"Do you wanna buy some Comast?"

I revise what I said in my previous post about the low frequency of calls in the pledge room. Starting on Tuesday, the phones lit up and became much more lively than the winter pledge drive. The afore mentioned terror-excitement quickly dissipated in the face of a flood like this. 

One of the best parts about volunteering is meeting fellow listeners who are also donating their time and energy. Turns out, we are a beautiful and hilarious bunch of people. Here is a picture of some of us (my face is not visible, but that's me in the black shirt under the red arrow).

One of us took a call at one point from a cable guy who we later decided was probably stoned. We figured he was hanging out installing cable at someone's house, smoked a joint, turned on KEXP, and decided to call in. He actually said on the phone "Do you wanna buy some Comcast?" You get some weird people on the phones, but they are few and far between. 

Even on a busy day, there is still down time, which we pass by writing lists (I have mentioned before). These are good conversation generators. Someone writes a topic upon the back of an on-air comment sheet, then we pass it around and everyone writes down their top 3 film soundtracks or top 3 Canadians (actually, we changed the latter to comedians when we realized that we have no favorite Canadians [just kidding, Canada. We love you]). Also, sometimes we draw pictures.

That says "Just Like Honey" by Dan Howes.

"And the people bowed and prayed, to the neon God they made..."

There is a kind of giddy terror when answering phones. You sit and wait. Many KEXP listeners may not realize that the phone room is not constantly abuzz with incoming calls. On the contrary; it has been my experience that maybe 75% of a our time is spent waiting for the phones to ring. In the protracted interim, we pass the by time chatting, eating donated food, and writing lists (top 3 greatest shows you've ever seen, top three female singers), all while keeping a nervous and excited eye on the silent phone. You hope that your phone rings next, but you are also afraid. It's the same way you feel when an beautiful, confident person is approaching you, and you want to talk to them, but a part of you wants to curl up into a ball and hide. Once you pick up the receiver and deliver the first line, "thank you for calling KEXP. How much would like to donate today?", and plunge into the conversation, all the fear goes away, and you wonder what you ever had to be afraid of in the first place. 

Before my volunteer shift, I journeyed to Bellevue to submit a resume to a prospective employer. The entire Eastside is a strange place. It has no soul; it is all sprawling suburbs and dead-eyed corporate office buildings. It doesn't feel like anyone lives there, not anyone who belongs in the Northwest, anyway. It feels like the worst rich parts of Southern California. I wore a dress shirt and slacks to the potential job, and it seems fitting that I changed out of my Bellevue costume as soon as I returned to Seattle.

What hath God wrought?

Before the advent of automobiles necessitated the extension of paved roads upon land, most people in America got around by boat on this fertile country's vast network of rivers, lakes, and other waterways. Say you are Aaron Burr, it is 1804, and you have just gunned down Alexander Hamilton in Weehawken, New Jersey. Your political life is over, and President Jefferson, who has had it in for you since you became his vice president four years ago, will now actively seek your execution for murder and treason. You need to get out of town. St. Louis looks appealing, and the exotic port town of New Orleans even more so. But how do you, living in the early 19th century, travel all that way in a hurry? You take the rivers. Hop on the Ohio, which carries you through the Old Northwest, then transfer to the mighty Mississippi, and float South through the American frontier. 

In the 21st century, roads are our rivers, and buses our watercraft. Now without a vehicle of my own, I must take the bus. To get to KEXP from my house, I swim down 155th, which feeds into the grand and heavily trafficked Aurora river, where I board the 358 ship down to Seattle.

There were two dogs riding the bus; one was a young golden lab, all grinning teeth and fidgeting feet. The other was an older guide dog, very stoic and observant. It was interesting to notice the disparities in behavior and how they regarded one another. It is a strange thing that seeing animals of the same species interact with each other helps to humanize them. 

