I’m not an early riser. I make exceptions, (road trips, sleepovers, etc…) but usually I don’t get up until around noon. Sundays? Fuggetaboutit. Now that football is nearly over, there’s little reason to rise early.
This also leaves me out of the loop. If something cool is happening, it’s usually over by the time I’ve had morning coffee. Going out to breakfast Sunday morning, while hardly unusual, happens when others are checking the lunch menu.
Last Sunday I had reason to rise early. I was hooking up with a friend, and we were doing our part to keep Podnah’s Pit in business. I’ve raved about their smoked trout hash, and had a craving. The only problem? The breakfast is so good, I can’t talk my friend into ribs anymore. She wants to save Podnah’s for breakfast.
After breakfast, which has caught on a bit, (it was crowded) we headed back to my place. Along the way, my friend was playing radio tag, surfing the channels looking for a copacetic medium. Not too girly for me, and not too masturbatory for her. (Led Zeppelin is against her religion…) Surprisingly, she settled on KUFO, and Metallica’s Sanitarium.
After the song, the DJ did his usual spiel. A new guy? Hmm. His voice sounded familiar. Then he said, “This is Porkchop on a ‘Stinks Like the 90s’ Weekend…”
Porkchop! Welcome home!
I’ve listened to Portland rock radio since the early 70s, and remember the likable DJs. Enter KUFO, playing all hard rock, all the time. I watched the progression; Bill Prescott, Tawn Mastery, Al Scott, Tom Turner. They were like my buddies, playing the tunes that kept my sanity in check during those long work nights.
Along came Craig the Dog-Faced Boy. Abrasive, controversial, slightly mean spirited, he was perfect for this headbanger’s favorite radio station. But he might have been just a bit too abrasive. Like bitter-strong coffee, he needed a little creamer.
And for that, he brought Porkchop on board. The kind-voiced everyman brought a sensitive fratboy sensibility. He wasa good sport, heavily hazed by CTDFB. I remember Craig sending him on missions to meet a woman at Darcelle’s, or the time he lost a bet and was forced to run across the Hawthorne Bridge wearing only a purple thong. I still have the image burned into my brain, and I only saw pictures.
They ruled the airwaves for a couple of years. They almost got me killed. I was working at the quickie mart on 82nd one night, riding herd on a group of gangbangers, when they played Ebonics Christmas. I got the worst case of stinkeye ever, but fortunately these homies had a sense of humor, and they laughed. I didn’t. I just squirmed.
I remember complaining strenuously when they were fired. I called the station looking for updates, googling them every once in a while. Eventually they faded into a memory, and life went on.
And now half the team is back! While he’ll be playing the same stuff they play all week, it will be nice to hear a familiar voice spinning the discs. And though the hour is inconvenient, I will make it a point to give him a call.
It’s never too late for an Ebonics Christmas, is it?