"Radio Daze"

Tho' retired now this old post sums up my decades in that pointless thankless unkind business. I should have joined the fucking Navy.

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It's hard to do a radio show. It's even harder to do a good one. So what's it like to do "Live Radio?" That's a disappearing form of broadcast where it's just you, and your guts in front of the mic, and nothing else.

 Well like someone said once, 

"...any damned fool can get himself in front of a camera or mic, and make a damned fool of himself.

Ain't that the truth.

So here it is. 

Imagine you're all alone on a stage with the population of a town watching, and listening. You're juggling 20 or 30 heavy sharp object to off key out of tune music.

Btw the stage you're on is on hydraulic lifts so is rocking like a boat in rough seas. That, and while juggling you're singing the funnier  songs from various "Gilbert, and Sullivan" comic operettas.

Btw you're nauseous have a killer headache tunnel vision, and your throat is shredded from the flu.

From time to time during your performance you give heartfelt commentaries hilarious satires, and intimate stories from your life concerning love sex life death betrayal, and that pain in your side that just won't go away.

In the middle of all this you take calls from extremely stupid, and hostile people who may or may not have been paying attention to anything you've been doing.

All the while the stage manager,..who hates you has sabotaged the lighting, and all the mics.

You make very little money, and the management thinks you don't deserve even that...as does some of the audience. 

The stage manager distrusts all the live performers because he can't control everything they do...bad for business that. He wants to replace them all with Dog Acts...more dependable.

Anyway after the tattered curtain goes down you get harassed  by your political enemies among the staff, and union, your pay check is short, some bastard has stolen stuff out'a your locker.

There's a waiting phone call from your landlord, and oh yeah then you get handed a note from the stage manager that sez your next two performances are cancelled. 

Seems he's found a dog, and, and a flea circus to replace you.

Ah, but you never give up because the gawd-damned fucking show must frigging go the fuck on!

Hope this explains the Biz for ya. Peace.

Stay tuned.