For the zero of you who care, I figured I’d post a little update on what I’ve been up to for the past five weeks. Here it is in one mellifluous word: radio. Here it is in another slightly less aurally pleasing word: suffering. Yes, radio is suffering. But the good kind of suffering, the kind that comes after a long, hard run. Which I wouldn’t know anything about since running is dumb, unless you’re running away from the cops or running towards a million dollars.
Anyway, radio storytelling is hard work. Normally, I am averse to anything that even has a whiff of hard work. But radio is a different animal altogether. It allows one to tell other people’s stories while throwing in a little masturbatory performance of your own into the mix. Unless you do non-narrated pieces, which I won’t be attempting because one, I want to hear the sound of my own voice, and two, they seem way too hard.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. You might recall a few months back that I unabashedly begged you for money to help me attend the Transom Story Workshop in Woods Hole, Mass., a little spit of a village on upper Cape Cod. Or lower. I haven’t yet gotten the geography of this disgustingly beautiful place down yet. At the beginning of April, I hopped in the sweet-ass Vibe and drove down to the cape to begin my new life as a huge radio star. But, as I mentioned a paragraph ago, radio is hard. Considering that I am barely able to turn on my recorder without electrocuting myself, the chances of me becoming a huge radio star are pretty slim.