‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except,
KFWB cuing up ‘Give us 22 minutes and we’ll give you five infomercials’.
Or Emmis Radio figuring out how to slaughter Movin’ without the permanent residual effect.
Or Clear Channel preparing to institute 15 national companywide channels, so they can be everything automate, and alleviate themselves of a payroll, except for the few voice trackers and board ops in San Antonio.
Or the who’s who of broadcast companies forever lost in penny stock land, scurrying without a clue or a compass how to get home, or how to refinance an insurmountable debt load, because no one will accept their stock as collateral or currency.
Or the scores of radio professionals left staring at a dinosaur industry while standing at the gateway of their demise.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. Like,
The big 42 terrestrial minutes of music every hour, and continuous hype the listener out of existence contests.
Or K-Earth and KOST pondering how to stretch horrifically short playlists beyond December for a continuous capture of the threshold of pain.
Or the rating company demonstrating the they can manipulate limited listener fatigue measurements into a facade of numerical apertures of expanded listening patterns for its self deprecating subscribing stations.
Or the I-BOC technology that no one has or will ever want.
So let's rejoice with a holiday poem of the wonders of the slice of the electromagnetic spectrum that we loved so much, a medium that the current radio companies have, managed, monopolized, homogenized, and decimated piece by piece, day by day. Our beloved monolithic over-leveraged terrestrial radio, that has turned a deaf ear to the graduating likes, tastes, and desires of the listening world while relegating the interaction of the aforementioned to the newer portable protocol probabilities. We can count our blessings as we stand as observant witnesses to a painful industry death, erstwhile we use radio’s penny stocks for what they are worth. Toilet tissue.
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
KFWB cuing up ‘Give us 22 minutes and we’ll give you five infomercials’.
Or Emmis Radio figuring out how to slaughter Movin’ without the permanent residual effect.
Or Clear Channel preparing to institute 15 national companywide channels, so they can be everything automate, and alleviate themselves of a payroll, except for the few voice trackers and board ops in San Antonio.
Or the who’s who of broadcast companies forever lost in penny stock land, scurrying without a clue or a compass how to get home, or how to refinance an insurmountable debt load, because no one will accept their stock as collateral or currency.
Or the scores of radio professionals left staring at a dinosaur industry while standing at the gateway of their demise.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. Like,
The big 42 terrestrial minutes of music every hour, and continuous hype the listener out of existence contests.
Or K-Earth and KOST pondering how to stretch horrifically short playlists beyond December for a continuous capture of the threshold of pain.
Or the rating company demonstrating the they can manipulate limited listener fatigue measurements into a facade of numerical apertures of expanded listening patterns for its self deprecating subscribing stations.
Or the I-BOC technology that no one has or will ever want.
So let's rejoice with a holiday poem of the wonders of the slice of the electromagnetic spectrum that we loved so much, a medium that the current radio companies have, managed, monopolized, homogenized, and decimated piece by piece, day by day. Our beloved monolithic over-leveraged terrestrial radio, that has turned a deaf ear to the graduating likes, tastes, and desires of the listening world while relegating the interaction of the aforementioned to the newer portable protocol probabilities. We can count our blessings as we stand as observant witnesses to a painful industry death, erstwhile we use radio’s penny stocks for what they are worth. Toilet tissue.
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"