#156

Tonight, my volleyball games lasted until 10:30, so my ride home was spent dodging Love Line as I fiddled with my presets. Fortunately, there is a wonderful program on 94.9 late at night. It's called Big Sonic Chill, and it's the bomb-diggety. The soft-spoken DJ plays indie tunes that are so mellow, they become almost ambient. Red House Painters, Nouvelle Vague, and whole blocks of artists whose names I wish to God I knew fill up the stacks.

It's this program that makes me wish I were a disc jockey, which is dangerous, because my sister keeps forwarding me job positions for radio DJ's. As cool as this could potentially be, it's not what I had in mind when I decided I wanted to work in radio. These people are slaves to the station, and they all get fired at the drop of a hat. I've heard stories about what happens when radio stations get sold. They don't transfer staff. You just show up for work that morning, and they tell you to get out.

Also, I should admit, I don't have the charisma, the chutzpah to be an on-air DJ. God forbid I should become one and then be as bad as Marco on 91.1 (how I loathe him) or that guy on 88.7 in Ann Arbor that Pete hated so much.

This post will only make sense to San Diegans. You others won't ever know what you're missing by not catching Big Sonic Chill. Oh well. The station broadcasts online. You on Central and Eastern time should totally stay up to listen sometime. Hell, do it tonight. You don't have anything better to do.

I've gotten kind of bossy in these last couple of posts. Send me fifty bucks!