Sunday, September 20, 2015.
White Things Whiter, Bright Things Brighter.
I leave to sing at St. Jane's when the truck bearing our new washing machine arrives. When I return, the unit is fully installed and--I am very happy to see--the old one is gone.
This is the third washing machine of my life. I didn't buy the first one until MA and I got married and moved to the Cool Water Ranch. During my twenty years of adult bachelorhood, I went to the laundromat every week, as part of my Monday rituals. Mary Ann would not hear of using a public laundry, and I never did again. Marriage makes many changes.
This may also be the last washing machine I will ever buy, but maybe not. I am hell-bent on living for another twenty years at least. That year, Mardi Gras will fall on my birthday for the first time since I was born. I simply must be here for that.
MA is almost whistling a happy tune as she loads the immense backlog of laundry. Her hopes that this new machine will slosh around the wash water more aggressively than the old one did seems to be coming true. The white things are obviously much whiter. Almost all of it had taken on a gray tint during the hegemony of the old appliance.
A scorching day in the high nineties keeps me from taking my walk until the entire Cool Water Ranch is in the shadows of the tall pine trees surrounding it. Then to Zea, which is in the last day of Restaurant Week. That gives us a three-course dinner for $25. Neither of us is hungry enough to consume the entire table d'hote plan, so we split it. I get the tomato-basil soup, she gets the rotisserie chicken, I get the house salad at a small extra price, and a scoop of ice cream in lieu of the special menu's bread pudding--which they have run out of, anyway.
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Monday, September 21, 2015.
Red Beans Are Calling Me. So Are Onion Rings.
[caption id="attachment_33606" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Thin fried onion rings @ Crabby's Shack[/caption]
Mary Ann is always thinking about my needs. When she decides to go to lunch with me on a Monday, she always suggests a place that has good red beans and rice. Today that is Crabby's Shack in Madisonville. It's a neighborhood café with an emphasis on seafood, although it does have a lot of other flavors. Last time I had red beans there they were great. These were a bit tamer than those, but still good enough with its whole link of hot sausage to make me happy. We also put down an order of fried artichoke hearts with a side of remoulade sauce (the new ranch dressing). She sees a pile of onion rings at the next table and wants some, but I give her a look to remind her that she will be caught in a maelstrom of self-denigration if she succumbs to that temptation. Have a salad, I tell her. I have one too.
For the past two weeks, my radio show was busier than it's been in a long time. That is a successful result of an experiment I've conducted since returning from vacation. It tells me that it's time to ditch my habit of whining when there's nobody on hold.
The volume of callers (although not the number of listeners) has been way down in the last two years. At first I blamed the schedule that had me on at the inopportune time of noon until three. I now think that was a coincidence. (The current three-to-six time slot is unquestionably the best time for me to be on the air.)
The reason for caller drift is obvious. People's habits changed. Used to be that if you needed a question answered, you called your favorite talk station and asked the host, who may not know the answer but who would redirect the question to an expert or a listener who did know. But the reluctance most people have to being on the radio is strong enough that people with questions have shifted to the internet.
That not the death knell for talk radio. At least not for the few stations that still have live, local hosts. (I'm pretty sure I'm alive, and absolutely positive that I am local.) We just have to turn to the thing that has always made radio special: its entertainment value. Combine that with content, and the package is whole and vital.
I gave this a lot of thought during the train trip last month. (Want to think deeply about something? Take a long rail voyage.) I was already experimenting with a This-Or-That-Of-The-Day concept. I find that, even if the matter is lame, it moves people to say something. Lately I always have at least one caller either on the air or about to be.
I bring this up because today's show was exceptionally busy. A few short lulls occurred, but there were just as many moments when two or three people were on hold. Unfortunately, this only seems to happen when we're about to slide into a long commercial break. I'm working on that problem, too.)
Shifting slightly. . . Have I mentioned lately my feeling, held since I was a pre-teener, that the word "show" is not really applicable to a radio. . . show. I'm trying to think of another word. All my ideas so far are either too formal, affected, or ridiculous. The best alternative is "program," but that's only slightly better than "show." I might have to take another train trip to work this out.