"Spring BREAK!!! (as in, the economy is broken, and we need to spend this spring fixing it)

The leaders of this planet's 20 greatest economic powers are gathered in London right now with the mission of figuring out how to solve the global financial crisis. Serious, right? Maybe someone should tell these guys:

Granted, this was shot during a class-photo style op, but look at Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlisconi (upper center). He looks way too jolly. It looks like Obama, Hu Jintuo and Medvedev were posing for a photo, and then Berlisconi jumped in at the last minute. "Sup, you guys? We are totally averting the impending worldwide depression! WHOOO!!!"

Maybe he is just overjoyed that he no longer has to deal with George W Bush. I guess they all are.Meanwhile, this is the scene outside, in the streets of London:

"Killi!"

There is a wooded area near my home that I walk in sometimes. This morning I was there, and I realized how silly the place is. two hundred years ago, the people living here lived amongst nature; their civilization existed surrounded by the woods. Now, this lonely patch of trees sits surrounded by human civilization. It is so backwards. 

The crows in this place are out in force today. These are the same crows that live in my backyard, of course, but here in the woods they seem different. They are in their element, and suddenly I feel that I am trespassing on their territory. The crows even look different here; their feathers shin a brilliant dark blue, something about the tree filtered light. They take on some regal aura. Watching these birds, I get the feeling that they have more comfortable pride when they are closer to nature. Around the city, they always seem discontent and angry, but here they get to be birds, rather than just annoying winged rodents.

Dance-off with our pants off

The Sun finally decided to leave it's house at about 4 this afternoon, like a pothead. It rolled off it's couch, wiped it's cheeto-stained fingers on it's hemp sweatshirt, and stumbled outside just long enough to say "watsup?" So today, the part of the Sun was played by Seth Rogen.

I enter the conference room at KEXP to find the mailing party already in progress. I wonder then how often actual conferences are held in this room so named for that purpose. Today we are stuffing envelopes with swag to be sent to those who donated during the pledge drive. Handling t-shirts and tote bags is much less hazardous than folding letters; no paper cuts. 

There are maybe six of us, and a few more trickle in. One of these is a woman named Nikki, whom I have met before. She is an entertaining, somewhat boisterous character given to random bursts of laughter, and writes live music reviews. 

The conversation makes it's way inevitably to live music, and people offer their opinions of some local venues. The recently reopened Crocodile is the target of some disappointed scorn, as are some other joints. "Are there any places in this town that you people do like?" jokes Tim, to my right. The air in this place is indeed jovial. 

This blog seems to have spawned a new verb. Now, when I go to KEXP, I am usually recognized as the Donut Runner. "Hey, get any donuts?" people might say. I responded to a like inquiry today with the word "figuratively". This confused both me and those around me at first, but then I offered, "donut running is just a general term for having little adventures." This makes sense. 

Where's all the food? (oh...)

Last Friday I returned to KEXP for the first time since the pledge drive. My task this time was (officially) to hand out swag to donors who personally came into the station that afternoon, but in the four hours I was there, maybe a dozen people showed up, so I passed the time by stuffing membership letters into many envelopes. 

The swag pick-up was in one of the live performance studios - boxes of two kinds of bags, and incrementally larger shirts, from baby sizes to extra large adult garb, sat arranged upon the floor where many a music legend and local indie kid alike have grooved and jammed. 

One volunteer is already there folding letters. She is a KEXP veteran, from deep in the KCMU days. We sit at a well worn folding table, stuffing envelopes and waiting for donors to trickle in. My swag partner (whose name escapes me at the moment; sorry, swag partner) and I pass the plentiful idle moments extolling KEXP, and she relates anecdotes about the station's past, from when it was operated out of a little mouse hole at the UW to it's various radical changes in format and programming. Relatively new as I am to the station, I feel like Luke Skywalker hearing tales of the Old Republic. 

This day is also the end to KEXP's stint in Austin, Texas as part of SXSW, so many people, including most of the regular DJs, are absent from the studio, basking in a much sunnier place than grey Seattle. As such, the station is comparatively quiet and depopulated juxtaposed with the bulk of my experience during the characteristically beehivy pledge week. Also because of this, I am thrown by the lack of free food sitting around. I then realize that a great deal of that food was spirited here by me, so if I want food when I come here, I'm going to have to bring it myself. Perhaps I will make a pie.