Feeling Flushed

During a visit to my parents' house in Boynton Beach over the weekend, I announced that I was "going to the reading room" which was a less-than-subtle code phrase for saying I was going to the bathroom. It was so obvious, that my father handed me a section of the newspaper and gave me his best wishes.

A few minutes later, as I was enjoying my solitude, my mother stood on the other side of the door and said, "Knock knock!" Knowing that my mother is one to think that a closed door is an invitation, every muscle in my body tightened and I said, "Don't come in!" At which time the door opened and she handed me a Golf Digest magazine.

The picture above is me at the age of 5. It's nice to have this shot because it captures the last moment I ever really needed bathroom help from anybody. My wife and I have an open relationship, but not an open door relationship, so I didn't think to lock the bathroom door at my folks house. Score that an error.

Whenever I've acted a bit modest around my mother she has always attempted to put me at ease by saying "I saw you before you saw you." That may be true, but that's like barging into a house that you sold 30 years ago and telling the new owners that it's okay because it was your house before it was theirs.

My mother is very generous, so I know she was just trying to be helpful. The funny thing is, I eventually did need that extra reading material because she scared the you-know-what out of me!

Morgan and Mornin'...Fork The People

Erica and I have been hosting this morning show for 16 years, so we've seen a lot of strange things happen here. Today we'll add comedian Tracy Morgan to the list.

It's not false hype when I say that we have the best vending machines in radio. We always get compliments from our guests about our coffee maker which brews a variety of different exotic blends. And recently we've added a beauty to our stable of vending machines that features entrees and other delicacies from around the preservative planet. We've always had the Pop-Tarts, Snackwells, gum and chips, but this new dream machine will deliver all the food pyramid groups to get us through the next hurricane crisis when we're in lockdown status.

Tracy slithered in this morning a little tired as many of our comedians are when they're booked at 7am. But once he found out about the mechanical buffet that awaited him, the endorphins kicked in. We're excited about the machines, so we were doubly thrilled when Tracy the TV star was jazzed about them.

Then he joined us on the air.

Tracy was so married to his purchase of Chef Boy-R-Dee ravioli that he couldn't help himself. He ate it during the entire segment. He would stop to hear our questions, then fill his mouth before he answered. Even though he was 10 feet away from me, he was ingesting 1 inch from his microphone. Because I was wearing headphones, I couldn't get away from the sound of his saliva-filled slurping. How he was able to make that single serving slop last for the whole 10 minute interview I'll never know.

So Tracy Morgan, welcome to the Weird Interview Hall Of Fame. You join, among others, D.L. Hugley who felt compelled to do our phone interview while running on a treadmill; surfer/shark victim Bethany Hamilton, who insisted on listening to her iPod instead of us, forcing me to ask questions and then answer them for her because she wasn't paying any attention; Gilbert Gottfried, whom we physically picked up and removed from the studio, only to have him break back in; and Richard Simmons who licked Erica's palm while she was reading the news on the air.

Tracy's in town this weekend to perform his stand up at The Improv. They have great burgers, so he should be at the top of his game.

The Dump Button

When Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunked a few years ago at the Super Bowl, our then-company CEO reassured the Federal Communciations Commision that none of his CBS radio stations would ever violate moral standards because we all had 7 second delay units to catch the bad stuff. What he didn't know was that a large percentage of his stations did NOT have anything of the sort. We were one of the stations flying without a net. So right after that promise was made, a company mandate went out that we were not to have any live guests on our morning show until we put a delay system in place. It was a zero-tolerance policy, so every guest who stopped by, from the little ambassador for the March Of Dimes to the Mayor could not speak live, they had to be recorded in case they busted out some "F" bombs. And because so many radio stations ordered a delay device at once, it took a long 6 months to get the unit. When Saturday Night Live's Kevin Nealon came in, we had to start a song on the air, run over to our production room, record our bit with him, and then make it back in time to talk as the song ended. We then aired our canned (and rushed) interview with him in recorded form as he sat there. He must've thought we were nuts.

Fast forward to today, and I must admit the delay system is a wonderful thing. We went for a year without every needing to use it, but it seems like lately it's saved us more often. If a guest or caller says something we can't air on our family-oriented radio show, I hit the red "DUMP" button, and voila!...the last 4 seconds of audio evaporate.

Today we had Tracy Morgan in from NBC's "30 Rock", and even though Jay gave him the pre-segment pep talk about how we are PG-13 on the edgy scale, Tracy got a little carried away. I dumped him once early in the interview, and then again near the end when he forgot that the "B" word wasn't something moms want to hear when they're taking their kids to school. He seemed personally hurt when he saw I'd dumped him the 2nd time, but the delay affected him like a 4 second Taser, and he seemed to behave himself from then on.

I was thinking though how great it would be to have a personal dump button. Anytime anybody says or does anything they regret, they can pull it back! A lot of spouses wouldn't be dumped by their mates if they had the ability to dump themselves with their delay gizmo.

On further thought, we already do have a personal delay system. We just forget to hit the button sometimes. It's called a brain! Hopefully yours isn't on backorder.

Fair Play

We had a great time Saturday at the Seminole County Fair. We were set up right across from some of the midway games and handed out free bike helmets and gave a lot of people a chance to play our MIX prize wheel.

After we'd been there for awhile though, I noticed that the guy who was working the balloon game near us was looking a little down because we were stealing a lot of his business. His game was 3 darts for $5 and we, as always, didn't charge for chances to win our prizes. So I thought it might be a good idea if I went over, showed him we weren't here to pick his pocket, and take my chances to win a stuffed SpongeBob SquarePants.

