This is the Other You series that explores what life might look like for you if you chose that instead of this or there instead of here.
Other Joey Rodie
Other Joey Rodie
All socials: @joeyrodie
Part funny man, part fried chicken fan, today’s guest is a talented, quick witted, charming member of Comedy Sportz’s minor league squad, a veteran of Second City and iO (rip), and a quality content creating Twitch Streamer. Joe Rodriguez and I dive into relationships, depression, coping, hobbies and music. Enjoy!
Follow him on all the social media platforms @joeyrodie
Music in today’s episode is Blood Milk by The Inventors. You can find more of their music at freemusicarchive.org
Other Joey (Rodie) Short Story
“Ugh,” Other Joe expels, exasperated. “You couldn’t wait like two minutes? I said I’d be done in two minutes. Seriously, I just wanted to finish this round. I was leading.” Other Joe rips his headphones off and tosses them on his keyboard. He looks up at the screen emblazoned with bright red letters reading, “YOU HAVE DIED!” Colette retrieves her hand from Other Joe’s shoulder, takes a few steps back and stumbles over his shoes left in the center of the room.
Other Joe sits with slumped shoulders, staring at the backlit keyboard, mesmerized by the pattern of colors slowing pulsing from hue to hue. With his index finger, he picks at a torn piece of flesh at the base of his thumbnail. He is not much of a nail biter anymore, but on occasion he will nervously pick at his flesh, oftentimes until he bleeds. He has grown accustomed to the pain and intermittently bothers the wound preventing it from healing. His once pressed Croft & Barrow cream colored shirt sits snugly on him, holding tightly to his torso. It is half pulled from his wrinkle free slacks, the other half loosely tucked into his underwear. He begins wiggling his toes noticing they are unusually free. He scans the room looking for his shoes. They sit at his girlfriend Colette’s feet. He traces her outline from toe to head, she is wearing her favorite heels. The red ones with a hint of sparkle. He follows her tights from her shoes to the hem of her dress, the one he bought her on their first anniversary. It has a slit that goes from the hem to mid-thigh just off center, but you can only tell it is there when she moves. A small smile pokes at the corner of his mouth. He continues scanning and she is wearing her mother’s belt. She only wears this belt when she must make a big decision. Recounting every conversation they have had over the last few days, he is at a loss for whatever on which she might be deciding. Before noticing, in his mind he guesses she is wearing the blouse she just bought. The pale green one that makes her eyes pop. Lost in thought he muses to himself, “God, she’s beautiful. Why’s she so dressed up?” He continues scanning and notices she is talking to him. He had not heard a single word while he seethed in frustration, nor while he panned from her feet to her eyes. “Wait, what was that? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you just now,” Other Joe mutters.
“Just now or at all? It’s been like two minutes. Seriously, Other Joe,” she quickly responds.
“No, no. Just now. Just say that last bit again, please.” Other Joe continues.
Colette expels an ‘ugh’ of her own and reiterates, “Look. This is a long time coming. I am not happy about having to do this, I’m not excited at all –“
Other Joe interrupts, “-but should you be? Is this the fate that half of the world has planned for me? Err, for you. Well, you know what I mean.”
“What? Why did you… what does that even mean?” She questions.
Dad, Husband, bestie, IT Tech, banjo noobie, drummer in his heart, Chris Millard opens up about life in the tech world and what it might have been not in the tech world. Well, some things we cannot escape. Today we talk about BBS, old British Pubs, Scottish radio and so much more!
It is the Court’s opinion that Ders is positively delightful! Sit down and take a listen to our conversation and learn a bit about fear, life, sass, the appeal’s court and listen to/read a fun story about it all.
Follow Ders on Instagram @ders.c
Support a cause by visiting justiceforbreonna.org
Music in today’s episode is “Dead Bird” by McCafferty. You can find more of their music at freemusicarchive.org
Other Ders Short Story
“Isn’t there some other way you can give me a flu shot?” Other Amanda pleads. The timid twenty-one-year-old woman sits alert on the padded bench. She watches the hands of her doctor intently, shying away from any movement in her direction with the sterile needle. “Please, is there? I don’t really have time to get sick, so I know I have to get this flu shot, but maybe there is a flu pill or cream or aerosol spray? Anything?”
