Satellite Killed the Radio Stars

You may have read about my A.M. radio station and the hostile buyout Clear Channel is attempting. But of course I have other problems to worry about, so that's just the pus-filled boil on the sore foot. Which is a nasty version of the "icing on the cake" cliché. I'm getting married in just a couple of months, so you can imagine I'm pretty distracted with all those details and trying to get a divorce from my current wife. Then there's always planning the big event… Girl Elvis vs. roommate Lee in one of the biggest matches ever to be courted by the Fox network.

So it's not like I needed something else to draw on my time. But this X-M radio is a severe letdown.

I went through all this time and effort to get the thing installed, which mainly involved the Sears guy fiddling with the stereo area while I hovered over him, arms crossed, tapping my foot, and asking what the hell the hold up was for a hundred hours. Actually, that's an embellishment—at 3'9" I don't exactly hover over anybody, but I've made an art out of hovering under them.

This is neither here nor there, surprisingly off-topic for one of my columns. I take issue not with the slowness of the guy (another column, another tirade) but with the failure of X-M radio to live up to my unrealistic expectations. They promised commercial free, and technically, they give it to you, since there's no commercial support. Imagine my supreme disappointment to find out they still employ DJs!

DJs? What is this, the 1960s? Is one song fading out and another fading in such a frightful concept that we need the banter of vanity voices to break up the constant play? It's damn ridiculous, radio industry. As a nation, we've outgrown DJs. As for VJs, they were never a good idea. The writing in the corner can perfectly inform me of the name of today's one-hit wonderband. DJs we've allowed for a little longer, since the radio isn't a visual medium, and the last thing I need is another car wreck while I call the radio station to find out who performed the last song. But those days are gone.

We have all-digital equipment now, not to mention cellphones you can operate with one hand. Modern radios with scrolling text can tell us who played the previous song, and if we wanted the other accoutrements of a live DJ, I'm sure they could tell us it's warm outside and insult our musical tastes as well. I refuse to pay a monthly service fee for space-age commercial-free radio and then listen to the prattling of a DJ like I'm a goddamn caveman trying to start a fire in his rumbling beast-like horseless carriage on the way to the commune each morning. Or whenever I choose to skip work and go elsewhere, but that's my business.

So naturally I ripped the guts out of my car and sent them the whole contraption back in a box, along with some parts that I think were motor-oriented, since the car no longer runs. But I made my point, and I'll expect a full refund on the whole thing. I would try Sirius, but I doubt they'd be much of an improvement—and frankly, I soured on their venture ever since they turned down the slogan I proposed: "Radio? Get Sirius!" That's just poor foresight, my satellite friends.

So I'm back to square one, with nothing to listen to on my drive to work, should I ever get the car working again. I mean, there's always KROK, the all-Rok Finger favorites radio station that I own, but hearing all that music only I like all the time gets a little monotonous. And it would leave me with little to complain about, regarding this whole X-M radio deal.

Did I mention how slow the guy installed it? You'd think he was getting paid by the hour. Which he was.

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