Thursday, Dec. 08, 2005
Windsor Sum Lose Sum
So far today's been better than yesterday. I think.
I did a cross-transfer of files yesterday but I screwed up and transferred from the on-air machine to the production machine, rather than vice-versa. What that meant was that now all of the outdated announcements and whatnot that I left where they were on the on-air machine are now playing again. Urg.
We're talking Halloween spots playing in early December.
Not a pretty day, I have to tell you.
I think I got everything cleaned up before I left this afternoon. At least I hope I did. Of course since I reversed which machine is which on our underwriting announcements, I still need to double-check and be sure I transferred some of the music in the right direction.
The station owner declared that he wants public service announcements recorded to run at the top of every hour, on the hour. He told me to just record a bunch on Monday and let 'em run all week. If only it were that simple! As today's file-crossing fiasco showed, you have to take out anything that's outdated. So if you have meeting A that runs at 1pm on the 15th, you can't be running it at 3pm on the 17th, etc. Which boils down to the need to record and run something new pretty much every day, in addition to the other things I do.
Production (i.e., recording, editing and putting the sound files into the rotation) is the single most time-consuming job I've got. I already have to do a daily record of two weather forecasts. On top of that I had to rebuild the format around all of those changes, plus bring in a couple of people to record intros and outros (the little blurbs that say in essence, "All this junk I'm telling you is for your own good so pay attention. And oh yeah, Sponsor XYZ is paying for it.")
Plus my Friday afternoon guy came in this morning while I was still on live and we putzed around on the air for my last hour. I think sometimes that he and I are the reincarnation of Laurel and Hardy or some other comedy team. We don't need a script to fire off shots back and forth. And while we do our fair share of insults, it's not mean-spirited and we have on occasion had to shut down the mics so we could howl in laughter at all of the things we couldn't actually say on the air.
Between us we've got about sixty years in radio and considerably more acquiring and fine-tuning our senses of humor. We both appreciate the intrinsic value of chewing on our toes from time to time - never intentionally but those feet do manage to find their way into our mouths when we least expect it, don't they?
Most of the time it's clean stuff, though now and then we regale each other with the unrecorded and often unemployed-as-a-result bloopers of our respective pasts. I've never been fired for misspeaking and neither has he, but we've both known jocks who have. And hoo boy... have some of our guests thrown out some interesting bombs. Once recently here in town, a woman guest was on Afternoon Guy's show at the other station - where he's Morning Guy - and while he didn't recall what exactly he asked the woman, she responded innocently, "I blew the computer."
AG was turning beet red just recounting the story to me. He said he literally bit his tongue until it bled to keep from saying something he shouldn't, or bursting out laughing and thus creating even further chaos. He said he grabbed a letter opener and was stabbing himself in the thigh - absolutely anything to distract himself.
Apparently it was funny enough originally, but the woman kept repeating herself.
If we were on the Howard Stern show, we'd probably have asked for a demonstration of technique. In rural Arizona, that would be pushing things a tad. Though I have to admit, if it had been me, I don't know if I'd have been able to resist the impulse to ask, anyway.
In any event, we both agreed that we're immensely grateful to see Friday roll around. My Friday afternoon guy is the lead jock at the other radio station in the building; he works morning shift there while I'm pulling morning hours at my station. We overlap for two of the three hours so if I arrive early (unlikely) or he stays late (frequently) we end up yacking on the other's show.
I think of it as incestuous radio, when you consider that we're basically working at sister stations.
The overlap goes other directions, too; when I come across a news story I write it up for their newsguy. I don't actively pursue news leads any more, but for example, I wrote up a report on the fire last night.
Speaking of that fire, I realized I short-sheeted my attempts to garner made-up memories, darn it. At least those I did get were wonderful! I'm posting them here for posterity (or at least for the life of this Diaryland account) because my Haloscan drops notes after XX amount of time/entries.
- art - i remember the time we met, it was a lil while ago, and you were at the control booth in the radio station, doing radio gurl things, and i was there for an audition. even though you said i have a nice voice, i lied like piss to get the job, so i can see ya daily! but as it is, it didnt work out, cause you checked my "references" and found out i lied like piss. so you fired me, and i went into the mountains, never to return! amen.
- hissandtell - I guess the time I think of most fondly was when we were in the South of France (St Tropez, Cannes, Nice,– who can remember exactly where?) together on that ghastly Greek shipping magnate's yacht with whale-foreskin covered stools in the bar, the day after we'd been at the Monaco Red Cross Ball. I'd been dancing all night with some obscure Hanoverian (human, not equine) prince with a huge, ah, coat of arms, and you'd grabbed Roger Moore and Ringo Starr for a few quick polkas 'round the dance floor because that silly Argentinian tennis player with hairy biceps wouldn't leave you alone because he'd fallen madly in love with you and was determined to whisk you off to Wimbledon with him to eat strawberries. Remember? And then the next day this bloody noisy helicopter flew overhead and dumped thousands of red roses onto the deck and Bicep-Boy kept yelling down to you, "Love! Set! Match! Let's score, baby!" until you grabbed that conveniently-located high-energy directed laser beam off the wall and shot him right out of the sky. That wiped the smile off his face, because he spent the next hour or so bobbing about in the water with a thorny rose stem stuck in his teeth whimpering, "But...but...how about mixed doubles, then?" and you and I laughed and guzzled champagne as we sailed out of there to Cap-d'Antibes to stay at the Duke of Windsor's chateau for the evening. Ah, good times.
- sommer - remember that time we delivered a baby shamu? Those were great times...
Ah... what interesting times. But unlike THESE folks posted, I was looking for entirely fictitious accounts. I promised the Windsors that the escapades there would remain entirely hush-hush, after all.
I'd still love to have more notes along those lines - an entirely made-up memory involving you and me.
Just don't forget, the Windsors are off-limits. I figure they already hog the tabloids, no point in allowing them to take over my diary, anyway. Humph.
Well, my scalloped potatoes and ham are done and they're calling my name, so I think I shall answer.
Oh yes, before I forget yet again. I mailed out my first mountain of Christmas cards at lunchtime yesterday and have several more in the works. If you want a Christmas card from me, please email me with your snail mail addy - the "contact" link at the top of this page ties to my email. I am still going through my address book trying to make sure of whose snail mail I have and whose I don't. I think I'm still missing chaosdaily's addy (hint hint) and not sure who else of my regular folks. Wenchie, too, come to think of it. And... oh heck, you know who you are. Just email me. Don't make me track you down.
Before - After
In the grander scheme of things, no soul can truly be replaced. Each one of us has a place in the universal tapestry. We each contribute our own color and texture. When one thread is snipped too soon, it distorts all the threads around it. Other lives can unravel and tear. If the wrong thread is ripped away, the whole fabric of life becomes dangerously fragile.
- LeiLani, aka Radiogurl aka Bright Opal (1957 - )