My program, or whatever it is, originated from home today. Afterwards, I am happy to discover when I get to the NPAS rehearsal that our leader made the common goof of sending an email message, intended for the whole chorus, to herself only. This means that the music I could have been practicing with was not in fact available. So I'm not the only one who hasn't locked his brain onto the material. The two weeks of rehearsals I missed while I was on the train still have me lagging. The music is great: Stephen Sondheim all the way. Performances will be on Friday, October 16 at 7:30 p.m. and Sunday, October 18 at 3 p.m., both at the Greater Covington Center. 317 N. Jefferson Avenue. After a year, it will be my first performance with the group. I'll be the guy tucked in the back.
Crabby's Seafood Shack. Madisonville: 305 Covington. 985-845-2348.
Thin fried onion rings @ Crabby's Shack[/caption]
Mary Ann is always thinking about my needs. When she decides to go to lunch with me on a Monday, she always suggests a place that has good red beans and rice. Today that is Crabby's Shack in Madisonville. It's a neighborhood café with an emphasis on seafood, although it does have a lot of other flavors. Last time I had red beans there they were great. These were a bit tamer than those, but still good enough with its whole link of hot sausage to make me happy. We also put down an order of fried artichoke hearts with a side of remoulade sauce (the new ranch dressing). She sees a pile of onion rings at the next table and wants some, but I give her a look to remind her that she will be caught in a maelstrom of self-denigration if she succumbs to that temptation. Have a salad, I tell her. I have one too.
For the past two weeks, my radio show was busier than it's been in a long time. That is a successful result of an experiment I've conducted since returning from vacation. It tells me that it's time to ditch my habit of whining when there's nobody on hold.
The volume of callers (although not the number of listeners) has been way down in the last two years. At first I blamed the schedule that had me on at the inopportune time of noon until three. I now think that was a coincidence. (The current three-to-six time slot is unquestionably the best time for me to be on the air.)
The reason for caller drift is obvious. People's habits changed. Used to be that if you needed a question answered, you called your favorite talk station and asked the host, who may not know the answer but who would redirect the question to an expert or a listener who did know. But the reluctance most people have to being on the radio is strong enough that people with questions have shifted to the internet.
That not the death knell for talk radio. At least not for the few stations that still have live, local hosts. (I'm pretty sure I'm alive, and absolutely positive that I am local.) We just have to turn to the thing that has always made radio special: its entertainment value. Combine that with content, and the package is whole and vital.
I gave this a lot of thought during the train trip last month. (Want to think deeply about something? Take a long rail voyage.) I was already experimenting with a This-Or-That-Of-The-Day concept. I find that, even if the matter is lame, it moves people to say something. Lately I always have at least one caller either on the air or about to be.
I bring this up because today's show was exceptionally busy. A few short lulls occurred, but there were just as many moments when two or three people were on hold. Unfortunately, this only seems to happen when we're about to slide into a long commercial break. I'm working on that problem, too.)
Shifting slightly. . . Have I mentioned lately my feeling, held since I was a pre-teener, that the word "show" is not really applicable to a radio. . . show. I'm trying to think of another word. All my ideas so far are either too formal, affected, or ridiculous. The best alternative is "program," but that's only slightly better than "show." I might have to take another train trip to work this out.
My program, or whatever it is, originated from home today. Afterwards, I am happy to discover when I get to the NPAS rehearsal that our leader made the common goof of sending an email message, intended for the whole chorus, to herself only. This means that the music I could have been practicing with was not in fact available. So I'm not the only one who hasn't locked his brain onto the material. The two weeks of rehearsals I missed while I was on the train still have me lagging. The music is great: Stephen Sondheim all the way. Performances will be on Friday, October 16 at 7:30 p.m. and Sunday, October 18 at 3 p.m., both at the Greater Covington Center. 317 N. Jefferson Avenue. After a year, it will be my first performance with the group. I'll be the guy tucked in the back.
