a lullaby to all his credit speak
It was about damn time that he find enough time for a show, Sawyer couldn't help thinking as he sat in that booth, a little too small for complete comfort, with a beer resting on the ground nearby. No one had, after all, told him that he couldn't drink while on the job, and given that the bottle was kept far enough away from all equipment, Sawyer saw nothing wrong with a bit of a sip here and there to get into character. That was what rednecks did, wasn't it? Fail to wear enough sunscreen, drawl and stumble about wearing plaid, kicking back a beer or two over the course of the day (and more likely than others to start the drinking far too early). It was still easiest to play to that kind of stereotype, rather than trying too hard to come off as a damn intellectual, even if he probably read more than most of the people on the island. It also meant that most of the people who hovered around Sawyer were either fellow jackasses or the impossibly patient.
Both of which were relatively easy types to deal with.
He sat in the booth for a while, still half-tempted to laugh his ass off at the idea of him, him of all people, offering love advice. But well, it was easier to make suggestions to others rather than limit oneself to prudent decisions, and he liked hearing himself talk just enough to make the venture seem worthwhile. So he cleared his throat and flicked a few switches, putting him on air, opening with a classic rock sequence, volume kept relatively low.
"You know the world hates you when your opening mornin' gets interrupted by a damn space station showin' up outta nowhere," he started, figuring that introductions were overdone and that people would eventually learn who he was, if they didn't already know. "I can deal with half of my potential followin' muffling the radio 'cause they had too many drinks on a Tuesday night, but a space station, whoo boy. I don't care how damn good of a rocket you got hidden away under your clothes, ain't nothin' that compares with that. If you haven't gone yet, I suggest that you do."
Pausing, Sawyer pinched his nose. He was tempted to just barrel on ahead with the jokes, the laughs. Instead, he began in a more sobered tone. "But I'm here this mornin' to talk to you about love. We've put it off long enough. And in order to really talk about love, I first gotta say that there have been a few folks (well, more than a few, actually) who've lost loved ones lately. And I don't know how much my opinion matters right now. Probably not much. But I, and I'm sure a whole lotta other folk like those down at Loss Services, offer condolences and a listenin' ear if you ever need. More'n that, I... well, I feel you. I do."
Sawyer licked his lips, letting silence hang for half a minute before he slapped the table in front of him lightly. "That said, I've got a few people waitin' here on my sage advice, so let's begin.
"First, from Anonymous.
I like him, I just don't know why I like him. And until I know that, I don't know what I need to do to stop liking him. Help.
"...let me tell you somethin', Anonymous, and it may come as a shock to you. None of us really know why we like people. I mean, we say we do, and if we're lucky, we can outline a few things we like about that other person. She's nice. He's handsome. She's got this cute little mole on her lower back, his hair looks so nice when it waves in the island breeze. I get that last one a lot, anyway. But when you really like someone, those little thoughts and compliments don't stop comin' to mind, and even if you strip 'em all away there is this nasty little bugger called attraction that you can't wash away. If you're keen on not likin' this guy anymore, you are in for one rough ride, cowboy or girl. 'Course, sometimes tellin' yourself that you got better morals works. But what most people do, s'far as I can tell, is start makin' a daily routine of takin' a long, cold shower."
Stopping to allow himself a brief laugh and time to recoup, Sawyer rubbed at his eyes, trying his best not to make too much fun of the letter that... well, truly, could have come from someone of any age, but had a futility that sounded of inexperience. Taking a swig from his beer, he let the alcohol swirl about his mouth before taking up the next letter.
"Okay, onto my personal favorite. Ladies, I want you to pay extra-special attention, 'cause apparently someone thinks I can be trusted for somethin' like this:
Dear love-guru,
Handsome as so many of the men here are, they're really not my type. And most of the women, well, don't exactly look twice. What's a girl got to do around here to get laid by another woman?
Sincerely,
Frustrated and Unfortunately Celibate
With only an exhale to hint at his amusement, Sawyer cleared his throat. "Well, dear Frustrated and Unfortunately Celibate, I think you've outlined one of the unanswerable questions of the century. At least, I ain't ever been able to figure out that answer, and I'm sure life would be a whole lot more interestin' if I did, to me and practically all of the male population. I can't tell you how best to go about gettin' that lay, but I will say that if anyone is interested in this beautiful lady's offer, to drop off a letter of interest in my mailbox. And if you ever change your mind about men not bein' your type..."
