I like to read the daily paper so my columns will be current. I don’t use one of those fancy electronic aps that show up in tiny print on a phone. Nope, not me. I prefer a real newspaper made out of real paper. Not only do I have the joy of washing that black ink off my fingers when finished, but I can also make a nice bit of noise by shaking and adjusting it, thereby, drowning out anyone who tries to interrupt me.
Sometimes the old ways are best.
Like Bill Cosby eyeing a freshly made bowl of jello, I eagerly grab a seat in our sitting room with “Kids Crunch”, coffee and paper in hand. No milk is involved, I eat it right out of the box. The sitting room is a hexagon shaped room attached to the kitchen. I think its supposed to be a breakfast nook, but the dinning room is right next to it. It seems silly have two eating areas so close so we made it into a sitting area.
Like Martha Stewart on steroids trying to repair a motorcycle, we filled it with wicker furniture, pillows and a glass coffee table. The windows are a couple of feet from the floor and extend to the roof on the three sides that face the back yard. Plenty of light, even on a cloudy day. A nice place for the paper, a cup of joe, and me.
My wife is on the opposite side of the room inhaling oatmeal & blueberries, like Snoop Dog taking his first drag of a joint after being in prison. We’ve been married over twenty years, so uncomfortable silence is no longer uncomfortable. Ten minutes with the only sound of munching, I figure this is a prime time to take a look at the news of the day. I gulp down my last drop of coffee, and pick up the paper.
I read the first headline and half a sentence when my wife speaks up…
“Guess what I have planned today?”
I give the paper a good shake.
“Well first I’m going too…”
I shake again and continue to shake like Ray Charles in rehab trying to wake up someone who just overdosed.
She continued with all the events about to take place, all the things she’s been thinking about, then continues on about all the things she thinks the kids are thinking about…and on and on.
A good diversion from what I had planned, but bad timing. I decided I should start writing my new column and take off like Myle Cyrus signing a contract to be in a new Three Stooges movie. You see, like Stephen Johnson, I too have been under pressure from corporate for not producing any content last week. I figure its no big deal, better to have quality over quantity.
“We don’t pay you to sit around and daydream.” was their reply on my last phone call.
You may be new to this website, but its been around for over 20 years. Three months ago we were purchased by an investment company that thinks they can somehow make this spot on the web profitable. Thus the new look and fancy features.
They talk about getting paid like a rock star with a new hit single that they recorded 5 years ago. But I’ve seen nothing this last 3 months…I signed a contract when I sold the site, but I think I’ll have to schedule a time to talk to them in person. I don’t understand any of the stuff in that contract.
Like all things bad in the world, this is all Stephen’s fault. I remember like it was just 3 months ago…
“Just sell it you fool! You haven’t updated it in 10 years.”
I replied, “I know, but its mine and…”
“They’re going to PAY us for what we did for free for over 10 years…SELL IT!”
I quiped in, “If you would have accepted your win over Hilary back in 2016, you could have used TheWeirdcrap.com as the official Presidential communique. We’d have millions of page views a day. Yup, we wouldn’t be in this mess if you would have just followed a few simple rules…”
Stephen raises his voice, “I told you, we will NEVER speak of this! I won’t tell you again!”
“That’s what you said last time.” I continued. “Sooooo, is THIS the last time you won’t tell me again, or was last time the last time…If that’s the case, you told me again you know…”
“Just shut-up and sell the site.” He exclaimed with the anxiousness of a Congressman with big cartoonish hair about to pay a minor for who knows what.
So I did.
We’re still working for free, only now we are obligated to produce content.
Which is nice.
I like hearing about the ‘ol ladies thoughts, so tomorrow morning I’m just going to pretend to read the paper. Like a cat jumping on a laptop, she’ll proceed with all the events I’m not aware of. Who knows, if I’m lucky maybe there will be sugarcubes!
Coming Next: 1968: Hippies, coke bottles and the long arm of the law…