect example of what a perfect sit-com should be like. We didn't talk about other sit-coms of that era....like MASH. I don't care much for MASH. Just when you thought that CHEERS couldn't be topped, along came SEINFELD. I want to add a couple of other shows that deserve to be included in that company. First....NEWHART. This is the show where he was Dick Loudan and ran the inn in Vermont. This is a great show. Funny Funny Funny. It got better as it ran and some of the shows from the last couple of seasons are sit-com classics deserving to be compared to the "shrinkage" or "masturbation" episodes of SEINFELD. They stand side by side with the greatest CHEERS episodes. Can't think of a funny one at the moment. I have a couple of obscure additions. When NEWHART ended with Dick (Bob) in bed with Suzanne Pleshette, another Bob Newhart sit-com had about a six episode run before it was canceled. I don't remember the name but it had one episode that would rank as one of the BEST sit-com single episodes ever written or broadcast. Same with another short-lived sit-com. Bette Midler. I still don't understand the REAL reason it was canceled, but it was the only sit-com that made me laugh so hard I farted. (It was only the second time I ever farted and I have not done so since)

Just some thoughts after being away for so long and worrying about dangerous bridges.

Rather than have the rumors fly, I thought I'd give my blog a heads-up. I won't be around a computer for a week, so my trivial pursuits won't be chronicled until next week some time. Some of my mail lately, has had some good attachments. I'll have to share them with you. Now...I have a three hour bus ride and then hopefully some pilots who won't miss where they're going.

I was thinking earlier today what our lives would be like if we all had a HOT LINE to answer.

I always thought the ubiquitous HOT LINE at radio stations were installed for emergency purposes. When I worked in Cedar Rapids there was a DJ who had a nervous break-down on the air. The first sign that "we have a problem Cedar Rapids!" was when the engineer heard the sound of the needle trailing along the final groove of the 45...over and over. At that point, the HOT LINE was rather useless. What good was it? The guy was cowering in the corner blubbering like So You Think You Can Dance judge. It wasn't like he was going to answer the HOT LINE and say the reason there is nothing on-the-air is because I just went nuts. Let me think of a trivial but necessary reason for a HOT LINE call. The DJ is playing a promo or spot that is out-of-date to the point it makes the station sound stupid or lose money. Good reason for a HOT LINE call. How about if the Jock steps on a vocal...or reads the liner with the music too hot....or doesn't answer the HOT LINE quickly?

I'm trying to remember if I ever got a PD HOT LINE call that was a compliment. Why not change the name to the CHICKEN-SHIT LINE. I got in trouble at KDWB when I got upset by a bunch of HOT LINE calls from the PD who used to work in Chicago and pulled the phone out wires and all and tossed in on the floor by the office door. Cost me, too. They made me pay for the repairs. One station I worked had a huge RED light that flashed when the HOT LINE rang. They even referred to it as the RED PHONE instead of the HOT LINE. I used to unscrew that infra-red thing about half and inch...just enough so it wouldn't blink. That got old..plus I was pissing someone off....so one night I did some extra curricular work after my shift. I carefully unscrewed the fixture with the bulb...pulled on the wire inside and cut the wire. I sort of frayed the wire so that it looked like, perhaps, a mouse had chewed it. The various folks from CSI would have sussed things out in a minute or two. Even if someone had taken off the fixture, like I did, all they would find is one of the wires..too short..to make the necessary connection. I had pushed the end down into the wall. It took them almost six months to fix.

Today, my aim was poor in the bathroom...I used a knife to cut a plum and nearly amputated my arm....I spilled salad dressing on a sofa pillow and just rubbed it until it sort of disappeared...and I returned from Barnes & Noble, took off my shorts, and didn't wear any pants for the rest of the day. I really should have been HOT LINED!

