Back in the early 1980's I purchased a shortwave radio at a pawnshop for $35. I enjoyed many hours listening to it. As the years went by, I had acquired a few more radios though the demands of school and work took up much of the time I had once devoted to shortwave listening. Once, while spending the night at my grandmother's place, I'd got out the old radio and spent some time listening to it. My grandma mentioned how much she enjoyed listening to the music broadcast by Radio Havana, so I let her borrow the old pawnshop radio. Many years went by. I forgot about that old radio until the August afternoon a few years back when I got the news that my grandmother had died. While going through her belongings, I saw the old radio and decided I may as well take it back. A quick tryout of the radio revealed that while it still picked up FM signals just fine, it no longer received AM or shortwave stations. I put it in a closet and forgot about it again. Until a few weeks ago. While doing some internet surfing about another old shortwave radio I once had, I found that the radio I had sitting in the basement, a Panasonic RF-2200, was now considered a classic and was selling for upwards of $250 in eBay in working condition. Apparently, although it's an analog model, it had gained a reputation over the years as being one of the best-sounding AM and shortwave receivers ever made. I very seldom have that kind of luck! If that wasn't motivation to get the old beast working again, nothing was! And so, I put my minimal experience to work trying to figure out what was wrong with it. To make a long story short (and to try to conceal the fact that I really didn't know what the hell I was doing) I finally - after the application of much compressed air and contact cleaner to some old dials and switches -got the old Panasonic to once again spring to life. And what I heard was lovely! Shortwave and AM stations were booming in with a warm tone unmatched by my more expensive digital radios. I've spent quite a bit of time recently getting reacquainted with this once-forgotten friend. It's like I'm in 1982 again. Though much in my life has changed since I first listened to the RF-2200, it's nice to know that some things endure. And it's also nice to know that although life is often unfair, occasionally it's unfair in my favor.
As I was getting a haircut today, the lady barber asked me "Are you a physical therapist by chance?" "No", I replied. "Why?" "I don't know. You just look like someone who'd be a physical therapist."
I suppose I could have asked some fairly obvious follow-up questions at that point, but it would have ruined the strangely bemused feeling I was enjoying.
Sometimes life is more fun when you just enjoy the weirdness.
Way back in the mists of ancient history (the 1970's, to be precise) I saved my money from an after-school job and bought a shortwave radio. It was a beautiful Panasonic portable with a large speaker and warm tone (and which still works... Hmmm...Now that I think of it, I kind of miss it. I should "borrow" it back from my mom). Anyhoo, back in those pre-Internet-access days, one of the best ways to get international news was through international broadcasting. And many governments - especially those in the Eastern bloc (you know... the Commies) used shortwave's propaganda value to its fullest. Radio Moscow was omnipresent on the airwaves and other stations of the pinko variety (Radio Prague, Radio Tirana, Radio Kiev, etc.) were constantly blaring the party line to all who cared to listen. Among the stations putting forth their hardline socialist doctrine was Radio Peking. Before the beginning of their broadcasts, they would play an interval signal based on the song "The East is Red". (For those of you not familiar with shortwave listening, an interval signal is an audio cue distinctive to each station - usually in the form of a short musical snippet - to let you know you were listening to the right station and to allow you to adjust the tuning. In the days of analog tuners, this was a helpful device.) Anyway, the years have passed, Radio Peking is now Radio Beijing and the once fierce Communist propaganda has been replaced by insipid imitations of Western-style morning chat shows more fitting what has become the manufacturing arm of Wal-Mart, Apple, Caterpillar and - well, hell, damn near every corporation in the West. While I certainly don't condone the past repression of the Chinese people by the Communist party, I'm not certain what has replaced it is all that great either. To me, the collaboration between the new Chinese Communists and Western Capitalists seems like an "understanding" between rival gangs one might see in a mafia movie. Differences are put aside in the interest of making more money for those at the apex of both organizations. Why the fuck should Apple give a shit about internet censorship (and that of other media - e.g. - China's jamming of foreign radio broadcasts) as long as their workers make iPhones for cheap? Freedom? Naw... think different. I know. I'm rambling. And since I'm being honest about that fact, I may as well ramble back to "The East is Red" for no particular reason. That particular tune, I'm told, is a traditional Chinese song which was repurposed for the glorification of Chairman Mao in the 1960's as part of a musical production of that title. The musical is awesomely, breathtakingly, over-the-fucking-top, horrible propaganda. Naturally, I love it. The opening sequence is by far the best. In the filmed version of the production, a choir of about 80-zillion singers belts out inspiring lyrics such as:
Red in the East rises the sun China has brought forth a Mao Tsetung He works for the people's welfare He is the people's savior
(I'd like to point out as an aside that lyrics such as these seem to bear out the contention made by the so-called "new atheists" that these Communist nations were less atheistic than they were secular religions. God wasn't dead, he had simply adopted a new name and address. Okay, now back to the musical...) As if things couldn't get any more drastic, bombastic and propagandic, hundreds of wholesome-looking fan-bearing Commie dancing girls swirl around the stage as the music reaches an orgasmic climax with lyrics such as:
The Communist Party is like the sun Wherever it shines there is light Wherever the Communist Party goes There the people are liberated
The happy Commiegirls look dreamily off into the distance where they can see the bright future which awaits their offspring (their progeny making crappy Happy Meal toys in a shitty sweatshop in the outskirts of Shanghai perhaps wasn't what they were expecting, though). Compared to this iron-fisted slab o'propaganda, anything Broadway has done since the history of forever is complete shit. THIS is a REAL musical, dammit! True, anything after the first six minutes is disposable crap, but that opening number redeems it a thousandfold. Watch it. Be amazed. And that, I suppose, is why I miss Radio Peking. Back then, China was... you know... CHINA. Something different. Exotic. Even strange, in a way. Not the place name stamped on countless pieces of cheap plastic crap. Not the place to where all our manufacturing jobs made a long march. Maybe someday China will be truly free and not merely a source of cheap labor. In the meantime, though, we can always look back on these relics of the past. I mean, after all, if you're going to live in a repressive totalitarian nation, you may as well do the propaganda right.
