He sat in my kitchen wearing a tie which cracked me up. White long sleeve shirt, green tie, kaki pants and brown loafers. With a pen in one hand and a steno pad spread before him, he looked like a reporter.
On the other hand I didn’t have a shirt on, wore no underwear and was barefoot.
“Alright,” he began in earnestness, “before we start, you cannot blog about this interview.”
“Seriously” I asked. “The press cares what I blog about”?
He rolled his eyes. “Listen just don’t go blogging about me interviewing you.”
“Whatev” I reply rolling my eyes back at him.
“What’s whatev mean?” he asked. He’s a cracker jack reporter.
“It’s Canadian for whatever,” I explained.
“You speak Canadian?”
“Just the non-French kind.”
“OK, let’s get started,” he said focusing his eyes on me.
“Sure,” I said.
“Just what in the hell are you doing?” was question number on.
“About what?” was answer number one.
Rolling his eyes again with a smirk on his face he continued his probing
interrogation ... “For a living smart ass.”
“Oh. I’m a writer. And a consultant ... And a motivational speaker … I also buy cigarettes for the people who work at the Breakfast Club. On a lot of Sundays they send me out for milk.”
He put his pen down and stared at me.
“This is a story” he asked?
“I told you there is nothing to interview me about.”
“Listen people want to know what you’re doing,” he fired back.
“They do not. You want a screwdriver?”
“No I got to go write this story … yeah.”
“Is this going to be a front page, above the fold story” I asked while I fixed our drinks.
“I have no control over that,” said.
“Well then I’m not doing the interview,” I said handing him his glass.
“You have to. People want to know.”
“They do not.”
So we went back and forth for about half an hour like this. I don’t know why he wore the tie. The last interview that I did was with him though. I was St. Martin and had just resigned from Union Mission. It was front page, above the fold news though I didn’t get around to reading it a couple of weeks, though I was a Tom Barton column and a Mark Streeter cartoon at the same time. Jerry Rainey, the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous hates this kind of stuff. I didn’t care. I was in St. Martin. Keller Deal kept extending my stay.
“This is no story,” he said.
“You telling me?”
“Just don’t blog about it.”
“Ok.”
So I tell you that to tell you this.
I was with my dear friends Terry and Brenda last night. At one point Brenda looked
at me and asked “What are you doing”?
“About what” I replied.
She rolled her eyes looking like a reporter. “Seriously,” she said.
So seriously, I’m gotten my life back after giving it away. It was all mostly wonderful but there are angels and assholes in everything. I’ve had my fill of the later and long for more of the former. And continue to be surprised at who is who.
But I am happy. Content ... Looking forward to the future ... Can’t wait for the girl! Growing flowers … mystified that Johnny O is suddenly more responsible than I am … discovering the things that Shirley leaves when she breaks into my house at night … taking Goddess for walks.
“You look good,” Terry chimed in. “It’s good to see you look good again.”
And I stared at him. Feeling good. Not wearing underwear.
