It's late and I'm tired. I promised a daily blog for a week and that wasn't a promise....that was a threat!

That made me remember where I heard that saying mixed up like that. Instead of .."that's not a threat...that's a promise"...The reverse. I heard a lesbian girl's gym teacher yell that at a student. Do lesbian and Girl's gym teacher sorta go together like a horse and carriage? Hamburger and frenchfries? Peanut Butter & Jam? Julia & Childe?

Indeed it IS late and I'm either tired or high. Actually, I have to quit the crack. That sound's dirty. Speaking of crack, when I worked at K101 we made a lot of cracks that made fun of people's physical unfortunates. Like..She's so fat....! Or...my wife is so frigid?...At 104 in Modesto we had a joke morning and I can't remember ONE joke ever actually getting broadcast without a bleep or six. We might have labored under the rules of a little bit of political correctness, but it was obvious our audience didn't. The public affairs director at K101 hated what she called ethnic jokes but that included fat jokes and I'm not sure if fat is an ethnicity. If it is I want to march in that parade. Actually, it would be a horrible parade cause everyone in it would be out of breath and near collapse. And sweating. San Francisco had lots of parades and they all weren't very good. Of course there is the Gay Parade. Terry Gangstad was my production director (a regular genius) in Tacoma and in Modesto. He and his wife accompanied me to a SF Pride Parade and it was pretty heady stuff for a boy from Boise. Especially because there was a chubby guy standing next to us who was shaking his ring of keys at good looking paraders. Andway, like the Fat Parade, the Gay Parade isn't really any good cuz nobody marches..they just swish. And the Chinese parade isn't any good because everyone in it just pushes and shoves to get to the head of the line. The Irish parade isn't any good because of al the vomit covering the parade route and the Polish parade isn't any good because they always forget the route. The German parade isn't any good because if you don't watch it they knock on your door and drag you out and FORCE you to watch it. The Japanese parade isn't any good because they just sort of sneak down the street hiding behind bushes and magazine racks. I could go on and on....There is the parade where everyone runs down the street carrying a TV and the parade where no one is in it cuz they all call in sick...and on and on and on. This kind of humor is so much fun. I laugh like a fool at politically incorrect crap. It is another one of those secret pleasures like mixing Green Giant Niblet Corn with gravy and mashed potatoes. The truth is... without political incorrectness I would not have had a career.

Rob (Dumb Swede)

The thunderclouds took over the sky this morning at about 7am and the rain came down moments later. At eleven, when I drove to my brother's home, it was still raining. I sat in his yard with a golf umbrella, pelted by rain and immersed in the latest Harry Potter. Yes, my friend, Moon, I have read them all and seen all the movies. When the 3rd book in the series came out I was as scornful as many. I commented to someone..."I don't do children's books." How wrong I was. In one night I took my god-daughter and her two friends to see NSYNC and started reading the first book. Over the next week I read all three and you know the rest of the story. For me, they are a little secret pleasure like canned corned beef sandwiches, Dots, and canned asparagus.

When I think of rain, though, I can't help but think of my 3 plus years in Tacoma/Seattle. When people asked how I could tolerate that rain, I remarked that at least I didn't have to shovel it. Harold Greenberg, the much referenced early GM at KDWB (when I was hired) was running the AM/FM combo in Seattle/Tacoma. The FM pumped out money riding the 'beautiful music' madness. The AM remembered the glory days and with finger nails vainly holding to the edge of the precipice tried not to drop off the map. I have much of My Story to tell about that time in Washington State, but that is yet to come in My Story. I hope we all last. What brings KTAC and Harold to mind is a comment he made on the day I flew in from San Francisco to case the joint. It was raining. In spite of the April shower that was supposed to bring the flowers that bloom in May...doo di doo doo dah di doo di doo doo....I'm SINGGGGGGGING in the RAAAAIN..just SINGGGGGGin' in the rain...what a.........where was I?

