Rather than have the rumors fly, I thought I'd give my blog a heads-up. I won't be around a computer for a week, so my trivial pursuits won't be chronicled until next week some time. Some of my mail lately, has had some good attachments. I'll have to share them with you. Now...I have a three hour bus ride and then hopefully some pilots who won't miss where they're going.

I was thinking earlier today what our lives would be like if we all had a HOT LINE to answer.

I always thought the ubiquitous HOT LINE at radio stations were installed for emergency purposes. When I worked in Cedar Rapids there was a DJ who had a nervous break-down on the air. The first sign that "we have a problem Cedar Rapids!" was when the engineer heard the sound of the needle trailing along the final groove of the 45...over and over. At that point, the HOT LINE was rather useless. What good was it? The guy was cowering in the corner blubbering like So You Think You Can Dance judge. It wasn't like he was going to answer the HOT LINE and say the reason there is nothing on-the-air is because I just went nuts. Let me think of a trivial but necessary reason for a HOT LINE call. The DJ is playing a promo or spot that is out-of-date to the point it makes the station sound stupid or lose money. Good reason for a HOT LINE call. How about if the Jock steps on a vocal...or reads the liner with the music too hot....or doesn't answer the HOT LINE quickly?

I'm trying to remember if I ever got a PD HOT LINE call that was a compliment. Why not change the name to the CHICKEN-SHIT LINE. I got in trouble at KDWB when I got upset by a bunch of HOT LINE calls from the PD who used to work in Chicago and pulled the phone out wires and all and tossed in on the floor by the office door. Cost me, too. They made me pay for the repairs. One station I worked had a huge RED light that flashed when the HOT LINE rang. They even referred to it as the RED PHONE instead of the HOT LINE. I used to unscrew that infra-red thing about half and inch...just enough so it wouldn't blink. That got old..plus I was pissing someone off....so one night I did some extra curricular work after my shift. I carefully unscrewed the fixture with the bulb...pulled on the wire inside and cut the wire. I sort of frayed the wire so that it looked like, perhaps, a mouse had chewed it. The various folks from CSI would have sussed things out in a minute or two. Even if someone had taken off the fixture, like I did, all they would find is one of the wires..too short..to make the necessary connection. I had pushed the end down into the wall. It took them almost six months to fix.

Today, my aim was poor in the bathroom...I used a knife to cut a plum and nearly amputated my arm....I spilled salad dressing on a sofa pillow and just rubbed it until it sort of disappeared...and I returned from Barnes & Noble, took off my shorts, and didn't wear any pants for the rest of the day. I really should have been HOT LINED!

For some reason, I enjoy reading on the beach. In the sand. When I'm in the house, I'll read for an hour or so and then have to take a break. With the sound of the waves and wind as a back-ground, I can read for hours next to an ocean. For some reason, I crave Cheetos when I'm beaching. I'll bring along a diet Mountain Dew but it just makes me thirstier so a nice bottled water is nice. And a good book. Before I continue with this story, may I remind you that in Minnesota last week, I had my teeth cleaned. On my way out, the hygienist gave me some goodies including a new toothbrush. Cleaning out my bag I replaced the old toothbrush (with the clear handle) with the new toothbrush (with the blue handle). The clear handled toothbrush I put under the bathroom sink to use as a nooks & crannies cleaning tool. Now...back to the beach. I love the sand, the salt-water smell, the sun, and the Cheetos. I don't enjoy the sea-gulls. I especially don't like these beach-rats when they crap on my shoes. I've tossed tennies that have crap on them. These were brand new. When I got home I reached under the sink and used that old clear-plastic-handled toothbrush to clean out the nooks and crannies on my right-foot-gull-shit-shoe. I tossed the shoe into the hall-way and continued with the rest of the day. Last night before sleep, I went into the bathroom, grabbed a toothbrush, slathered on tooth-paste and began working on those pesky molars. About 10 strokes into the task, watching myself in the mirror, I noticed my toothbrush....with the clear plastic handle.....!!!!....!!!!!....

EEEWWWW!!

