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Thursday, April 07, 2005

It's in the Stars

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Okay, one of my identifying features is that I tend to zig right about when most everybody figures I'm going to zag. Quite often, I will have told everyone about my intention to zag right up until the moment when I zig. You see, it's not that I'm intentionally dishonest or misleading. It's just that while my brain has said all along that zagging was the smart thing to do, my instincts weren't quite as certain, and so I stalled. Few, if any, preparations for zagging were made, and things just dragged on for weeks on end.

And then some new piece of information comes along, and I say, "Aha!" and zig. It happens almost every time.

Which brings me to the radio show. The other day, I read this article in the New York Times. And trying to get on satellite radio, an idea that has floated in the back of mind for some time, started to seem like a good idea. So, I've started pondering it. I have to revise my business plan, put together a presentation package, and find out who I can send it to. I'm still keeping the business plan I reworked for NPR, just in case, but I think I'll try to squeeze a few dollars out of the good folks at XM first.

If Howard Stern can do it.......

2 comments:

Robert G. Margolis said...

It's from smoking too many of those funny ziggerats that, at the proverbial (but far from actual) last moment (there's never really been one, yet), you want to reach for the stars. Which perhaps could be the subject of a song you write words for: "When You Zig Upon A Star". After all, has it ever made a difference how Zag you are?

Len said...

"Funny ziggerats"? That must've been when I was involved with that pyramid scheme. I remember well when the Kafkaesque official approached me in the train compartment. "May I zee your ZigZag papers, pleaze?" he murmured. We were just crossing the ZeiderZee. Unfortunately, I only had my JoB papers with me. I ran. He chased. We climbed the 72 steps to the pinnacle of the pyramid, the place where the eye resides. Unfortunately, the eye had been put out. I had nowhere to go. The Kafkaesque official approached me, and I came to realize that he was, in fact, one of the Masons. It was either James, Pamela, or Jackie, although to this day I am not completely sure which. Before he could reach me, I pointed out to him that we were standing on the still point at the chewy center. He looked out a window to confirm this statement and was defenestrated. I returned to my compartment as the train zigged and zagged its way across the ZeiderZee.