Big and I got together last night to do our recording. We hadn't met up last Monday because of Halloween, and the week before that had just been re-recording things that were ruined from the week before that. We had no episodes of either show in the can anymore (except for that lost episode of TGMG that I frankly will probably never edit now), so we had to start afresh. But on what?
There were a couple of things I wanted to talk about on the air: the depression that comes for me every year around this time, how I listened to all of an audiobook I hated because the reader was so good, about going to a dance club on Saturday night and the girl who shrieked at me for spilling her drink and then said "That's hot" when I cleaned it up, the two dystopian future books I'm reading that make me really afraid of tomorrow, the concert Big and I went to together, the fact that I refuse to submit my stories anywhere even though I realize it's totally damning, two horror films I watched last week back to back and why one worked and the other did not, the outrage I felt at what happened to my character on the "Star Trek Outpost" stint I did, why we have closed submissions, the problems I observed with a story I recorded for another podcast and why the author made certain choices I didn't agree with, how the silly alternate reality Halloween podcast came about and why I wish we had known going into it what the other was going to do, and three stories Big and I ended up writing recently based on the same premise.
I told Big, "Hey, we've got all these things we can talk about, maybe we should just sit down for fifteen minutes each and get all these topics out there." He thought that was fine, so we started up the first one. An hour later, I was still talking. I could tell he wasn't really riveted by the conversation by the way had written "I pray to Shiva, let me die" on the kitchen counter with his own mucus. I apologized, and vowed to do better on the next topic.
And hour and ten minutes later, we finished recording that one. My hint that we had gone overtime on that "Gets My Goat" was that Big had bitten off his own tongue in an attempt to choke himself to death. By now, it was two-ten in the morning, and we hadn't yet recorded our next episode of the real podcast.
Well, we did manage that, and in record time, so that it was just after four when I got home. I don't know whether I should feel like we accomplished a lot or almost nothing.
Rish "Mister Brightside" Outfield