This Week's Joke

What do you call a Frenchman who lives off other people? A Parisite!

This joke was submitted by Stephen Bales from St. Ives, Cornwall, England. Thanks!

A Note from the Host

America the Beautiful Tour routeThe buses are in the parking lot, the mixing boards and monitors are loaded into the luggage bays, and in a few hours sixteen of us will climb aboard for the America The Beautiful tour — thirty cities — Bayfield, Wisconsin, to Palmer, Alaska. The band and Fred Newman and Sarah Jarosz and I in one bus, the tech crew and staff in the other, eight in each bus to divvy up twelve bunks, four stacks of three each. The TV room and kitchenette is up front, behind the driver, the bunkhouse amidships, and the Quiet Zone and Cloakroom in the stern. Read more

Full Circle

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I listened from the middle of the living room floor, sprawled out like a fallen oak on a mossy knoll, resting a while in the midst of this week of packing up for college the two remaining kids — a task filled with all kinds of emotion. The ol’ push and pull. Excitement, and some degree of a feeling hard to put to words. Not sadness. Not loneliness. They call it “empty nest” but I’m not a big fan of that one. This is what is supposed to happen. It’s a beautiful thing, change is. It makes the air crisp, and the landscape clearer. Read more

Back to Work

If you were wondering what was it going to take and how long would I avoid actual work — and you can’t even call this work can you when I’m sitting indoors with a window air conditioner and a fan pushing in cool comfort while the truck is sitting in the yard silently asking to be moved just a few feet so that myself can go out and mow under where it’s been sitting since the Fourth of July — well I’ve been thinking the same thing only in my case it’s not simple wondering but is driven by a fearsome guilt trying to overcome natural-born sloth and a profound compulsion to inactivity plus a goofy resistance to the gift of old age. And it’s no help at all when the guilt itself, fearsome as it may be, is also chronically lazy. Lazy old guilt. I was raised by a family collie who slept a lot. It’s not my fault, this guilt. But of course it is. The guilt cannot be separated out and be made to blame for even more guilt.

Anyway, nice to talk to you again. Now I need to go out into the dreadful heat and move that big truck. Mow grass. Come back in, sit down, get to work. Read more