I was gonna try to keep this to myself, but it's just too exciting to do so. I have to tell you about it.
I was contacted recently by the marketing director of a company that produces mixers and audio equipment for radio stations. He liked my interview with Tom Bedell, which was published a year ago this week. He liked some of the pictures as well, as they featured his company's equipment. He asked permission to run some of these pictures in an upcoming company newsletter. Of course, he would give me credit for having taken the pictures.
I agreed, on the condition that he mention the blog in some capacity. I don't think I'm asking for too much here. Oh, did I mention? This newsletter will be read by thousands of people throughout North America! Thousands of mentions of this silly little blog. Potentially thousands of more hits on the blog as well.
Of course, now that I've told you about it, something will happen to frig up the deal. That's always the way. Reminds me of the time I got the job at the dog kennel up the road from my parents' place. I was 16 or 17. My bosses were going away to a local hotel (presumably to make love or something) and wanted me to clean the kennels and feed the dogs and cats whilst they were away, engaged in connubial bliss. I readily agreed.
I mentally calculated how much money I'd make for the time they were gone, Visions of the record albums and comic books I could buy with that extra cash (I had no girlfriend back then, of course) danced through my head. I already had the money spent.
At the 11th hour, they called me and told me that the deal was off. Turned out that the local hotel was reluctant to allow local folks to stay there, including couples wanting to put some spark back in their marriage. The dozens of dollars I would have made working that crappy job disappeared like the morning dew. The record albums and extra comic books silently mocked me in the stores when I next went to the stores where they were being sold. "Get a real job, Bev!!", they seemed to say to me as I sheepishy walked past them.
Ever since, I have tried not to count my chickens before they're hatched, or even before they have been fertilized. Much less heartache that way. I'm sure you understand.
But, I had to make an exception this evening. This news of the possible blog publicity was too exciting to keep to myself.
I just hope that the guy who wrote me isn't about to take his lovely wife to a local hotel.
I can't bear that much disappointment twice in one life.
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