"Something good to say?"
That doesn't mean anything.
Sometimes I hate my own writing, but not as much as I hate having my very mundane and wholly reasonable dreams dashed on a daily basis. Some days bring multiple dashings.
First, an old stone that's been in my shoe for months:
For a long time I've had a Sunday morning radio show. Seven in the morning;an OK slot for a newbie, which I no longer am. For months, I've been asking for a better time slot...a while back , one opened up.
I wanted it. I asked for it. Multiple times. No use. An open, public announcement was made in hopes of filling the time-spot. One I felt I'd earned. It was up for grabs. To the public too, even if they had never even heard of the station.
After much hippie hand-wringing, it was decided that an ad hoc committee would be formed and all the applications would be voted on by the committee, which was comprised of everyone who showed up at the meeting, which was the largest crowd in station history.
It was essentially a popularity contest. I do poorly in those.
I was also disqualified for not attending the meeting. Two of my friends pointed out that I was at my grandmother's funeral 150 miles away and perhaps my show should be considered despite my absence .
This didn't help my show get on the air but it did give me a fair idea of how many friends I have in a crowded room at a place that I have given three and a half years of my life to.
I feel great about that.
But at least I have a job, right, and one that I am excited about. I was afraid I'd have a hard time sleeping Thursday night, being all nervous about the next day...at around 10 pm Thursday my phone rang. It was my new boss:
"There's a storm coming in, they have postponed the show until Monday."
"Oh.That sucks. Well, see you Monday morning, same time and place then?"
"No. We don't need you for that show.".
"Oh. What about the other shows? I'm ready to go, anytime. All summer."
"Probably not. Maybe late summer, helping with the tents in the West End. I'll call you"
What the fuck? The last time we talked, it was like we were old pals...now this?
On the website it mentions the storm and some city inspection trouble, but the rest of the shows are still on...someone has to set up the scaffolding, hook up the monitors and carry the gear around. I thought that I was going to be one of those guys...I know it's not lucrative or glamorous, but it's what I want and it''s damned hard to get a break into the biz...I had my break. Or not, it turns out.
I'm back to dreaming of simply sitting in a cube for 40 hours a week, fucking around with someone's Word and Excel docs, but that dream is more elusive than the music business...last week I endured three interviews, all through agencies and all done en masse. What is with these 'group interviews' anyway? When did that start?
These are for file clerk and secretarial positions, not for cheerleader tryouts.
Anyway, I felt pretty sexy when I thought I had that job. Sexy enough to answer a local personal ad, the only one of dozens that made me laugh; a very witty and sly writer- I met every one of her listed requirements -including having a job that I was passionate about-I sent her a very entertaining, upbeat and downright sweet missive- and she wrote directly back! At length and with humor! She had even figured out -via radio clues- who I was. Despite knowing this, she wrote back! It's looks like a date is almost inevitable.
I've been blogging long enough to know when romantic words are (or aren't) working and this was good...especially given that in this case we live in the same city...but now I have to explain that I don't really have a job...if that part wasn't true, why should she believe anything else I say?
What am I gonna do? Show her my blog? Sometimes I think the only reason I don't delete this fucker is because I may need it as an exhibit for my insanity defense.
Well, I gotta run. One of my DJs canceled at the last minute and it's my responsibility to make sure the shift is covered. I'll have some help from one of my new trainees, who has been a bright spot on my otherwise sore radio mood, so that's good...halfway through the show, I have to leave in order to attend a technical meeting.
I feel like quitting.
Update: The show tonight was fun and our meeting included pizza and a discussion about microphone processors, compression ratios and CD repairs. To me, that's a good time. I can't quit...I have another show in ten hours...and a compressor to calibrate...and pizza...fuck.