What's wrong with this picture?

I don't know about you but I just don't like to be photographed by amateurs.  Only professionals are allowed to snap this handsome mug.  A professional being someone who is paid to take photographs.  Then why is it that the "professional at the Department of Motor Vehicles can't even get one good picture out of her camera?  Well, except for Stacy whose new driver's license picture looks like a glamour shot.  Mine looks like an adult who hangs out at Chuckie Cheese, and not for the delicious pizza! 

We moved last January and just today got around to getting the address changed on our licenses.  In Lenexa and most of the Johnson county towns, I believe not changing the address on your license carries the same penalty as parking a jetski in your driveway, letting your grass grow to 6 inches, a burnt out license plate light and capital murder.  So off to the beautiful city of Mission where the Drivers License station is conveniently housed in an abandoned Piggly Wiggly. 

Lucky for us, it was some kind of civil servant holiday so all services weren't available, but the picture girl was there.  Stacy backs up to the blue curtain (the one that indicates that you are over 21) and takes a picture that looks like it should be on the cover of Glamour magazine.  I step up to the same blue backdrop and the pro behind the camera counts to three and as she snaps the picture my face has some sort of spasm that looks like I just ran full speed into a cold doorknob backwards stark naked...and that's what I live with until 2011. 

The only conclusion I can come up with is another year at number 101 on People Magazine's 100 most beautiful people.  Just my luck!

 

Don't Get Up For Me!

Sometimes I have the wierdest dreams.  I remember telling listeners about a dream I had one night where I came to work at the station and I was just exhausted.  I had been chased endlessly through the night by a giant cauliflower.  I literally woke up out of breath and relayed the story to listeners.  To this day people will recognize me from yesteryear and mention the cauliflower dream.

I had another wierd dream last night but I never got around to talking about it on the air.  I had dreamed that they had installed restrooms on the elevators here at the station.  These weren't ordinary restrooms, they were more like outhouse with marble instead of wood seats.  The wierd thing is that the person sitting on the john in the elevator could see the people on the elevator but they couldn't see into the restroom.

But that's not the end of the wierdness.  CBS anchor person Katie Couric was doing the evening news in one of the elevators and was reporting that global warming was causing an estrogen shortage in women all over the world.  To prove that the story wasn't a hoax, Katie grew a moustache during the newscast.

I really don't remember what happened after that but I think I woke up laughing.  Katie didn't look too good with a moustache, but the 12 million a year kept her in the running for most eligible. 

At least I got to sit through this dream. 

Reno, the Wonder Dog

What a great weekend this past one was.  Stacy and I traveled to Omaha to see my father's side of the family we haven't seen in just about forever.  My cousins Kathy, Mike and Terry and their children and, gasp, grandchildren.  They were all in their twenties the last time we spent any time together.  We did talk briefly at my dad's funeral in 1994.  Their father Bill, my father's only brother died young at the age of 33, so we spent alot of time with them growing up. 

The funniest story of the day was my cousin Terry's story of a hunting trip with my dad's dog Reno.  My dad loved to hunt and believed Reno was a well trained hunting dog.  So my dad would go hunting and blow a whistle to direct this uneducated hunting K-9 around the field.  Reno was an english pointer so he did have some instinctive hunting ability, but was never trained to respond to a crossing guard's whistle though.  So my cousin Terry borrowed Reno so he and our friend Tripp could have a pleasurable and productive hunting experience.

When they arrived at the field they thought would harvest a bounty of pheasant and quail, Terry let Reno out of the car and starting blowing the whistle... and blowing... and blowing... and blowing.  The last they saw of Reno after the last whistle had sounded was his butt disappearing over the horizon.  We are guessing now that Reno's interpretation of the whistle was to run and not stop for anything.