I had lunch with my older brother yesterday. I was really looking forward to eating something...well....decadent. I wanted a huge burger and fries. Or a patty-melt. Something soaking in grease or smothered with gravy. My brother chose the meat-loaf special. I didn't because I actually had some cold meat-loaf in the fridge. I went with the beef stew or biscuits. Obviously, I got some left-over stew micro-waved to the luke-warm consistency of flour paste. It had an abundance of peas and a shortage of beef. This gelatinous beige mixture was covering a couple of hockey pucks masquerading as biscuits. I had to use the butter knife to cut them into edible pieces. And here is the sad part. I actually finished it. I didn't enjoy even one bite. Last night I under-cooked some brussel sprouts and they were hard and bitter. I ate them all. At some point I am going to have to stop doing things I don't want to do. I should also stop doing things I THINK I want to do even though while doing those things I am not enjoying doing them. I don't even understand that and I swear I am totally sober. I need to get out of town.

Which temp would you choose. After my dentist appointment I'll let you guess. Now, I'm thinking of the beach and just to be different...strawberries or fresh pineapple and champagne. I KNOW I have a bottle of champagne in the fridge. "Moet et chandon...in a pretty cabinet." Now THAT is a great song! Killer Queen. You want to know another great song? I mean like all-time great. I mean when you hear it and you've had a few beers...or a lime Ricky or two...you might say..."That's the BEST song ever!". I Will Survive. Damn that's a good song. I used to really like War. (What is it good for? Good God, y'all..bump bump...etc)but I'm tired of it now and sort of like war. But...You can sing along to those songs. In the car those are songs you turn up loud. If I were riding in the car with my nephews and wanted to really piss them off the way it is so fun to do to latter-day generations...I'd sing along. ("At first I was afraid..I was petrified....") They look like they are going to throw up. LOL. ("She's a Killerrrrrrr Queen...gun powder, gelatine...." I have to stop this. I'm starting to sound like I actually think Oldies Stations are viable formats. The trouble with Oldies Stations is some ass-hole consultant...or National PD...is going to have you playing Gloria Gaynor and Queen AND...("In the summertime... when the weather is high....") Fuck Mungo Jerry! The problem is this is all a matter of opinion. And when some guy who couldn't hit the post if they were playing Stairway to Heaven...some consultant with a heart blacker than Olympia Snowe's hair...suggests that you should play Lover's Concerto three times a day you either meekly do it to keep your job and advance your career or you tell them to shove the Toys up their ass. I have to quit writing about this. I'm getting angry and my blood pressure is on the way north.

Being so psychologically fragile (lol), it doesn't take much to get me reaching for the Prozac. For the last dozen years, or so, I've hated having to make ANY sort of commitment. Last July I made a dentist appointment for October 14th. It's been bothering me since the beginning of August. I don't mind the dentist. I never have any real work done, anyway. A cleaning and a gentle reminder to floss. ("Of course, I promise, I will.....ahuh.") In fact, there is something almost sensual about reclining in that special chair while people stick things in your mouth. I feel the same way about hair-cuts. I am not sure I like when they wash it for you.....or when you are finished and they brush the hair off your crotch. And then there is all that body contact when they lean over you. If it is a woman hair-doer...and she is zoftig...then your elbow is constantly digging into her boob-side...and that reminds me of my grandmother. Not that I actually ever wanted to feel my Gram's boobs....in fact....I don't even want to think about her boobs. All this reminds me of ratings books. Damn, those were horrible times waiting for the 'book'. The fall ratings used to come out around Christmas and I can't count how many Christmas' were ruined. If it came out after Christmas and was good...you wasted all the pre-holiday time worrying. If it came out before Christmas and was bad....you had a horrible holiday. A while ago I was listening to a local late morning talk-show and they were talking about their 'good' book. What made it funny is that they actually believed their book was good because THEY were good. How about they got good ratings not because of quality but because people slow down and look at car wrecks. They don't even have the basics covered. They suck. The other day they suggested they might pursue syndication. Ha Ha Ha. Where? On the Suck Network? I was going to list all the things I don't like about their show but now I think it would sound like some cranky old man complaining about people taking a shortcut across his lawn. Now that I think of that ratings report card I realize that theater had some of that too. Ever so often I dig out an old show-tape or video tape of some theater thing and like any ego-maniacal exhibitionist, I get orgasmic at how good I was. With a good box of air-checks, who needs Viagra!