For some reason, I enjoy reading on the beach. In the sand. When I'm in the house, I'll read for an hour or so and then have to take a break. With the sound of the waves and wind as a back-ground, I can read for hours next to an ocean. For some reason, I crave Cheetos when I'm beaching. I'll bring along a diet Mountain Dew but it just makes me thirstier so a nice bottled water is nice. And a good book. Before I continue with this story, may I remind you that in Minnesota last week, I had my teeth cleaned. On my way out, the hygienist gave me some goodies including a new toothbrush. Cleaning out my bag I replaced the old toothbrush (with the clear handle) with the new toothbrush (with the blue handle). The clear handled toothbrush I put under the bathroom sink to use as a nooks & crannies cleaning tool. Now...back to the beach. I love the sand, the salt-water smell, the sun, and the Cheetos. I don't enjoy the sea-gulls. I especially don't like these beach-rats when they crap on my shoes. I've tossed tennies that have crap on them. These were brand new. When I got home I reached under the sink and used that old clear-plastic-handled toothbrush to clean out the nooks and crannies on my right-foot-gull-shit-shoe. I tossed the shoe into the hall-way and continued with the rest of the day. Last night before sleep, I went into the bathroom, grabbed a toothbrush, slathered on tooth-paste and began working on those pesky molars. About 10 strokes into the task, watching myself in the mirror, I noticed my toothbrush....with the clear plastic handle.....!!!!....!!!!!....

EEEWWWW!!

I had lunch with my older brother yesterday. I was really looking forward to eating something...well....decadent. I wanted a huge burger and fries. Or a patty-melt. Something soaking in grease or smothered with gravy. My brother chose the meat-loaf special. I didn't because I actually had some cold meat-loaf in the fridge. I went with the beef stew or biscuits. Obviously, I got some left-over stew micro-waved to the luke-warm consistency of flour paste. It had an abundance of peas and a shortage of beef. This gelatinous beige mixture was covering a couple of hockey pucks masquerading as biscuits. I had to use the butter knife to cut them into edible pieces. And here is the sad part. I actually finished it. I didn't enjoy even one bite. Last night I under-cooked some brussel sprouts and they were hard and bitter. I ate them all. At some point I am going to have to stop doing things I don't want to do. I should also stop doing things I THINK I want to do even though while doing those things I am not enjoying doing them. I don't even understand that and I swear I am totally sober. I need to get out of town.

Which temp would you choose. After my dentist appointment I'll let you guess. Now, I'm thinking of the beach and just to be different...strawberries or fresh pineapple and champagne. I KNOW I have a bottle of champagne in the fridge. "Moet et chandon...in a pretty cabinet." Now THAT is a great song! Killer Queen. You want to know another great song? I mean like all-time great. I mean when you hear it and you've had a few beers...or a lime Ricky or two...you might say..."That's the BEST song ever!". I Will Survive. Damn that's a good song. I used to really like War. (What is it good for? Good God, y'all..bump bump...etc)but I'm tired of it now and sort of like war. But...You can sing along to those songs. In the car those are songs you turn up loud. If I were riding in the car with my nephews and wanted to really piss them off the way it is so fun to do to latter-day generations...I'd sing along. ("At first I was afraid..I was petrified....") They look like they are going to throw up. LOL. ("She's a Killerrrrrrr Queen...gun powder, gelatine...." I have to stop this. I'm starting to sound like I actually think Oldies Stations are viable formats. The trouble with Oldies Stations is some ass-hole consultant...or National PD...is going to have you playing Gloria Gaynor and Queen AND...("In the summertime... when the weather is high....") Fuck Mungo Jerry! The problem is this is all a matter of opinion. And when some guy who couldn't hit the post if they were playing Stairway to Heaven...some consultant with a heart blacker than Olympia Snowe's hair...suggests that you should play Lover's Concerto three times a day you either meekly do it to keep your job and advance your career or you tell them to shove the Toys up their ass. I have to quit writing about this. I'm getting angry and my blood pressure is on the way north.