So, Terry and Tripp spent their entire hunting day searching for Reno the wonder dog.  They found him about dusk.  The ride home was a long and quiet one.  Reno was never invited to go hunting again.  Reno was given by my parents to an Iowa farm.  He was last seen heading for Minnesota. Reno would be 371 years old today. (In dog years) 

Bleeding Husker Red

Being in radio for over thirty years has allowed me to meet very famous people.  The most famous and a person for whom I have the utmost respect is former Nebraksa Cornhusker head football coach Tom Osborne.  Strangely enough though, I met Tom through my restaurants, not the radio.  Tom used to bring his grandkids into one of my restaurants at least once a week.  He was always gracious and never seemed to mind if I gushed all over him like a school girl.  I tried to get him to autograph this menu with "Thanks for helping me win those National Championships, all my love and respect, Tom Osborne".  You can see what he actually wrote. 

When we opened our first restaurant in 1995, we had alot of the players coming in.  I have several signed posters framed on the walls of my studio. I once had four former Cornhusker quarterbacks in my restaurant at the same time.  I also have the Cornhusker shrine which my Mother finally gave me.  It was all my dad's collectable Nebraska memorabilia.  Except for the red overalls and matching beatle boots.

I like to irritate my KU, KSU an MU neighbors by painting their houses Husker Red while they're at work.  Not really, but the thought has crossed my mind.

Other famous people I've met include, Kenny Rogers (who I took Stacy backstage to meet on one of our first dates), Styx (one of whom threw up on my Acme roughouts after the concert), Journey, Pat Benatar, John Mellencamp (after the KISS concert), Kirstie Alley, Richard Simmons (who bit me on the shoulder while we were on the air.  I have a picture of me picking him up at the airpost with me carrying Ashleigh in a baby carrier thing.  I'll try to find that one.  Missy Cleveland, Miss April, 1977.  Glen Campbell, Pat Boone and many others used to stop by the KOIL studios to see Jimmy and we got some quality time together.  There are many others and as I come across the pictures I'll post them here.  I don't really care if I meet famous people anymore.  I just don't like being treated the way most of them treat us less than blueblood types.

On the Road Again

By now you may have heard that Willie Nelson's tour bus was pulled over last week and guess what they found?  I mean besides five members in good standing with AARP.  Authorities found a pound and a half of...GASP...marijuana.  Weed, gonza, grass, etc.  Now don't get me wrong, I do not condone aged country singers and their bands, ranging in age from 54 to 75, discovering America with their weed goggles on.  But come on, this is 73 year old Willie Nelson.  A bale of pot had to be for medicinal purposes.  They probably just misplaced the prescription.  And the pound of mushrooms were probably for a tasty portobello dinner aboard the wildwood weed express.

What the real problem is going to be getting the smell out of the upholstery.  How will the band explain the great grandkids behavior after visiting gramps on the tour bus?  Doesn't everyone's grandpa keep a bale of noxious weed in their camper.  Doesn't everyone's gramps smell like bong water? 

I'm kind of surpirsed Willie doesn't have a larger girth with all the munchies going on.  Maybe Willie should consider a different variety of herbs.  If I was his age I'd go for some saw-palmetto for a healthy prostate.  Maybe a good dose of seratonin and maybe vitamin e for that healthy skin look.  I heard you get a health high from ginko biloba. 

Weed and muchrooms sounds more like a salad at the Wild Oats Market.  At this rate Willie,  you can never be a greeter at WalMart.  You couldn't pass the drug test.

Dan's other nose

Dan Holiday and I were chatting after he got off the air and was attempting a radio show when Dan brought up a health issue he had earlier today.  Dan said he was experiencing some pain on his cheek, which was also somewhat swollen.  He said he excused himself to the men's room to examine the offending area of his face when he discovered what appeared to be an ingrown beard hair.  I don't know what the medical term for this is but I know it can be painful.  My grandma used to complain of ingrown beard hair all the time when I was little.  She also sat around in her bra and gave herself perms, but that's another story for another time. Now that I think about it, that could be the reason I'm a little twisted.