Sorry for the lack of content here. I just haven't felt much like writing. The ironic thing is I think of so many topics and rants and raves and then when I'm actually sitting in front of the computer....well....whatever. Don't you just hate the word "whatever"? The ultimate laziness. Whatever. When to see the HD theater feed of Tosca this afternoon and as usual, I was blown away. I love the opera and love going to it in person, but there is something so unique about seeing it up-close on that huge theater screen. A $350 dollar seat in the orchestra doesn't get you as close. I like seeing the beads of sweat pouring from beneath the soprano's wig.

Thanks for everyone who took the time to send me an email about our loss of Mesa. I just read them. Foolish, I know, but often I deal with bad things by ignoring them.

I DID get to the fair. It was sweet and sour and in the future I'll (maybe) write about it. The food, however, was primo. I loved my cream-puff. You just can't really enjoy it standing up. The fair needs more benches and more tables. IMHO. I can't really think of anything I ate there that knocked my sox off. Pretty much just the old stand-by stuff. On the radio-station front...KDWB has got to get rid of that ridiculous portable radio thing. Damn, it is ugly. Once again, IMHO, the best radio presentation at the fair was the Disney Station. At least THEY were engaging their audience. It was kind of funny to see a ton of pre-pubescent kids dancing in front of their stage. At KDWB someone had taken out the batteries in their boom box.

And...since it so often mentioned when I take these 'vacations'....my health is fine...at least physically. Mentally, I have lots of issues. And when some newspaper writer writes that My Story is "florid" of course I have to up the dosage of the latest psych-med. In 1981 a PD said my morning show was "puerile". I just recovered from that in 2007. Hold on a second....I'm going to google the definition of florid.......(Hum the Alex Trebek Music).........!!!!flowery; excessively ornate; showy!!!! ...I guess that's not too bad. I much prefer the synonyms...flamboyant, grandiloquent, rococo; flash, gaudy OK....it's too cold to go any place, so I think I'll have myself a little snack and drink a little wine and listen to some vinyl. I had some home-made white bread. I took three slices, spread cream cheese on one and home-made ham-salad on another. I had some shallots to thinly slice onto the cream cheese and some stuffed olives to slice onto the ham-salad. I put them together and cooled them off in the fridge with the wine. Now I'll cut off the crusts and slice them vertically into a series of little finger sandwiches. I have a third of a bottle of a Washington State Riesling and I think I shall sleep just fine.

I was back in Minnesota for the State Fair and spent some quality time with my nephew and his family south of The Cities. When finally I checked almost a month of email I belatedly received the news that Mesa had died. I didn't want to blog about it and I didn't want to think about it. The world just seemed a bit empty.

How Mesa fits into My Story is covered in various chapters; especially in the U100 parts. I interviewed her in my office in the basement at U100 and when she tried to leave, the door-knob came off in her hand. Our engineer had to take the door off the hinges so Mesa could leave. She kept the door-knob as a good luck charm.

U100 didn't last long so we never worked together again. I tried to entice her to San Francisco. That didn't work either. Whether you spent a lot of time with Mesa or just fleeting moments, she had an impact and that was the secret to her success. You just couldn't ignore Mesa Kincaid. The truth be told, she could have been an even greater success. She never reached the heights her talent deserved. She just did it her way.

She called me a summer ago. I was at a baseball game. The conversation went on for quite a while and ended with mutual pledges to 'do lunch'. It never happened, damn it.

So, our Mesa has climbed that mountain. Some day we'll climb it too. It isn't something I like to think about. Deep inside I know that on the other side of that big mountain are my Mom and Dad, my Grandma...and Mesa...with a great big purse...with a door-knob inside.