I had other stuff to do on Friday, but something snapped.
For a long time I identified myself as a “journalist, wordsmith and podcaster,” but somewhere over the past five years I stopped saying that last word.
After all, the last segment of Uncle Warren’s 78 revolutions per minute was sent into the ether more than five years ago now. How dare I call myself a podcaster?
OK, if you sniff around the interwebs, you can still find The Imaginary Bomb, Wildflower Man, 80 episodes of Uncle Warren’s Attic, 150 episodes of Ikthuscast, and 13 episodes of 78 rpm. Ancient history now.
I bought a new microphone about three years ago, picked up the reel-to-reel machine and the mixing board at estate auctions this year. It’s all been sitting around my room, gathering dust.
I had other stuff to do on Friday, but something snapped.
I (gently) swept what was on this shelf and stacked it on the floor until I can figure out where to store it. The electronic toys are in place, half of it connected and waiting. I have the wiring to finish connecting the other half.
And then … ?
I have some ideas. Some of those ideas are two, three, four years old. Inertia is a terrible plague on humanity.
Watch this space. In my mind, it won’t be a long wait. Of course, in my mind, I finished the 13th episode of 78 Revolutions a couple days ago.
On the other hand, you don’t hook up electronic toys for the purpose of looking at them, all shiny.
Hand me that microphone, will ya?