Now being somewhat in the public eye it can be disturbing to a listener to see their favorite DJ for the first time and see what appears to be a second nose growing out of his cheek.  So, not wanting to appear disfigured in any way, Dan grabbed the only precision surgical intrument he could find, his finger nail clippers.  He said he got close to the mirror and gently pulled the beard hair from it's burrow and performed a quick visual inspection.  He noticed the knot on his cheek was still festering just a bit so he gave the little guy a squeeze and KABBBBAAAMMMM, it explodes like Mt. St. Helens onto the mirror.  Dan said he panicked at that point and was attempting to paper towel the mess when a fellow DJ, Shotgun Jaxon from Q104 walks in as Dan attempts to squeegee the massive flow of boil ooze off the mirror.  We laughed pretty hard that Shotgun was visibly nauseated by the site and was barely able to finish his shift.

The point of this story is to ask the question, don't adults have enough on their plates with wrinkles, hemmoroids, aging spots, thinning hair, the heartbreak of psoriasis, hot flashes, turkey necks, sagging ear lobes, various body fungus, uncontrollable flatulence, body parts sagging from the effects of gravity and hair growing everywhere but on our heads....why do we still have to put up with zits?  Zits are for teenagers.  Teenagers deserve zits.  It's their punishment for making fun of us for walking in the mall, which is the same thing they're doing, we're just wearing bright white walking shoes, pants pulled up to our chests and  the smell of Ben Gay trailing behind us.

This is what we talk about at work.  It's a sad, pitiful existence. 

God made DJs....

...so even the ugliest man could get laid! 

Some of my most favorite radio days were at the Mighty 1290 KOIL, the first fulltime Top 40 station in America.  It was my dream job once I knew I wanted to be in radio.  I paid my dues and learned alot in my three years in Scottsbluff.  When Jimmy O'Neill called me and offered me afternoons on KOIL, in Omaha, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.  This was the BIG TIME!

I had grown up listening to the Mighty 1290.  The KOIL Christmas tree, the KOIL Haunted House, Roger W. Morgan, John Erling, Joe Light, Bob Dean, Gene Shaw and all the others.  This is my KOIL story.

The KOIL building was built in the late 60's or early 70's, I don't really remember.  But it was one of a kind.  All the studios faced out onto the large patio area where listeners could come and watch the KOIL Good Guys work.  The windows were floor to ceiling and let the listeners see all the action.  Unless the action was private in nature, then the curtains were drawn.  Most of the time the best action was on the outside of the windows.  It wasn't unusual to get flashed, mooned, streaked of even propositioned.  We even got shot at with a bullet hole in the window to prove it.

Sometimes, the persistent (good looking) listeners would get in the building and get to witness the live radio operation.  My all time favorite were the dancing lesbians.  They actually danced on the countertop.  There were quite a few folks in the studio that night.  We just had to be careful that the GM at the time wasn't entertaining in his office after hours.  We watched old Larry leave one night.  After throwing up out the window of his Cadillac, he pulled out onto Indian Hills Drive and his trunk flew open and stayed that way until he was out of sight.  Like I said, this was the BIG TIME!

My favorite radio person of all time was Jimmy O'Neill.  He was the number one jock in Los Angeles in the early 60's making well into six figures.  That was alot of money in those days.  He hired me, trained me and taught me how to be a morning personality.  He was the best..  Some of the older folks may remember him from his days hosting Shindig on network tv.  He was also featured in a Flintstone's episode as Jimmy O'Neillstone , the host of Shinrock.  Jimmy always said his son admired his Flintstone work the most. I exchanged emails with Jimmy right after Terry Mason's funeral.  I'm going to call him soon and have a great chat.  Jimmy is retired and living in Hollywood with his son.