A couple of weeks later the movers picked up my stuff, I climbed into Ken Copper's old classic (another way of say..heap) and hopped on on Interstate 5; the car packed to the rafters (it was THAT old) and my dear cat Harve Tooky and my wonderful dog, Bozo crammed on top of it all. At 3am the next morning, in a rainstorm we arrived in Tacoma. Ken, my morning partner from K101 was putting his career at risk by coming along to do mornings in the Northwest. KTAC got a lot better than it deserved. The next day it was still raining. The next day it was still raining. I could keep typing that sentence or maybe I'll just copy and paste. The next day it was still raining. The next day it was still raining. ....etc etc. (I stole the last part from Yul Brynner) I kept hearing rumors of this big former volcano that WASN'T named after Grace Kelly's husband but WAS a dorment volcano that hovered over both Tacoma and Seattle. I didn't see it because..well...er...um..well, it was raining. The next day it was still raining.....

To prevent this from become a shaggy dog joke (THAT reminded me of my wonderful dog Bozo..little did I know I would bury him in a forest in that wet and gloomy place)...anyway....It rained and/or was solidly cloudy for 68 days. I began to suspect that there was no volcano. It was all a big lie told by the Pullayup Indians. But driving along Puget Sound on the 69th day in Tacoma...I just about crapped my pants!

Sometimes my writing has the magical quality of Truman Capote, don't you think? Yes! There was this HUGE mountain. It really DID hover over the city. It wasn't a lie. (Now days the Pullayup Indians are telling people their slot machines are loose...yah, right!)

It wasn't all work and no play. While in San Francisco, I used the magic of video-tape to record Judge Wapner every day and I would relax and unwind watching him brow-beat the litigants while I ate my dinner. I used to wish that Rusty would draw his gun and shoot Doug Lwellyn between the eyes..but it didn't happen. In Tacoma, I came home every night to my recording of PTL. Jim Baker and Tammy Faye and their daily trials and tribulations to build a Christian Theme Park, Kevin's House, and all the other stuff was better than any soap opera. I don't know what George Bush saw when he looked into Vladamir Putin's eyes...or was that his soul? Come to think of it..looking into Vlad's eyes sounds kinda gay. He may be a lot of things, but I don't think GB is gay. Al Gore is. Anyway, I looked into Jim and Tammy's eyes and I don't think Jim and Tammy were out-and-out scam artists. All that money just was too much for them and temptation even came to our Lord. I was sorry to hear Tammy Faye died. I am pretty sure she's in heavan now. It may be theologically unsound but on the other side of that great big mountain I like to think my Mom & Dad are there too. And my Gram. And Bozo and Harve. And Tammy Faye.

Rob

Okay. I promised I would write every day for a week and like a North Korean nuclear treaty, before the ink was dry I was violating the terms. I didn't write on Friday. The world ceased to spin. Actually, I planned to write and just as I sat down at the computer, a huge tsunami came crashing into shore from Lake Superior and I lost my internet for 45 minutes.

This brings to mind other blatant lies I have told in the past. Most of the time, the most obvious lies were to 'save' myself embarassment or prevent some unknown perceived bad consequence from happening. A few times I have lied just for the sheer fun of it.

Since I am temporarily unable to post to My Story, I'll jump ahead to one of the most egregious lies of my broadcasting career. It is a lie I revelled in. Ah (as I often write on the other pages), I am getting ahead of my story.

Soon, you will hear the story of my summer of discontent...the 5 months I spent working as General Manager of WEBC in Duluth. When I die I shall go directly to heaven, completely passing the 300 or 400 thousand years I owe for various venial sins in my long life. I have already suffered purgatory working for those people at WEBC. In 1978, Memorial Day approached and having worked for this company for almost half of what was to be my total punishment, the powers-that-be decreed a 'company' meeting of mangers (General & Sales) to be held in Fargo. The meetings were scheduled for Thursday & Friday and at the close of the week's business we would all proceed to our leaders' summer homes in the Detroit Lakes area. That Friday night we all ate at a restaurant in the area and everything was fine. I didn't sleep well in the country and was awake and sitting on the patio as the sun rose on a rather cool and unpleasant Saturday morning. Are there ever really ANY nice days in Minnesota in late May. For god's sake, summer is at least a month and a half away. Anyway..on slate for the day was fishing. Fishing!!!!!! I am proud to say, I have never caught a fish in my life. I have also not eaten one. I eschew creatures who live in their own toilet. But fishing had been decreed and fishing it was to be. We were on the lake, lines in the water within an hour. And another hour. And another. Oh My God In Heaven! What did I do to deserve this torture. Tedious minute upon tedious minute. Why didn't I bring a book? A Ouiji board? Razor blades? A Harikari knife! Cyanide!

