We all have those odd things that happen to us more often than we might owe to nature or coincidence. Some people find themselves on their fourth marriage to a fourth guy named Mario*; it happens. For me, that thing is the ceilings. In my apartments. That seem to have a difficult time staying above my head.
When you listen today, I will disclaim now, you will hear a boxing story. Not to be confused with the Clint Eastwood boxing story, or the other girlie fight boxing story, or the what’s-his-brutish-name-from-New-Zealand-with-the-attitude, not that one either.
In the plot of today’s story, you will find mentioned a real-world conversational device that I can’t help but love, in a guiltily pleasuristic sort of way. I’m not sure what to call it, though I’m sure the modern linguists have had their way with it.
Ow. It hurts to type this right now, and I’m not talking about the endless afflictions of emotional pain. This is not something I’m especially proud of, no way, but to be entirely honest with you, because I like you: a little too much had been drunk last night (and I’m not talking about water), by me.
Yes, I have mighty big arms to give myself such a massive self-congratulatory bearhug, but, you know, I’m entitled, it’s my special day. And so, here are a couple of things I am considering for my next one hundred podcasts:
— podcast in Estonian
— serialise a novel (eh, a short one)
I began scheming for the one hundredth podcast several weeks ago, thinking that I’d gather all the voices that were most important to me, personally and podcastionally, share the wealth and spread the love, and, let’s be honest, go soak on a beach in a land where all the drinks are pink, while all my friends hang out in the trenches of pops and hisses.
Questions That Have Been Asked, at Varying Levels of Frequency, of Miette and Her Podcast:
How did this get started?
8 of Miette’s 2006 Predictions for the New Year:
— I will really really do all those things I meant to do in 2005, including those things in 2005 I was really really going to do after neglecting in 2004.
— Ditto 2003.
— When thinking of these podcasts, I’ll follow at least three of the Dalai Lama’s instructions, and be better off for it. (Though that one about silence; I’m doubting I can do much with that one.)
All week I’ve been in the nether regions, the sticks, the country, the bucolic boonies, the hinterregions of the backwoods, fretting over how much I’d have to read to you upon my return, how many hours I’d have to try my larynx to make it up to you, just how many stories I’d have to penitently tell.
What else is a podcastress to do when a great writer dies? Sheckley wrote hundreds of exceptional stories, hundreds, and though I wouldn’t rate this one his best (I See a Man Sitting in a Chair, and the Chair is Biting His Leg rates high on my list, and very few of life’s experiences top a first glance at Can You Feel Anything When I Do This? (and I’m only just barely exaggerating)).