In Search of Lost Time

Well, yesterday was April Fools at WUOG, meaning we played whatever we wanted, however we wanted. You think that one Patti Smith record is awesome? Try TWO. At the same time! Or chanting Zimbabwian poetry over the collected works of Hanson while having a computer read the menu of the GRIT. Yeah, we do some pretty messed up stuff.

Personally, I sought revenge on one blonde headed bassist for getting “Kinky Boots” stuck in my head for months and in sorta tribute of a few anniversaries. I played several remixes of his band alongside such memorable numbers as “The Eagle Song.” I also had some fun playing the B-52s at the wrong speed, but it still sounded awesome. After all was said and done, I still had a few things I needed to write so I stuck around the station with my laptop and typed.

Maybe it was the rain or maybe the music, but I started to get really nostalgic and a bit sad. As the lights of Tate shut off one by one, I began to remember the nights I spent up in Memorial Hall, when it was dark as the midnight sky with no moon. The only light came from the glowing buttons of the dj board and what starlight could fight its way through the clouds into the windows.

Some nights I went there because my roommate had brought the significant other over for “fun.” It was no fun for me of course, so I left. Usually it was such short notice that I wouldn’t have any time to call a friend for a place to stay. I went to my other place at WUOG. The nighttime djs knew the deal. I would often catch a bus to Memorial and take the elevator up on nights when I couldn’t sleep or had too much to do.

Looking around at Tate, I realized that I probably couldn’t do that now. We have windows into the foyer but no skylight, no back windows. You turn out the lights, you end up tripping over a wire and knocking yourself out on a coffee table. But it’s not all bad. We had our first Live in the Lobby on Tuesday and suddenly it was a bit like old times. I still miss Ethan and Kelly terribly and sometimes wonder whatever happened to Kevan. Turns out I’m the old one now, watching the new kids start mixing and setting up. I suddenly feel like a shadow, always there but rarely noticed. Not that I mind. I’m not much for attention grabbing.

Still, I looked around at the walls of the new WUOG and saw the beginnings of home. Pictures are starting to appear on the walls, along with scribbles. There’s gonna be a few strands of Christmas lights and, if I can rig it right, a glowing pylon in the corner. I may not be here to see the station finally become the place I knew it as, but I’m not worried. The people who need WUOG will find it. The people WUOG needs will come. And I, like so many others, will fade into history. Maybe one day someone will write a book. I hope I make the footnotes.


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