He prayed that Kate would be able to hear a joke when she heard it.
"And last up, we've got a fan of metaphors. From the plumber who ain't doin' so well with his leaky faucet, I give you:
She's hot and cold. I give her what she wants and she dumps me before I can even blink. She's hot, don't get me wrong, and I used to think I loved her, but now I'm not so sure.
"First thing I gotta say, kid? Fix that damn faucet before you run dry and... I dunno, dry up and wind up a bitter old prune. If you think you deserve better, then just close up shop and focus more on yourself for a while. Work out, take walks along the beach. Do anythin' but come off as this snot-nosed little clingy brat, 'cause there ain't many people who find that kind of behavior attractive, and if they do, I don't think it's gonna bode any better for you.
"But, and it's a big but at that, she might just need time. Might be one of those people who runs away the first chance she gets. I ain't gonna decide one way or the other which she is 'cause I can think of a million women who're hot and cold, and not one that's only one or the other. But I do know that women've got a lot more reason for actin' the way that they do than we like givin' 'em credit for. I say you at least gotta talk to her. Probably shouldn't be about what you want. Maybe doesn't even gotta be about what she wants. Just talk, give her reason to keep from runnin' from you all the time, show her that you're givin' her plenty of time and opportunity to cool the heck down." Sawyer paused, running his fingers through his hair and inhaling slowly. "'Cause I knew a girl like that once, only she ain't so much of a girl anymore."
Tapping his hands restlessly on the dials and feeling like it was about time to hightail it out of the booth, Sawyer clapped his hands together. "Well, that just about wraps it up for this week. Remember, anyone who's got a question can drop off letters of inquiry, love confessions, or anythin' else non-toxic off at James Ford's mailbox in the Compound. The more you send in, the more interestin' this show becomes. Until next time, this was Sawyer, talkin' about... stuff."
Turning off the broadcast, Sawyer sat in his booth for a while, twiddling his thumbs, before picking the still half-full beer bottle from the ground and chugging its contents as he emerged and headed straight on outside. That had definitely felt strange.
But maybe it wasn't such a bad thing.
[ Backdated to this morning! Feel free to snag Sawyer after the show as he hangs out close to the radio booth. ST/LT welcome, no limit on tags. May be slow until the weekend. Also remember that Sawyer is always accepting Love Connection submissions; please submit them to his mailbox! ]
Both of which were relatively easy types to deal with.
He sat in the booth for a while, still half-tempted to laugh his ass off at the idea of him, him of all people, offering love advice. But well, it was easier to make suggestions to others rather than limit oneself to prudent decisions, and he liked hearing himself talk just enough to make the venture seem worthwhile. So he cleared his throat and flicked a few switches, putting him on air, opening with a classic rock sequence, volume kept relatively low.
"You know the world hates you when your opening mornin' gets interrupted by a damn space station showin' up outta nowhere," he started, figuring that introductions were overdone and that people would eventually learn who he was, if they didn't already know. "I can deal with half of my potential followin' muffling the radio 'cause they had too many drinks on a Tuesday night, but a space station, whoo boy. I don't care how damn good of a rocket you got hidden away under your clothes, ain't nothin' that compares with that. If you haven't gone yet, I suggest that you do."
Pausing, Sawyer pinched his nose. He was tempted to just barrel on ahead with the jokes, the laughs. Instead, he began in a more sobered tone. "But I'm here this mornin' to talk to you about love. We've put it off long enough. And in order to really talk about love, I first gotta say that there have been a few folks (well, more than a few, actually) who've lost loved ones lately. And I don't know how much my opinion matters right now. Probably not much. But I, and I'm sure a whole lotta other folk like those down at Loss Services, offer condolences and a listenin' ear if you ever need. More'n that, I... well, I feel you. I do."
Sawyer licked his lips, letting silence hang for half a minute before he slapped the table in front of him lightly. "That said, I've got a few people waitin' here on my sage advice, so let's begin.
"First, from Anonymous.
I like him, I just don't know why I like him. And until I know that, I don't know what I need to do to stop liking him. Help.
