producing public radio is like flushing yourself down the toilet

the relief, the rush, the inevitable downward spiral. Afterward, the lone square of paper floating in the empty bowl like a white flag of surrender.

I did a short piece for ATC today about afghan musicians. You can hear it here. I had many frustrating tech issues and cried out many times like Job with his potsherd, but i got no commiseration from the heavens, just the hum of the compound generator. Fortunately the kindly proprietor Sebastian allowed me to use his office internet connection, even after I in panic tore the cable from his server and plunged the compound into cyber blackout his eyes looked pained. "Oh, Mr. Greg," he quietly moaned.