Don't Work What It Is

So, there are several regulars at the library, people who come in every single day

Among them is Doris*, a tiny woman who always comes over and greets me, either before or after her visit, expressing joy to either see me here or to be at the library in general.  She is an entirely positive person, with one small caveat.

She always says one of two things to me.**  The first, and most awful is, "Don't work too hard!"  The first two or seven times she said it to me, I'd try to come up with a clever response, like, "Who, me?  Never!" or "I'm way ahead of you!" or "If I do, it'll be the first time!"  But after ten or a dozen or so times, I just couldn't come up with a cutesy response.  I even started to say, "I barely even work soft" or "No harder than you would," but I'm just not talented enough to keep up a witty repartee with a partner that only knows three lines.

It got to the point where I used to dread seeing her come in, because I knew those four words would follow.  Isn't that neurotic?  But one day I said, "I never know what to say when you tell me that, so I wish you wouldn't say it."  And she stopped.  Not 100%, but mostly.

The other thing she says, which isn't nearly as bad, but means a whole hell of a lot less (so it's worse) is, "It is what it is."  It is her go-to answer for virtually anything.  "How's your day been, Doris?"  "Oh, it is what it is."  "Looks like it might rain out there, Doris."  "Well, it is what it is."  "We've got a wedding reception tonight, looks like they have a DJ."  "I guess it is what it is."  "You feeling any better?"  "A little, but it is what it is."  "Dang Doris, all those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain."  "Yep, time to die.  It is what it is."***

I don't mean to be uncharitable, but "It is what it is" is one of the stupidest sayings we have in the English language.  Oh, I know what you think it means.  To me, it's just a made-up saying, a politicians' saying, so that young fellas like yourself can wear and suit and a tie and have a job.  It's nearly as empty as "Thoughts and prayers" and almost as useless as "Choose happy."  

I guess I just wanted to complain.  There are worse things in the world than vampires or people who tell me not to overwork myself. And when I run into one of them, I'll blog about it.

Rish (Is What He Is) Outfield

*Not her real name.  I realized recently that I probably shouldn't be calling people that work with me by their real names, in case someone takes exception with phrases like, "My boss says he's not as sympathetic to drug addicts as he used to be," or "Terence actually believes that the Democrats will steal his children to change their genders," or "Foxy Ellen breaks every single librarian stereotype except that she absolutely will not smile," or "Homeless Hector's body stink usually ensures he has a section of the library to himself," or "Karoline with a K has no idea how much her mere existence brightens my workday."

**There are other things she says, such as "It's so good to see you" or "Have a great day," but those aren't weird, so I'm not mentioning them here.

***Originally, this last one was going to be me saying, " "Your mother's in here, Doris.  Would you like to leave a message?"  But it seemed unkind somehow--especially so soon after Mother's Day.

I interrupted this post to tell a guy on crutches how to get to the ballroom--he had been starting up the stairs and I ran over to tell him where the elevator was and how to get to the larger elevator that goes to the third floor.  But I saw on the monitors that, as soon as he got to the second floor, he hobbled up the stairs to the third floor as though I had never spoken to him.

No More Reason To Watch CBS

I'm a Letterman guy.  I was just the right age, when Dave had his NBC show, to get what he was doing--to see him as a sort of rebel, spitting in the face of the suits, the corporations, the network, tradition, and the idea of what was "cool."  "Late Night" was appointment television for young people in the Eighties.

But, it turned out, that what Dave really wanted was to be seen as worthy to fill the shoes of his own idol, Johnny Carson, and when that didn't happen (I mean, he had bitten the hand that fed him for a decade by that point), he left in a huff and went to CBS, which rolled out a red carpet for him, buying and refurbishing the Ed Sullivan Theater so he could have his own, more respectable show, airing opposite "The Tonight Show," now hosted by Jay Leno, a man Dave had come up with in the industry, who he had called a friend, but now considered an enemy.

I'm getting somewhere with this little history lesson.  That was 1993--a whole lifetime ago--when "The Late Show" began.  And it was shinier, more corporate, more professional, than "Late Night" had been.  David Letterman had grown up.*  

But when his CBS show was at its best, it reminded you of what you so loved about Letterman's first show, only with a (slightly) more respectable veneer.  Age does that to a person, I suppose.  By the time Dave went off the air in 2015, he was the old guard, Seth Meyers was running his old show (now produced by Lorne Michaels), Jay Leno had given way to Conan O'Brien, then took "The Tonight Show" back, and had since passed it to Jimmy Fallon.  And Kimmel had been doing a live show on ABC since 2003.