Being so psychologically fragile (lol), it doesn't take much to get me reaching for the Prozac. For the last dozen years, or so, I've hated having to make ANY sort of commitment. Last July I made a dentist appointment for October 14th. It's been bothering me since the beginning of August. I don't mind the dentist. I never have any real work done, anyway. A cleaning and a gentle reminder to floss. ("Of course, I promise, I will.....ahuh.") In fact, there is something almost sensual about reclining in that special chair while people stick things in your mouth. I feel the same way about hair-cuts. I am not sure I like when they wash it for you.....or when you are finished and they brush the hair off your crotch. And then there is all that body contact when they lean over you. If it is a woman hair-doer...and she is zoftig...then your elbow is constantly digging into her boob-side...and that reminds me of my grandmother. Not that I actually ever wanted to feel my Gram's boobs....in fact....I don't even want to think about her boobs. All this reminds me of ratings books. Damn, those were horrible times waiting for the 'book'. The fall ratings used to come out around Christmas and I can't count how many Christmas' were ruined. If it came out after Christmas and was good...you wasted all the pre-holiday time worrying. If it came out before Christmas and was bad....you had a horrible holiday. A while ago I was listening to a local late morning talk-show and they were talking about their 'good' book. What made it funny is that they actually believed their book was good because THEY were good. How about they got good ratings not because of quality but because people slow down and look at car wrecks. They don't even have the basics covered. They suck. The other day they suggested they might pursue syndication. Ha Ha Ha. Where? On the Suck Network? I was going to list all the things I don't like about their show but now I think it would sound like some cranky old man complaining about people taking a shortcut across his lawn. Now that I think of that ratings report card I realize that theater had some of that too. Ever so often I dig out an old show-tape or video tape of some theater thing and like any ego-maniacal exhibitionist, I get orgasmic at how good I was. With a good box of air-checks, who needs Viagra!

Sorry for the lack of content here. I just haven't felt much like writing. The ironic thing is I think of so many topics and rants and raves and then when I'm actually sitting in front of the computer....well....whatever. Don't you just hate the word "whatever"? The ultimate laziness. Whatever. When to see the HD theater feed of Tosca this afternoon and as usual, I was blown away. I love the opera and love going to it in person, but there is something so unique about seeing it up-close on that huge theater screen. A $350 dollar seat in the orchestra doesn't get you as close. I like seeing the beads of sweat pouring from beneath the soprano's wig.

Thanks for everyone who took the time to send me an email about our loss of Mesa. I just read them. Foolish, I know, but often I deal with bad things by ignoring them.

I DID get to the fair. It was sweet and sour and in the future I'll (maybe) write about it. The food, however, was primo. I loved my cream-puff. You just can't really enjoy it standing up. The fair needs more benches and more tables. IMHO. I can't really think of anything I ate there that knocked my sox off. Pretty much just the old stand-by stuff. On the radio-station front...KDWB has got to get rid of that ridiculous portable radio thing. Damn, it is ugly. Once again, IMHO, the best radio presentation at the fair was the Disney Station. At least THEY were engaging their audience. It was kind of funny to see a ton of pre-pubescent kids dancing in front of their stage. At KDWB someone had taken out the batteries in their boom box.

And...since it so often mentioned when I take these 'vacations'....my health is fine...at least physically. Mentally, I have lots of issues. And when some newspaper writer writes that My Story is "florid" of course I have to up the dosage of the latest psych-med. In 1981 a PD said my morning show was "puerile". I just recovered from that in 2007. Hold on a second....I'm going to google the definition of florid.......(Hum the Alex Trebek Music).........!!!!flowery; excessively ornate; showy!!!! ...I guess that's not too bad. I much prefer the synonyms...flamboyant, grandiloquent, rococo; flash, gaudy OK....it's too cold to go any place, so I think I'll have myself a little snack and drink a little wine and listen to some vinyl. I had some home-made white bread. I took three slices, spread cream cheese on one and home-made ham-salad on another. I had some shallots to thinly slice onto the cream cheese and some stuffed olives to slice onto the ham-salad. I put them together and cooled them off in the fridge with the wine. Now I'll cut off the crusts and slice them vertically into a series of little finger sandwiches. I have a third of a bottle of a Washington State Riesling and I think I shall sleep just fine.

I was back in Minnesota for the State Fair and spent some quality time with my nephew and his family south of The Cities. When finally I checked almost a month of email I belatedly received the news that Mesa had died. I didn't want to blog about it and I didn't want to think about it. The world just seemed a bit empty.

