Tomorrow

If you'd like to hear me struggle with FCC regulations for two hours, I'll be playing crap-ass 1980's records -the big, vinyl kind of records- from 3 -5 pm East US time. You can listen here if it pleases you.
Doing a live FM radio broadcast is a lot of fun. It's a dying art, but I love it.

It requires a lot of focus. I need that right now.

I am too tense to function- almost.

I finally did what I had to do.
I talked to my father and told him if he didn't stop drinking -now, right this second- he was going to die.

Do you understand me? , I asked. This is important, but I'm not saying it again, so it's important that you listen to me.

I'm 39 and I'm talking to my 60 yr -old father as if he is an incorrigible teenager. I'm doing it because someone has to tell him. It won't do any good , but maybe it'll ease the inevitable crushing guilt I'm going to feel when he dies.

I promised my grandmother I'd talk to him.
So I did.

You will die if you don't stop. It will be the ugliest ,most painful, humiliating death you can imagine and it will last for hours. I know because it almost happened to me.

Do you understand me? Do you understand how serious I am?


He said he did, he was getting help... but I don't believe him.

Part of me wishes he would just go ahead and die so I could clean up his mess and move on.
I hate that part of me.

Part of me wants to think it's not too late for him, that's there is still hope.

I feel like a fool every time I mention hope- or even think about.

I'm embarrassed by my hope- it proves I'm not as smart as I think I am, because any idiot could see that this situation is hopeless.