The campus doctor pauses for a moment before leaning back on her stool away from the frightened student. Her experience as a campus doctor rests comfortably on her face and shoulders and she patiently waits for Other Amanda to work out her discomfort. She calmly reiterates, “You don’t have to be afraid. I am not going to hurt you. We can wait as long as you need to to get this shot, but I’m sorry, there is no other way to administer a flu shot. If you were daring, and the chances of this benefiting you in any real way are slim to none, you could go visit a friend of yours who is sick and just get the flu from them and you should be fine for the rest of the season.” With a smirk, the doctor flashes a sarcastic eyebrow at Other Amanda and smugly awaits a response.
“Well that’s just ridiculous. I don’t have time to be sick, that’s why I’m here. Why would you even suggest that?” Frustrated, Other Amanda demands, “You know what, you’re supposed to help me get through this, right? You are supposed to do no harm. Does that not include emotional harm? Why would you be such a jerk about all this? I don’t like needles, I don’t like bees or hornets or narwhals or swordfish or unicorns for that matter. I’ve been pricked, pruck, poked, whatever is the right word, enough times and I don’t like it.”
Exasperated, the doctor causes the needle to retract, removes her gloves and pushes away from Other Amanda. There is actually a nasal spray, let me see if we have any.
“I’ve asked so many people for alternatives, you’re telling me there is?” Incredulous, Other Amanda soft taps her foot against the floor. She slides her hands under her thighs and begins tearing away at the roll of paper separating her from the leather cushion underneath. The doctor heads out of the room leaving Other Amanda to stew in her frustration.
“Brett. Can we just leave?”
“Oh, I don’t know Other Amanda, you set out to do this, so you should see it through. It’s probably not even that bad. You’ve seen those commercials where they spray liquid vapor rub up their nose, right? I’m sure it’s just like that. Probably smells worse. Like stale paper and room dust. Maybe it’s like crushed up moth balls dipped in spoiled milk. I don’t know what viruses smell like, but I doubt it’s going to be bad. Besides, we’re here. Why leave?”
“Because I don’t like this doctor. She’s kinda mean. Don’t you think so?”
The two sit in silence for an hour before a nurse comes in with another patient. “Oh, I’m sorry, I need this room for a patient. Why are you two here?”
Other Amanda stands and look
Jon and I explore how gray life can be without those you love to add all
Multi-faceted critically-acclaimed award-winning actor, appearing on numerous major television shows and stage productions, Preston Tate Jr stops by to regale us with adventures of his youth and we interpret them and reimagine life for young Preston. We talk about acting, wrestling… oh, you don’t like wrestling? Well, in the immortal words of The Rock, “IT DOESN’T MATTER!”
Check out his website www.officialprestontatejr.com or look him up on social medias like Instagram, Twitter and Facebook at @prestorama, @prestatejr and Preston Tate Jr (like page) respectively.
Music in today’s episode is Run Come by Shaolin Dub. You can find more of their music at freemoviearchive.org
Other Preston Short Story
With a crackle, the lights go out in the small theater for a pregnant moment. An uproarious applause erupts within the darkness and the house lights blast the seats with a warm yellow glow. The student performers wear vibrant smiles and rush downstage to take their positions for a collective bow. Other Preston’s father looks at his boy who is slowly clapping and intermittently adding soft “whoos.”
“You okay, Other Preston?”
Placing his hand on Other Preston’s shoulder, Preston Sr rotates his son and looks him in the eyes. “Are you okay? Your claps, while appreciated, I’m sure, are not vigorous. What’s the matter? Did you want to be down there?”
“I don’t know. I know I needed a break. And the break has been fine. I’m looking at them all and there’s a small part of me that thinks, ‘yeah, that’s what I want to do; that’s where I want to be.’ But there is an even louder part inside me that doesn’t want to do that at all. I think I just want to go home. Can we do that? Can we just go home?”
“Sure thing, son. You want some ice cream? Maybe we could stop on the way home and get some ice cream. You know I don’t like the idea of eating your feelings, but we wont do that. We will just have a sweet treat and talk. What do you say?”
