So recently, I co-presented on a webinar that was broadcast live and recorded for work. I've had a few compliments on my performance — mostly, the fact that I sounded confident and conversational (people seem most taken with the phrase "quick and dirty" ... is that really such a risqué expression?). I attribute this all to the four years I spent as a DJ on the college radio station at UCSB.
Most of my stint on KCSB was on a late-night show. I started on the 2 - 4 a.m. slot, and pretty much stuck with it most of my four years. There was a 10 p.m. to midnight show at some point, a late-afternoon show for another quarter, the awful 6 to 8 a.m. — or was it 8 to 10? — slot I slogged through for another quarter (hated it). One quarter I had two radio slots in the week, to pick up for someone who dropped out — I called that second show "Outside", which had always been my secret back-up name for my normal radio show, "The Dynamic Groovy Music Hour" (thank you, David Tanser, for the name). I was always Sarah the Great, though.
At night, I kept most of the lights in the station off. Most of the time I was by myself; generally until the person with the following slot would stumble sleepily in. There was just enough light to read the CD booklets while I picked the next song, to see the board, to read my notes if I had to study for a test the next day (rarely did that last ... was too distracting from my DJing). I would blast the in-studio speakers on my favorite songs and dance around like an idiot. A couple times someone walked in unexpectedly and caught me at that. And when the phone light flashed, indicating I was getting a call, from an actual listener, that was the best.
A few listeners were regulars, and would call every week. I went on a date with one of them the first year, just before he moved to Portland. Two of my later regulars were truck drivers for Trader Joe's, and one of them had a crush on my voice. He would request the same song every week, Mephiskapheles's "Bumble Bee Tuna Song", and I always called him Eddie, forgetting that his real name was Ernie.
I taped several of those shows, but for a long time I had no way to play those recordings back, since with the death of my old boombox I no longer had a tape deck. I kind of stuck the tapes into a box in the depths of my closet, and semi-forgot about them. But suddenly, with the departure of Geof to the East Coast, I have the ability — for he sold me his entertainment system, including a combo turntable/CD player/AM-FM radio/tape deck.
The webinar and its aftermath of fame and fortune (ha. ha. ha.) had me thinking about those good ol' days, and I finally remembered those tapes. Got home tonight and pulled some of them out of the closet — the collection includes not only my very last show (which my dad listened to on the drive down to help me move out of my apartment, since I was on the air while he was on the road) but also the very very first shows I ever produced, on the training station (KJUC) that every DJ on KCSB was required to do at least a quarter on before moving to the "big time". I popped the tape of the first show into the player while dinner was cooking, turned it up, and braced for the worst.
I was totally unprepared for how awful I was. No idea how to work any of the equipment (as evidenced by songs that would suddenly cut off in the first minute and then start over again ... or continue), no idea how to use the mic or pot up the volume (my voice was about half the volume of the rest of the sound), no idea how to talk on the air (all mumbles) ... but at least my taste in music was there. I found myself hearing songs I haven't listened to in years, good songs that I shouldn't have stopped listening to. It's like a mix tape I made just for my future self ... eleven years ago.
To make myself feel better, I quickly popped the recording of the final show in before moving on to KJUC Tape #2 and listened to myself after four years' experience. Much better. Clear voice. Good use of the mic and sound board. And I sounded confident. Back to KJUC Tape 2 showed improvement already — only one cut off song, and I'd learn how to pot up the mic volume. Wonder how long it took for me to stop mumbling.
I'll probably work my way through the rest of the tapes over the next few weeks. It's kind of nice to do, reminds me of all the awesome things I've done, and can still do.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
How did I get here?
While waiting for my 7:30 Tuesday Krav 1 class to start, I was talking to one of the random guys I see regularly at the facility. We were both watching the Conditioning Class, which starts at 6:30 and basically involves 15 or so people being run into the ground for an hour straight. It looks pretty hardcore — and not just to me: I've heard a lot of the "tough" guys (one of whom told me he did a stint in the armed forces) talking about how "brutal" that class is and how they are too scared to take it. Which makes it sound all the more pleasant.