The other KOIL Good Guys I am pictured with included Steve Lundy, now doing mornings on 103.7 The Kat in Omaha.  He is nominated for medium market country personality of the year.  Then there is Mark Todd who made it big programming radio stations with the likes of Scott Shannon and others.  He is a big shot with NRG/Waitt radio in Omaha.  He sent me the original sales brochure that the building picture and jock pics came from.  It is framed on the wall of my home recording studio.  I am still available for voicework, Mark.  Bill Mattson is pictured here.  Bill does afternoons on 103.7 The Kat in Omaha.  Quite possibly the funniest person on the radio.  He could make everyone laugh with a single line over the intro of a song.  Also pictured is Terry Mason.  Terry died suddenly last year.  But his death brought together one of the most amazing collections of radio talent ever assembled.  We all miss Terry. I also want to mention Dennis Anderson, A.K.A Aku Head PouPoule.  A very funny man. And last of all Chris Moreau.  The King of Sprite Nite at Peony Park. I don't know what really happened to Chris.  I think I heard he landed a job as a TV anchorman in Milwaukee.  These are some of the people I will think of and smile for the rest of my life...

KOIL was a once in a lifetime event.  It was the biggest time radio I ever worked in.  Even though I am now in a bigger market, it's just not the same.  The people are different, the passion is different. Check it out at http://nebradio.tripod.com/koil.html

Don't Worry, Be Happy

I think it's about time for the little woman to get back to work, before she works me to death.  Thursday, she gets a wild hair and decides she's going to start walking with me.(I am supposed to walk 5 times a week to keep whats left of my heart pumping)  So we do the walk and then she tricks me into cutting down some "branches" that were growing through the back fence.  After pruning a few branches I was sent to get the chainsaw.  By lunchtime two trees had disappeared.  So I think it's time for some lunch and a little afternoon relaxation.  Well, I was half right.

I had completely forgotten that the sprinkler sysytem needed repair.  When they installed the fence last January they hit a line in section six of the sprinkler pattern.  I don't mean to get technical but it just felt right.  Anyway, we dig up the offending sprinkler area and identify the problem pvc pipe.  We will need to visit Home Depot.

My body was idle long enough on the ride to Home Depot that I stiffened up like a dead carp on a hot sidewalk.  Plus it was time for me to go to work so Stacy could stay home and relax and get caught up on Grey's Anatomy before the new season begins.  It's a bad sign when you have to go to work to get some rest.

So this morning Stacy wakes me up at the crack of ten and wants to go walking.  I felt I could delay her by feigning unbearable body stiffness.  I finally roll out of the sack and by God, I am once again stiff and sore.  Kind of like Henry Fonda in "On Golden Pond",  except I'm not 90, don't live in a paradise on a lake and don't have a boat.  I get up and yell out her name, repeatedly, all over the house.  She went walking without me and am I gonna get hammered when she gets back, so I do what any man into self preservation would do...I got to work on getting that sprinkler fixed.

Well, the sprinkler got fixed but gotta let the glue and connections dry before we test it.  So I'm thinkin', a little luch and some afternoon rest and relaxation.  Once again, I was mistaken.  The middle daughter's car is leaking antifreeze and overheating, so it's off to the driveway...

After removing the coolant reservoir (am I getting too technical for you?), unhooking the battery and removing it.  I laid under the car while Stacy poured water into a hose and all over my face.  We found the leak and did a J.B. Weld job on it.  One more blob of J.B.'s tomorrow and we should be good to go.  So then I help the number one son put his car up on a new set of 10 dollar jack stands as he is trying to replace a cv boot.  Don't even ask!

So, now it's time for 'ol Tim to head off to work and everyone else can settle in for an evening of Grey's Anatomy reruns.  No real moral to this story but I will leave you with the reason I work my ass of for my wife.  IF MAMA AIN'T HAPPY, AIN'T NO ONE HAPPY!!!!

Livin' on a prayer...Bon Jovi

As I was rifling through the couch for some change so if I got thirsty at work tonight I could buy a 50 cent soda pop,  I got to thinking how nice would it be to not be living paycheck to paycheck.  It would be nice to not have to order in a restaurant from the right side of the menu.  You know, the side with the prices.  The kids could have one of those 2 dollar soda pops and their own meal!  I could actually fill up the car and know how much of a status symbol it really is to actually have a full tank.  I could stop shutting off the car at stop lights and at the top of big hills to coast to save gas.  By the way, don't turn the key all the way off when coasting or your steering wheel locks!  Found out about that the hard way. 

