First weekday off time away from the newsroom? I’ll take it, even if that means driving past and parking outside the office around the usual starting hour for the second time in as many days. Because there are good things like time with A., a visit to the bookstore, a home-cooked meal and a small furry-faced animal that seems to have grown tired of hiding out under beds or chairs for 23 hours in a day.
There is also the strange feeling of going to the grocery store again and listening to my youth in a way I never could have. A dozen Top 40 songs that were almost never on the same air or under the same format as the same time. I think I would have had to tune to three or four different radio stations to hear each one over the course of the seven- or eight-year span they saw airplay. Now they’re all amalgamated algorithmic allies, sonic kinfolk if not skin-folk, uncanny uncle and aunts wafting and wheeling around overhead while I shop, asking me (between store announcements and sale reminders) to remember when.