Tuesday, March 9

A little bit later on that same day that NPR called, or Titles aren't my strong suit

When last we left Erin, she had just received a call to come record an essay for WFDD, her local NPR station. Also, she was trying not to ralph.

Before I'd even made it out of our neighborhood, Nervous Stomach started. This condition is what caused me to skip breakfast on competition days when I danced. It also strikes, strangely, when I'm browsing. I began to think black thoughts:

"What if I sound on the radio the way I sound in real life?" (I.E. like the love child of Minnie Mouse and the gay kid on Glee.)

"I wish I had time to call Spike for advice." (My friend Caroline's dad, who was for years WGN Chicago's morning radio host.)

"Pay ATTENTION. You just got all the way to Silas Creek without once running through your strategy." (Strategy for my route, that is, since I tend to come up with a number of scenarios and equations involving the position of the sun while driving to minimize the risk of directional failure—or maximize it, depending on who you ask.)

"What if somebody important hears the broadcast and Noah gets fired?" (I've had the definition of Classified hammered in to the point that if asked "What color is Noah's uniform?" I prefer to take the fifth.)

"What if somebody hears the broadcast, recognizes me, and begins a statewide campaign of ridicule and condescension?" (Obviously.)

This happy train of contemplation got me as far as the downtown area, and then my phone rang. Kathryn had come down with a stomach bug...could I reschedule until Friday? Ah yes, the sweet elixir of procrastination: equal parts relief and dread.

Will Erin go through with the broadcast, or let Self-defeating Erin triumph once more? Find out on the next Fierce Beagle.

*     *     *

Elsewhere, my thoughts on charitable giving. And an update: Dori has been returned to her family, who found my posting on ComeHomeLassieNC.org. A happy ending indeed. But guess what? This afternoon another lost dog literally walked up to our doorstep. He's sleeping on the back deck right now. Dori must have sent the word out a la Lady and the Tramp that our place is a safe house. Although at the moment it feels more like an asylum for the clinically insane. For realsies.

6 comments:

Lisa Watts said...

Safe house. You crack me up.

I'm giving you one more chance to complete the WFDD saga and then I give up, OK?

stephanie said...

what kind of dog?

Tracy said...

Out of everything you wrote in your post, all I could think about was the fact that you know Spike O'Dell. I grew up in Chicagoland (aka "The Burbs") so I basically came out of the womb listening to WGN. Even now, in the Quad Cities (the birthplace of Spike), I can sometimes get decent reception and listen to that radio station.

-Tracy

Lisa@Pickles and Cheese said...

Happy that Dori the lost dog is back with his owners. (And glad to know about "lassie come home"...first I have heard about it but what a great idea. And now another dog has appeared? Maybe you left some bacon on your deck and that is what attracted him. Are you going to keep him? Good luck with your recording session!

Krista said...

Oh, I just read the update. Brilliant. We are a half way house for lost dogs too. It's rewarding, though.

Bethany AKA Mother of the Munchkins said...

Oh my goodness, Erin!!! You poor thing, don't worry, you'll be awesome! As someone once told me, possibly my mother but I'm not certain cause typically when my mother speaks I'm in la-la land... anyway, she might have said when you're nervous about something just fake you're not... maybe it was in a fortune cookie? I like that saying though, and it works.

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