I could actually get the old truck up and running.  The cops that stop me every other night on my way home from the station wouldn't laugh at the bald tires, no ball joints, running on 5 cylinders covered with bird crap F-150 with 185,000 miles on it.  I carry jumper cables and two tow straps not for other motorists, but to make sure the cops can pull me off to the shoulder.  Honestly, I think I get out of more tickets because they feel so bad for me. 

It would be great to not have to make extra cash parting out cars in my front yard.  I know my neighbors would probably pay to get that to stop.  We could probably stop taking plastic WalMart bags to the buffet for take home food.  Don't try to tell me you've never done that!  It's just that wealthy people bring tupperware!

Living paycheck to paycheck isn't all it's cracked up to be.  I better get going, we're going out for dinner tonight.  We're going to that 24 hour place where the kids can share some bean nachos and me and the little woman get the oatmeal for two.  Then it's off to Costco for free desert samples. Bon Apetit!

I'm losing you... I'm a Sprint customer...

This is month 7 of my continuing Sprint challenge.  After dropping yet another call while talking with Dan Holiday last night I did as I always do and dialed *2, waited for the computer to begin talking in my native tongue, which happens to be english.  When the computer asks what my problem is I say "dropped call" and it says ok.  But instead of telling me she'll credit my account one minute at the highest local rate she transfers me to a Sprint technical person who proceeds to tell me that my dropped call problem is in my phone.  I coyly ask "How does my phone know where I am so it can drop the call?"  He said that my phone knows that because it gets it's signal from the Sprint cell tower.  I replied, "That sounds like a tower problem not a phone problem."  He was obviously getting a little surly towards me.  He said I could not have anymore credits, I had used all mine up.  I exclaimed "That's GREAT!!!  That means Sprint won't be dropping anymore calls!"  He said he couldn't guarantee that and I said "I can't guarantee I'll pay my bill."  That was the end of that conversation.

 

So at noon today Stacy and I enter our favorite Sprint store to see all of our old friends.  We should have called ahead to have them bring their kids for us to see.  The nice guy who was helping us said they needed to test the phones and Sprint would deduct another hour from my life.  So we grabbed a lunch that lasted, an hour!!!  Back at the store I'm informed my phone failed all of the tests (suddenly I started reliving high school where I failed many tests).  He said that I would need to give him $35 so they could fix my dropped call problem with a new phone.  I asked inquiringly," How does this happen?"  He replied in kind, "Your phone had been exposed to moisture."  I said "it's never been in water", to which he replied that if I sweat while carrying it in my pocket that would cause the moisture.  So it appears that if I want good Sprint service I'll need to move to a drier climate.  I wonder if Sprint has service in Death Valley?

 

To make a long story far shorter than my time with Sprint today, I had to play the "I know the manager" card.  I called the manager Michael over,  refreshed his memory from last month's visit.  (gotta be careful about Michael, he's like a hundred degree blackbelt in kicking unruly customers butts out into busy traffic.)  I didn't pay the $35, got a new phone and the monthly ordeal at the Sprint store ended at 5:30 this evening.  Let me ask you one question...Have you ever wanted to kick someone's ass so hard that they would then have to fart through their ears? 

You'll want to check back next month, same time same blog.  I think if we spend two hours a month in the Sprint store for twelve months in a row we get a free toaster.  Booya!

 

oooopppps....I'm losing you..we..dd....rv..cd...d...d.e.s.s...s.x.x. beep beep beep.

Can I hear you now? Hello?

I believe I have come up with Verizon's new marketing campaign.  How about "Sprint means never having to say goodbye".  We have 5 cell phones in the family and we all have a little problem with our friends voices sounding like a hiccuping frog while we're trying to understand the broken language on the phone just before they disappear completely..  I just got off the phone with the Sprint help desk.  I apparently have used up all my "dropped call" credits, but strangely enough the dropped calls continue.  I would think if they can't give me any more dropped call credits, then that means there will be no more dropped calls.  That's what simple logic would lead me to believe.