How Mesa fits into My Story is covered in various chapters; especially in the U100 parts. I interviewed her in my office in the basement at U100 and when she tried to leave, the door-knob came off in her hand. Our engineer had to take the door off the hinges so Mesa could leave. She kept the door-knob as a good luck charm.

U100 didn't last long so we never worked together again. I tried to entice her to San Francisco. That didn't work either. Whether you spent a lot of time with Mesa or just fleeting moments, she had an impact and that was the secret to her success. You just couldn't ignore Mesa Kincaid. The truth be told, she could have been an even greater success. She never reached the heights her talent deserved. She just did it her way.

She called me a summer ago. I was at a baseball game. The conversation went on for quite a while and ended with mutual pledges to 'do lunch'. It never happened, damn it.

So, our Mesa has climbed that mountain. Some day we'll climb it too. It isn't something I like to think about. Deep inside I know that on the other side of that big mountain are my Mom and Dad, my Grandma...and Mesa...with a great big purse...with a door-knob inside.

Sorry for my sudden disappearance. But, I'm back now. For an hour or two. Going south and hopefully will be able to work the State Fair into my meanderings. There is a Pronto Pup down there with my name on it. Have a great week-end and catch you soon.

When I was programming years ago, I think I had something wrong. Week-end scheduling. Think about this. If the standard programming is aimed at the standard Monday Through Friday worker, with Saturday or Sunday (or both) off, why did we fiddle with programming on Monday morning?

Let's say you are a listener who has to be at work by 8 am and you have a 45 minute commute. Or longer...or earlier. The point is that on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday morning you wake and listen to the last few moments of the 'regular' all-night program and then the morning show begins. But the way we programmed, the 'regular' all-night programming wasn't there on Monday morning. We used that time to maintain the transmitter or sign-off the air in some cases...or as I frequently hear now, continue different week-end programming. On Saturday morning (early) we had the 'regular' all night programming even thought the standard listener was sleeping in on Saturday morning.

Does any of this make any sense? I'm just suggesting that the schedule for the 'regular' all night now should be Monday thru Friday rather than Tuesday thru Saturday. Assuming the show starts at midnight. Or 2am. The 'week-end' programming SHOULD begin at Midnight Friday (00:01 Saturday or 02:00 Saturday). This seems more consistent to me.

Another question? ....oh, forget it. I'm already confused.

Let me ruin your day. Have you ever wondered why old men smell funny? Not laugh funny but weird funny. When you walk into an old man's house (assuming he no longer has an old woman around) it smells like an old man's house. When I was a teenager I used to deliver groceries for my Dad. Every house had a unique signature smell and blindfolded I could have down a good job matching the house with the smell.

So...back to geezer smell. Face it. It's pee. I was in an old man's house (not me...another one) today and it had that old man smell. Pee smell. You see, when guys get old they start peeing like 10-15 times a day. With ever pee there is a little dribble. Well...you start getting 10-15 dribbles a day that's a lot of pee. Can we assume that each pee is accompanied by 3 dribbles. That's 45 dribbles per day. There are two solutions to this problem. Change your underwear after every pee or pull on the elastic and sprinkle the area with some cheap cologne. If it works for women, it will work for men.

That sort of makes me laugh thinking of some old guy with a wiener that smells like English Leather.

