Decisions, decisions

What the eff is going on with me? Last week, on Friday, I interviewed Senator Carl Levin. I was struck near-dumb in his presence; anyone shouldering a burden like he does on behalf of the American People is an amazing person, in my book. The interview was marvelous and he left me a chocolate peanut butter cupcake for it.
Then Bart Stupak shows up all of a sudden and needs a new tag for his ads. Whom did he come to see for it? Me. I was feeling darn good about myself and my ability to make radio. THEN, I'm online, registering for my first semester of Nursing classes, when all of a sudden Dan from Green Bay calls and says, "Hey, Bridge, my morning guy has decided to retire in December. Are you still interested in our morning show?"

Am I? My own show in GB with the largest broadcasting company in America? And a boss who believes in me and my show idea and the notion that I could syndicate it from Chicago within five years?

COME THE FUCK ON.

Could it be more divinely obvious that I've got to make a decision and a giant leap of faith soon? Which way do I go?

To further muddy the sitch, I got a call yesterday from a certain station in Marquette. THEIR morning guy doesn't want to do it anymore and am I interested in going home and 'facing' (being the flagship personality) that radio station to my hometown? My hometown, to which my dad has just moved, which features a Target, two vegetarian friendly restaurants, an organic grocery store, a relatively free house, a liberal attitude, and an entirely different run at it than I used to have. It's tempting. However, this is the same group of stations whose management I have been criticizing for the choices they made here in Escanaba.
I'm going for an interview with them tomorrow. We'll see.

I figure, full-throttle all of it. Register for classes, apply in GB, meet with the guy in Marquette and try to impress the shit out of everyone I meet on the way to wherever I end up.

Thank you, unnamed Deity, for being so blatantly obvious. It's a delightful kick in the pants.