And So I Quit the Police Department...

Well folks, if you missed last week's broadcast, I should probably catch you up.  Still reeling from the abrupt rescheduling of my annual Independence Day Show -- which had been moved to make room for the four-day programming block dubbed "Larry and Munch's Fart of July Extravaganza" -- I ended up making a few unplanned departures from my set list.  One of those departures involved calling KTSH's media conglomerate owner, Corporacorp, and leaving the CEO a voicemail message, the content of which probably fell somewhere between thoughtful list of grievances and vitriolic personal attack.  Much to this spacefaring DJ's surprise, the CEO called me back -- via the satellite phone on her zeppelin -- and offered to reward my apparently marketable insubordination with an improved timeslot and probable syndication opportunities.  After a brief and unsettling chat, I politely declined her thirty pieces of silver and handed in my verbal resignation.

That's right, friends.  I quit.  I joined the ranks of Edward VIII, Patrick McGoohan, David Lee Roth and Sammy Hagar in requesting that my employer kindly take this job and shove it.  (R.I.P. Johnny Paycheck.)

Quitting takes its toll, folks.  I got off the air, marched straight down to my lunar storage module, dug out an old bottle of Christian Brothers brandy (a gift from Harry Nilsson with the instructions "For Emergencies Only"), drew the curtains, threw on a Billie Holiday record, and set to nursing my wounds while the lady sang the blues.  I had some reflecting to do, and reflect I did.

Was leaving the station that's broadcast my signal for the better part of four decades a momentous decision?  Sure.  And like most of the momentous decisions in my life, it was made impulsively just before one o'clock on a weeknight.  But that doesn't mean it was a bad decision.  Of course there's some nervousness and uncertainty that comes with stepping out into the unknown.  Even now, days later, I've got my share of butterflies flapping around in the ol' kettle drum.  But I'll tell ya, in the week since I packed up my proverbial cubicle, I've also felt an exhilarating sense of liberation.  The stars above the Lost Moon haven't looked so full of possibility in a long time.



Now if any of you are asking, "But Jack, what's going to become of your show?" -- don't worry.  The rights to Lost Moon Radio, and all associated trademarks, patents, and freak-outs, belong to one individual: Yours Truly.  The attorney Leonard Weinglass managed to negotiate the rights for me, pro bono, at a 1977 cocktail party attended by the Tishman heirs, long before KTSH's corporate buyout and shortly before I left for space.  The contract is hand-written on the back of a Chinese takeout menu, but it's legally binding (Leonard found a notary in the hot tub) and safely tucked away in the album sleeve of my copy of The Who Sell Out.  So though I may have left KTSH's call letters behind, I've taken Lost Moon Radio with me, and these broadcasts will be coming back your way just as soon as I can find another Earthside antenna set to receive.

In the meantime, I'm embracing my newly vacant schedule.  I've set about some long overdue moonbase maintenance: reorganizing my record collection, finally installing those porthole miniblinds, and catching up on my reading (either Jim Ladd's Radio Waves or that one where the Brontës fight zombies).  I've emailed KTSH's manager Kevin asking if he could look around for some personal belongings I believe I left at the office during the Ford administration.  (I'm hoping he can send them my way aboard the Juno probe next year, though he has yet to reply.)  And I'm digging out my trusty Rolodex of established FM contacts, so I can figure out just who I'll shop an hour of late-night psychedelic radio to first.  Fingers crossed!

Will I miss KTSH?  You bet.  She's the place I learned everything I know about radio, and all these years she's been my home.  But we've all got to leave home eventually, even if some of us don't get around to it until middle age.  A DJ's a music man and a storyteller, and like the troubadours of old he really ought to ramble from time to time, riding the rails, surfing the galaxy.  I'll keep you posted on my journey.  As always, thanks for listening.