Television sucks so supremely that I spend less and less time with it. It may seem like I watch for hours each day but today is an example of what is most often the case. I didn't turn the television on until about 3:30PM and turn it off at 7:30PM. And I wasn't glued to it during those hours. Most of the day I read. Nothing particularly uplifting. Just reading for entertainment. When I wake during the night, I read. I wake at about 7:30 each morning and first thing grab my book. I read before bed and while I eat. I sit outside and read and take a book with me to McDonald's. I wish I could read in the shower and while I brush my teeth. In Modesto I walked a lot. From my house to the movies was about three miles. I walked it dozens of times, trudging along the sidewalk, reading. I got to the point where I would automatically chart my course every few sentences. I smashed into street signs and parking meters but it never caused any major scars. During the last few years of my radio career, I rode a bicycle (pedal) in Modesto. For 7 years in San Francisco, my bike was my primary mode of transportation. That's where the rumor arose that I was living in San Francisco and peddling my ass all over town. Walking, pedaling, and cadging for rides can be inconvenient at times but versus the trials and tribulations of car ownership, I loved it. I know people do it but I can't read while driving. I can't even look at the pictures. Somewhere on this blog or on the website I wrote about walking in foggy San Fran after seeing the remastered My Fair Lady. It was a special walk I'll always remember. Another was in Modesto in the fall of 1989. I was walking back from something (can't remember what) on a cool dark night. On the DiscMan (lame) was playing Les Miz or Phantom or Chess...whatever....and I was walking in beat with the music (almost marching), the flaps of my trench coat flapping in the wind. It was exhilarating. I loved every minute of that walk. But then, one night, after green-Jello wrestling Gary DeMaroney, going to a play rehearsal, and missing my ride home, I walked home, tired, cold, and sticky. The walk was Hell and I caught a cold. I am often a cheap bastard. Anyway, I can still read. I miss all that walking.

I just love going on Craig's List and causing trouble. Just now someone told me to go and 'eat a bowl of dog fuck'. Now THAT was pretty funny. Thanks to the wonderful internet I am about to start watching So You Think You Can Dance Canada. The US one is just wrapping up. I struck up a conversation with someone while traveling...something I seldom do....and we ended up talking about So You Think You Can Dance. Why didn't he start talking to me about sports television or the latest on the political scene? Nope! First thing out of his mouth was, "Do you watch that dance show on TV?" I asked him if he meant Dancing With The Stars. Since most of their audience are just back from the Senior Meal at Old Country Buffet, I was offended. When he told me it was So You Think....I was offended again. I'm just going to have to man-up! I was on the street car in San Francisco and a guy sat next to me. In spite of the fact I had ear phones on he persisted in starting a conversation with the comment, "Bill Clinton and Al Gore are butt buddies." That was enough to get me to remove my ear phones. I asked him where he heard that and he told me..."c'mon..it's a well known fact". The guy who wondered about So You Think You Can Dance must have been related because he told me that Benji...the winner several seasons ago.....had a big...well....you know. He might have used the word...huge. Yuppers. Benji has a huge you know. Of course that ruins it for me because now, whenever I see Benji dance I'll think of ...you know....flopping about. When they are 'huge' they have a tendency to flop. Or so I've read.

I was on another street car in San Francisco and some Turret's woman was swearing and making unfortunate noises. I laughed. Some guy who looked like a tree-hugger whipped around and berated me for laughing. After taking his abuse I told him, "But...it still is funny". That guy probably has an extremely small you know.

If you are curious (and perverted) Google Benji Schwimmer.

The weather is crap. At least it is if you want sun and warmth. Actually, these gray cool days remind me of San Francisco and I actually like that kind of weather. My brother wants to play golf, though, so for him I will wish for nicer weather.
When you have spent some time 'doing things', my usual routine of 'doing nothing' isn't much fun. I've been bored as hell for the last two days. Today I'm going to WalMart. Golly! I live the fast life.
I was listening to the radio and was reminded of ever jock's nightmare. For those who have never been behind the mike, there is a basic fact of radio every DJ must understand. The DJ has to assume there is someone listening. No one applauds when you hit the post. Nobody laughs when you deliver the punch line. When you read the liners, there aren't any awes from the radio audience peanut gallery.
Exception!! The current trend of studio audiences and side-kicks assuage this feeling of loneliness. When you have a couple of people in the studio with you there is feedback. Instant feedback. If you are paying them...good feedback.
Every station I've worked at had one fast rule. NO VISITORS IN THE STUDIO. Is there any rule in radio, violated more? Taking a chance on your job, or at least, boss displeasure, is worth having an audience.
So, kudos to the DJ who labors alone in a studio, whispering or shouting into a microphone connected by some electronic magic to someone who laughs, awes, and applauds. We hope.
And then something happens that breaks this fragile connection.
Yesterday, I was listening to the radio and the DJ had some Minnesota Twins tickets to give away. Granted, the game was that same night and in Minneapolis, 130 miles away, but still...these were 4 damn good tickets. "Be caller number 10!" How many times have we said those words? "Be caller number 10!"
About 40 minutes later, the DJ said, "We still have those Twins tickets....call now and be caller number 5."

