The Very Definition of Clusterfuck

So, due to a used book sale I’m doing in Providence tomorrow (Sunday) afternoon, I had planned on pre-recording this week’s Pop Chart. Unfortunately, BSR is a lively place and there weren’t four open hours of studio time to do the recording until the wee hours of tonight and early into tomorrow morning, after The Kitchen ends at 2. (The Kitchen is one of my favorite shows on BSR, for the record, and I actually sort of wanted to meet whoever does it, because I don’t think I have yet.)

So I planned on napping through today, calmly drinking Old Rasputin and pricing books through the evening, and then running over to record the show in the late night. (It’s actually a lot of fun recording things overnight. I’m not sure why, but it is. Except for the part where my car might get towed because Providence for some reason thinks it’s necessary to have a citywide overnight parking ban every night of the freaking year.)

But unfortunately, my napping this afternoon was prevented by a rally for marriage equality and a dreadful rainstorm. And tonight I learned that my garage (where I was keeping all the books) has several drippy leaks in its roof, so rather than peacefully listening to Belle and Sebastian and pricing books like I planned, I spent my evening frantically re-boxing Judith Krantz hardcovers as best I could and then moving them into somewhere safe. By which I mean the cab of my truck, which was the nearest dry place. But I had parked pretty near to the house, so I figured it would be easier if I moved the truck a little bit over in the driveway.

And… my battery’s dead. I mean, I think it’s just wet, maybe, but it’s also supposed to rain for the next fourteen hours so I don’t foresee that changing anytime soon.

So tomorrow morning I need to call AAA and wait, probably for hours, for somebody to jump the truck so I can drive it to my parents’ house and borrow their car to go to the book sale. (Which, when I get there, might be the sale of the century, since I haven’t actually priced 3/4 of the books yet.) So, in theory, The Pop Chart could happen, but it would involve pulling an all-nighter and also walking 45 minutes each way in this humid monsoon thing to and from the radio station. And I wouldn’t get any rest until, at the earliest, about six o’clock tomorrow evening. And I’d even consider doing that were it not for the fact that I only got about two hours of sleep last night. (Different story involving a fun dance party that meant going to bed at four, and a rude cat with tuna breath waking me up at six. Seriously. I know you might be tempted to buy Figaro brand cat food because the labels are so cute, but holy Jesus does it smell even worse than most fishy cat foods. And it’s more of a chipped beef color, which seems wrong for tuna.)

Regardless. I still plan on recording the show, especially since this week I was counting down the 10 Best Songs To Ever Come Out Of Rhode Island. But Lord knows when. Sorry, listeners!

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