At any rate, while we were watching people verge on collapsing from exhaustion (and loving it), Random Guy and I were discussing the other fitness classes, and I mentioned I hadn't taken any of them. He himself was waiting for the kettle ball conditioning class, and talking about how I definitely should try it, as well as all the other things. Then he started talking about his fitness regime ... this is a guy who runs 3 miles every morning, does a couple hours at the Krav facility most days, and plays soccer on the weekends. Between this he rides his bike around the city (that is, the circumference of SF, not just back and forth) at least once or twice a week.
"Yeah," he said. "I exercise a lot."
My response: "No kidding."
And then he asked me if I rode my bike to work, and I had to stare blankly at him before telling him I didn't have a bike, can't really afford one ... and I live UP a hill. "That's no excuse," he told me. "Bikes are cheap -- you can get one thirty, forty bucks. How about running? How much do you run?"
Another blank look from me. For perspective: while I have tightened up a bit in the last couple months, I'm still a dumpy, roly-poly boobalicious female. Add to this image the fact that I was hunched over the sock I was knitting at the time, working a cable pattern. Six months ago, exercise for me involved walking the two and a half miles to the bar in the Mission where I was meeting my friends. Downhill. The fact that I can get my arse to Krav — and love it — is pretty daring for lazy ol' me.
"I haven't run in forever," I finally said. "And I don't have good shoes."
"Again, no excuse," he said, quite seriously. "Shoes you can get for another thirty bucks. People run in all kinds of shoes. They run barefoot. Anyone can run."
Clearly, this man is insane. But somehow, as he was extolling the virtues of running and biking, something stirred deep inside of me. My knitting slowed, my back straightened, my eyes unfocused as I imagined myself leisurely pedaling through the city.
I don't know how he did it, but this man made it appealing. I swear, the next day I almost went online and started looking for a bike. I'm still tempted.
Oh, and that Conditioning class? I'm starting to think I should at least try it once. I mean ... what's a little near-death in the name of good health? Plus, I've heard that a couple months of taking that class once a week cures you of any fat you might have had lurking around your body. (Also, there is a cute guy that takes it ... I'd get to watch him sweat up close. Hawt.)
Good gracious ... what's happening to me?
At any rate, while we were watching people verge on collapsing from exhaustion (and loving it), Random Guy and I were discussing the other fitness classes, and I mentioned I hadn't taken any of them. He himself was waiting for the kettle ball conditioning class, and talking about how I definitely should try it, as well as all the other things. Then he started talking about his fitness regime ... this is a guy who runs 3 miles every morning, does a couple hours at the Krav facility most days, and plays soccer on the weekends. Between this he rides his bike around the city (that is, the circumference of SF, not just back and forth) at least once or twice a week.
"Yeah," he said. "I exercise a lot."
My response: "No kidding."
And then he asked me if I rode my bike to work, and I had to stare blankly at him before telling him I didn't have a bike, can't really afford one ... and I live UP a hill. "That's no excuse," he told me. "Bikes are cheap -- you can get one thirty, forty bucks. How about running? How much do you run?"
Another blank look from me. For perspective: while I have tightened up a bit in the last couple months, I'm still a dumpy, roly-poly boobalicious female. Add to this image the fact that I was hunched over the sock I was knitting at the time, working a cable pattern. Six months ago, exercise for me involved walking the two and a half miles to the bar in the Mission where I was meeting my friends. Downhill. The fact that I can get my arse to Krav — and love it — is pretty daring for lazy ol' me.
"I haven't run in forever," I finally said. "And I don't have good shoes."
"Again, no excuse," he said, quite seriously. "Shoes you can get for another thirty bucks. People run in all kinds of shoes. They run barefoot. Anyone can run."
Clearly, this man is insane. But somehow, as he was extolling the virtues of running and biking, something stirred deep inside of me. My knitting slowed, my back straightened, my eyes unfocused as I imagined myself leisurely pedaling through the city.
