also
Even if we often spend the whole 30 minutes subjecting both recent anecdotes and longstanding issues of a befouled socioeconomic state to scalding socialist critique (a.k.a bitching) and forget to talk about how the meds are going.

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From Raffi’s autobiography:
One day when our coffers were full and I was given another large bonus, I had a talk with Mike.
“Let me see if I get it,” I began. “If this money is invested, it’ll get more money, right?”
“Right.”
“And then? If I invested that successfully, there’s more money, right?”
“That’s right. Raf, what are you driving at?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just . . . what’s the money for? Beyond a certain point, what good does it do?”
I wasn’t really going anywhere with this. I was just frustrated with the idea of capital accumulating toward no apparent end. It was a concept that baffled me.
[I hear you, guy.]
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Just passed a man peeing fairly discreetly (I didn’t have to see his penis, for one) up against a locked gate a little ways up my block. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s okay,” I said, and then called back, “but I appreciate your saying so.”
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The woman who inherited the gloriously tortured Winchester Mystery House from its decades-long creator, gun-death-haunted Sarah Winchester, was named Mrs. Marian Merriman Marriott.
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The content you get is unique to each place (even in different parts of the same city), and in many cases you’ll find live persons/personalities (from college goofballs and community activists to LiteFM’s advice czar Delilah, a strong candidate for my next nemesis) all doing and saying different things for an anonymous, un-quantifiable audience. And you have to hunt for it with a dial and radial using a safe-cracker’s touch.
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