And after Dave came Stephen Colbert, who, despite being a hundred times more straight-laced, traditional, and respectable as Letterman, made a powerful enemy in one Donald Trump (who he invited as a guest on his show in 2016, and when asked why--when he was so negative toward him--said, "I wanted to be able to say I'd had the (very) last president of the United States on my show."), and after calling out the payout CBS gave the Trump administration when it would've been easily winnable in court as the bribe ("big fat bribe" were his words) that it was, his show suddenly became too expensive to produce (despite being the most-watched late night talk show) and was announced to be ending in May of 2026.  

Well, that day has come (and probably gone by the time I finish this post), and Colbert had some great guests in the days before his finale, from Steven Spielberg to Barack Obama, from John Stewart to his fellow late night hosts Jimmy Kimmel, Seth Meyers, John Oliver, and Jimmy Fallon.  And, of course, he just had Letterman on, to throw things off the roof of the Sullivan Theater in an episode that would have thrilled the eleven year old me to the core.**

And then, Colbert too was out of there.  The show is gone, as there's not a host coming after him.  And that, like I said that the start, is that--the only reason left to watch CBS, walking out the door.  Please lock it behind you, would you?

*At least as much as he was capable.  Conan O'Brien took over "Late Night," and was really Dave's successor, bringing his own dorky outsider perspective, only with less cynicism, an earnest wish to be liked that Dave had (whether feigned or not) had never aspired to.  Eventually, he too would be screwed by the network, though none of the folks that slighted Dave were still in power there, just going to show that there's only one bitch out there, a bitch with many faces.

**Colbert claimed CBS/Paramount had given him a big wedding cake in honor of the show, with "The Late Show 1993-2026" written on it, which he tossed off the roof and the camera watched explode on the pavement below in ultra slow-motion.  And the years melted off me.

Rish Outcast 329: In Security 10 (Call The Police, There's A Madman Around)

It's our tenth episode hecktacular! Still waiting on the new bathroom lock, by the way.

Rish talks about a patron making accusations on the night the police were called twice.  And an outtake that made Rish cry before recording it.

If you wish to download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

If you wish to support me on Patreon, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "X" Moretto.

The Writing's On The . . . Note

I'm often bewailing how I never have/make time to write, and when I do, I can't think of any ideas . . . but here's one.  I was doing my closing rounds at the library tonight, and on one of the desks on the second floor, I saw a little note sitting there, perhaps forgotten, perhaps intentionally there.  

I looked it over, and it was a quote from Mother Teresa.

The actual note

Nothing wrong with that, right?  But something only I would notice (or you, if you've known me for decades) is that the handwriting on that paper . . . it's mine.

I'm not really kidding.  That's totally my handwriting.  It's even in all-caps like I often write (but not online--only a Brachiosaurus-sized arsehole would type in All-Caps on a Tweet or text or Truth Social post), and if this had been a note I found in my car, in my backpack, or in the underwear drawer of that girl that used to be in the Disney Channel show, I'd have accepted it as a note I once wrote without even thinking about it.

The same note written by me

I don't know if I'll turn it into a story or not, but there are certainly possibilities.  I mean, what if there was a date on it, and it's NEXT Tuesday?  What if the note wasn't a Mother Teresa quote, but something more ominous, like a warning about what's going to happen later today?  What if it was something personal, a threat, or a secret?  Or if it said something like "Don't do it.  It's not too late to change your mind."?

Or, worst of all, what if at the bottom of the note, it says "DO NOT TURN THIS NOTE OVER!" it your own handwriting?  Who would have the power not to do it, to just follow its front-side instructions?  Wouldn't you be curious as to why?  As to what was written on the other side?  

Something to think about.

Blanket, Pardon?

Boy, I must be really hard up for content on here.  I mean, how many times have I woken up over the years and seen a sinister figure standing at the foot of the bed or in the doorway, only to realize it was something benign like a hanging jacket or a microphone stand or a bookshelf or Pop superstar Michael Jackson?  And I've never blogged about that, have I?

