Meet Explorer Earl
Okay, I only thought this stuff was buried under a mile of soft peat somewhere.
Sometime in 1994, at the first TV station where I worked, I got shanghaied into being on-air talent during kids’ programming. Our kids’ club talent had just left, and there was a perfect storm brewing:
- The Humane Society did pet-of-the-week spots in our kids’ programming, which helped the station to fulfill its “local public service” quota. Those spots now had no host.
- The station had just gotten a pith helmet in a National Geographic promo kit.
- I was already on the payroll.
With no contract, no additional pay, and no perks, I was suddenly… Explorer Earl. … Read more

One of the things I’m hoping to accomplish with my blog, aside from “not running completely dry of material to write about,” is to leave something of a written history of me behind for my son. I’d love to say I’m going to write down the whole family history, but I’m no genealogist. I can’t vouch for the rest of my family. I can only vouch for me. Sometimes these stores will get a little outside your comfort zone (hell, imagine how I feel telling you about them). This will probably be one of those. But understand that one thing it is absolutely not meant to be is a sob story. I came out of this one intact. …
so… nine years exactly. And the funny thing is, a lot of these rope lights have been around since then, so at the very least it was time to look at replacing some of them.
As I sit here, secure in my stay-at-home-dad-hood, “decolorizing” and repurposing scans of arcade marquees I once owned so Little E can have coloring pages with Dig Dug characters on them, and continuing to send out applications for gigs that would allow me to bring in some money without sacrificing the stuff I do for my family by staying at home. No problem, right? It’s more of a tightrope walk than you think, since I’m currently the guy who does the dishes, laundry, cleaning, cooking, lawn work, homeschooling, and fighting like hell to make sure no one handling my son’s therapy is slacking off on their end of things. Throw even a part-time gig into the middle of that pond, and it’s going to make the kind of splash that washes me up on the shores of the living room sofa around bedtime. …
Sat back, obeyed the rules and did nothing as Mrs. G and Little E fished in the mon & son fishing tournament at Carol Ann Cross Park. No fish were caught by this family on this day. Man, I wanted to jump in there and help… but the rules specifically forbade it. I just had to sit back and shut up. Now I’m jonesing to go fish rainbow trout on the White River. Just me, a boat, a rod, a reel, some bait, some lures, a hat big enough to keep the sun out of my eyes, some tunes, absolutely no cell phone signal whatsoever, no wi-fi, no nothing. If you don’t hear from me in a few days, I’m probably sleeping with the fishes. In a good way.
As if that wasn’t enough to draw a crowd, among the crowd were two big, friendly stray pit bulls roaming around in front of the library. I stopped and petted them for a bit until they moved on, mainly to keep them from freaking folks out. Since Xena and Gabby were crashed when we all left at the crack of dawn, these two were the friendliest dogs I saw all morning. They had very obvious dogfighting injuries, and yet they were all over me, stinky-breath dog kisses and all.
Got soaked in pit bull slobber right before walking in for the library book sale. Also, next stop after the book sale was my niece’s birthday party at Fuji Steakhouse. Woohoo! Uncle Earl showed up smelling like pit bull slobber! Happy birthday! 😆
A completely true story. And this time it has nothing to do with broadcasting.