by Paula Neal Mooney
Yesterday I was tooling around town in our 12-year-old Ford Explorer -- the one without XM Satellite Radio -- so I had time to catch snippets of Michael Baisden's radio show.
Calling himself the "bad boy" of radio, Michael Baisden is a prolific author, speaker and probably a ton of other stuff I don't know who first came to my attention over ten years ago when a woman I worked with presented me with one of the first copies of his first book, which if memory serves was the fascinating Never Satisfied: How & Why Men Cheat. (From that book I learned the depths of depravity men can go to in order to get away with infidelity, using all kinds of tricks to forward calls from one device to another -- and that was back in 1995!)
"You can just like give him ten dollars," the woman said of Michael Baisden's first effort.
Since then I've followed Michael Baisden's career with great interest; I've always been impressed by his chutzpah. This is a man who would ask strangers on Chicago's El train to read pages of his latest manuscript and give their opinions.
Imagine my surprise when he named one of his main characters in his later tome, Men Cry in the Dark : A Novel, after the woman I used to work with!
But I'm so glad for his success. (Michael, I think I owe you ten dollars...)
Anyhoo, I caught a little of the "bad boy's" show yesterday and he was going off and trying to get to the bottom of pastors on the down low in the pulpit. It sounded really interesting and I wanted to hear all of it, but when I turned of the ignition of our old trusy Explorer as I sat in one of those new lovely pull-thru just-about-touchless car wash ports to get all the grime and salt off our black baby, the SUV wouldn't start back up.
As I tried again to turn over the car, only the oil light and a few other dashboard lights flickered, then nothing. I laid both hands on the steering wheel and prayed as my kids joked around annoyingly in the back seat.
It was frigid outside, and though I'm sure Michael Baisden was getting down to the bottom of some pastors on the down low in the black church especially, I was glad as heck that my church home was right across the street -- in sight of the car wash, a welcoming beacon where I could go and wait for AAA with my little ones if that truck didn't start back up.
"Try it now," the Lord said to me. I did. It started. And I missed all the rest of Michael Baisden's show...
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