"Yeah, I guess," Roger said, shrugging with a shoulder as he turned around. "You're sorta lookin' at it. We have a partition that's pretty insulated, so it's as sound-proof as it's gonna get, if you wanna do some talking for your show.
"All the equipment is in once place, so you don't have to worry too much about figuring shit out. I'm from the 80's and I can figure a lot of it out, so it's probably pretty straight-forward. Green light says you're recording. There's a... whaddya call it... I-Pod hookup or whatever, and if you don't have one of those, we have a few over there that have been left that pretty much have all types of music." The pink one was Claire's, and he sometimes like to look through it and laugh.
Roger took a deep breath and put his hands on his hips. The radio station was like playing guitar to him, now: he knew the ropes like no one else, and was more than happy to talk about it for hours. It was something he'd taken on himself, and (with help from Neil and Mark, when he was around) sustained. That was more than people would usually ever have given Roger as far as responsibility and long-term goals went.
"Uh, let's see... You don't have to do a music show, it's pretty much whatever you want. You have a morning slot, so Neil likes to keep that shit PG, but if you want to talk about whatever the fuck you want, I pretty much don't care, but Neil'll move you to night, which is whatever.
"Roster's over there. Looks like you're gonna be Wednesday morning. Right now, it's my block," he pointed to Sunday night, "but I just like to do music only, so I just make a playlist and fuck with cables to look like I'm doing something and help out fine, upstanding heads of hair like yourself." He turned back to Sawyer and smiled. "Any questions?"
no subject
"All the equipment is in once place, so you don't have to worry too much about figuring shit out. I'm from the 80's and I can figure a lot of it out, so it's probably pretty straight-forward. Green light says you're recording. There's a... whaddya call it... I-Pod hookup or whatever, and if you don't have one of those, we have a few over there that have been left that pretty much have all types of music." The pink one was Claire's, and he sometimes like to look through it and laugh.
Roger took a deep breath and put his hands on his hips. The radio station was like playing guitar to him, now: he knew the ropes like no one else, and was more than happy to talk about it for hours. It was something he'd taken on himself, and (with help from Neil and Mark, when he was around) sustained. That was more than people would usually ever have given Roger as far as responsibility and long-term goals went.
"Uh, let's see... You don't have to do a music show, it's pretty much whatever you want. You have a morning slot, so Neil likes to keep that shit PG, but if you want to talk about whatever the fuck you want, I pretty much don't care, but Neil'll move you to night, which is whatever.
"Roster's over there. Looks like you're gonna be Wednesday morning. Right now, it's my block," he pointed to Sunday night, "but I just like to do music only, so I just make a playlist and fuck with cables to look like I'm doing something and help out fine, upstanding heads of hair like yourself." He turned back to Sawyer and smiled. "Any questions?"