"...let me tell you somethin', Anonymous, and it may come as a shock to you. None of us really know why we like people. I mean, we say we do, and if we're lucky, we can outline a few things we like about that other person. She's nice. He's handsome. She's got this cute little mole on her lower back, his hair looks so nice when it waves in the island breeze. I get that last one a lot, anyway. But when you really like someone, those little thoughts and compliments don't stop comin' to mind, and even if you strip 'em all away there is this nasty little bugger called attraction that you can't wash away. If you're keen on not likin' this guy anymore, you are in for one rough ride, cowboy or girl. 'Course, sometimes tellin' yourself that you got better morals works. But what most people do, s'far as I can tell, is start makin' a daily routine of takin' a long, cold shower."
Stopping to allow himself a brief laugh and time to recoup, Sawyer rubbed at his eyes, trying his best not to make too much fun of the letter that... well, truly, could have come from someone of any age, but had a futility that sounded of inexperience. Taking a swig from his beer, he let the alcohol swirl about his mouth before taking up the next letter.
"Okay, onto my personal favorite. Ladies, I want you to pay extra-special attention, 'cause apparently someone thinks I can be trusted for somethin' like this:
Dear love-guru,
Handsome as so many of the men here are, they're really not my type. And most of the women, well, don't exactly look twice. What's a girl got to do around here to get laid by another woman?
Sincerely,
Frustrated and Unfortunately Celibate
With only an exhale to hint at his amusement, Sawyer cleared his throat. "Well, dear Frustrated and Unfortunately Celibate, I think you've outlined one of the unanswerable questions of the century. At least, I ain't ever been able to figure out that answer, and I'm sure life would be a whole lot more interestin' if I did, to me and practically all of the male population. I can't tell you how best to go about gettin' that lay, but I will say that if anyone is interested in this beautiful lady's offer, to drop off a letter of interest in my mailbox. And if you ever change your mind about men not bein' your type..."
He prayed that Kate would be able to hear a joke when she heard it.
"And last up, we've got a fan of metaphors. From the plumber who ain't doin' so well with his leaky faucet, I give you:
She's hot and cold. I give her what she wants and she dumps me before I can even blink. She's hot, don't get me wrong, and I used to think I loved her, but now I'm not so sure.
"First thing I gotta say, kid? Fix that damn faucet before you run dry and... I dunno, dry up and wind up a bitter old prune. If you think you deserve better, then just close up shop and focus more on yourself for a while. Work out, take walks along the beach. Do anythin' but come off as this snot-nosed little clingy brat, 'cause there ain't many people who find that kind of behavior attractive, and if they do, I don't think it's gonna bode any better for you.
"But, and it's a big but at that, she might just need time. Might be one of those people who runs away the first chance she gets. I ain't gonna decide one way or the other which she is 'cause I can think of a million women who're hot and cold, and not one that's only one or the other. But I do know that women've got a lot more reason for actin' the way that they do than we like givin' 'em credit for. I say you at least gotta talk to her. Probably shouldn't be about what you want. Maybe doesn't even gotta be about what she wants. Just talk, give her reason to keep from runnin' from you all the time, show her that you're givin' her plenty of time and opportunity to cool the heck down." Sawyer paused, running his fingers through his hair and inhaling slowly. "'Cause I knew a girl like that once, only she ain't so much of a girl anymore."
Tapping his hands restlessly on the dials and feeling like it was about time to hightail it out of the booth, Sawyer clapped his hands together. "Well, that just about wraps it up for this week. Remember, anyone who's got a question can drop off letters of inquiry, love confessions, or anythin' else non-toxic off at James Ford's mailbox in the Compound. The more you send in, the more interestin' this show becomes. Until next time, this was Sawyer, talkin' about... stuff."
Turning off the broadcast, Sawyer sat in his booth for a while, twiddling his thumbs, before picking the still half-full beer bottle from the ground and chugging its contents as he emerged and headed straight on outside. That had definitely felt strange.
But maybe it wasn't such a bad thing.
[ Backdated to this morning! Feel free to snag Sawyer after the show as he hangs out close to the radio booth. ST/LT welcome, no limit on tags. May be slow until the weekend. Also remember that Sawyer is always accepting Love Connection submissions; please submit them to his mailbox! ]