Apparently that's not the way it works in the cell phone world.  What happens is,  I have to take time out of my busy schedule (hey, they don't know I'm a lowly DJ) and go visit the Sprint store so a zit faced technician nerd can examine my phone for the third time. I've spent so much time with the Sprint folks we're thinking of having a reunion. I think I'm a god parent of a couple of their kids.

All this makes me wish I still had my analog bag phone that never dropped calls and was the size of a suitcase.  I carried that bad boy around with a strap over my shoulder.  People looked at me with envy in their eyes knowing I was one of the priveleged few to own  a cell phone.  I would sometimes just walk around and pretend to be on the phone.  Then I got my brick phone.  I would carry that beast around on a clip on my belt and every now and then I would find my pants down around my ankles.  The brick phone took two hands and a considerable sized bicep to hold it up to your ear for longer than 3 seconds.  All I ever wanted in life is to appear to be pretentious.  Is that so wrong?  I'm too poor to actually be pretentious. Oh well, I'm off to the country club...ta ta! (I'm really off to the Sprint store.  It'll be our little secret)

KISStory

As promised: Back row...KISS Members. Front row from L to R...Tony Fresia - KOIL, Listener, listener, Mark Todd KOIL (now NRG/Waitt Radio-Omaha), Tim Peters KOIL, and Charlie something the Casablanca rep.

You get money for that?

Today was interesting to say the least.  Not just being the 5th anniversery of the 9/11 attacks, but for the first time in my radio career I was questioned about payola.  In case you don't know what payola is, it is where people pay money or expensive gifts to radio people to play their records.  The only time I have ever been offered anything from a record rep was in Omaha while I was Music Director at 1290 KOIL right before the KISS concert.  (I'll have to post that picture of me backstage with KISS.  It's the only thing my kids think is cool about me.)  The casablanca rep offered me what appeared to be a bag full of white powder.  He said it was Coke but I said I'm a Mountain Dew guy.  He said you sniff it up your nose and I said no way.  I accidently got some root beer up my nose once and it burned like hell!  Not gonna let that happen again. 

Anyway, I get a call at home this morning asking me questions about computers and files and accepting large sums of cash and some other stuff.  After I stopped laughing and got up off the floor I asked the guy if he'd like to come over and see the mansion  So basically I just played dumb. If you haven't guessed yet, that is not hard for me to do. I just wanted to tell the guy, "Hey, I can't get the people I work for to give me money, much less record people".  I guess he realized pretty quick that I was a bottom feeder as far as the radio station is concerned.  They did however suck all the information out of some computers in the station.  I don't know if they'll find anything or even what they're looking for. I bet this what the Spanish Inquisition was like.(like I have a clue about the Spanish Inquisition) Should be an interesting time ahead.  I'll just hide in the bushes and watch, so to speak. (My neighbor lady will be able to relate to that)

9-11

I find it difficult to be serious about most things, but today is not one of them.  I remember vividly the events of 9-11 five years ago.  I believed that morning that this was the start of World War III, and it still may be.  Who knows how many attempts to bring WMD's into this country have been foiled.  After all, we really only find out about the terrorists activities after they have successfully killed innocent people.  I honestly don't know what any sane President would have or could have done better than what the present administration has done. 

I made fun of the whole presidential thing last week when the President decided to tie up rush hour traffic in Kansas City and make me late for work.  I was south of the Plaza and the station is on the east side.  I weaved through neighborhoods trying to get to work when I finally came upon the "home" where the fundraiser was being held.  This home literally sat on a square block of prime south Plaza property.  The fundraiser was for a candidate named Talent.  It was a $1000 a plate soiree.  Man was I pissed when I found out it wasn't even a buffet!  And drinks were probably extra!  Glad I didn't go.

This is what's really wrong with Washington DC.  It's not a Democrat or Republican thing, it is a filthy rich thing.  The people who are running this country haven't been poor since they were waiting for someone to die so they could inherit their vast fortunes.  Congress was meant to be a volunteer thing and should be again.  I cannot think of one congressman or woman who shouldn't be voted out of office.  Many should be dragged out into the country and shot, biblically speaking of course. 

