Ottawa Radio: I’m looking for commitment


By Rose Simpson

So I got an email from Stuntman Stu today asking me to give his new show on Majic 100 a chance.

He just said: “Maybe you’ll enjoy it.”

I feel like a crabby old crone, a heel with a spur.

It’s true, I have never given Stu a chance, not because I think he’s a bad deejay, just because he’s always been up the dial on a place on the radio I have never ventured. I’ve seen him on CTV News and I’ve heard him at the Sens games, and he seems like a nice fellow. When my daughter was driving for Responsible Choice, she brought him back from the Bank. She said he was very nice and a good tipper.

It’s not about you, Stu. Or Angie Poirier, who also looks like a nice young lady on those New Look commercials (though maybe they should eighty-six those extreme closeups; they make her look scared).

The trouble I have is I hate change. Hate, hate, hate it. And all we’ve been getting is change lately.

Even the staid old CBC has changed completely. Unlike my bowel movements, I can’t tell the difference between One and Two.

Commercial radio is like an ADHD child. It can’t sit still anymore; all it wants to do is change its drawers, cut its head off, change its tune when there was nothing wrong with the old tune.

Stations are morphing left, right and centre, changing not just their formats, but also their names. The Bear is now a Virgin. Another station is simply Hot.

Then they change personnel, over and over, again. Well, they really don’t change that much. They simply toggle the deck chairs like a melanoma poster girl looking for some sun. So Sandy who used to be one place is another. Stu who was with Sandy is now with Angie.

It’s looking like a club for deejay swingers.

Where’s the loyalty gone?

It’s not against you, Stu, not against you at all.

We’re still in mourning for Kevin and Bill. Heck, we still haven’t had time to adjust to Graham since Max left the telly.

Now we loyal radio listeners are being asked to commit again. Well, my friend, commitment at my age is a difficult thing.

How can I depend on you when you’ve switched stations several times in the last few years? Will you one day up and quit on me on Majic when you get a call from the Virgin? Have you already been with the Virgin? I can’t keep it all straight.

I’m troubled by this.

Here’s the thing. Your fiddly owners are pushing me into the arms of those satellite bastards who are everywhere.

I’m mean, Siriusly.

According to my husband, on certain Subarus, you can get free satellite for a year.

At home, I’m listening to Galaxy, or does it have another name?

At Galaxy, I don’t have to worry about commitment. If it says Adult Alternative, it is, and always will be, Adult Alternative. There are no deejays to whom I can attach myself, no chance of being left on the dial with some limey guy named Vinny who I’ve never heard of.

It’s all about commitment, Stu, and your bosses are as fickle as a Canadian voter.

But I will do one thing.

 I’ll try you out, just because you genuinely seem to want to be with my crabby self  in my smelly Subaru coming back from the gym in the morning.

You care, you really do care.

And that’s got to count for something.

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