Am I emoting? Maybe it wasn't as bad as I am carrying on, but I hated it and after all...it is...ALL ABOUT ME. After being on the water for 6 months, we broke for lunch. The fish patiently waited for us to finish and my parole was revoked in the early afternoon and back on the water we went. The saving grace that afternoon was trolling. Rather than sitting static they wanted to troll so I volunteered to drive the ship. As a deversion, that lasted about an hour before I started feeling like Fletcher Christian looking for a Tahitian. In my flights of fantasy I was at the helm of the Titanic...the only difference....I was LOOKING for an ice berg. Ignoring the Albatros sitting on the bow of our bass boat (A portent of my future at WEBC?) we finally reached the New World at about five. That night after infecting the natives with small pox, at dinner and later in bed, my mood was bleak. Fishing was again on tap for Sunday AND Monday morning to be followed by a BBQ Memorial Day Afternoon, my sentence to end later that day. I had to come up with a plan! Think! Think! AHA! I have got it!!!! In these dire circumstances no piddling little lie would work. (My grandma's funeral.er..um..."But Rob, they're holding the funeral on Memorial Day?" er..um...er...she's a Seventh Day Adventist....er..um..no...a Moslem...in the ground in hours or ..no virgins for you!!)

The next morning my acting was superb. Patty Duke would have been fucking awed! I sniffled. I sneezed. I coughed. I had a plugged nose. I gasped. After about 30 minutes of performance, FINALLY...someone asked me what was the matter. What? What?!!! I'll tell you what...All this country/lake/fish crap has aggravated my SEVERE allergies to ..er..um....ah...COUNTRY/LAKE/FISH CRAP. If I don't do something I may have a complete bodily shut-down. Why, I just read (In the Enquirerer) that a woman in Great Britain died of her COUNTRY/LAKE/FISH CRAP allergy (as well as a flesh eating bacterial disease) and the doctors could do nothing.

It was soon decided that the best thing was to get away from all this country, lake, and fish crap and head home. So, before noon on Sunday, with 50% of my sentence yet to be served, I left and with my perfidy (actually, it was a Chrysler), I headed home. I remember so well driving across northern Minnesota, the windows open, the wind blowing through my hair and routinely cleaning out the empty fast-food bag garbage on the back floor. I was exhilirated as never before. Somewhere along the way, a black bear ambled across the road in front of me. As it scooted into the woods, I passed by struck by the realization that I, like that wonderful creature, was FREE! The country/lake/fish crap didn't bother me OR the bear! We were one. Simpatico. In sync! Larger Than Life! (Oh wait. That's the Back Street Boys. I ALWAYS mix up my boy bands)

I do not regret that lie and have not confessed it. Even God, understands that one

Until tomorrow, my friends...

"...All you people can't you see, can't you see..."

Stuck with the Back Street Boys, I remain,

Rob

I AM SORRY!
I don't have any real excuse for my lack of content on this blog. There is a little teeny weeny excuse for the lack of new contact on the My Story section. You want my alibis?

My best friend and webmaster has moved from California to Chicago. This is causing a slight delay in posting the Story Updates. That's the story and I'm sticking to it. No reason why we couldn't have been more diligent a month ago except the fact that I am a poor example of a human being.

This blog just slips my mind. It isn't that I'm not around the computer since on some days I spend hours here. I have a list of 'gonna-write-them-back-tomorrows' and the list keeps getting bigger.

Here is my promise. I shall write, meaningful blogs, (not just apologies and mindless daily meanderings) AND not miss one day for a week. I shall also catch up on my email, answering what needs to be answered, and initiating contact with those friends I have lately ignored.

Hope you are all swell. Did I tell you I liked Harry Potter? Did I mention that the Park Point Beaches in Duluth on a warm sunny day are as good as any beach in the world? Did I tell you that injuries to one's shoulder rotator can hurt like hell?