I don't know how he did it, but this man made it appealing. I swear, the next day I almost went online and started looking for a bike. I'm still tempted.
Oh, and that Conditioning class? I'm starting to think I should at least try it once. I mean ... what's a little near-death in the name of good health? Plus, I've heard that a couple months of taking that class once a week cures you of any fat you might have had lurking around your body. (Also, there is a cute guy that takes it ... I'd get to watch him sweat up close. Hawt.)
Good gracious ... what's happening to me?
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Why Is Being Normal So Hard?
It seems I have been negligent in my journaling. I apologize. A lot's been going on, and I didn't really have the words to say it. (I still mightn't, but here's to trying.)
In lieu of taking my planned trip to Portland — good thing I didn't, because I'm broker than broke these days — I ended up spending the Fourth of July doing something I've never done before: sail on a boat around San Francisco Bay, and seeing the fireworks from the backside. It was pretty neat — my friends piloting the boat, a couple that met while they were serving in the U.S. Coast Guard (so they should be somewhat trusted on "open" waters), even let me "drive" the boat for a little bit just to get a feel for it. A couple pics below, but the rest, as always, can be found on my Flickr account:
On top of getting to do something awesome and new, the not-taking of the trip also gave me a 5-day weekend to relax and prepare for my new big adventure: working days. It's official: I've permanently dropped my vampiric ways, and have become a complete Daywalker. A perfectly reasonable, 9 to 5:30, Monday through Friday job the likes of which I never imagined I'd have again while still in my 20s. With a new job title to boot — not so much a promotion as a side-motion, but still. It's movement, and it's actually the job I've been hungering after for months. It's perfect for me, and gives me some room to grow (I hope).
It hasn't been easy. I never imagined that joining the ranks of the "normal" (as my family likes to call it) would completely throw my body out of whack. I'm waking up now around the time I used to get off work, and sleeping when I used to be working. In fact, I should probably be in bed right now, but ... well, old habits are hard to break.
We'll see how long I last like this. I keep getting told that in a few months, I won't even know how I used to be able to do Graveyard. But right now, I miss my old crew, I miss feeling like a hub of everything, and I'm still trying to figure out my niche in the daylight hours.
In lieu of taking my planned trip to Portland — good thing I didn't, because I'm broker than broke these days — I ended up spending the Fourth of July doing something I've never done before: sail on a boat around San Francisco Bay, and seeing the fireworks from the backside. It was pretty neat — my friends piloting the boat, a couple that met while they were serving in the U.S. Coast Guard (so they should be somewhat trusted on "open" waters), even let me "drive" the boat for a little bit just to get a feel for it. A couple pics below, but the rest, as always, can be found on my Flickr account:
On top of getting to do something awesome and new, the not-taking of the trip also gave me a 5-day weekend to relax and prepare for my new big adventure: working days. It's official: I've permanently dropped my vampiric ways, and have become a complete Daywalker. A perfectly reasonable, 9 to 5:30, Monday through Friday job the likes of which I never imagined I'd have again while still in my 20s. With a new job title to boot — not so much a promotion as a side-motion, but still. It's movement, and it's actually the job I've been hungering after for months. It's perfect for me, and gives me some room to grow (I hope).
It hasn't been easy. I never imagined that joining the ranks of the "normal" (as my family likes to call it) would completely throw my body out of whack. I'm waking up now around the time I used to get off work, and sleeping when I used to be working. In fact, I should probably be in bed right now, but ... well, old habits are hard to break.
We'll see how long I last like this. I keep getting told that in a few months, I won't even know how I used to be able to do Graveyard. But right now, I miss my old crew, I miss feeling like a hub of everything, and I'm still trying to figure out my niche in the daylight hours.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
It's Official — These Things Come in Threes
The king of pop is dead at 50.
Farrah Fawcett is dead at 62.
My trip to Portland is dead, not even born. Sorry, y'all — too many indicators (car breaking down, cell phone dying, other things) that kind of told me the universe didn't want me taking a road trip at this time. Sucks, too, because I was really excited.