Suicide!

The few times this happened to me I was ready to walk out the door and do what my parents wanted. The lack of response to an on-the-air-plea is an ego deflating situation that ranks right up there with: "We're letting you go.", "You're IQ is 94.", "Let's just be friends", and "Is it in?"

It has happened to me. I really wonder if there was ever a moment while I was 'talking on the radio' when there was no one...not one living soul....listening? It seemed like it.

WAIT! The phone is blinking! Forget it. It was the fucking PD on the red line.

An unexpected vacation is the simple reason I haven't blogged in July. I know that earlier in the summer I hadn't planned on leaving this beautiful area, but......
I had an available lap-top. I used it regularly to keep up-to-date on the various right-wing political blogs that have me addicted. I also regularly went to Hulu for the important things...like....what was happening on America's Got Talent and Hell's Kitchen. A friend in Canada even recorded So You Think You Can Dance so I wouldn't miss a Jete'.
For some reason, I couldn't remember my pw to post here! I couldn't log on to my robsherwood.com email!

Enough excuses. I'm back from vacation and anxious to write about my side of things.
The choir is welcome to sing along.

Ed McMahon dies. Farah Fawcett dies. Michael Jackson dies. But wait! There's more!

Personally, I am a little tired of it all. I can only mourn so much, so often. I have to save a little grief in case someone I really like dies. For the time being, I would like to think of people who are alive that I really like.

I'm thinking......

I'll think of someone...just wait......

That's a lame joke anyway. I am really tired and now I don't really know why I started this blog. And so....to bed.

I had a chance on Monday to walk down my Bahamian Memory Lane. As I mentioned the last time I was here, I had an appointment for an echo cardiogram on Monday afternoon. (The results: Heart is fine albeit dark and cold) The tech who administered the test was from Nassau. After wondering aloud how he ended up 135 miles north of the United States Of America (he was a temp), we talked about my frequent trips to the islands in the 70's. I had forgotten how much fun it was. At some point he asked me where I lived before coming back to Duluth. When I said San Francisco, he said, "I THOUGHT so!" I thought so? What? He went on to say I struck him as 'artsy'. ARTSY? The word the properly follows artsy is fartsy. Now, why didn't he think I was from Alaska and was a retired ice-road trucker? How about, "You're so butch I assumed you were a bronc rider from Texas." Next thing I expected him to compliment me on my child-bearing hips! Perhaps I shouldn't be so sensitive.

I may be violating another of the Cardinal Sins here. As you know, I don't do well on the Cardinal Sins. On the Ten Commandments I do better. I'm thinking. Isn't it REALLY thou shalt not murder? I know I haven't murdered. (except for several bottles of rum on some Bahamian beach back in the 70's) I'm trying to think about any graven images I've had before me. Hmmmm. Does that, like, include that huge Bob's Big Boy outside the restaurants? On questions of this sort I usually go to the source....Charleton Heston. He couldn't answer me. He was busy. Someone was trying to pry a rifle out of his hands.

There is a small hallway leading to the main bedroom in Duluth. I walk back and forth down that hallway at least 20 times a day when I am in Minnesota residence. Maybe more. A few moments ago, after lunching on a diet Mountain Dew, and anticipating an appointment at 3:30, I toddled down the hallway and noticed for, perhaps, the 100th time, a movie ticket stub, off to one side on the floor. I dropped it there in April!

Ah, there's the rub. If I am too lazy to pick up a tiny scrap of card-stock for two months, why should you expect me to regularly up-date this blog or my web-site? I can apply that same laziness to email replies, lunches with friends, and visits to relatives. I certainly have committed all of the Cardinal Sins.

A written rendering of my daily SLOTH would take more effort than I can even imagine.

And THERE, my friends is the simple explanation of why I am such a bum.

I just finished watching something, I decided to share. The contrast is startling. click here Not as slick, but a lot more real.

