Click HERE to listen or download.
Click HERE to listen or download.
Yes, Ema and I have started taking Alli. I'm taking it to help me tone up for the summer Speedo season, and Ema. . .well, she's just taking it to support me. We'll be back with a podcast very soon, and will talk about our success with Alli then. Stay tuned!
Click HERE to listen or download.
To save breakfast prep time, I've been trying to convince my kids that eating frozen waffles is better than if I were to toast them; Sadie is earning points; book recommendations, old movie reviews, fun facts, Ema got poked way too many times the other day; a birthday reminder gone wrong, and music podcasts that ROCK. . .or put you in a romantic mood.
Contest winner Dan's Things I Hate/Things I Love:
Love - Sleeping
Hate - Going to bed
Love - Video Games
Hate - Work
Love - Flamboyant Gay Comedians
Hate - Homophobes
Love - AudioBooks
Hate - Illiterate people
Love - Podcasting
Hate - Broken web pages
Ema and I are experiencing technical difficulties, but will return with an episode very soon. Thanks for checking in!
So I came home this evening and excitedly told Ema the idea I've got for a new story for the blog. She was sweet enough to listen to me blurt out my half-baked idea, then said "Are you going to post that on OUR podcast blog?" I said "No, yes, I mean, I think so." Yup, I'm a real stud in the face of conflict. "Why?" I said, "Shouldn't I?" She smiled, tried to take my feelings into account, and said "I think you should start a new blog just for your stories so we can leave the podcast blog for items relating to the show and the show notes." I knew she was right. I let her believe it was the best idea I've heard all day. She still believes it, although she's out with some friends at the moment, and I can smell Sam's diaper from three rooms away, so I better close this up. Enjoy this blog for all podcast-related stuff, BUT, please do subscribe to the my new story blog, Theater of Your Mind, as well. Check it out - theaterofyourmind.com
”A balconette?” I said as I watched Rachel’s pleasant smile morph into an apoplectic glower. “But the brochure we received from the travel agent explicitly called out a balcony. And, P.S. - What the hell is a balconette?!?” Rachel lowered her eyes toward the counter as if trying to remember her 40 minute training session on how to nullify a disgruntled cruiser. Then, quite suddenly, her smile returned. “Yes Mr. Jordan, the brochures are incorrect; printed two years ago before we changed ships for this route. I’m terribly sorry that the travel agent mislead you. Our website has all of the latest information on our ships and rooms. A balconette is simply the term we use to describe our upgraded bay window. Most rooms on your floor offer only a porthole. Now, if you’d like, I’d be happy to show you how to find our website online.” I paused, gathered my thoughts, tried suppressing my rage by finding a happy place – nothing. Rachel was no longer pretty, no longer alluring. Even her dimples had no affect on me anymore. She meant less than nothing to me, and the poor girl didn’t even know it yet.
Ema is feeling a bit under the weather this week, so we didn't record an episode. Look for episode 43 (hopefully) next week!
I walked back up the long, slightly sloping hallway to the aft main stairwell, and climbed four floors to the main deck. Hundreds of guests milled about, many with astonished looks on their faces as they glanced skyward at the magnificent glass elevator stuffed to capacity, as it rose toward the promenade deck. I’d seen the elevator. I’d also seen the hallway with the buzzing lights and a curious little room, not much bigger than my cubicle at work, which had somehow been mistakenly issued to us. I set my eyes on the purser’s desk at the far end of the lobby.
“The pleasure of expecting enjoyment is often greater than that of obtaining it, and the completion of almost every wish is found a disappointment” --Samuel Johnson
Many, many years ago, before some of you were born, say around 1999 or so, Ema and I decided to take a cruise. Once the idea sunk in, we were so excited about this adventure that we swore not to let the fact that we couldn’t afford the trip stand in our way. Nor did we allow the fact that I have an inner ear disorder which obligates me to spontaneously empty the contents of my stomach whenever the ground on which I’m standing moves. Ema assured me that today’s modern ocean liners are so stable and smooth, that you don’t even know you’re on the water. I reminded her of the time I lost my lunch while standing in line for a movie when a 4.2 earthquake hit. Touché.
