Radio Sweethearts

I was going to post today about two stories from last week, one about “Space Ghosts” (though not of the masked, invisa-belted variety), another about D.C. Drag Queens looking to grieve their beloved nightspot.

But, flipping through our emails alerts from Twitter, about new followers, I noticed that Talk of the Nation was following us.

Which makes me want to tell them that I was on once. Then I remembered that I’ve written about that day before, and so, after the jump, you’ll get to read my week-after account of what happened when I called “Talk of the Nation” on February 24, 2005. The writing needs much work, but I’ll leave it at this: [sic].

Last Thursday, I got it into my head to drive to Ohio. Just the state line, not, you know, Cleveland or anything. for the record, it takes about an hour and 15 minutes from Muncie, following 32. As it turns out, I had somehow forgotten that Wilco was going to be on Talk of the Nation, and their section of the show began as I was turning back from Union City. I was running through my head what to say and, more specifically, what NOT to say… I wanted to ask who Tweedy had been reading, ’cause I know what I read heavily reflects what I write, and I’d assume he’d be the same way (and his writing has gotten damn near incredible lately). So I call in.

Busy signal.

I call again, and it rings, but it keeps ringing, and I let it. Then I hit the worst cell phone dead spot I’ve ever witnessed–my phone was flashing “NO SERVICE” for about three miles. So I try again, and somehow, get through… My heart’s beating pretty fast, and when the assistant asks me what my question is, I kind of sheepishly say, “um, I just wanted to ask the band about their literary influences.”

“Oh, hey! That’s a really good question! We’ll put you right through!” I should mention at this point that all the other callers, before and after myself, felt compelled to tell the band that they were musicians and were heavily indebted to the band. And though, yeah, it’s true for me too, it never occured to me to tell the band that. So here I am, with friends who recognize Wilco songs based on how much they sound like me, and I’m the only fan who doesn’t say that he’s a musician. Weird.

Anyway, there’s a “commercial” (whatever you would call it on NPR, anyway) break, which is playing through my phone, so they don’t get that annoying delay effect, and suddenly I realize I’m not on the right road anymore. Shit.

So I’m fumbling around in a panic, trying to read street signs and figure where the sun is behind the clouds so I can figure out at least which way to go. The break ends. “We have a caller on the line, Matthew from Muncie; welcome to the show, Matthew.”

As I’m sure you know, I’m terrible on the phone. This was dawning on me as the following shot through my mind: I was the next call! I was this call! It snuck up on me! I’m on NPR! I’m lost! I don’t know what to do!

“uhh… hi, Neil… uhh, Wilco… uhh… big fan of the program, and of the band, so um thanks for letting me join, major love-fest fest to me.” I’m not kidding. I called Talk of the Nation a “love-fest!” “Love-fest!!” In a barely coherent sentence, Goddamnit! Anyway, I turn into some giddy, enamored schoolgirl for almost a full minute, fumbling through all the things I was making a point NOT to say. Spilling out “like” and “um” as much as actual words, before I finally get to my question. At “love-fest,” Neil Conan chuckles as if to say, “Oh, dear God, who have we unleashed this time?”

Jeff Tweedy coughs, and when he begins to respond, it’s clear I’ve embarrassed him, too. He thanks me for the “um, compliment,” and during his proper response, you can hear me in the background saying, “cool, yeah,” about seven or eight times in about 20 seconds (as a conservative estimate). I’m too busy trying to figure out where I am to actually listen to his response.

He finishes, and I, at a volume far and above nearly anything EVER heard on NPR, clear my throat and squeak out a “yeah, um,” before Neil Conan cuts me off with another question, lest I spill my love-fest all over the rest of the program, I keep going with the “cool, yeahs” until I finally find my way back to 32 just in time for “Well, Matthew, thanks for the call.”

I wasn’t aware I was still on the line; I had my phone pulled away from my face and was turning up the radio, so there’s this long pause before you hear me swallow the word “thanks.”

The program in question. I’m about 16:25 into the show. if it doesn’t sound that bad, it’s because you aren’t listening.