It is going to be a quiet holiday. I got together with family yesterday afternoon for a small afternoon alfresco meal. My brother grilled a most perfect hamburger. The get-together was nothing special but at the same time wonderfully special, sitting in plastic Adirondack's with my brothers. Others made the sacrifices and we enjoy the results.

I had some left over cold pizza for breakfast. I'm beginning to think I like pizza left-over and cold better than hot and fresh. It suits my libido.

I thought the bitch with the eyeliner was going to win!

My company left yesterday and last night at about 11pm I heard from LA and he arrived back in California safe and sound. Ted left behind a nicely painted bedroom and bathroom and some freshly baked cookies in the cookie jar. I was going out of town this week-end so the rest of the project has to wait until next week.
I know there are some things to comment on but I am drawing a blank. Maybe I'll go to a movie. I should go to Target. I could go on Craigslist and cause some shit. Oops. Have to make my bed. This is so f-ing boring I might as well be on Twitter. At least now that my company is gone I can sit at the computer in my underwear and not close the bathroom door when I take a shower.

Is it rude to blog while you have company? Guests? On the week-end of the 1st my good friend from California, Ted, came to visit. I've known Ted since the mid 90's and it is refreshing to know someone who didn't know me when I thought I was someone. (I tried to make that sentence as humble as possible) I've known Ted for more than 12 years and he still doesn't know what to call me. He isn't part of the Rob era....he knows my family has several names for me (including Ass Hole)...and then there was a period of time when I was Scrappy....He gave up about 10 years ago and calls me Bro. Getting back to his visit. I've been planning to re-paint my master bedroom for a while. Three years ago I painted it maroon (walls and ceiling) and I was ready for a change. After doing some virtual experimenting at the Benjamin Moore site, I decided on leaving the maroon on the ceiling and going with a golden bronze on the walls. Ted and I picked up a couple of gallons of paint and some primer and while I sat in the chair kibitzing, Ted got to work. When the golden bronze was on the first wall, I knew we had a problem when Ted kept referring to the color as "mustard". I was in total denial and said it was GOLD. (I once had a call that I said was Gold and everyone else said was light brown!!!) After painting two walls in "mustard" I told Ted to stop while I thought about it. Just before I fell asleep that night I realized that with the maroon ceiling and "mustard" on the walls my bedroom looked like a frat house at the University of Minnesota and all I needed along with the school colors was a huge letter "M" on the ceiling and Goldie the Golden Gopher lounging on my bed. The next morning I awoke to the realization that my two walls weren't mustard....they were baby-shit yellow. It was back for more paint. This time I opted for a color called Golden Champagne. After re-priming the two mustard walls, Ted began covering them in Golden Champagne. Two walls later I realized that I had traded French's Mustard walls for Grey Poupon walls. I was spending so much money replacing paint-rollers I was thinking of applying for some stimulus money. The 3rd time was the charm with the golden Champagne traded in for a lighter champagne. I like to think I sort of went from Andre' to Perrier Jouet ($3 vrs $155). Now the problem I'm having is with all the extra layers of paint on the wall, the room got smaller and now I don't have room for all my furniture. I could go from a King Size bed to a Queen size bed but then I wouldn't have room for Goldie the Golden Gopher.

Later, my friends....Rob

You may be surprised to know there is another chapter for April...two in April!!!! I didn't get to do much spell-checking or editing in order to get it on. Hope you enjoy it. I've had a cold for three days and it just isn't going away. Wait! I can't add. Make that 5 days. Mainly a cough and sore throat. I was worried it was Swine Flu when the cough developed into an oink...but it was a false alarm. Later, I spent the afternoon rolling around in my own shit, but that was also a false alarm. I am pleased to report that I don't eat pork unless it contains nitrites so I feel I am safe. You don't get it from pig meat anyway. It's Cheney's fault anyway. Did anyone watch American Idol on Tuesday. I actually downloaded four of the five performances for my Ipod. I love those old standards. And Kris sang my all-time favorite 'standard' and certainly one of my top 10 every genre songs. I like it. I can't think of anything else to say. Have a good night...day....week...life.

