Because of traffic. What about traffic?
"The technical word we use is 'awful,' "explains this NPR description of ONE OF THE MOST HELLISH POTENTIAL COMMUTES KNOWN TO MAN!
I'll be honest, I don't care about Austin. Nope. Not really. I do care about the fact that there's a nearby town by the name of Paige. I care about Paige. A lot.
Okay, this is all just an elaborate and clever introduction to one of my favorite news voices of all time: Wade Goodwyn, NPR National Desk Correspondent from Texas, stationed in Dallas. Why Wade? Here's why:
- Not to be judgmental, but his accent sounds like one could find him, betwixt reports, reclining in a leather club chair, a 10-gallon hat perched at a rakish angle on his wild Texan head of hear, his cowboy boot-clad feet casually crossed at the ankles atop a massive wooden desk, smoking a cigar and brandishing a hunting rifle that he regularly unloads in the direction of an 18-point buck trophy mounted on a nearby wall.
- He also sounds like one of the sanest people currently living in Texas. (Oh dear. That sounds judgmental too.)
- Well, anyway, most importantly, he sounds like the narrator of Charlotte's Web. (Although he might gleefully put a bullet in in between Wilbur's beady little porcine eyes. Who knows.)
Despite the fact that I don't know Goodwyn's personal political leanings, I appreciate hearing him on NPR. He and Nina Totenberg reading the transcripts of Supreme Court proceedings counteract the soul-crushing dialects of at least one other correspondent (whom I am simply too well-mannered to name here, even though I really really really want to).
In conclusion, Wade Goodwyn, please don't be a Republican.
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| Wade Goodwyn: Fon Do |
Last time I was in Austin, I walked into a diner and met the grizzliest old coot I'd ever laid eyes on. I asked his name, and he said "friends call me Bear."
ReplyDelete"Well, I'm not your friend." I replied. "So what should I call you?"
ReplyDeleteI quickly found out, making "Bear" angry very, very bad. He got up close, uncomfortably close, to the point where I could see the anger of a man who'd been to hell and back. "Well then," he said, "I 'spose you could call me what they called me in prison. Skull Crusher." I gulped.
ReplyDelete"That's more like it. Now, see here, Mr. Crusher." I reached into my pocket and withdrew a small, easily recognizable plastic container. I held it out to him. "These here are Tic Tacs. That's a Tic. Tac. You need these. Trust me." I gestured that he should accept my offering.
ReplyDeleteHe answered me with an enduring dead-eyed glare. Then accepted the gift.
"Well, how about that. Now we're friends."
I offered to buy Bear a beer, a conversation not without its own misunderstandings.