On the other hand, I get to mooch around and eat and read and watch TV a lot. So that's something positive.
Farrah Fawcett is dead at 62.
My trip to Portland is dead, not even born. Sorry, y'all — too many indicators (car breaking down, cell phone dying, other things) that kind of told me the universe didn't want me taking a road trip at this time. Sucks, too, because I was really excited.
On the other hand, I get to mooch around and eat and read and watch TV a lot. So that's something positive.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Happy Happy
The official announcement: I'm taking my annual road trip to Portland and the Pacific Northwest this year. I should be up there July 1 through 5, leaving on the 6th. So be prepared. Who will be around?
I did a quick calculation of my remaining paid time off for the year in preparation for another trip (NYC this fall ... hopefully that pans out) and realized that, if I took my 4th of July vacation exactly as I had planned/scheduled, I'd be left with only one or two days for the entire rest of the year. This includes vacation and sick leave, since my company combines them both into PTO. So I lopped off a couple of the planned days for this trip, to try and save them for the fall vacation.
Interestingly enough, I think the restricted vacation opened my mind up to greater possibilities. My first night off is now Tuesday night, July 1. Since I work that morning until 6:30, if I wanted to do a straight 12-hour drive to Portland from SF, I'd have to waste that entire day resting up and sleeping, leaving the next morning, Wednesday. Which might still happen. But I was looking at the route and playing with Yahoo! maps, and realized that Crater Lake — a place I've always wanted to get back to — is only a 7-hour drive from SF ... still a distance, but I think one I could pull off. If I sleep right up until I have to go to work that night, and leave right after my shift.
So here's the plan, for those of you who need to know:
Tuesday, June 30: get off work, drive up to Crater Lake, get a camp site. Set up my tent and take a nap for a couple hours, leaving me with enough time (thank heavens for summer light late nights up north!) to do a little hiking and exploring before I have to retreat back to my site and hunker down for the evening. I just need a tent and sleeping bag -- I already even have a grill. Huzzah!
Wednesday, July 1: Wake up somewhat early, pack my stuff back into the car, go do some more hiking and exploring around the lake. Once I'm done, start heading out towards Portland, with the aim to be at Critter Cove sometime in the late afternoon/evening ... which is what I would have been doing, anyway, if I'd rested up and left SF Wednesday morning instead of Tuesday.
Thursday, July 2 - Sunday, July 5: Muck around Portland. I want to try to do some wine tasting in the Willamette Valley and/or Columbia Gorge areas. Relax. Enjoy my time with my friends. Maybe pop up to Seattle to hang with the peeps from my company's office up there. Celebrate the 4th. Cook dinner for y'all. Get drunk on beer and Goldschlager (do I have to bring my own, or will there be a supply waiting for me?)
Monday, July 6: Leave early, drive down in time for work, or even my ceramics class. Who knows? I'll be braindead, but I'll be vacationed.
Consider yourself warned. This is all Happy Happy for me.
I did a quick calculation of my remaining paid time off for the year in preparation for another trip (NYC this fall ... hopefully that pans out) and realized that, if I took my 4th of July vacation exactly as I had planned/scheduled, I'd be left with only one or two days for the entire rest of the year. This includes vacation and sick leave, since my company combines them both into PTO. So I lopped off a couple of the planned days for this trip, to try and save them for the fall vacation.
Interestingly enough, I think the restricted vacation opened my mind up to greater possibilities. My first night off is now Tuesday night, July 1. Since I work that morning until 6:30, if I wanted to do a straight 12-hour drive to Portland from SF, I'd have to waste that entire day resting up and sleeping, leaving the next morning, Wednesday. Which might still happen. But I was looking at the route and playing with Yahoo! maps, and realized that Crater Lake — a place I've always wanted to get back to — is only a 7-hour drive from SF ... still a distance, but I think one I could pull off. If I sleep right up until I have to go to work that night, and leave right after my shift.
