Role Models

When did you know you were funny? A question comedians are always asked which is like a screw-driver to the temple in attempting to rile a formidable reply. If you know anything about me, know I always change that answer (which got me kicked off TWTCL podcast.)

I just arrived home from an Induction Ceremony at Illinois Media School – a driving force behind my inspiration to launching the NRAJ podcast.

The lineup? It’s not huge but solid. There were many’a youngster in unbuttoned jerseys among ethnics in traditional garb what have you. Men in sweat vests chat with women in denim. The younger generation does not see what I see sitting front row to Ed spill the beans.

Let me start over: The sky is still emptying as I drive passed Dunkin Donuts to see Eddie Volkman. Drizzle trundles over the car roof &, in the very instant of a blue flash, I decide driving by would suffice.

Hearing Eddie is a drug. Why? Their ability to manifest everything from nothing may have been the doing of a higher power. B96 was pulling 33 million before the stock market crash than 21 million after.

Veterans starting in 1988, this tag-team of ear-gasmic verbosity earned a cult following from that time. Their gift of gab to coalesce our mood – turning from amber to mellow – time flying by as they bicker & banter in an avuncular fashion that reminds you of AM radio or Larry David /Bernie Sanders. A nostalgia if you ask people of his cult following is far & few between.

Now a la mode is an ice cream. What’s cosmopolitan is not print. As I learned today the antenna will no longer exist. Instead Wi-Fi will connect you to your favorite morning jockey. I follow Rob n Slim from New Jersey for no other reason than that everything they say resonates with me. When you hear someone saying something on your behalf, as if your mind was a teleprompter, there’s no greater high.

We hear the crack & multitudinous tumble of soaked leaves even in the lane opposite. We wait, as we always do, for traffic to settle;  calm our breathing. Your sanity spin like dradle to the monotony of driving.

I turn, old bag of bones I am, onto my left lane as Eddie & Jobo address themselves, rousing me from my morning slumber, which, as many know, can terminate your vehicle by the dawn chorus. They contribute, you recall, a clamorous amorous quibbling of word-play that have always, all through my literary career, helped me use a broader stoke in painting, & seeing, the bigger picture for what it really was/is.

Traffic? You wonder why, you look over to see one thousand in both lanes 16′ vehicles with only a single driver. Preposterous. This is why I bought a Smart Car at 8′ & am forever grateful for my ascension or uptake in privileges it had. However, this is why America is going insane. We need help. If every car was 8′ it would cut traffic in half. If every vehicle had a passenger it would also cut traffic in half.

I believe happiness is a second language not as a second language. Because of us unsung heroes happiness will be our second language.

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