"It's like waking up with Bruce Springsteen in bed with me," I think to myself as I make a petty attempt to get out of bed and slap the "Off" button of my iHome all in one fluid motion, "...except less awkward and less creepy." After the first miss, I manage to finally silence "Devils & Dust" and open my door to trek down to the bathroom; it occurs to me that throwing some cold water on my face might help me overcome the fact that it is 4:45 in the morning.
I am faced with a major decision: The bed is still warm enough, and I am still asleep enough to turn around, conk out for a few more minutes and then book it down to Curtis Hall, or I could continue into the light - the obnoxiously bright light.
I decide to force myself down the hallway, past the lone shining light in an otherwise dark hall; the motion sensors are asleep just like everyone else. I throw on some random clothes, which is, of course, the beauty of the situation (no one actually has to see you), go down the stairs, out into the cold darkness, and through puffs of my own breath lingering in the air.
The small woman behind the counter knows me. Just walk into the Dunkin' Donuts on Boston Ave. and ask her about a guy in a black North Face who comes in every Wednesday morning: She'll give you all the information you want. We have an intimate relationship; if you want my bank account number, social security number, or if you're just curious what the hell I'm doing there every Wednesday, ask her. She'll be more than willing to oblige: I order a large hot chocolate and ask for three cups for my guests on the radio show every week.
"Oh, I get it now," you're probably saying to yourself, "he has a radio show. Cool. Wait, we have a radio station?"
My name is Teddy Minch, and I am the host of "Wake Up Call," a news and sports talk show that airs every Wednesday morning from 6 to 8 a.m. on WMFO Medford, Tufts Radio 91.5 FM. Although the previously mentioned weekly routine seems more like that of a lunatic/chocolate addict than that of a college freshman, this is life for the first morning DJ.
WMFO does not run 24 hours a day, so there are periods of time when the frequency is non-functioning. That said, it is my responsibility to get there before my show, power up the broadcasting unit (with a few button pushes while listening to the instructions of a robot's soothing voice on the telephone) and make sure that everything is in its place.
Part two of that job description is always interesting, as it usually consists of cleaning up any and all, um, beverages from the night before and untangling the headphones and making sure that sound comes out of the right speakers. Sure, it sounds easy, but when microphone one has its output blaring through microphone three's headphones and it's 5:30 a.m., it's rigorous exercise.
After having trekked through the dark, untangled the wires, disposed of a wide array of general trash, and powered up the broadcaster, I have about five or six minutes left to find my news stories on MSNBC and CNN before go-time.
My experience in radio, now going on four years, has led me to the conclusion that actually "doing" a radio show is the easiest part of the whole thing.
The tough part of the show comes when I'm off-mic, when I'm waiting for one of my guests who is running a tad late, and I know the song playing is ending in 40 seconds. It's when I get a caller asking for someone named "Josh Hermanson," inquiring as to why he hasn't gotten his watch back yet. It's having a toilet overflow and spill all over the studio right as you're about to go back on the air, or laying out the show plan earlier in the week and knowing on Friday that what you're going to have on Wednesday is worse then the Journey tribute performed by *NSYNC.
In essence, what makes radio fun and totally spontaneous is not so much what's going on while the red "ON AIR" sign is lit, but rather, all the random, unplanned, holy-crap-I-can't-believe-that-just-happened-right-now!? sort of things that make having a radio show comical and enjoyable.
There's something religious about walking down Boston Ave. along the centerline with a cup of Dunkin' Donuts hot chocolate in your hand without having to worry about any cars coming from either direction. It's before dawn; there's absolutely no hint that the sun will rise any time soon. To walk through the darkness and do your show as the sun rises into the pink sky over the autumn-colored hills makes me feel alive and well early in the morning.
Once the show is over, and I am walking down the creaky stairs, past the tired-looking students crowding Brown and Brew, and out onto the sidewalk, I feel a sense of accomplishment, a sort of invigoration.
"Boy," I think to myself, "I can't wait to do that again."
