5.10.00 - 20:34:40
So our little Dorkathon comes to an end and what did we learn? That we all have a little dork-child lurking within, and he or she needn't be ashamed anymore. Lisa provides a humbling yet hysterical tale of Sartre and Star Trek, while my dear Marquis sheds light on his own tragic youth. They are both shining examples of the human spirit and the will to not only survive, but to triumph.
Let us embrace our hidden dork-children. Wipe dry their tears and let them know they are okay. They are all okay.
Now. . . back to your regularly scheduled Pinch.
I've been delightfully surprised at the reaction to my enterprise-wide voice mail alerts regarding our recent bout with the Love Bug. I've earned a nickname and it has nothing to do with my raggedy clothes, my dirty hair, or the way I inadvertently signed a sticky note, "Love, Gracie" and left it for a director (it was around Christmas and I had spent the previous evening writing and signing about 40 cards).
I know, I know, that was the LAST dorky reference. I promise. Well, the last intentional reference anyway.
Twice today, I was referred to as "The Voice", and my dulcet tones have been requested for further announcements. Not since a seasoned veteran of the airways once said that I had the voice of an angel have I been so glad I have one small talent. I actually have two or three talents, but only this one is suitable subject matter for an on-line diary.
The whole ordeal has prompted me to return to CRIS. (Chicagoland Radio Information Service). In the past, I spent time volunteering there, reading newspapers and magazines on the air for the visually impaired and illiterate. I've been gone for nearly a year and I missed it.
Oh my. I'd write more but Hula has just returned and I must pay immediate attention to him. You're actually lucky. Really. Listening to me toot my own horn can be an unpleasant experience.
Good night little dork-child.
