Here's the situation. Fridays, generally, I goof off. I save all my brainless work to do on Fridays and kinda kill time on the clock. This killing of time is greatly aided by a little battery powered radio I like to listen to.
Now the radio, in and of itself, is a wonder. My firm consists of two former residential houses that sit side by side. Many of the attorneys have offices in what used to be bedrooms and keep files in their built in bureaus and linen closets. My work station is in the basement of one of the buildings. This arrangement is a little awkward. For example, one of the attorneys I do a great deal of work for is in the renovated attic of the other building. In order to see him I have to go up two flights of stairs, cross the yard, and up two more flights in the other building. Special care must be taken if I have documents for him to sign and it happens to be raining.
I'm petitioning my firm to build a tunnel between the basements of both buildings. I think such a thing would be a marvel. So far, they don't seem to be very receptive to innovative thinking.
Anyway, from my vantage point in the basement, I can receive two radio stations. One is a 6,854,135,758,174 megawatt pop station that plays N*SYNC (TM) ad nauseum. Literally the same top forty songs over and over and over and over and over and over. The other, however, is my favorite station, the local NPR.affiliate WHYY.
I'm addicted to NPR. I just love everything about it. I can't imagine life without Nina Totenberg or Carl Castle. And Ira Glass from This American Life is an absolute treasure! My friends say I need an intervention. I say, I don't care. Go ahead. Judge me. Lock me up. I can replace you easily becasue I'll always have my favorite friends from public radio and they never judge.
So the radio is a wonder because of all the myriad stations vying for my attention one of the two I can receive is my favorite. I'm all tingly just thinking about it.
Anyway, today, right in the middle of an insightful discussion on Radio Times about the life cycle of the Siberian Mosquito, the batteries died. The radio runs on special batteries I have to buy from Radio Shack, so it's not like I can rummage around for a couple of mostly dead, but still milkable AAs in my back pack. This is an unmitigated disaster and it has filled me with much rage.
On the up side, I have a date with my boyfriend tonight. And tomorrow I'm having dinner with Willie Nelson. Yeah, THE tax evading, Farm Aid (TM)ing, honky tonkin' Willie Nelson. I'm sure I'll have an entry about it.
Posted at 11:10 a.m.
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