"Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in awhile you could miss it." – Ferris Bueller.

It’s definitely been interesting. I grew up in Bethlehem, and at 19, I got a part time gig at the local rock station working weekends, after messing about with radio at the Freedom High School and NCACC campus-only radio stations. Even though my voice was high and screetchy at that time (not round and manly as it is now), I somehow managed to get hired (perhaps there was a lack of applicants or the Program Director was inebriated). To train me or punish me, I’m not sure which, I was placed on the Saturday night Midnight til 10 AM slot. Later I was told that I would get free records and concert tickets and backstage passes all the time – I didn’t really care if the job even paid after hearing about that last bit and was surprised to see that my first check didn’t have deductions for said records, concert tix, and backstage passes. I still have a tape of that first night on the air: I sounded like a mouse on 18 sudafed tablets and 38 cups of Starbucks and I simply can’t understand why they asked me back. I also spent time playing keyboards in various local bands around that time and had a whole lotta fun while making absolutely no money and getting absolutely no sleep. I figured I could do both later. It kept me really thin, however - One tends not to eat on a regular basis when one has no money.

Anyway, I wised up eventually, realized I needed an actual J-O-B so I could pay the rent without mom’s help and lucked out when a full time gig opened at that same radio station where I was a part timer. Sliding into that midday gig was golden because I didn’t have to be on the air until 10 AM, which meant I could sleep till around 9:22 and still be on- mike by my first break at 10:15-ish. Does it get better than that?

I spent a decade there (or was it 3 weeks?), eventually working my way up to the afternoon drive slot (4-7 PM, could sleep much later), and greatly expanding my record, concert ticket and backstage pass collection, until the evil empire finally bought the radio station and directed their “death star of corporate thought” laser beams at anyone who refused to assimilate. I AM NOT THE BORG! I said, so I thought it best to high tail it outta there. (apologies for mixing two sci-fi references into one…)

So I moved on to the city of Hartford, Connecticut a magical place where everyone drove the same model Hunter Green Jeep Cherokee and everyone’s kid HAS to learn to play soccer or he/she will be ejected from said State of Connecticut along with their good for nothing parents. And everyone, I mean everyone worked for an insurance company. Jeez, it was like the whole city was one big Stepford Wife – really creepy. Thought I was moving up in the world, but I found out a bigger city ain’t necessarily a better city. Oh yea, I went there to work as a Program Director and afternoon host for a big Rock station, which turned into a job not unlike Judah Ben-Hur’s, when he had to “row so you may live” in that ship’s galley all day long.

Finally released from prison, uh, I mean Hartford, it was on to Boston, one of the greatest cities on the planet because they have the Red Sox and the Patriots and a new anti-Yankees t-shirt every week. In Boston, nearly everyone talks with a funny accent you can’t understand, saying things like “chowda”(chowder), “beeya” (beer) and “cah” (car); and where Starbucks is pronounced like the name of a legendary Dallas Cowboys Quarterback (Staubach for those of you slow on the uptake). And the word “wicked” is used as a modifier for nearly everything: wicked good, wicked bad, wicked hard, wicked easy, wicked cold, wicked hot, etc, etc. I spent seven years in Boston working in the record business, promoting new records to Program Directors all over the Northeast and seriously expanding my free records/CD’s, concert tickets and backstage passes collection.

But just like Dorothy said: There’s no place like home, so back I came to the Lehigh Valley in 2004. The farmland had disappeared by that time (which really helped with the just-ran-over-a-skunk smell on August nights), and about 1 billion people had moved here from New Jersey like there was a free land grab, but glad I was to return home. Now by day, I put on a suit and work Sales for Nassau Broadcasting (the owners of this here radio station) and occasional nights and occasional weekends I take off my suit, put on a t-shirt (and pants) and work part-time on the air whenever I’m needed.