Miss me?

Ok. My computer is still in the shop, but I couldn't stand it anymore - I had to write.

I woke up this morning to the sound of fire truck sirens and horns blasting as they passed my house, so you know I had to go.

It was a garage fire, complete with explosions. Cool.

My boss called me 'cause he'd heard about it on the scanner, but I was already on my way - after waiting 20 minutes for my car to get back from having it's oil changed, but that's a whole 'nother story.

Anyway, I finally made it. The fire was almost out already, so I got the pertinent information and called the station, fully expecting to give the story to Bossman and be on my way.

But, no. Bossman was gone and Allen was full into the 10 am news. I was going to have to go on live over the phone. Holy guacamole. He told me I had 70 seconds before I was on the air.

Ok. 70 seconds is a long time when you're trembling on the phone with nothing but some scribbled notes and a hangover. I thought Allen would do some kind of huge lead-in, so when he said, "Ok Cas, what's the story?" I just said, "Huh? What?" He patiently prompted me with a mention of the fire and I ran with it.

I have no idea what I said. Probably something like, "Yes Allen. I'm at a fire. It is burning. There is smoke."

I guess all first times are the same. Nerves, fear, anticipation, and then it's over in 30 seconds.

Computers suck

My computer bit the dust - AGAIN. So, while it's recuperating I'll have to post from other computers - as time and generosity from willing donors permits.

One quick thought:

It is ironic that in both print and broadcast media, the writers and the announcers are considered to be the least important spokes in the wheel.

You should know that.

Zoom, zoom, zoom

How is it that you can look forward to something for a really long time, and then it's over in the blink of an eye?

It's like watching scenery on the road up ahead. You can see it coming for a while, but when you finally get close enough to get a good look it goes by too quickly.

And then you realize how fast you're really going.

When words give you away

This evening I committed one of the most annoying types of rationalization known to exist in the English language: the Denial Preface.

In its purest form, the Denial Preface is a dastardly device used most often by women when they are about to say something they shouldn't say, gossip, confide a secret they swore never to tell, or are trying to justify themselves:

"Not to hurt your feelings, but those pants make your ass look as big as the side of a barn."

"It's really not my place to say, but can you believe she slept with all those guys? Oh, you didn't know?"

"I don't mean to judge, but people like that should not be allowed to have children."

Men have been known to fall back on the Denial Preface when trying to communicate unpleasant truths to women without offending them: "Baby, I'm not saying you're not a good cook. It just might be nice one night to eat something that doesn't come out of a box."

Personally, I resorted to the Blanket Denial Preface: "I'm not meddling. Really, I promise I'm not."

But I was totally meddling. I butted into something that was none of my business.

In an attempt to make it right, though, I did call and admit my wrongdoing.

Not to pat myself on the back, but that was so cool of me.