Blog.
Funny word, blog.
The sound one makes when vomiting with a European accent.
I don't like it. The term needs its own rag.

But this little plot here, this space, I like it just fine. This will be my scribbling spot. Call it a blog if you must, but blog sounds like fog which smacks of a lack of clarity, or hog, which sounds like I won't be allowing you a word in edge-wise. Then again, I won't.

Should I flog with this blog?
Charge like a junk yard dog?
Or use it to calmly dialog?

Seated near my fire log
All set to catalog
Thoughts for a monologue
I inaugurate my brand new blog

(How I would so like to offer those of you reading this, a drink, cigar, or comfortable chair. I need you relaxed, in a frame of mind akin to reverie. By God, if you have something to sip, or smoke, grab it now).

.......Have you ever been beaten up? I've never really been beaten up by anybody, never seriously beaten up. And I'm glad I don't have that memory floating around in my noggin. I'm afraid I'd refer back to it too often, and It'd mess with some otherwise perfectly fine afternoons.

They say getting beat up doesn't hurt that much at the time, is that accurate? You never hear a boxer yell "ouch."

.......Hey, the New York Knicks are actually the Knickerbockers right? Does that mean the Twins are in fact the Twin Citians? That sounds less like a team of athletes and more like a civic group working on municipal infrastructure issues. Had they not been called the Twins what would have been a better name? How about the "Showy Lady Slippers," that's our state flower.

.........What would Talk Radio be like if people in the United States really kind of liked one and other. What would Talk Radio sound like? Would it be impossible to listen to, or pleasantly soothing? I don't know.

.........Have you ever wished everyone could just die at the very same time. And that a whole new crew could then be brought in to replace us here on earth. All of us, as a team, would be allowed to move on together to the next gig, in unison. It'd be something we'd all have in common, and we could converse periodically about getting ready for the big change. It would be the end of missing people.

..........This I believe: Life gets progressively better as you grow older, until the point where physical deterioration out-paces mental stimulation. That's the ratio to keep an eye on. I have a gauge in my office monitoring all this. It's my own personal doomsday clock.

...........And lastly, folks: This may sound odd but, sometimes I look out the window in the late afternoon, and the sun cuts in a certain way where, just for a moment, just for a brief moment, it seems we're all living in heaven right now. All of us. That we're already there. The feeling is overwhelming. I haven't even had a beer at this point... But boy, I sure have one afterwards?

The End.

(Well, that's all this space is going to be be used for. Sorry. Other writers will have to do the heavy lifting. I think George Will could do better. But bow ties bring more profound insights. Me, I'm a reckless ruminations kind of guy. Regardless, I don't know how this will be any different from my radio show. In a way it's worse. With radio I never worried about misspellings.

By the way, so you know just how this came about, the boss thought it would be a good idea for KSTP Talk Hosts to have their own blogs. It's a 21st century kind of thing. We need to keep up with the Andersons. To say no would have meant a long, lonely trip down to Mr Hubbards office. We were strongly encouraged to at least take a stab at this.

A stab this was. More will follow. Just like in that Psycho shower scene.

See ya).

Posted by TD Mischke at 10:32 PM
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