A rollercoaster ride

Whole weeks aren’t as eventful as a single Saturday. I’m in an honest mood, so let’s reflect.

I spent the morning helping Bree move. All in all an enjoyable and social experience-- we chatted about the radio show, laid out a roadmap for the book and planned a Monday meeting to edit 60-second promos and one-hour best-of compellations. These will be sent off to different radio stations where they will be used as filler.

Bree reminds me of Martin. (Scary!) I have wanted to re-connect with Martin but have yet to find the courage to call him. Bree fills Martin’s roll: he acts as my motivator and goal setter. Still, the similarity in personality type is both eerie and logical.

I arrived home at 3pm (in time for my father’s birthday party) and sneaked upstairs to check my mail. In my inbox I found a resignation letter from Bruce, informing me that he was leaving his position as co-host of ‘The Luske-Volsky Show,’ “effective immediately.” I reflexively called his house.

As part of my efforts to re-design the website I had reworked the opening paragraph of the site to exclude his name. This was not a symbolic action. Instead it was an attempt at pithiness. A work in progress—a paragraph I planned to change to include both of our names. The omission lay in a lack of time, not disrespect.

Bruce interpreted my error (for which I apologized, realizing that it did look bad) as a deliberate (although he did state that he thought it may have been an unconscious effort on my part) attempt to discredit his work and diminish his contribution. I assured him that his assumption was erroneous and asked him to return to the program. Upon hearing my reasoning he relented and I’m happy to report that both Bruce and I will still be heard every Monday 7-9pm.

I was taken aback by his abrasiveness and hurt by his interpretation of my actions. But I also realized my mistake. I should have never sacrificed his name to pith—but again; the opening paragraph was a top candidate for change. I hope that Bruce’s feeling of insecurity don’t further cloud his judgment. (I write this with regret for my role in his paranoia.)

The guests arrived at 4 and I took it upon myself to entertain my former dance partner, her friend and boyfriend. They had visited me last year and were collectively delighted at (what some have referred to as) my new-found “bad boy image.” We made appropriate small talk and retired to comfortable societal roles. Marsha (my former dance partner) acted as the ditzy blond (think Chrissy on ‘Three’s Company’), Asia (our friend) and Raymond (her boyfriend) did their best to remind us that they were dating. (I played the role of host and tried my best to discover Kinnelonian excitement, to no avail).

Needless to say after 3-hours, our game became unbearably trite. I was delighted to receive a call from Lisa. The visibility of Asia and Raymond only reminded me of my single-status. Tonight, I thought, could be a good opportunity to‘re-connect’ with a past fling—a chance for “my dry years to see some rain.” (Lyrics from a Martin song… I know, I know…trying to be discreet… should I be?)

Lisa escorted our group to Dunkin’ Donuts and later accompanied me to a small café--coincidentally located directly across the street from Martin’s apartment. We chatted about school, Chomsky, and summer plans (an odd coupling.) It was there that any chance of rain dried up.

She has moved on… with a boyfriend.

OK, so a bit embarrassing and pathetic-- good thing I didn’t add to the awkwardness by suggesting a night cap. Instead I made myself another pathetic resolution—(a my dad’s birthday-party-day resolution)—to pursue J-Z with the same passion that I practice A-J. Now it’s my turn to fill in the gaps.