I had really forgotten that the President was going to be in town.  When I came across street after street barricaded off, I thought that maybe God himself was in town.  I can't think of any human that deserves so much security.  I got as close as I could to where the motorcade would pass so I could wave at God and let him know I think about Him everyday and if he wouldn't mind, could he arrange a bonus or something to help with the bills this month?

Well, it wasn't God.  It was our tax money being wasted, again.  Why don't we just keep our tax money for ourselves and our families and make the government have garage sales?  Let me leave you with this thought today.  If the opposite of con is pro, what is the opposite of congress?  Let me know.

"I was born a poor black child..." - Steve Martin

I got to thinking about my childhood and how I left much of it out of my bio. I was born in Omaha, Nebraska a long, long time ago. (I babysat Moses when he was a baby) I grew up in a tract house at 521 N. 77th Ave. in what was once west Omaha. My Dad was a carpet mechanic and my Mom worked for General Motors. We lived a block from Omaha's first mall, The Crossroads and Peony Park, an amusement park and 20 some acre sand beach "cement pond". It had amusement rides, including the octopus which I filled with regurtitated chili while riding with my cousin Jerry from Utah. I haven't talked to Jerry since that incident. Peony Park also had The Royal Grove, an outdoor amphitheater that regularly featured big bands of the 60's. I remember sitting in Roberts Park across the Papio creek from Peony Park and listening to the Grass Roots play. A magic time in my life. Until the mosquitoes came up and nearly sucked all the blood from our pudgy little bodies. Later in life, the station I worked for, the Mighty 1290 KOIL sponsored Sprite night there, which later was renamed by the KOIL Good Guys as Fight night. A chance for local youth to come and listen to music and beat the holy Bejesus out of each other. Also a chance for some of the Good Guys to dip their pens into some young listener ink.

Peony Park pool was where all us Westbrookers (junior high) hung out in the summer. I think it was also the first time I recall seeing a real nipple which just happened to be under Ann Weber's yellow bikini. I wouldn't see a live bare nipple again until I was in college. If I had a picture of Ann's nipple I would include it here. Ann was a character. Remember Grand Funk's "four young chiquitas in Omaha..."? (We're an American Band) Ann was one of them. I also know who two of the other three were but I never really knew them that well.

In 7th grade we moved to 8520 Decatur in Omaha. That's when I started my friendship with who would become my best friend ever, John Sternad. A construction accident took his life in June of 1975, which would become a turning point in my life. More on John in another post. Watch for the story about John and my dog Reno.

We lived on Decatur St. until I moved out in 1975 (to live in my Grandma's trailer) and my parents sold that house to buy The First Mate Tavern at 77th and Cass. (Which would later become an official drinking spot for The KOIL Good Guys, and some of the KFAB guys too) It was the same building in which I committed my first burglary when I was 5. It had been a candy store and me and Kirk Englebart thought that even though it was closed, that maybe they had left the candy. We broke in, they hadn't left any candy and we were one step closer to being felons and residents of Boystown. We cleaned up our act and went straight. Kirk is a teacher or something somewhere. Probably very successful. The thing I remember most about Kirk is that he believed you should change your underwear before you went to bed. I never understood that logic. Underwear has two sides for a reason.

My freshman year at Westbrook Junior High was my finest hour. I played on the only winning football team that school ever had. Mark Kershaw was the quarterback and I was the center. (he would later fondle Stacy's leg under the table at Village Inn after the 20 year class reunion. Come to think about it, he had once had his hands pretty close to my boys too!) Plus the toughest person I've ever known, Mark Boyer (who is being inducted into the Westside High School Sports Hall of Fame this year) and my friend John. I was in love with Micki Sartori, and she with me, until Pam Schissler came up to me after a game and kissed me. My first real kiss, and come to think of it, my last for quite a while after that. Micki dumped me as did Pam shortly thereafter.

