For the record

One of the things I do in my spare time is present a weekend radio show. My slot begins early in the morning, so my listenership consists mainly of chronic insomniacs, pagans getting ready to greet the sunrise and burglars returning home after a night’s work.

The majority of the ten-or-so people who tune in are content to leave me alone to get on with the job, but every so often there are one or two who feel compelled to phone in to the studio. If you are one of these people, then you need to know this:

You are more than welcome to tell me how much you hate Mozart or ask me for an update on the weather forecast that I just finished reading less than 30 seconds ago. However, I do draw the line at being taken to task over my pronunciation of the name of some obscure Ukranian composer like Kylesmom-Isastupidbitch. I’m sure you think it’s fascinating that you studied Manure Technology with his grand-nephew in 1922 and therefore consider yourself to be the world authority in recognising when the emphasis on the third syllable isn’t quite right, but just for the record – I don’t care.

There’s something else you should also know – if anyone told you that this useless little dollop of trivia makes you the life of the party and/or more interesting to the opposite sex, they lied.


21 thoughts on “For the record

  1. JA! So stop being a nuisance (if it is spelled wrong – I don’t care!!) and a “know it all” and all that other stuff KN said too and get some sleeping pills or something!!


  2. “And by the way – I faked”.
    I don’t know, it just seemed to go well with your parting shot.
    Try that next time anyway. It may shut them up – or give them a heart attack. Win-win.


  3. That same guy was at the party on Saturday night. I saw the bartender spit in his drink. (And no more slagging Kylesmom. She did the best with what she had.)


  4. *giggling* I’ll bet you get some strange calls in that time of night (or morning) YOu just took me back to a movie many years ago. “Play Misty For Me.” Careful with those late night callers, some of them are completely whacked.



  5. As a radio guy with an incredibly deep voice, you will have encountered many such crackpots in the past and will have the ability to shout them down.

    My own life rule is that no matter what I do, I will always pick the slowest lineup at the grocery mega-store.

    And if I try to guess the spelling on someone’s name, I will always get it wrong.

    What you need is an auto-generated pronounciation guide for every single artist on the planet.

    Good luck finding it.


  6. I’m worried about the 4:100am listenership in general: why, at that ungodly hour, do they feel anal-retentive enough to a) get out of bed in the first place to pick up the phone, and b) care how you pronounce something?

    I’m stumped.

    PS: Care to tell us which radion slot you work for? Would love to hear it. And I swear I won’t phone in to correct any pronunciation on your part. 🙂


  7. Spookie: LOTS of sleeping pills.

    Jam: Sadly, no. At least then they might be a bit more entertaining.

    Terri: Indeed. The mind boggles.

    The Tart: Aha, so that’s why you keep reading this.

    anne: Worth a try. I’ll let you know if it works.

    moonflake: Don’t you have a supernova to study, or something?

    Brian the Mennonite: Oh, is it now? How interesting. Truly. Tell your brother-in-law I said “hi”.

    andrea: They told me the spit cost extra.

    NMOTB: I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that I’m a ready source of amusement.

    3T:That’s why I carry a big stick.

    angel: I think it’s more because I just love the sound of my own voice.

    Within, Without: Okay, I admit it – sometimes I do it deliberately to see if anyone’s actually listening.

    Dolce: Possibly, possibly. I will leave you to spectulate.

    Kate: Okay, now you’re scaring me.

    Ol’ Hoss: I’m only going to tell you one more time: Not. A. Contest.

    juliana: Like I said, it’s a tough one.

    Peas: Misery….Company: connect the dots. As to the station – send the usual $20 application fee and a pic of yourself in the nude, and I will happily reveal all.


  8. Peas, I suspect it’s the radio station that stubbornly refuses to broadcast to my side of the mountain, depriving the suburb of a regular dose of jazz and classical music and thus directly contributing to delinquency and the levelling off of house prices in the area. But hey, it’s just a theory..


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