gig like any other

If I were a DJ in the seventies, 
at a radio station like 'KRP
my show would be Chillrocket Cheese
& The Can't-Miss Princess Baby Queens 
of His Late Night Daydreams, and this 
would be considered culturally normal.
Except I would always refer to the show  
as "a program," and I 

would be Chillrocket Cheese. 

My callers would be mostly
girls, women - a baby now
and then would slip through, but kids?
This is an adult program. Real 
mature. What do babies know 
about rock & soul such as I would spin 

for my can't-miss princess baby queens? 

Of my ongoing never-quite-beginning
on-time late night daydreams. Each caller 
would chat me up a bit, until the first 
awkward lag. Then I'd edgewise chime: 
"So, what can't-miss hit did you have 
in mind for us to spin for you tonight, 
to chase away your country blues or
citified jazz static and frizz, whiling
its wiles into a long, good moment of yours
for us all to share? Why don't you tell us 
about it?"

That would be my catchphrase. I'd say 
that whole thing each time, and she'd 
name that tune, and while I rifled it out 
of my huge collection to spin for her, 
we'd talk some more about what
it means to us both. That song,
that beat,
that 

crazy riff. And the whole wide
world would get a listen, just a deeper
cut in thicker gloss on that song's
sweet-ass deal. And then they all

(plus we: she and I) 

would just let it spin 
not saying a thing 
as we look in each other's eyes. Well, 
eye-surrogates. She'd have
a poster on her wall
either of me (they sell for $0.75) 
or of some popstar, probably
the one in the song - and she'd
lose herself on the wall, in the poster,
in those eyes. 

In the eyes in the poster on the wall. 
That is. Me, 

I'd just look in the mirror 

it works. 

If a dude calls in, which happens, I'm like 
"Okay my fine fellow eavesdropper upon 
heartsleeved deejays, teenyboppers, vixens,
and chart-toppers - what makes you call in?"

That's down to a trademark patter as well,
although I may switch out "vixens" for
"matrons" or "minxes," on a mood-by-mood
basis. Mood usually cued by 
the prior caller.

Regardless of patter-toggle, every time,
the surprise and sincere twinge in my voice
as I ask would be genuine. Huh? 

Every time, I'll about guarantee it's
a whole different reason, and takes about
five-ten seconds to get out. Then as they trail
off I cut in: "Okay, do you wanna talk about
what goes on in locker rooms, give the listening
audience an exhibitionistic vulgar, illicit thrill
of nauseous titillation, or would you rather 
talk a) sports, b) beer or c) song requests?"

This too I have down to a trademark patter, 
which - I bet you could have about guessed. 

They pick whichever option and we let chips
fall. It doesn't happen much, just once or twice
three times a month, but that's when all

the complaint mail comes.

Me and some guy, busting the dreamy-eyed
illusions of the romantic and rock-soul-lil'-bit
-a-disco-lately public with our frank candor
about locker rooms! It does seem a sour fit
for the show's ambience, but what are you
gonna do? These guys call in. The show slips
sideways dimensionally into Chillrocket Cheese
& His Way Past Twilight Zoned-Out Pointless 
Locker Room Confab, and we run the gamut 
through the gauntlet. Talk about how they
smell, various microbe problems, the quality
and different options of lockers and locks,
academic vs. institutional, public vs. private
recreational or athletic facilities, showers
(curtains: yeah? Really?) and especially the lewd,
rude and frank-ass bits guys come out with
on overshare mode in there for no reason.
Overcompensating maybe for hanging out
in all their such-as-it-is glory? Acting all

"This? Oh this is totally normal to me in fact -
what would you guys do if a salacious hypothetical
about a woman were raised for discussion?"

Christmas. Our loyal listeners about can't stand 
the misdirection and blatant cowardice, just because
guys are nude in a room for sports. Some even chide 
"Why do you even suggest that option?" Hypocrisy 
that's why. I'm highly suggestive with my callers, 
all of them. So what? Double-standard much? Is
that what you're suggesting, I should be one-way
suggestive? Nope! Not much not me, sorry - but
I never bridle at the chide since I don't get it.

We pass that complaint on to the customer.  

Before any male caller gets through, we take 
their address for the purpose. Those letters 
fly true! Don't worry - someone reads them first
to redact the return address and name info (the 
writer was not asking to be pen pals with the 
guy she presumably principally objected to)
plus to make sure it's not anything I should 
you know, address

myself. 

If I were a DJ in the seventies, 
at a radio station like 'KRP 
my show would be Chillrocket Cheese
& His Can't-Miss Princess Baby Queens 
of Late Night Daydreams, spinning reams 
of the sweetest and punch-gut rock and soul 
ever bought or sold to pour down the air 
for free, to you, from your radio. 

One time a young woman named Alex, 
an unimpeachable type, surprisingly 
deep and musical voice called in
and I got mixed up. We ended up
talking about locker rooms. 

That, if you remember all my callers 
and listeners? Was that time I almost got 
married! She talked me out of it, but 
I'm the one who missed out there,
I bet. Alex? 

If you're listening, this one's for you. It's a 
little track by an upstart band from Way
Yon Under (that's Australia, folks) called 
AC/DC, and the song is "Baby Please Don't 
Go." Alex knows the story.