But here I am with an even lamer story.  You're welcome, I suppose.

I don't get up to go to the bathroom every night, but I often do--and when I do, it's usually right around the time the sun is starting to rise (yes, exactly the time you are starting your day).  This was one of those times.  

What I saw.

I stepped into the hall, glancing across to the living room . . . and I saw what appeared to be--only for a moment, but hey, a moment's enough--a shroud-wrapped person peering at me from the couch.  I froze in my tracks, wondering if maybe my sister had fallen asleep there . . . or if that woman I left for dead on the side of the road back in Tuscaloosa had finally found me.*

I switched on the hall light, and oh, okay, it was just a blanket, nothing more.  I could barely even make out how my brain could've seen a human shape there.

With the light on.

But then I went to my room to get my camera, hoping to be able to recapture what I saw . . . to no avail.  It's hard to recreate something that was never really there to begin with (though it might be fun to try to write a story about it).

What I saw, in that instant before coming fully alert, reminded me of an illustration from 1904 that accompanied "Oh Whistle and I'll Come To You My Lad" by M.R. James (in his book "Ghost Stories of an Antiquary"), that has always stayed with me.  Okay, "always" as in, for the six or seven years since I discovered it.

So, it was nothing.  I recognize that.  But before I went back to bed, I grabbed my phone and took the above two pictures, hoping that they'd convey what a thousand words wouldn't.  I guess I was wrong. 

*Yes, I know I should've checked on her, at least checked for breath on a mirror or something, but I was already late for Big Head Todd and didn't want to miss Broken Hearted Savior.

Podcast That Dares 69: The Cold Equations

Rish presents one of the most famous Science Fiction stories of the 20th Century, 1954's "The Cold Equations" by Tom Godwin.

Afterward, Rish talks about the story at length. How big a shock is the reveal of the stowaway, and what does that say about the reader? What was the hardest part of performing it? If Rish were editing the story now, how much would he cut out?

Note: This is one of the longest episodes I've produced. If you stick around long enough, you'll hear my impression of a YouTuber playing Minecraft. Was it worth it?

If you wish to download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

If you wish to support me on Patreon, click HERE.

Podcast logo by Gino "The Mold Equations" Moretto.

I Saw Him Standing There

I have a bank of cameras in front of me most of the time at work--even now, when I'm typing this, there are twenty-five screens going on the monitor to my left--and usually, if I see quick movement (a car going too fast, someone running in or out of the building, the length of a smile from Emily the Librarian), it will draw my eye.  This case was the opposite, though.

I glanced at the downstairs hallway and saw someone in black standing right in front of the doors.  I paid it no mind, but the next time I glanced at it, there he still was.  Often, that means the connection from the camera feed has been broken and I need to reconnect it.  

But that wasn't the situation here.  I hit Refresh, and the image didn't change.  The guy was just standing there, not moving.  For, like, a full minute.  Was he looking at his phone?  Did he have  a book he was reading?  Was he another pesky ghost?*  Maybe he was soiling himself--which yeah, sometimes happens.

Regardless of the answer, the second I caught a screengrab of the dude in the downstairs hall, he started moving again.  As if he knew.

Once again, this was not really worth blogging about, but I got the image, and rather than making it go to waste, I figured . . .  See, now you've got me second-guessing myself.  Thanks a lot.

*My last shift, there was a manager who was staying overnight, but who thought she heard a man shouting in the building (I'm pretty sure I know who it was--maybe I'll do a recording about it, if I remember to), so I went through both floors of the library, watching and listening.  When I explained that there was nobody, she told me to go on home.  I said, "Are you sure?  You gonna be alright here by yourself?" and she immediately said, "You mean with the ghosts?  I don't know that I believe those stories."  That wasn't what I had been referring to--I would think that a woman alone would be more afraid of running into a man in the dark than a ghost . . . or a bear, if you get my reference.

The Way Of Pain(Quil)

I didn't quite remember the quote from FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING, to start out this little post (I knew it was something like, "So, you have chosen the way of pain," when it was actually, "I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly, but you have elected the way of pain"), but every once in a while, I see or hear something that amuses me and want to do a post about it.*

A few months ago, I was walking through the Health & Beauty section of Walmart when I saw a display that had new, fun flavors of NyQuil, the medicine you take to make you sleep when you're sick.**  And one of them struck me as extremely funny--instead of just NyQuil and DayQuil, there was a new red bottle marked PainQuil.

