[chris] The first day of the rest of my life..

So I got an email today from the prtq staff informing me that I've been given blog space as well as a nook in the forum. As as slacker, I'm fairly daunted by the audio challenges to come, but being conscripted as a blogger and a forum moderator has got me positively wigged. And, okay, a little bit revved. Since I've got two places to ramble on, I figure it's sensible to have some topical division, so the strategy I've arrived at is to use the blog to post about the mundane absurdities of my life, and to use the forum as a place to discuss artistic, quest-related topics. (This explanatory intro is cross-posted, but will be the last such dual entry).

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Like every round one entrant I was aware that June 4th was the magic date, and so I was knew I wouldn't get much sleep that afternoon. Graveyard shift workers rarely get a decent restorative sleep, but with such a big announcement looming I knew I'd wake up every few hours to check the website for an update. So I went to sleep at 8 am or so, woke at 10, refreshed prtq.com, fell asleep, woke, refreshed, etc. etc. until I just couldn't do it anymore. I was just too damned exhausted. Sometime that afternoon I had vivid nightmare in which I'd won (or lost?) the talent quest and was beaten to a pulp by some high-school thugs as I approached the magnificent podium for my acceptance (concession?)speech. In the midst of this beating, a telephone rang and a speaker-phoned room full radio peeps gave me whooping hurrah, talked about my pets and politely demanded that I not say a word about the phone call. I was still reeling from the trauma of the pummeling, was hours away from a sanity-inducing cup of coffee, and so have absolutely no idea what the hell I said to them. I'm sure they now all think I'm a grumbling moron who can barely complete a sentence. ("Why, exactly, did we pick this guy?") Naturally, I fell back to sleep.

When I awoke some hours later I was unsure if the call was for real or the stuff of dreams. Checked my email...nothing. Had I gone mad? But it felt so real! As I poured a cup of caffeinated sludge, I reviewed the "facts". Some public radio guy called me, told me I'd won, and then told me I couldn't talk about it, under penalty of disqualification. How absurd! Of course I was dreaming! I mean, what if I'd not been alone and someone had overheard the conversation? Would they demand I ball-gag and handcuff him/her to the bedpost until further notice? "Sorry, sweets, but this is just how we public-radio-host-wanna-bes roll".

After several hours of head-scratching, Jake Shapiro emailed, and then briefly a calm mill-pond serenity descended upon me. Ahhh! Oooh! Five hundred smackers! I can pay that evil dentist! I can buy a new pair of socks! I went to work at the motel that night, shepherded a few drunks to their rooms, did the night audit and thought about Round Two. Gulp! They're gonna ask for a show proposal, I'm sure, and I've a zillion ideas ...but they're all crap. I mean crap, real crap. And how am I gonna have the time to do this? My car just died, I've a month to prep, paint and rewire my house in order to put it on the market next month, I'm functionally broke, I've got a time-gobbling full time job, I'm moving to Argentina in August, I took on a huge carpentry day job, and I've got to play a rock show in two weeks in as part of an absurdist, never-practiced band (The Gomer Pilots). And now I'm a blogger. Obsessive blogging will surely pose a serious threat to the precious hours of disco-naps that I like to pretend are a good night's sleep. Something's gotta give. I think my two month's quitting notice at the motel is gonna turn into two weeks.

Anyway, luckily, the next day was the beginning of my "weekend", and so I allowed my self a nice, full snooze. Upon waking I met with my friend, Andrew, who for reasons I've forgotten, agreed to help me scrape old paint off the house. He's nice fella, but is more into the incendiary AM radio nut-job hosts than he is public radio. He told me that he listened to my entry and it was every bit the horrible mamby-pamby, wiffle-ball voiced nonsense he thought it would be. Nice. I need honest critical voices, and he'll be great in that department.

After a shower and some fava beans, I took the scooter to a coffee shop and sat down to write. Two hefeweizens later I've settled into a decent groove. Lotsa college hipsters here bobbing heads to the Stooges, all communing with their laptops, a cool breeze in the air out on the patio here. As "No Fun" plays and Iggy shrieks "..maybe call mom on the telephone", I'm reminded of my sweet mum, and realize that I've quested enough for today and it's time I popped off an email to her asking about her flowerbeds. I'm sure they're doing marvelously.

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