Most of the time, I forget that anyone is going to be reading these bits of bloggery. Sure, I know that, up in Wisconsin, Sauk-Prairie's Super Avon Woman, Diane, reads the stories now and then and, more dangerously, passes them onto my mom. And, sometimes a brother or other relative stumbles onto thekansascitychannel.com and finds the stuff. (I think some of my family will Google my name just to see if I've been fired, imprisoned or sued.) But, most of the time, I start to think I'm writing in a vacuum. I mean that literally...surrounded by flying dirt, crumbs and dust-bunnies with very startled looks on their faces, heading to their final reward...all accompanied by a loud sucking sound.

Then, something happens that makes me realize I am not alone here in the blogosphere. For example, yesterday a viewer and reader e-mailed to say she was angry that a talent consultant had apparently adversely affected my on-air performance. Sometime ago I'd written about that fine broadcast professional's visit. I must, here and now, absolve this talent coach of any responsibility for my work. The boring, shoddy, uninspiring spectacle this reader/viewer has observed on FirstNews, is my handiwork and mine alone. To be this consistently sub-par is no accident. It has taken me years to perfect such imperfection. But, thanks for your concern just the same.

Also, yesterday, one of my students at Johnson County Community College said "So, you're not buying her a monkey?" After making sure this was not some new kind of hip jargon meant to describe who knows what, I remembered that in yesterday's animal tale, I mentioned that our daughter thought a monkey would be a good pet. We had squelched that idea by pointing out the sometimes mischievous antics, occasionally unseemly behavior, poor personal hygiene habits and odor of such creatures...especially those kept in a house. To her credit, she merely mentioned her teenage brothers and the fact we let them stay indoors. She has a point. Sometimes, on Saturdays, when they first start to lumber out of their bedrooms/caves around noon, film crews from The National Geographic Channel will descend on our place, sure there has been a Bigfoot sighting. But, the point is, this student did read this thing. Now, he didn't say he enjoyed it or that it was any good, but he also did not criticize it...may have something to do with that fact that I was holding the grade-book at the time.

Speaking of our daughter, she ended up staying home from school with a fever yesterday. Of course, the minute her symptoms and subsequent absence from school became clear, our youngest son, Harrison, developed the very same problems...with the addition of a sore throat, stuffed up ears and whiplash...all very hard to prove or disprove. Over his protestations of parental favoritism and cruelty, we sent him to school.

He should have tried to stay home for emotional distress. The day before he brought home a rubbery frog which, when squeezed, can have various parts of his body...tummy, eyes, etc...bulge out. He had successfully taken part in a school fund-raiser just to get this squeezable frog. Unfortunately, "Steve the Bulging Frog" had only been a part of the family for a couple hours when he was overly squished by a big brother...losing his life force all over Harrison's homework. Initially, Harrison was furious and tried to squeeze his older brother hard enough to see those eyes bug out. Luckily, Harrison seems to be coming to grips with the loss. When I asked him, yesterday, if he still missed "Steve." His response told volumes: "Who's Steve?"

Meanwhile, back at the sickbed, our daughter watched TV, played some video-games, ate crackers and 7-Up, slept and used her cell-phone. I have a feeling the text-message bill, just from yesterday, will equal the Gross Domestic Product of Latvia. At one point, the phone rang downstairs. I answered it to find my wife's sister, Dana, calling from Pennsylvania. "So, Samantha is sick? She has a fever of 103? She feels stuffed up?" queried my sister-in-law, betraying more knowledge of the situation from her vantage point a half a country away, than I had from the living room. "Well, she is home from school. But how did you know?" I asked.
Turns out Samantha text-messaged her cousin who told her mother who called me who fed the dog who scared the cat who chased the rat that ate the malt that lived in the house that Jack built.

By the way, my conversation with my sister-in-law ended with her saying "Oh, wow, that garbage truck's on fire. Bye." I have no idea what that means.

So, anyway, I have to remember that there are people out there reading this. The good thing is I doubt there are many who read it twice. Gotta go. Garbage truck's on fire. Hey, it worked for my sister-in-law.