From Reno’s Radio Row and the KUEZ studios…

“You’re an ass, aren’t you?” The armed security officer asked.

“Yes,” I answered. And pugnacious, too.”

“I don’t know what that means, but go through the door, to you left and get in the line.”

“Thank you.”

Behind me, I heard him call out, “Anyone with an appointment, come see me.”

I was at the new Department of Motor Vehicle building in South Reno to get my driving license renewed.

It was less the ten minutes before when I parked and walked to the back of the line that had cued at the front doors of the state agency. I let an older man and a woman with two children go ahead of me.

About a minute into our wait, the officer exited the building asking brusquely, “Again, anyone here with an appointment?”

The three of us at the rear of the line raise our hands.

“Well get over here,” he demanded.

That struck me wrong, and I opened my mouth, “First, what is this ‘again’ crap? We jus’ got here. and you ought to have a politer tone with the public.”

“Who are you talking to?

“You.”

“Mind your business and get in line.”

“Say the Ass with a uniform and gun.”

“I don’t don’t have to take your crap.”

“No, and we shouldn’t have to take your crap. I was nt here when you first asked ‘Again, if anyone here had anppointment. Exact words have meaning when you are in a public position, and second, don’t talk to me or anyone with that uncivil tone. You are in uniform and should act professionally.”

He stood there, gobsmack, as the other people, still in line, started clapping.

After getting my renewal, I walked outside and noticed he was being polite and talking to people rather than shouting at them. He saw me but said nothing, which was fine by me.

As a recent born-again cynic, it delighted my heart to see a fellow human helping another in the only way he could.

En route home, I saw a U.S. Army veteran in his wheelchair holding a handmade sign. I have seen this man at the VA Hospital in Reno.

As I sat three vehicle lengths from the traffic light, I watched as another man, much younger than the vet, limp his way across the street. He stopped and talked to the veteran before doing something extraordinary — he gave the wheelchair-bound man his ball cap to cover his sunburning head.

No, it does not seem like much, but its tiny kindnesses and gestures like a freely given hat to a man needing it, making us real human beings.

I honked at the gift-giving man and gave him a thumbs up, and I got a beaming smile in return.

It is one of the best interviews I have ever conducted. However, I forgot to ask permission to record her voice before we started.

It is one of the best interviews I have ever conducted. However, no one will ever get to hear it because I forgot to push the record button.

It is one of the best interviews I have ever conducted. However, it did not go as planned — at least to my plan.

It is one of the best interviews I have ever conducted. However, many people could not or would not appreciate the subject matter.

It was such an anointed conversation. And we are staving to hear your latest offering when it comes out, so thank you for singing it to me.

And since you can’t disagree with our dear, late friend, Holly Dunn, and her opinion, she was right about you. You broke the ceiling by being one of the Outlaws of country music, and you continued to break ground with your Americana sound.

Preach it, Lacy J. Dalton.

Well, I stayed up till the wee hours because my mind refused to allow me to sleep. It happens more these days, and I believe it is a by-product of age.

While reading, then later listening to music on my cellphone, I recalled a bit of a song I heard many times as a five and six-year-old child. As I remember, it is bluesy, sung by a man with a deep froggish voice.

What song it is, where it comes from, who sang it, and whether recalling it right or bastardizing the lyrics are questions I took to searching for until after 3 a.m.

I know a woman, but she, she don’t like me
I know a woman, but she, she don’t like me
I know a woman, o how I wish she loved me

I never found an answer to those questions, and those words remain locked in my head like a treasured memory.

My Cousin Elmos says, “It’s July 8th, and family still playing with fireworks. Nearly set my Christmas tree ablaze.”

The California Department of Justice made public the personal information of California’s Citizen Concealed Weapon (CCW) permit holders, including names, date of birth, gender, race, driver’s license number, addresses, and criminal history.

But it will be okay — they are offering free “credit monitoring services” because of the “mistake.”

My Cousin Elmo says, “Not too long ago nearly everyone was wearing a mask because of COVID, now if seen wearing a mask, you’re a Proud Boy says to the media.”

It began Thursday morning and came to a close this morning. What was supposed to be a simple news assignment turned into a several-hour event, throwing everything else off track.

“Can you cover the Nevada Women’s Foundation this morning? Shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”

“Yes, if you can start the printer.”

“Will do and thank you.”

By three p.m., I knew I was way behind, and even with CC printing underway, I was still in for a long night. At the shop, I discovered the printer had jammed at five out of 415 papers scheduled for production.

After seven more jams, I finally got the printer kicking out newspapers. Then it stopped for no reason, so I called the boss.

As she told me there was nothing to do other than go home, the damned thing started printing again. A few dozen more prints rolled off the press when it stopped again.

This time, I waited thirty minutes before making the call.

“Turn it on and turn it off. See if that gets it going.”

I did, and it did.

But after a few copies of the CC, it began spitting out the DVD. I tried to get it to switch back, but it refused.

It would shut off and on for the next several hours.

Finally, I completed the needed 160 copies of the DVD. It was after 3 a.m., and I left a text message asking the boss to print the last 200 copies of the CC that I still needed.

Next, I hauled ass down the hill to the radio station. After fixing myself a STRONG cup of coffee, I did my show prep before my 6 a.m. air time.

After finishing my shift, I rushed back up the hill to learn the CC was still not done because the printer was still misbehaving. By noon, everything was ready to go. It took me nearly four hours to finish my route.

Once home, I visited for a couple of hours with my wife before she had to leave as she was house-sitting for a friend. When she closed the front door at 7 p.m., I was relaxing in our over-stuffed chair, ottoman under foot, with Buddy-dog by my side.

I awoke this morning, having slept 15 hours where I lounged.