Ah, Friday. It’s like a regular day, except completely better.
Friday is the foreplay of days. That’s really what it is. Friday is foreplay; Saturday is sex; Sunday is … well, I was going to say “guilt,” but I can tell from here that road is nothing but potholes.
Speaking of Latin, I believe the etymological suffix fri is Latin for “fried.”
Boy, those Latin-speaking Romans of yore really knew how to name a day, didn’t they? “Wednesday” also proves they couldn’t spell worth a [bad word], but that’s cool. They were busy conquering the world. With soldiers who wore skirts. And no matter how menacing your sword and shield look, it’s tough to strike fear in the heart of your enemy when you show up on the battle field wearing a sparkly short skirt, a pair of kicky sandals, and a short cape thrown jauntily over your shoulder. So the Romans had their hands full, for sure.
Then again, we all saw Braveheart. Remember Mel Gibson’s mane of matted dreadlocks, and his blue-painted face? He looked like the Cowardly Lion on drugs. And he still won his valiant fight against those cruelly oppressing forces who sought to make him get a haircut and stop painting his face blue. So one never knows.
Now, of course, Mel looks like a scary next door neighbor you’d make your kids swear to never talk to.
Speaking of talking, later today I’m going to be on the radio. John Hall and Kathy Emmons are having me back on their show to discuss the experience I wrote about in I, a Rabid Anti-Christian, Very Suddenly Convert. Can you believe it? They must not have listened to their show the first time I was on it.
A radio interview is such a bizarre way to communicate. I’m totally comfortable in front of a group, no matter how large. I like speaking in public, very much. I’m relaxed; I know what I’m doing; I dig it. But radio is so weird, because in your head phone conversations are really intimate and personal. So when I’m on the phone talking to the radio people, I keep thinking that I’m just on the phone talking to them—and then, all of a sudden, I remember that eighteen zillion people are listening in on our private little chat. And then for a moment my brain goes schitzoid.
And you can hear it: all of a sudden I just stop talking. Or I do the “um’s” and “er’s.” Or my voice’ll get real high.
It’s like I’m in the shower, washing away, and then look to my left and see a bank of TV cameras with glowing red lights pointed right at me.
But, whatever. John and Kathy are soooo nice. That really helps.
I’m excited! They’ve put me in their prime slot. I’ll be on at 5:10 EST. Which is … um … what … 2:10 our time (PST).
So, be there, or be somewhere else. Or be me, and be both.
Wish me luck!
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