I went to Westside High School and graduated in 1973. (at the age of 3) I spent my high school years riding my 1972 Yamaha DT2 Enduro motorcycle, egging houses out of the back of Steve Anderson's lawn service truck, working on my 1967 Camaro, the car I had after my Dad sold the corvair. My sophomore love was Teri Stasney, daughter of my parents' longtime friends Dean and Betty. I screwed that up by telling my friends I made out with her at the drive inn. Teri and her husband Tom own some Relax the Back Stores in Omaha and here in Kansas City. My only other real love in high school was Peggy Siert. We never even went out. Much to my dismay, we were just "friends". She dated Rick Wilson and Joe McCue. She did attend some Lamda Chi Alpha fraternity functions with me in college.

So, that's my story through high school. I'll probably refer back to this part of my life from time to time, so commit as much to memory as possible.

Sissy weatherman with a cockroach on his leg

I didn't think too much about this when I first saw it but then Dan Holiday, who is a metorologist, forwarded the same video to me and said this guy was in his class in weather school. In fact, when I went into work last Thursday Dan was talking with Mr. "There's a cockroach on my leg and I'm flaming out on TV" on the phone. This guy is now getting his 15 minutes of fame. Rosie O'Donnell (who flames out regularly on TV herself) called him to be on The View, Diane Sawyer had left him a voicemail along with every major news network and probably a few lonely gay men. If you doubt my words, he is featured on one of Dan's websites called TheStormReport.com, on which I am the announcer guy. He would be the African American fellow who is a correspondent from Sarasota, Florida. Check it out.

You know you've made the BIG TIME when you become a math problem...

I don't know where this came from or why. But it is flattering to know that someone with an actual education was paying attention to what I had said on the air. This quote had to have been taken from the morning show on KYQQ in Wichita judging by the date. This is astonishing as I recall that no one ever listened to this station. The owner went to prison for a big offshore oil scam, the General Manager, the one who fired me right after I climbed the tower, had to be removed from his office by the sheriff. It was very hard to be funny on the "Titanic" of radio stations. This is also the station where Dan Holiday and myself did the "Search for the Christmas Salami." This was our second biggest promotion behind Roxy the inflatable doll treasure hunt. Some farmer shot her out of the sky and won a CD player. At least we were having fun!

When I was little I went to my Father and said, “Dad, when I grow up I want to be a disc jockey.” He said, “Son, you can’t have both.”

My name is Tim Peters, I’m a DJ. (Voices in unison, “Hi Tim” for those of you who have completed a 12 step program) I became a professional DJ in 1976 (I was 6 years old) and worked in cities like Scottsbluff, Lincoln and Omaha Nebraska, Wichita and Kansas City. I’ve been married for over 22 years and have raised three children. That in itself blackballs me in the radio business. Oddly enough though, I have never won a Parent of the Year award. I am currently enslaved as a night jock at a country station in Kansas City. I would consider myself a professional but I make just a little less than the average Subway manager. Throughout my career I have been stabbed twice, shot at, had a gun pulled on me, stalked by more than one over zealous fan and climbed 400 feet up a radio tower, at night, in freezing conditions without safety equipment to put the station back on the air only to get fired as a budget cut two weeks later. I’ve been at the top of my profession and I’ve been in the bowels of it. As I add the wacky anecdotes and stranger than truth experiences of my life here, you will come to know my beautiful and brilliant wife Stacy, my children Ashleigh (the rebel), Carleigh (the good kid) and Bradyn (my payback), my pets Dakota, McKenzee and Jelly Bean, friends like Dan, Al, John, Vaughn, Ron Eric, Pete, Steve and Jimmy and people I believe should be taken out in the country and shot. I’ll discuss radio, DJ’s, drugs, groupies, famous people (and why I don’t care for most of them), people I’ve worked for, people who have screwed me and everything else I can remember about my life, including my near death experience just a while back. So, check in everyday for fun reading, art quality Polaroid photography and actual audio from the radio. It will be a wild orgy of happiness and excitement!