Still Here. Still Tawkin’ Like We Do in Fenway Pahk

I once called on an editor who’d been using my column for years but in the face of declining ad revenues and high production costs it seems he was looking to cut me. He suggested I write very specifically about doings in his town alone instead of trying to talk to the world at large the way I always do. “But what about the nice people in Michigan?” I remember asking him. “What about the ones in the pretty towns surrounding Rochester a couple of hours past Syracuse and a bit to the South? How can I abandon them?”

He just looked at me unsmiling and that’s when it hit me: he was trying to get me to fall on my sword. “Listen,” I blurted finally, “if you want to get rid of me you’re going to have to fire me because I’m never going to quit!”

And I didn’t quit and he didn’t fire me and now his paper is part of a sizeable chain of papers many of whom use me each week. Including his. Including the papers of those nice people in Oklahoma and California and that chunky old workboot of a state that has New Orleans in it. AND a lot of them run my blog every day too which really keeps me on my toes

I mention all this today obviously I didn’t stop writing in spite of Sunday’s confession of inner bleakness . How could I, when that reader named Brian with his own great blog so exactly hit it on the head when he said we all write for ourselves first? How could I after reading Art’s advice to “stay home, the home where your comfort arises. Home at the park where children play while their mothers gossip about the latest. Home at the corner restaurant where strangers gather as friends. Home at the mall where a hundred people pass hurrying in a hundred directions with who-knows-what on their minds.” Or Morgan’s, to read in a hammock. Or Joan’s, to go take pictures.

Sigh. People are sure are nice. I never waitressed so that’s easy for me to say.

This seems a little boring so let’s move on to more video, one I just now made in fact. It’s just me having a little more fun with the old Boston accent, using a few dumb-blonde jokes this time. (No offense girls! I was one of you from 2005 – 2008, It was the result of a misunderstanding between myself and my hair stylist.)

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