Our good friend Win visits us from the
Thursday, 7:17 AM – For the first time in several days I felt fine. I mean, aside from the cold which I was still fighting off, I didn’t have anything “wrong” with me. This was both curious and disturbing. I mean the cold had provided enough aches and pains to keep my gait at the speed of an arthritic sloth, but otherwise I thought I might just have come out on the other side of my woeful week. It had been twenty days since my throat surgery, and all was healing on schedule. My face had cleared from the ink incident, and I hadn’t even thought about the chipped tooth. I felt a glimmer of encouragement, motivation even. After a few minutes of gleeful contemplation I greeted a co-worker, “Hi Sssteve. . .Sssteve, heh. . .ahem.” I said, clearing my throat and smiling. “Hiya Tom. Heckuva whistle you’ve got there.” Steve walked on by, laughing to himself, shaking his head. I spoke to myself, “Sssteve, Ssssteve, sssseason Sssix of Ssssimon and Ssssimon.” With every “S” came a distinct, fulminating whistle. It seems that the chip in my tooth was more than an unpleasant cosmetic deformity. I spent the rest of the day avoiding words containing the letter “S” and training my tongue to form consonants in a manner that avoids embarrassment.
Wednesday, 9:00 PM – Felt good all day, but while brushing my teeth in preparation for bed, discovered a distinct chip on the interior corner of my Left Maxillary Central. I showed this to Ema who seemed deeply concerned over the fact that I know the standard dental chart name for my left front tooth, yet brushed off the chip like it was nothing. I too, realized the abnormality of a non-dental professional dedicating time to memorizing all of the correct names for his teeth. I went to bed, ran my tongue over the newly-discovered chip, and made the decision to tone-down my anatomical references. Ema, after all, needs confidence in the degree of sanity of her mate.
Have you ever owned a car that, every time you drove it you discovered something else wrong with it? Monday it’s that squeak coming from the rear axel; Tuesday you notice a new, cryptic icon glowing amber on your console; Wednesday morning you find an odd-colored puddle under your car. Would it surprise you, in light of this scourge of problems, to discover your warranty had recently expired? That these problems were simply a manifestation of the car makers’ well-constructed ploy to provide every vehicle with time-sensitive, self-destructing parts?Well I believe, just as with many of the cars I’ve owned, that my personal warranty has expired. It seems my maker, in all his or her wisdom, had also provided me with self-destructive parts. And, at the risk of making this blog a dumping ground for self-indulgent belly aching, I thought I’d take the next couple of episodes regale you in the events of the past week as they played out – day by excruciating day.
Monday, early AM – Had a dream that I was blind in one eye, and awoke to find my left eye open. Apparently it had been open some time; and as my dreams played in the theater of my mind, my Rapid Eye Movement caused my open eye to dance wildly, making physical contact with the pillow. Lost in sleep’s sweet slumber, I felt no pain nor was I awakened during the night. Waking to an eye that’s already open was whacky, almost amusing, but as the zaniness of the moment wore off, and I was forced to take that first blink, I was introduced to a pain that could only be described as ‘wicked.’ One hour of flushing the eye with saline was enough to re-hydrate the eye. During my lunch break I went to CVS and bought a sleep mask.
Tuesday, mid-day – Glanced in the bathroom mirror after a particularly important meeting to find dozens of black dots of various sizes covering my face and neck. It took a couple of minutes to realize that the pen I had been absent-mindedly flicking during the meeting had lost its end cap, thus transforming it into a very efficient ink gun. I wetted some paper towels, squirted some hand soap on them and started scrubbing. Some of the smaller dots disappeared, but the larger ones simply smeared into my skin. I rinsed, looked into the mirror, and noticed red splotches popping up like a pox from my hairline to my collar. Seems I was having an allergic reaction to the ink or the soap or caustic combination thereof. Another couple of rinses, and I stared stupefied at the deranged harlequin looking back at me. With three hours to go at work, I managed to stick to the shadows, and discovered how to make darkness my friend.
To be continued. . .
This list is not all-inclusive, so if you're one of my podcasting buddies and you don't see your podcast listed here - fear not, but feel free to send me a scathing email all the same.