So here's the plan, for those of you who need to know:
Tuesday, June 30: get off work, drive up to Crater Lake, get a camp site. Set up my tent and take a nap for a couple hours, leaving me with enough time (thank heavens for summer light late nights up north!) to do a little hiking and exploring before I have to retreat back to my site and hunker down for the evening. I just need a tent and sleeping bag -- I already even have a grill. Huzzah!
Wednesday, July 1: Wake up somewhat early, pack my stuff back into the car, go do some more hiking and exploring around the lake. Once I'm done, start heading out towards Portland, with the aim to be at Critter Cove sometime in the late afternoon/evening ... which is what I would have been doing, anyway, if I'd rested up and left SF Wednesday morning instead of Tuesday.
Thursday, July 2 - Sunday, July 5: Muck around Portland. I want to try to do some wine tasting in the Willamette Valley and/or Columbia Gorge areas. Relax. Enjoy my time with my friends. Maybe pop up to Seattle to hang with the peeps from my company's office up there. Celebrate the 4th. Cook dinner for y'all. Get drunk on beer and Goldschlager (do I have to bring my own, or will there be a supply waiting for me?)
Monday, July 6: Leave early, drive down in time for work, or even my ceramics class. Who knows? I'll be braindead, but I'll be vacationed.
Consider yourself warned. This is all Happy Happy for me.
Happy Sad
It's been a whirlwind month. Mostly good — May was a good month, made up for the crappiness of March and April. June I'm still not sure of; I'm being hit from all sides with all sorts of changes in the Way Things Are. And if you know me, you know I don't like change. Much.
Geof is tying up the loose ends before he leaves for NY, and so it was bittersweet chance to get to hang out with him pretty much this entire weekend. I'm happy for the time we got to spend together (and the TV and stereo system ... yes, I have a TV now. And a turntable — I can play vinyl!), but the fact that now I know just how limited this time left is, in reflection of time wasted on stubbornness and hurt feelings ... I'm not sure I can put it into words precisely how I feel. I'm going to miss the doofus. I'm going to miss the late nights where I'm at his place while we get drunk and he starts throwing all sorts of things off YouTube and his music and DVD collection at me. I'm going to miss the late-night phone calls that go to 5 in the morning, even though we started saying goodbye at 2. I'm going to miss the lunch breaks after the weekly supes meeting, where we vent at each other about what's been bothering us. I'm also so happy for him — I think the move is finally becoming real for him, and he's getting so excited, and I can't help being excited with him. True, he took the transfer that I always secretly wanted, he's doing the dream I always had in the back of my mind, so I'm jealous as all heck, but I'm thrilled that one of my best friends is shifting his life back into some sort of gear, in the best place on earth.
Just, why does he have to leave to do it? So not fair.
So that's the happy sad thing that's been weighing heavily on my mind of late. Next entry: Happy Happy.
Geof is tying up the loose ends before he leaves for NY, and so it was bittersweet chance to get to hang out with him pretty much this entire weekend. I'm happy for the time we got to spend together (and the TV and stereo system ... yes, I have a TV now. And a turntable — I can play vinyl!), but the fact that now I know just how limited this time left is, in reflection of time wasted on stubbornness and hurt feelings ... I'm not sure I can put it into words precisely how I feel. I'm going to miss the doofus. I'm going to miss the late nights where I'm at his place while we get drunk and he starts throwing all sorts of things off YouTube and his music and DVD collection at me. I'm going to miss the late-night phone calls that go to 5 in the morning, even though we started saying goodbye at 2. I'm going to miss the lunch breaks after the weekly supes meeting, where we vent at each other about what's been bothering us. I'm also so happy for him — I think the move is finally becoming real for him, and he's getting so excited, and I can't help being excited with him. True, he took the transfer that I always secretly wanted, he's doing the dream I always had in the back of my mind, so I'm jealous as all heck, but I'm thrilled that one of my best friends is shifting his life back into some sort of gear, in the best place on earth.
Just, why does he have to leave to do it? So not fair.
So that's the happy sad thing that's been weighing heavily on my mind of late. Next entry: Happy Happy.
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