Not really reading all his signs before I plunked down my $5, I picked up the 3 darts. I'd always heard that at carnivals they underfill the balloons and grind down the darts so that even if you hit one, the balloon is less likely to pop. Not wanting to be a victim, I made sure to throw the darts with extra zip.

The first dart missed. But the next two throws were brilliant, and the balloons had no chance. The guy was so impressed, he handed me more darts to have a chance to continue my streak. He was even nice enough to tell me that if I could pop just 3 more balloons, I could graduate to a larger stuffed animal. He said something else about no charge, but I was too busy checking out the larger prizes to hear everything.

First bonus throw...pop! Second throw...pop!

He said "just two more!"

Third throw...miss. He said "no charge for that one."

Fourth throw...pop! He said "great job! You're operating on a tab!"

As I threw the fifth bonus dart his words finally echoed off my brain..."operating on a tab?"

The balloon popped, but it was my ego that deflated. I had fallen for an upsell. As he handed me SpongeBob, he asked for the $12 that the extra darts had cost. Total time at his booth, 1 minute. Total cost $17. The lesson I learned...priceless.

Meanwhile, back at our tent, I glanced over from time to time when people stopped by to play the balloon game to watch him do the "bonus dart upsell" to them. Much to my dismay, he never did it again. He must've done the math and figured that if there's a sucker born every minute, I'd been a big enough one to have the whole hour covered.

I consoled myself with the thought that on some level he must feel a little guilty and "at least I can sleep well at night." However, you can see by the time stamp below that, unlike my dart throwing, that thought was a little off the mark.

The Name Game

People often ask me if I ever get nervous talking on the radio or in front of crowds, and the answer is not usually. I'm actually much more nervous talking to one person than 1,000 people, but maybe you can figure that out for me in a future post.

The Ginn Open is a huge tour stop for the LPGA (Ladies Professional Golf Association). I was fortunate enough to be invited to play in the pro-am last year and, aside from hooking my opening tee shot almost out of bounds while a bunch of spectators watched, I had a blast.

This year, I've been invited again, and I'm not nearly as nervous...except for one thing. This time I've been asked to not only attend, but to HOST the pairings party that's held the night before the pro-am. At the pairings party you find out which professional golfer your group gets to play with. It's a big party with lots of important people. There are some major stars on the ladies tour and everyone hopes they draw one of the big names.

Last year, Michael Winslow, the human sound effects machine from the Police Academy movies hosted the pro-am and he was hilarious. He had all the sounds going as he drew the names and paired people up.

Big shoes to fill. And my feet are shrinking as we get closer.

As I said, being in front of people, even corporate big wigs and professional golfers doesn't bother me. But the LPGA is a wonderfully international organization, and I only took French in school. Here are just a few of the actual names I'll be attempting to announce Tuesday night:

Danielle Ammaccapane
Virada Nirapathpongporn
Stacy Prammanasudh

This is an elite group of women who represent their countries proudly so I'm taking my mouth to the equivalent of a linguistic driving range this weekend to prepare for the tournament. The last thing the pros want is for some fast-talking local yahoo deejay to hook their name into the left rough!

Wish me luck.

The Race Rat

Erica, Jay, Zack and I were doing our regular weekly chat about American Idol on Wednesday morning, reviewing the performances from Tuesday night and predicting who would be eliminated. We love to take phone calls from listeners to get their perspective too.

One caller near the end of our discussion had had it with us, and everybody else, getting on Sanjaya's case. From her perspective Sanjaya is a very talented performer who isn't being given a chance because he's Indian. She called us racists and hung up.

It occurred to me after trying to explain to the caller that I'm NOT racist, that trying to prove you're not isn't something you can really do-at least not in a 45 second phone call. To try to state your case by saying "...but I have friends who are Indian", or "I loved the movie Ghandi" is patronizing to Indians everywhere.

Is it that everybody is considered racist until proven otherwise? And wouldn't proving it take a lifetime? And do you have to serve on boards or councils that seek to end racist policies to show how unracist you are, or can you simply NOT be a racist person and be considered as such.

I don't think someone should be applauded for not being racist. That should be a basic quality that the most average person possesses. It's not a special quality. Rare yes, but not special. And since racism is another word for ignorance, calling someone racist without really knowing them is equally so.

Get A Load Of This

You always hear on those investigative TV reports during ratings sweeps time that you shouldn't trust repairmen. The air conditioning guy might break a part in the compressor so he can charge you more to fix it, the electrician may start talking "electrese" so he can convince you that you need more work done than you really do.

Well today, the washing machine repairman came to see why our 4-year old front-loader was making so much noise in the final spin cycle. He was very nice, clean-cut, and seemed to know what he was talking about. In fact, he told me what the problem was on the phone before he even arrived. After he explained the mechanics of the washer to me, he went to his truck to input the model number into the main computer to see what it would cost to fix the machine.

Ready?

$670!

He told me that a whole new washing machine wouldn't be much more. When I told him that I shouldn't have to buy a whole new washer every four years, he said "I've seen 'em go bad after ONE year." He also said that the $62 dollars I paid today to have him tell me the bad news could be applied to the repairs, but that the repairs were only guaranteed for 90 days.

So now I'm trying to figure out his game. Is he trying to talk me into repairing the machine or buy a new one? And if all the experts say that extended warranties are supposed to be such a bad deal, why do I feel that by not getting one I've been hung out to dry?