Still slowly clapping, Other Preston contemplates tomorrow. It was just meant to be a short break from being on stage all the time; from rehearsing every day; from being expected to perform with every breath. The image he is creating in his mind is one of a life without acting. No expectations. The clapping stops and Other Preston holds his hands firmly together and rests them on his abdomen. “You know what, dad? I think I would like that very much. Let’s get some ice cream.”
“The crowd goes silent. There is a single spotlight in the whole house, and it shines on none other than Stone Cold Steve Austin. He retires today. But that doesn’t mean he wont get slapped in the mouth! Let’s see who else is here.” Other Preston sets the tiny stage on the floor in the center of his room. The cloudy night provides no outside illumination, the only light coming from the small flashlight in Other Preston’s hand. It frantically scours the room looking for potential dangers to the polypropylene action figure positioned in the center of the small to scale ring. “Who will it be? The Rock? Nah, too easy. Kurt Angle? Nope he just lost to Brock Lesner again. Who is that on the dresser there? That mammoth of a man. That titan of flesh and bone. IT’S THE BIG SHOOOOOOOW!!!!!” Other Preston excitedly takes hold of the twelve inch tall figure and slow motion manipulates the toy to perform the greatest display of agility wrestling has
Lover of music, family and hard work, former and (current DJ because does one ever stop being a DJ?), Tommy Sorensen stops in for a chat and we explore life for young Tommy in Denmark. We explore some of the leadership qualities he espouses in himself and builds in his employees and we trace his affinity for hard work back to his youth when he became the man of the house.
Today’s music is “Design” by Metre. You can find more of their music at freemusicarchive.org
Other Tommy Short Story “Other Tommy, come here boy. We have to talk.” Other Tommy’s father reaches out to his son. The stench of the day’s work lingered on his hands, stained dark from the years of handling refuse. “Maybe your mother has told you, maybe she hasn’t. I’m going to work today, boy, but I am not coming home. We have decided to divorce. That leaves this home without a man, so you will be that man. Do you understand? You must help provide for your family because you are here and I am not.”
Other Tommy, not fully dressed for the day, hangs his head in confusion. “Far (pronounced Fah) why do you have to go? Why do I have to be the man now?”
Undeterred from the decision they made to split, Other Tommy’s father drops to a knee. He reaches out, lifting his sweet boy’s chin and looks deeply into his eyes. “Other Tommy, I have to go because we decided that was what we were going to do. I said ‘I am leaving,’ and I have to do what I say I am going to, don’t I? Who would I be if I said things and didn’t do them? Who would you be? You must always be who you say you are going to be. What do we say to liars?”
Softy, Other Tommy complies, “That they are afraid of the truth because they haven’t accepted themselves as failures and that they need to work harder.”
“That’s right boy. Man. That’s right young man. The day is not long, Other Tommy and you have a lot of growing up to do before the light retreats tonight.”
“Far, that’s not my role. I am just a boy. I cannot be a man. They will not let me drive; I cannot have a job yet; I cannot live by myself. I will be a boy for as long as they let me, then I will be a man. But I will be the best man there is. I will keep all my promises,” fighting back tears Other Tommy continues, “so you go if you must. I will stay. I will be the best boy that has ever been, and the best man there ever will be. Better than you.”
They day breaks poking light in Other Tommy’s bedroom as if on the hunt for something. The darkness scampers deep into the closet and under his bed. A single ray of light finds a reflective surface before invading the peace of Other Tommy’s overnight sleep. With a scrunch of his eyes and nose and an audible yawn, Other Tommy sits himself up. The brightness of the sunrise belies the terribly early morning hour. The calendar on the wall has a date circled, June 5th and twelve-year-old Other Tommy slowly makes his way to his closet, diving into the waning darkness for his football shorts and shoes. Other Tommy’s mother waits sleepily at the kitchen table with a warm bowl of grod (groll). Other Tommy takes his with a few slices of apple and a dollop of honey. “Good morning my beautiful zombie.” Other Tommy playfully moans and rambles to the table. “Scary!! Eat up.”
“Okay, mor (pronounced moa)!”
Other Tommy looks out over the empty field, tracing the lines normally scrawled along the pitch in his mind and places mental markers. Looking down at his watch, the time reads 4:50, and he kicks the ball out and dribbles along the e