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No, that is not a Schwarzenegger campaign slogan, it's from a Dire Straits song.

I've never called anyone a chick, anyway. One of my brothers-in-struggle does, but it sounds natural for a guy from Brooklyn who could have been a beatnik with a little less sense. (Howie, I love ya, man.) If you don't know the song, or even if you do but find yourself on the short end of the irony stick -- in these times, who could blame you -- I'll explain that it has to do with rock & roll myths of fame and fortune. The "Part II" is because I think I've used this as a column title before. You look it up, I'm too busy.

I once spent a rainy night in Philadelphia with Black Sabbath's roadies. That's Ozzy, boys and girls. And if those lovable bastards were telling the truth (only one reason for a 26-year-old to need Viagra) the "chicks" part, at least, is true. As for the money, there was a great song in the late '50s that featured a cigar-chomping Col. Parker clone growling, "C'mon, kid, ah'm gonna make yew a STAR!" which just about says it all. But people think these guys are sitting pretty, you dig, a fantasy hardly anybody indulges in when it comes to writers and Internet editors. Before the dot-com implosion, back in the days when Content Was King and even raging idiots made $1.50 per word for 1,000-word columns, I was known to count chickens myself. These days I'm hungry enough to scrape bugs off a windshield, figuratively speaking.

Accordingly, when my graphic designer buddy called and said he needed some digital photos shot for a gallery ad, I hustled on down to the place with my trusty Nikon CoolPix 950. I won't tell you what I get for less than an hour's work, but if I could do that four hours a day five days a week, I could throw Mr. Visa in the wood stove. (Might do that anyway.) Believe it or not, these first four paragraphs are entirely peripheral to the rest of this tale, which only took place at all because while I was waiting out on the street for Wiz to get unstuck from typically surreal Taos traffic, someone yelled at me from a crawling car: "HEY JOHN!" Who the -- it was the host of local solar-powered radio station KTAO-FM's "Spotlight on New Mexico" show. "You're on this Sunday, right? Six o'clock!"

"OK, great! Good thing you saw me, man: I completely forgot!"

And so I had. We'd scheduled the half-hour slot three lifetimes ago in July, but since then I'd been too busy stumbling around missing the Warm Pretty One to keep track of such things. I perked right up after being reminded, though, because 30-plus minutes to ham it up on the air and read from my work was a real opportunity. When I got home, I opened up the local paper and found the KTAO ad: wow, they even had my name right, cool! Unfortunately, this happened right at the end of a week I'd sooner do over. (If I'd only been clever enough to tell anybody about it, who knows what I'd be smoking now.) I did put up a notice at my blog, so three or four of you found out in advance and were able to listen in on KTAO's Internet feed. [See what you miss when you don't hang on every word I dump into cyberspace?]

Anyway, I was there, right after Dulcimer Dan, a slew of commercials, and Joseph the Starwatcher. I rambled and ranted, enjoying myself immensely. Why don't I have my own radio station?! Oh, right. But I worked that field, boy howdy. I pumped everything from JHFarr.com to Holy Fire Journal to Buffalo Lights and points in between (just like that), and even got to read three essays. For 30 glorious minutes as the setting sun threw pink flashes on the Sangre de Cristos, content was king once more, yeah baby.

Somewhere in this process and no doubt for a very good reason, I found myself talking about doing light shows at the Vulcan Gas Company in Austin and hearing Janis Joplin sing folk songs at the Texas Union before she went to California. Can you believe nobody had personal computers then, or AIDS? You never had to check your email or your privates. Isn't progress wonderful? (On the other hand, you couldn't grab a pack of Trojans from a rack at Wal-Mart -- that little item required a third-degree at the pharmacy counter of your local drugstore or a scary visit to a truck-stop men's room. Okay, hooray for progress. Sort of.)

Yes, this is too a computer column. For one thing, while I was on the air, I mentioned Applelinks and what I do all day (besides worry). And when I got home, I checked my email. Not only was there a lovely greeting from a faraway self-described pasta queen, but fan mail from Utah: famous Internet columnist Beth Lock and the Lake District godfather had just heard me on the radio! In fact, the lady was so impressed, she offered to pay $20 for an audio CD of stories I haven't even burned yet. Women are always right, you know, because God loves them more, so I am told. That being the case, I'd better hustle.

 

And before I forget (or belatedy remember), I'll be on the air again January 11, 2004, at 3:00 p.m. Mountain Time. Please buy my emags so I won't have to siphon gasoline to sell, and who knows?

Maybe I can get the chick to show up, too.

Senior Applelinks editor and columnist John H. Farr lives for your praise and immediately deletes w/o reading emails of any other kind.

Brillliant new e-mag for sale!

Alternative eBook source:

Lots of pictures of el Norte:

Salon Weblog: yackety-yak!

(Beautiful land for sale here: "What It Is About El Rito,")

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