Yesterday at work, I was cleaning patient rooms. The day started off with two of the patients - uh - let's just say they were mobility impaired and didn't quite reach the restroom facilities in time. Yours truly got to clean it up. And it wasn't just urine. (I'll keep it at that to keep from getting TOO graphic.) While cleaning it up, I couldn't help but think the following: here I am, cleaning filth off bathroom floors after driving to Ann Arbor to work. And I'm STILL far happier than I was working at that commercial TV station!!! At least working at the hospital I get compliments, positive feedback and nice words from the people there. I'm actually treated as a human being and not some worthless cog in some remorseless money-making behemoth. Oh... and I finally got my work uniform. It's more functional than stylish, but DAMN... do I ever look blue-collar-union in that blue shirt and navy work pants!
Working in a hospital is different from anything I've ever done before. I'm doing custodial work, which I've done earlier in my life, but in a hospital, things are more extreme. When cleaning an elementary school, a screw-up will merely mean things will be aesthetically unappealing for awhile. In a hospital, doing a sloppy job could mean a resistant germ could literally kill the next person who ends up in a given room. But hey, no pressure. Actually, I like to try to do a good job in any position I work, so I don't mind the challenge. In the few days I've been working so far, I have received unsolicited positive comments from nurses and receptionists telling me they thought I was doing a good job and that they liked my work ethic. After three months of getting nearly constant crap from the management at my previous job, that did some good for my wounded self-esteem. Another thing that makes working at a hospital different is the need to monitor one's health - both for the sake of the patients (so they don't catch anything from you in their often immuno-compromised state) and for you (so you don't catch any germies from a sick patient). Rubber gloves and oceans of Purel help to some extent, but I also had to have a health screening and shots. It's strange going from a situation where I was concerned about losing all health coverage to being pampered in that department. It is in the interest both of my employer and myself for me to be immunized. And so yesterday, I became a human pincushion. Five needle pokes. And then I worked my shift. Today, my arms are sore. But I don't mind. I will now be safe from the flu, diphtheria, hepatitis B, whooping cough and probably rabies, distemper and heartworms. As a 32-hour employee, I'm now enjoying my three days off. Not bad. I work hard while I'm at work, but I'm a slacker at heart. I have a long list of things I'm supposed to be doing on this day off. Typing in my blog was not one of them. Oh, well...
I certainly hope 2011 will be far less eventful than 2010 has been. As those of you who have been following my scribblings for the past few months will know, I lost my job at the end of January. I was unemployed until early August, at which time I landed a job with a local commercial television station. The three months I worked there were probably the most miserable 90 days in my entire life. The management there treated me like dirt. They were, to put it bluntly, complete assholes. I was able to secure employment as a Unit Custodian at the University of Michigan Medical Center in Ann Arbor and was therefore able to resign from the TV station. I have only worked at this new position for a few days, but I think once I "learn the ropes" and figure out how the job goes I will do well. The commute is a bit long, but when the weather is good I actually find it relaxing. I can listen to audio books on CD and to NPR which makes the drive rather enjoyable. Also, I am now a member of AFSCME, which doesn't hurt salary-wise. I'm making more per hour than at the TV station, am treated better and enjoy the work. After sitting behind a desk for 26 years I think doing some actual physical labor will likely do me some good. I do hope to eventually be able to find something at University of Michigan-Flint so that the commute won't be quite as long, (and the parking situation not so insane) but for the time being, I think I'll get by. Some good things: my retirement account will be reactivated, my health insurance will resume and my vacation accrual will start again. I hope to be able to resume writing on a more regular basis. No job is perfect, but this one certainly can't be worse than my last one!
Here in Michigan, it is currently illegal to purchase alcohol on Sunday mornings or on December 25. This antiquated temporal prohibition has its roots in a time when this nation fancied itself as more religious. At least when it came to those religions that just happened to celebrate their services on Sunday mornings and the birth of their savior on December 25. It seems, however, these relics of a simpler, more monocultural (and repressive) time are about to go the way of the unicorn and cockatrice. (Both are animals mentioned in the Bible. And if they're in the Bible, they MUST have been real, right?) From what I'm hearing on news reports, our state's legislators, faced with shrinking revenues and budget difficulties, have realized that more time for liquor sales will mean more tax dollars for the state and more potential sales for retailers. Yep. It's one thing to preach piety, but when it gets in the way of the almighty greenback, the Lord will just have to be content with having "In God we trust" graffiti-ed on the crinkled dollars used to purchase six packs of Blatz at 9:00am on the Sabbath. And so, if the pundits are correct, we Michiganders will soon be able to go to high midnight mass and stop for some Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill on the drive home. Yet another small quiet win for secularism. And I'll happily drink to that!