It also comes in purple, for the sleepy kind.

Now, I fully imagine you don't find the name "PainQuil" to be funny (if you did, we'd be closer than we are by quite a bit).  But I find it inexplicably amusing.  PainQuil, a brand name that is uncomfortably close to the word "painful."  Or maybe it's not, maybe it's just me.

Hey, I can't explain why I laughed when I saw it, and brought it up nigh unto incessantly when my cousin and I would go to Walmart.

And then, one day, the PainQuil was gone from the display, never to be brought up again . . . and I regretted never having tried it.  I've never tried a lot of things.***

But hey, the other day, I was walking through the department, minding my business (mankind is my business, the common welfare is my business.  Charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence, all are my business), when I passed by the Procter & Gamble-sponsored display . . . and it was back. A whole rack of PainQuil, in all its red-bottled glory.  Oh happy day!

Did I buy any?  What do you think?

No.  No, I didn't.

And then, around the time I thought of making this blogpost, I took my mother to Walmart for grocery shopping and I said, "Ma, if we see a PainQuil display, will you take a picture of me holding a bottle of it?"  She said she would, but assured me that it wouldn't be the least bit funny . . . and I was disappointed to discover that the display had already been taken down.  Or maybe they had just sold so many bottles of delicious pain-sapping elixir (it's ten percent alcohol, by the way!) that they had to replace it with Q-Tips or rubbing alcohol or adult diapers.

But then, last night, my sister complained that the lightbulbs in her refrigerator went out, so I volunteered to get her replacements, and in the Walmart in her town . . . they had PainQuil--it turns out it comes in Cherry flavor and also Honey.  So, I got my picture.

Was I right?  Or was it my mother as usual?

*See also "Don't follow me, creepy creeper."

**As a child, the ad went, "The nighttime coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, so you can rest medicine."

***A buddy of mine in Los Angeles had a child and handed out cigars to everybody at work.  I had never smoked, but I told myself, "Well, if I ever do, at least I'll have this fancy cigar at my disposal."  But alas, when a certain hygiene product in my apartment complex started breaking into my place when I was gone (douche--I was calling him a douche there), besides my DVDs, X-box, self-inflating love doll, and coin collection (also in a ceramic container in the shape of a love doll), one of the things he stole was that cigar Kevin had given me.  Sigh.

Rish Outcast 328: My Friend of Misery 2

In the second section of "My Friend of Misery," little brother Brent has a new friend, and Brielle Montrose is starting to suspect it's not a great idea to spend time with the boogeyman.

Afterward, Rish talks about who Brielle is, killing off parents in a story like this, and a ton about child actors.

To download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

To support my daft efforts on Patreon, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "My Fiend of Misery" Moretto.

My Voice on "Fallen Angel" by Campfire Radio Theater

I have been known to complain when a particular podcast makes its (according to me) irritatingly unreasonable demands on me, but one podcast I've never been unhappy to work on is Campfire Radio Theater.  John Ballentine's audio dramas are, no exaggeration, the highest-quality productions I get to be a part of.*

When an online investigative journalist is approached about a mysterious object being kept under wraps by the government, she is surprised to find something truly otherworldly, not to mention dangerous.  For her.

I voice General Randall (Character Voice 2 in my list of three), but maybe one day, I'll get to be the lead in one of these again.  Vegas odds say no, though.

Check it out HERE.

*Perhaps that's why they never come to me anymore.  There may be folks out there who can do a dozen voices and accents, instead of my usual three.

Delusions of Grandeur 107: The New Galaxy's Edge

Hey, the Delusions of Grandeur show is back!

Rish makes Marshal watch the new promos for Disneyland, featuring fake-Han Solo and faux-Princess Leia, briefly calls Big Anklevich a baby, and tries to counter the many, many complaints about this new change.  Does anybody remember the Galactic Starcruiser?  Don't people have a way to tap into their inner child?  Wanna hear the story again about the first Spider-man movie?  And how is Anaheim, California like Berlin, Germany?

Check it out HERE!