Whenever I mention that I don’t have a job, yet, it seems that someone always comes up with the idea that I should be on the radio. I used to say something about how I’d take it under consideration while keeping my scoffs to myself. Time was, I could never see myself in that industry.

It isn’t for any socially unacceptable reasons. I don’t drink like a fish, smoke like a chimney or cuss like a Carlin, and my life’s idol isn’t that Freed guy. After all, those qualities would make me far more comfortable disc jockeying up those magical Interwaves. Instead, my trepidation came from being too gosh-darn weird.

Right now, I’m listening to a shuffled playlist of my top rated songs in iTunes. In a matter of minutes, it goes from Nobuo Uematsu to the stuff from Johnny Cash’s second comeback, from the Red Hot Chili Peppers to Dr. Demento, from Spoon to Aqua. That doesn’t even get into my other playlists.

The last time someone said that I could be on the radio, I could help but think that there really isn’t a place on a music station for that kind of weird stuff. If I tried to pull off that kind of stunt, I’d just make a fool of myself. Then, I remembered three facts that I had somehow forgotten.

First, I love making a fool of myself. Second, disc jockeys are paid to make fools of themselves. Third, the chance that a walk-in job applicant would immediately be offered a position on the air is probably very, very low, anyway. Among hypothetical jobs, it’s a perfect fit.

Even if I decide against looking for work at a music station, there’s always talk radio. With my boorish tone of voice and sometimes-haphazard flamebait opinions, I’d do even better there.

Tomorrow, I’ll be off to discover how the local radio stations treat walk-in job hunters, so wish me luck. With it, I might get to polluting the magical Interwaves within in a matter of years. Sometimes, radio gigs even pay more than not having a job to begin with.

That would be even better.




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