Ten Million One-Sided Conversations (Part One)

There are a handful of topics I have avoided over the years because exploring them makes me look like a loon.  I’m often very open when I write this stuff, but sometimes I lack the words to translate my inner kook into outer communication.  There are also the handful of realizations that are just sad and lame and I don’t have a good spin on them for public consumption.  I think this one falls somewhere in the middle.

Most of my adult working life has been in situations where I work alone.  I never understood that about myself, but it’s hard to deny.  I do much better when I’m on my own and I am recognized by my employers as someone who is to be trusted to get things done.  That’s nice.  But it still gets lonely. Those of who have worked alone in warehouses, or at home or in the car, create an environment that takes us out of that lonely feeling.  Some people like music in the background, some people like audiobooks.  I like podcasts.  Before that, I liked talk radio.  I like people talking and trying to be funny. 

I think I climbed aboard in the mid-nineties with the local radio clowns in Orlando, who were quickly replaced by Howard Stern before he went to satellite radio.  It took me a week, but I was hooked.  I had a solid five years of Stern and I never missed a minute of the show.  Headphones on, leave me the hell alone to get my shit done, and I will crack up listening to Howard and whatever freakshow he brings to the microphone.  Right around when we were moving to Oregon, he got kicked off the air in Orlando because the radio business is stupid.  In 2006, before anyone knew how to properly record themselves on mic, I got into podcasts.

Actually, the first podcast I listened to was a radio show.  Some lunatic recorded the live feed of Adam Carolla’s radio show, deleted the commercials, and put it up for free every day. That was a fun show.  I took a year off from listening when the show changed its format, and then I started searching for new podcasts.  I looked for comedians that I liked who I hadn’t heard from in a while.  Bill Burr.  Greg Fitzsimmons.  Marc Maron. I found shows called Comedy and Everything Else, Comedy Death Ray (eventually becoming Comedy Bang Bang), Never Not Funny, and a few others whose sound quality was so shitty it was shocking they put it out there.

I found How Did This Get Made? and Action Boyz.  Paul F. Tompkins had several shows.  Dana Gould.  Andy Daly. Andy Kindler.  Todd Glass.  All on my phone and mostly all for free. 

That’s the entertaining, normal part.

What happened very early on was that these shows seeped into my life. The good ones involved a lot of talking, interviewing, and honest opinions sandwiched in between the satire and bits.  You need a lot of content, so you begin to learn a lot about the lives of these people.  They can’t help but revel themselves if they record every week, sometimes every day.  You feel like you know them, like they are somehow part of your waking life.

Creeped out yet?

My brain is in constant motion.  I can’t help it.  I let it go.  If I hear an opinion spouted that I don’t agree with, my brain goes to work.  Formulating an argument.  Combing for the perfect examples to illustrate my point.  Laboring over the verbiage. What for, exactly?  For an argument I will never have with a person I do not know.  They are only in my life as much as a news anchor is in yours.  I would not write all of this down if it were an isolated incident.  This shit happens all the time.  It goes from political opinions to trivial movie and music opinions.  Then it gets personal.  Why do I know about his relationship with his dad?  Why do I know about her breast cancer surgery?  Why do I know their kids’ names? Their dogs?

These are not active thoughts.  They are in the background like the soundtrack to a humdrum life. It’s just…weird.

I will never meet any of these people.  I don’t really want to.  There are freaks out there who cross the line and assume they are part of the entertainer’s lives.  It’s crazy, but I can see how easily you can slip into that fantasy world.  Especially for someone without a firm grim on the real world.  So, that’s not the issue.  It is the unwanted debate prep that goes on in my mind.  It’s taxing.

I mean, I know it’s pointless to talk to your dog but it makes more sense than this shit, right? At least that little guy has a relationship with me.  I give him food and he returns the favor with stinky breath in my face. I’m not shaming myself on this one but I am concerned with all the mental energy I exert with these phantom discussions.  Maybe I just need to write more.  I mean, I guess I talk to those imaginary characters too, but at least I made them up…