Happy F-ing Valentines Day

OK, this post isn't really about Valentine's Day. There'll be some references to it, but really I just need to vent a little. There will be some f-bombs thrown about so keep the kids away.

Well, it's been a long week. Actually a long few weeks. The kids have been absolutely horrible. It's as if someone took their Ritalin away. They've been rude & obnoxious above and beyond. And there's some tension among the staff. Some of it is about the kids and how they're responding to the way the school operates. Some of it is about the changes that are afoot as we're going to grow. Out of frustration, I actually meandered over to the online job board where I found this gig. I'm not going anywhere - I said I'd give it 2 years and I intend to. But I just needed to see what was there.

And it's Valentine's Day, so the kids showed up amped on hormones & candy (the name of my new country & western album) which made for a lovely day. So in the afternoon, I get a phone call from Kathy from Mana'o. She didn't realize that this evening's drive time wasn't covered and she asked if I was free. It's Valentine's Day. Of course I'm free.

After school, I scurried home (I needed to download Muscrat Love...I'm serious) and got my stuff together. I was actually psyched about doing this because I had this "thing" I wanted to try and Valentine's Day was perfect for it. (more on that later)

I get stuck in traffic so I'm barely on time. Luckily, at 5pm there's news that we broadcast online...it gives me an extra 5 minutes to get my act together. Except this time, when in the middle of the newscast, the browser crashes. Hello, dead air. I throw in a CD and get everything else ready. The phone rings. It's this dude I know from the station. He was there during my infamous, Dave-played-the-John-Lennon-song-with-two-"fuck"s incident. The guy is a MySpace friend of the podcast. He makes a request. We actually have it. I play it. Life is good...for now.

For some reason, I was always hurried for time tonight. I was always behind in my breaks, running out of music, I don't know what the hell was going on. Then there were the phone calls. Oh fuck me...

*I actually did play Captain & Tenille's Muscrat Love. You would think it wouldn't be a big deal. As soon as the song was over, some other DJ from the station calls me to give me a history of that fucking song. Did you realize that Muscrat Love was actually a cover song? But it was originally called...uh...Muscrat Stew or something like that. I have no idea what the fuck this chick was talking about, but she wanted me to go find the song and check it out. Yeah, I'll get right on it.

*Dude calls up to tell me that the power is out in Kula. Not all of Kula. Lower Kula. From the Kula Ace hardware store to the dead mongoose on Kula Road...wah, wah. Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah. I'm not really sure what he was expecting me to do. I'm bad with tools. And if I announced it over the air, the people it would effect...well...they have no power. So I mentioned it on air anyway.

*Then another dude calls after a PSA I read. This fucker lectures me about how I'm still butchering the Hawaiian language. And that - dig this - he remembers my first time on the air and how I said that I would need time to get it down and he was wondering how much more time I'm going to need, because it makes him feel uncomfortable to have someone on the air who hasn't learned the language. How many fucking stalkers do I have?

OK...I was relatively polite. I know that if it was one of the veterans they would have told him to fuck off, but I'm still trying to get my own shift. I was curt and a bit patronizing, but did not say what I really wanted to. Like, "I'm sorry I haven't learned to say those Hawaiian words yet. I've been a bit busy TRYING TO TEACH YOUR RUDE, FUCKING OBNOXIOUS KIDS TO READ FUCKING ENGLISH!!! Dick."

So that was really bothering me. Then I get another call from the Kula guy - and seconds after the language nazi called. He's suggesting that because the electric company isn't answering their phone that I should call the Maui police to see what's going on to "comfort your listeners". Hey, you wanker, who the fuck's going to comfort me? Huh? Don't make me play an hour of the fucking Sex Pistols. Enjoy your darkness. Embrace it. It's Valentine's Day. Light a fucking candle.

Oh, it's not over yet. Then I get a call back from DJ dude. He's telling me how he's spending the evening with a "special lady" and would like to request a song for her. Who the fuck am I, Venus Fucking Flytrap? So, you calling me with this shit so your special lady can hear you doing it is going to get you laid? I'm like radio Viagra without the blue eyesight side effects. If you listen to Dave for more than 4 hours, consult your doctor. And he requests a bad Paul McCartney song from a bad Paul McCartney CD, that's in his own bad CD collection at the station, THAT I CAN'T EVEN FIND! And he finishes off by thanking me and calling me Eric...the guy I'm subbing for. He didn't even realize who he was talking to.

By now, there's not much left of my show. The next DJ shows up. I've met him before. He's like the Johnny Fever of Mana'o. He doesn't remember that we've met several times already, so he introduces himself to me again. He brings with him, his niece (who's actually kinda cute) and...uh...daughter (?) who's like 2 or 3 years old. He has both of them sit in the room next to the booth while he's making some kind of cell phone calls. I try to do my last break and while the "Hey, Dude's on the air and the microphone's open" light is on, he swings open the door, while the 3 year old is making all this noise and he starts moving shit around the booth and introducing himself to me - again...while I have headphones on and my mouth is inches from the mic. I had to turn the mic off and go to the next song. Then, in 5 minutes, he proceeds to tell me the same story 3 times about how this dude's coming on his show tonight and he was on last year and they got all these calls from pissed off Republicans and Barry got upset and yada, yada, yada. Three times.

My show was over. I left as quickly as I could. I now have yummy dirt and I've just vented. I feel better. Thank you for the indulgence.

Oh...and the thing I wanted to try...a few weeks ago I found this article on Esquire magazine's website. I thought it would be cool to spend an hour letting Mary-Louise Parker decide what to play on the show. Musically, it went great. But I didn't get to enjoy it as it was when I was getting calls from Dr. Berlitz, Thomas Edison & Paul McCartney as well as talking to Johnny Fever. But it was a good idea. I'm on again a week from Friday and I'll be ready for all of those wankers.