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If you’re gonna dig in,
dig in. If you’re gonna bow out, bow out. But if you’re gonna sit on the fence, then go back from whence and where you came. It’s the Saturday after the Pierogifest parade.
One of the reasons that we do this blog is to preserve the memory of what it is like to live My Radio Life. Radio is dying. So is the image of the local radio owner who hosts his own show and fixes his own transmitter. I sell ads and hire hosts. When someone threatens to sue, I talk with the lawyer. When the FCC threatens to take your license away, I’m the one who stays up worrying. By the time broadcasting students 50 years in the future stumble across what we’re doing here, they won’t have any clue that a life like this was once led.  The Pierogifest Buscias  Queen of Sari
bent and wary of lies and mischief still untold. A king appears through laughs and tears to break the curse and the mold.  It’s Monday night. Alexis and I returned from New York last night. I still can’t believe such a great city could have a bus stop of an airport as its gateway. Tight, clustered hallways. Dirty tile. Small bathrooms, not enough urinals, not enough stalls. Every time you go in there, there’s five guys waiting. They look desperate.
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I run radio stations and a streaming video network in Hammond, Ind., and write this blog.
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February 2021
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