Rob

I woke this morning to a veritable tsunami of responses to my latest movie and restaurant reviews. It still amazes me there are so many girly-men readers who prefer to make their comments via email. Come on! Sign up! Let the world in on the way your mind works!

Today I plan to watch a LOT of television. I finally broke down and bought a surround-sound system to go with my HDTV and by patiently following the install directions, having an emotional break-down, consulting (and verbally abusing) my friend, Mike, got it totally installed by midnight. It sounds spectacular. If you already have one, what else is new? To test out the total package I watched the last hour of October Sky...a feel-good Jake Gylenhall (sic) movie from a few years ago. I cried like a baby. I know BLSett would rather go surfing on an ocean of King Kong Bundy's leotard chowder than watch that movie, but along with Field Of Dreams and Hearts & Souls, I am guaranteed copious tears before they end.

So, back to the email. Someone wrote me complaining because I have written in My Story so seldomly, lately, and seem to be directing all my efforts to this blog. Referencing the exchanges about Teabags and Tossed Salad she wrote that my blog is 'pretty sophomoric'. That sorta sums up my life. I can handle any sort of Donkey Punch that comes my way. Remember, I was told by a 'consultant' in San Francisco that my show was inane. Later, my morning show was called ...puerile. Some asshole in Buffalo turned me down for a job because he said I had a speech impediment. Thath ridulouth! Actually, he said I stuttered.

So, this is my blog and knowing that I am inane, sophomoric, and p-p-p-puerile doesn't faze me because I am tough. Hey....I punched a nun!

Rob

Are you working on the fourth? Radio is a cruel master when it comes to week-ends and holidays. How many Christmas Eves and Christmas days I spent at some radio station would be too depressing to contemplate. When, eventually, I had control of the scheduling pen, I remembered those ruined holidays and did my best to accomodate people. But, it was a futile gesture because if the full-time staff didn't work, the part-time staff did. Anyway, in memory of all of those who toiled on the 4th and all those who WILL toil this year on the 4th, tomorrow, I shall do absolutely nothing.

"War...what is it good for?" Remember that song? Good song...stupid words.

Since last I blogged I haven't done much. Saw one of the worst movies I have ever seen. Ocean's 13. They should be ashamed. George Clooney owes me $5.50. To show the degree I am living la dolce vita...I also went to see Nancy Drew. Now! THAT was a good movie!

When I lived in California, I was minutes away from some of the reputedly greatest Mexican restaurants in the country. I went to dozens of different ones and never found that really great one. In Modesto, I went with a bunch of theater cronies for lunch and that Mexican restaurant was really very good...until toward the end of the meal when a rather bold la cucharacha decided to get from point A to point B by scooting across my plate of enchiladas. I understand that those little creatures are almost impossible to totally emliminate out west..BUT...I am sure he wasn't wearing little roach boots so I assume he barefooted it through my food. I suppose I could have just eaten the remaining food on each side of his (assuming it was a male) path, but suddenly my appetite went the way of Tara, Twelve Oaks, and that special Antebellum way of life.* My search for a really good Mexican restaurant that will satisfy me as well as my good friend of Mexican heritage, Sal. He laughs with ill-concealed legal-immigrant scorn at my suggestions. If I can persuade him to Minnesota for the state fair, we may have to make the trek to Burnsville. (That includes crossing the Minnesota River and Sal will be right at home) On Highway 13 is the Mexican restaurant, El Oro.

Wow!

My nephew recommended it And persuaded me to order the Quesadilla Fajita. I was whacked! It was damn good. Throwing caution to the wind (and because I foolishly used some hot sauce that exceeded even my iron-cast pallate) I washed it down with a fine Bohemia beer. (A Mexican beer that a couple of years in a row won Best Beer In The World) Because I am now such a pussy, that beer got me a little drunk and I had to recline in the backseat of the car rather than spend oodles of money at TJ Max. One beer! Oh my! Anyway...on my restaurant eating scale of 1-10, I give lunch at El Oro an easy and well deserved 8. They may be happy but perhaps not since I usually give Taco Bell a solid 7.5!

Hope your holidays are great and your summer is swell...

Rob

* an obscure reference to the movie, Gone With The Wind.