Rob

I meant to write and mention the Italian restaurant we ate at on my birthday. I can't remember the name. It starts with V. It's new. It's on London Road sort of kitty-corner across from the old armory. It was good. Waiter was fine. Salad was nice. Plenty of bread and drink re-fills. My brothers had the spaghetti meatball special and it looked tasty. My brother did notice one thing, though. When we used to buy the spaghetti platter at the old Cafe Di'Napoli in Minneapolis the sauce adhered to the noodle. Isn't that an old Italian curse? "May your sauce not stick to the pasta!"

Anyway....the sauce at startswithvonlondonroadkittycornerfromthearmory did seem to stick. I had a flashback to Vanessi's in SF where I enjoyed many a plate of spaghetti carbanera. They used to make it at your table...it was sinfully delicious. At startswithavetc.... the sauce was equally sinful but it was just a Venial Sin. The best part of the whole meal was spending the time with my brothers.

For some reason I caught another cold. This is my second cold in the last 6 weeks. I guess I'll veg and drink OJ. And yes...I wish it would rain. I like the rain.

At some point in the distant past the significance of April 22nd faded. When I was a kid I anticipated my birthday for weeks....mainly for the celebration and less for the gifts. Now, there is only slight celebration and no gifts. It is certainly at case of one gets what they gives because I am terrible at remembering birthdays. I want to remember. I like it when I do. But....oh well...what are you going to do? Anyway....I'm killing time waiting for celebration. I am going to a recently established Italian restaurant to consume carbs. What I miss is my Grandmother's raspberry chiffon pie. I want a birthday pie rather than a birthday cake although if I HAD to have a cake I didn't my my Grandmother's Yellow Angel Food cake. It looked like a regular Angel Food Cake but I guess she left in some yolks and it was yellow rather than white and moister and soooo good. They have something like it at this dessert place in SF that they drizzle with orange stuff and wouldn't mind celebrating with a slice or three of it. My great-nephew's birthday was this past week-end and his gift is on the way. I am getting him a gorilla costume. Seems like a good gift for an 8 year old. Oh...the movie yesterday..wasn't so great. Saw that movie with Ben Affleck and that guy from Australia....forgotten the name...anyway.....waaay too slow for me. On the way home, thought, I bought a wonderful baguette and was just perfect with cold butter. Sometime in the middle of the night I woke and had another piece of baguette with peanut butter..plus an ice-cold glass of milk. Life is good.

Rob

PS: I did have a few great Birthday parties in the late 80's and 90's. Remember Moon? Come to think of it....I've had a bunch of good ones.

I was planning to catch up with some blogging and also finish up on another chapter of My Story....but....I unexpectedly spent the week-end out of town. Among the hot spots was the Mall in Mankato. Now....that's entertainment! A few years ago I began a quest to have a Made-Rite. I used to love those loose meat sandwiches when I worked in Cedar Rapids. There was a Made-Rite just around the corner from the laundromat and while my whitie-tighties tumbled, my stomach rumbled with a few buns full of loose-meat. Damn! That sounded really pornographic. Just about everything sounds pornographic. Anyway, thanks to some timely emails I found out that now only were Made-Rites still in business but the closest one to Duluth was in St. Cloud. That was almost 5 years ago. Last year on a visit to that mall in Mankato I espied a faux Made-Rite and was sorely disappointed. Sometimes a cigar is just a smoke. In this case just because it was a loose meat sandwich it wasn't the Made-Rite of my memory. This week-end the proof was in the pudding...or the loose-meat sandwich....because the Made-Rite-In-Sheep's-Clothing was shuttered and gone. That's ok because over-all it was a gastronomic Tsunami since Friday and I really didn't need any loose-meat. Friday night we ate at Applebee's...my tongue did not throw a party for my mouth. On Saturday we hit Sonic for lunch. I LOVE their double-cheese and generally prefer Sonic to In-And-Out. Blasphemy! Sorry. I was the only one in the car so inclined, though, the rest thinking it was drek. In Mankato we had breakfast at Old Country Buffet on Sunday. On top of that were some BBQ and also some Shish-Kabobs. I still feel full. Well, I know there was something I was suppose to do or say here but I can't remember what it was. No problem...I'm going to see a movie and trying to build up the resolve to pass on the popcorn. Take care.