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Frieda just wrote me, asking if MiniDisc recorders float.

THIS goes in my radio blog!
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Dear Frieda,

Actually, it was more of a Jesus-on-the-Sea-of-Gallilee thing. I know it
defies the laws of physics, but I could swear I snatched it out faster'n
it went in.

As I recall (and you must remember that I was in a state of shock seeing
it splash, and with a head wound from falling), the recorder listed
slightly to starboard. I suspect that's the fault of the mic and
headphones being plugged into the jacks: uneven ballast. It could have
been the battery, too, I suppose.

I'm glad we don't manufacture electronics from wood or fabrics (which
would, of course, be my aesthetic and environmental preference). Water
just beads up and blows off plastic and aluminum.

So, a few passes with my blow drier (which hasn't been used for any
other purpose in about five years), some tender swabbing of jacks with
Q-tips (with half their cotton heads yanked off in my fingernails) and a
languid nap on a sunny, breezy shelf in my yard, and everything works
except the reverse scroll button.

Before I'd finished my ministrations, though, I did a little test that
was quite frightening. The motor whirred like a kitten with a head cold.
The mic cut in and out. The LED was DEAD and the headphones squeeked.

Alll's well now. Although the station's Production Director is looking
at me like a scared rabbit. Or a kindergarten teacher. I'm afraid I've
set back feminist production by a few years.

I was wearing my reading glasses, coming back to the bathroom with the
script, to record. I THINK I tripped on a cat, as nothing else showed up
on the floor, when I went to see later.

Thank gawd I'd closed the toilet lid; I don't flush pee. I live in a
desert, you know.

All's forgiven, if not forgotten. I expect the Production Director will
look at me skeptically for several months now.

I was pretty scared. I was afraid I'd have to find money to replace the
equipment.

Rachel sat under my patio umbrella, constructing my defense like a
serious lawyer. Grrl's got my back, I'll tell ya.

But, obviously, the piece came out ok. I stood in my tiny bathroom,
minidisc hanging in a basket from the towel wrack that doubled as a mic
stand, shook for a few seconds, and started reading my script. A cat
clawed at the corner of the door, the entire time, wanting to come in
for a drink of water!

But I'd covered the bowl with a small sheet of plywood.

At least you can't hear the cat scratchings on the audio.

And you think YOU had a hard day!