On Washington Square North:
What a lousy photo, don't you think?
In about 1990 or '91, I was driving around New Jersey listening to one of the local college radio stations. Instead of playing heavy metal music, the DJ was crying about this girl, a friend of his who died in a car crash. He just kept on crying and trying to talk and saying how wonderful she was, and how tragic it was that she died...and all I could think was how pathetic a display. Sure, there's a time to grieve, but his on-air blubbering really didn't hit me in any emotional way, other than frustration since he could have been playing Number of the Beast instead. I remember telling myself that night that if I should ever be in his position, I'd handle myself differently.
April 13, 1995 found me sitting behind the microphone at a college radio station.
I was the DJ for the weekly punk rock radio show at a university I no longer attended (don't ask). I knew I didn't want to be that guy crying on the air about someone that the listening audience had never heard of. Since my friend was a musician in a local band, I announced that he had passed away; not mentioning how or that he was my friend. I then said that the first set of the night would include music that he made, and music that he liked to listen to. I even included non-punk music in the set. Black Sabbath and Frank Zappa on a punk rock show? It's my show and I can do what I want. I'm sure I sounded low key.
Later in the show the live band came in to play. One of the guys looked at me and said, "Why do you look so miserable?" I didn't have the strength to answer.
Something else also happened that night, but I won't mention it until later. No, it's not like yesterday's post when I said there was something that I just couldn't face and had to mention that I just couldn't face it. This is something I will elaborate on, but not right now. Soon, but not this day.