the naked tapdancer's Radio Weblog

Tue, 11 Dec 2007 14:08:57 GMT

Back to the Editor's Desk

Our little bi-weekly generates a fair amount of revenue. However, the publishers decided to close the physical office a couple of years back in the interest of maintaining profitability. So the three staffers and the freelancers communicate via home computer and telephone. Our meetings tend to be held at the coffee shop. Most of my writing is done in my pajamas in the mornings. I don't think that I would have taken the editor's position if anything more formal than this existed.

The previous editor is now working in her own cubicle at the daily newspaper. No matter how aggravating this ragtag organization can be, I don't know how one could give up the freedom to schlep around one's own house for a desk job at a large office. But maybe I am inordinately lazy and independent.

It has been nice to incessantly blow my nose in the privacy of my own home during these last days of illness.

NTD

Sun, 10 Dec 2006 19:12:55 GMT

12 Days of Illness

(Radio edit. Snot and scatological references excluded)

12 fistfuls of Kleenex, 11 squirts of throat spray, 10 decongestants, 9 days of Claritin, 8 little pink pills, 7 cups of green tea, 6 bites of toast, 5 shots of gin...

4 hour nap, 3 magazines, 2 hour film...

and an electric blanket turned up to 19.

NTD

Sat, 09 Dec 2006 15:19:38 GMT

Tis the season...

...to lie in bed coughing and wheezing with a fistful of my daughter's little pink amoxicillin pills from last spring and two storebrand knockoffs of Dayquil and Nyquil. And a roll of toilet paper.

NTD

Fri, 01 Dec 2006 13:18:46 GMT

Freecycle.org is a great way to get rid of stuff that I don't feel like hauling away. But who are these people who e-mail en masse for stuff that I would consider, well, of marginal value? And I occasionally poke around dumpsters, so I'm hardly a junk elitist.

Yesterday I described a futon mattress as thin, used, cheaply made, and recommended for occasional use at best. Eight people want it, sight unseen. It's amazing.

Two weeks ago I watched a nice pregnant woman pick up and haul away a water-stained end table and an old chest of drawers that my daughter's friend had plastered with gum machine stickers. I was embarrassed to show her the furniture, but she seemed genuinely delighted. What is stranger is that she didn't seem particularly poor, either. Eccentric? An outsider artist?

Tonight I'll close my eyes and point my finger toward whichever lucky e-mailer who will then win the privilege of hauling off my castoff futon.

NTD

Wed, 29 Nov 2006 16:35:23 GMT

I went to pick up my daughter from school this morning. It was another lockdown - 2 1/2 hours of drug dogs and no learning. I counted thirteen police cars and a pair of undercover Crown Vics.

I stood around with her drama teacher and shot the breeze as best as I could. Finally they let the kids change classes, and we're soon heading to Atlanta to see the New York Dolls at the Variety Playhouse.

Field trip?

NTD

Tue, 28 Nov 2006 18:36:51 GMT

Coffee Talk

I drank a quantity of coffee at home this morning before meeting with the managing editor of my newspaper at Milltown Coffee. More coffee was consumed on the premises.

For many of you this is standard procedure; for me this is substance abuse. I am not a lifetime bean addict. Like my friend Barry who began smoking in prison sometime in his late thirties, I succumbed to the major caffeine delivery system known as coffee late in life. At home my coffee maker produces wimpy, weak stuff that all my friends complain about. So when I get a proper cup at an overpriced trendy place, it packs a wallop.

I needed some little addiction in order to feel like the badass super mama I've always wanted to be. And coffee helps one to ignore the aches and pains and cloudiness of the early hours. But I never wind up loving coffee - like beer in my twenties, like the marijuana I tried to smoke in my thirties, it becomes a thing in my life that never feels quite normal. I see others around me who love the stuff, who can drink it straight-up black by the potful and obviously feel a passion toward coffee. For me, it's usually necessary - but I don't crave the taste, the mouthfeel, the smell. However, I enjoy the lift. I drink it for the effect without having the sensual pleasure that some people experience. It's just my wake-up beverage.

I used to drink Budweiser and shun Guinness. So it's no surprise that I really prefer the watered-down homebrew over the gourmet variety.

NTD the coffee wimp

Mon, 27 Nov 2006 13:28:19 GMT

Well, one viewing of Borat erased all traces of the blues.

NTD