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Much was promised, little delivered. There was plenty that should have been accomplished today. Made an early trip to the studio to record a scheduled phone-in interview with a band from California (9AM, their time). The catch? Everybody in the office skipped for the long holiday weekend. All of the production studio doors were locked, and all calls were programmed to be answered automatically. Result? No access to recording equipment, or the phone they would've called in on. Again, the curse of college radio rears its ugly head. And I thought I was clueless. In fact, the entire campus was like the scene for an end-of-the-world sci-fi flick. Abandoned. Not a soul on the grounds, the only animation being the bitter wind tossing undgergrad debris through the courtyards... making the station seem like the last outpost of civilization. As it were. The On-Air part was OK. No "technical difficulties," good flow of rhythms... all said musically that was intended. What you would call a "good show." Two interesting calls on the request line. One, from the voice of a Jamaican lady who knew her music. It's always good to hear from someone who has lived where the sounds originate, and compliment the programming. It's like striking a well-tuned chord, that resonates back to you. The other, from some dude who obviously was listening to one radio station, and called another. Once I figured out his accent, it was apparent that he was tuned into a classical station that was playing Christmas concertos... he'd said that most of the show was good, but was starting to sound "too ordinary." Since I hadn't played anything remotely seasonal, I clued him in by holding the phone up to the monitors, pulsing some Rock Steady at the time. And then he was gone. Foiled by the speed dial, I assume. Before packing up and going back out on the strangely empty streets (on a Friday!), Biggles rang... so addled by his move to a new place, that he couldn't remember his phone number, or street address. So I told him we'd link back up with him some other time. And so it goes. Tomorrow, Miss Jane looks for her new cat... since we'd been approved by the shelter for adopting. Four new feet in the house by this time in twenty-four hours, perhaps. We need some life in this place. |
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