Turn It Up. Actually Don't. We Don't Need a Noise Violation.

When I was in college I was a radio DJ. For a kid that always did homework while listening to the sultry sounds of AM radio it was quite the dream. For those kids out there that might have stumbled upon this blog by complete accident because, let's be honest, you must have made a pretty big mistake to end up here, let me give you some advice. There's nothing more comforting than doing your calculus homework and hearing a rousing debate on the future of this country by two people with thick New York accents and traffic on the 8's. "Dawwwn, I'm tellin' ya. This is gonna be hee-yooge." Ok, that's a lie. Everything is more comforting than that, but in order to feel better about my upbringing I needed to bring everyone down. It takes me back to my number one question when someone tells me something.

What about me?

All throughout high school I wanted to be a broadcaster. So when I went to college one of the first things I did was sign up at the campus radio station to be a DJ for the top 40 hits station. This was going to be my big break. I was going to be like Kasey Kasem, Rick Dees, or anyone else no one under the age of 55 has ever heard of. My first shift at the station was the obligatory 2am-4am shift Friday mornings that they gave to freshman. Before my first shift I decided that I had to have a hip made up radio DJ name though like that Kasem fellow and Cousin Brucie. Let's be serious for a second. No one named Bruce would ever refer to themselves as Brucie if it wasn't as a radio DJ. I see you Cousin Brucie. That's ludicrous and a slam on the intelligence of an entire nation. My real name, obviously, was not going to get me recognized by any of the higher ups so I changed it to something much cooler.

Duncan Spires.

Looking back on it, that probably wasn't the best choice for a radio name. Duncan Sheik was really popular back then. LEAVE ME ALONE. When I told one of my friends I changed my name for the radio he asked me if it was, "Roland Joint." I knew I should have consulted professional name changers! If I had to do it over again I would have incorporated my real name into this made up fantasy land of entertainment names. Ra-Cool. Who-ool. R-Fresh. Actually it would be none of those. It would be Ra-School, cause I'm giving you an education on some phat beats. Boiiii.

Let's pretend that didn't happen.

Working at the radio station was pretty great. Aside from the fact that I was praying that the next person showed up for their shift so I didn't have to listen to "Livin' La Vida Loca" (We get it Ricky Martin. Your life is great. Braggart.) another 4 times, I was in the station by myself for most of it. In the station we had a promotional CD bin. The CDs were all labeled with a huge PROMO on the front and were not allowed to be resold. I wish someone would have told Ebay that, and then maybe, they would have some human decency and not let people resell it to unsuspecting patrons who would just like to purchase an original Keith Sweat CD for his girlfriend's birthday.

Keith Perspiration was already taken.

The bin was always filled with CDs that our station wouldn't play. Since we played top 40 hits we only played Destiny's Child, Ricky Martin, and Britney Spears on a terror loop of insanity. Did you know Destiny's Child had a lot of bills in the 90s? What happened to their direct deposit? I was really upset there was never a 60 minutes piece done into the finances of Kelly Rowland. Hire an accountant, boo. (People in the 90s loved saying boo. Look it up.) One night I decided to go snooping through the old promo bin. We weren't technically supposed to rifle through the bin, but since everyone else took their favorite jams I was going to do it to. My mom always asked "If Tommy jumped from a cliff, would you too?" Usually, it was no, but if Tommy had a fistful of free CDs in his hand, you bet your life I was jumping off that cliff too.

Give us the whole scenario, Mom.

During another glorious playback of Mambo #5 I decided I was going to take at least one of the CDs. Since the statute of limitations is up on such shenanigans (it is up right? I didn’t have time to look at the law enforcement rules on compact disc larceny. I’ll just say this. You don’t own me Columbia House. I mean you do own me since I still haven’t paid off the bill where you blatantly lied and said I could get 10 CDs for a penny, but you don’t own me in the moral sense of owning things.) I have decided to tell everyone what I took. I picked two cd singles out of that bin. One was this by some band named Swirl 360. I don’t know why I liked that song, but it probably has something to do with the late 90s and liking ice cream. The other one I took was this.




I had never heard of that song until I took it out of the bin. Please see: listening to AM radio in high school. To this day I have no idea who Mack is and why he’s returning. I’m guessing Mack is the nickname of Mark Morrison, but who knows? I feel like this is one huge game Mark Morrison is playing and the only people involved in his labyrinth are us. I like games. I listened to this song easily 10,000 (approximate) times over the next 4 years. I even casually would drop it in conversations. “You lieeeeddd to me.” Then I would go home bawling because people were lying to me. Mark Morrison owes me a lot of depression medication.

I worked at that radio station for exactly one calendar year. I learned a lot of things at that radio station. I learned the 7 things you can’t say on the radio. I learned how to run down the hall, pee, and get back to the studio in less than 3 and a half minutes. I learned that Mark Morrison is really distraught. But there’s one lesson I learned there that I still use in my day to day life.

I really wish I didn't choose Duncan Spires.