Seriously, Get a Life

I get lots of emails. Most of them are very nice. Some of them are doozies, baby.

Rhinoceros skin. I suppose that's a common metaphor to say that a person is not overly sensitive or thin- skinned. I am not particularly thick-skinned by any means, but after I calm down from my homicidal state, I can see that these are pathetic cries for attention. I give myself about two hours of down time before I'm rational.

I have learned that to be in radio, you have to toughen up a bit. Or learn to divorce yourself from the job or you will go bat shit crazy.

Classical music listeners (I call them classical Nazis) may be the worst in being rude and condescending in their tone. To believe them, you might think I just stepped off a turnip truck and my best shot at writing my name is an X. And it's not just me that gets this-everyone gets an asshole who wants to show that he/she are far superior to we radio employees. Engineers get special communications from know-it-all blowhards who insist that it's our fault if reception is poor. One idiot actually said, "I am an Audiophile (his caps) with a gifted ear." Please feel free to brag on yourself more, Mr. Hertz.
Classical Nazis want to prove several things:
1. They are critical listeners.
2. They are very educated. More so than you.
3. Absolutely and unequivocally they are unforgiving when any error is made on the air.
4. Most assuredly know they what is good and what is bad music.
5. Wish to prop themselves up higher than you.
6. Feel a compulsion to instruct the ignorant radio host.

Here's what I know:
1. Hosting a show involves a damn sight more than just knowing the music and programming it.
2. College professors do not a good host make. This is radio, not a classroom.
3. Most of these people seem a little off in the head.
4. I don't live and breathe only classical music. That's too limited for my musical imagination and interests.
5. My job doesn't solely define who I am.
6. These pompous jackasses need to get a life and leave me the fuck alone.
This is one of many reasons I enjoy my weekends, vacations and a genuinely look forward to retirement.

I imagine myself staring vacantly at the ocean on some lonely stretch of beach on the Outer Banks. More than slightly blotto from an aged rum, I realize that it's past dinner time. I gather my things and head to my favorite restaurant who I savor fish that hasn't been out of the water more than a few hours. After a satisfying and healthy meal, I head home; ready to play the guitar or watch Netflix. And maybe check my inbox which may be filled with happy, friendly emails from friends who want to come visit my island bungalow.

Maybe, just maybe, I will fill in on weekends at some college public radio station.

Perhaps you've heard of the station?

WFKU.