When I was a lad I would brave all weather in order to get to a radio shift.

On one notable occasion, I remember being nearly snowed in on the job. New Jersey literally shut down its highways just as I was crossing the Scudder Falls Bridge into Pa. All of Bucks County stretched out before me like a field of amorphous snow cones. I could scarcely distinguish road from countryside, and there was no one in front of me, so I had to do my best to navigate across the tops of the scoops.

By the time I got back to Philly the snow as so high, I could scarcely get traction. There was no way I would be able to parallel park, so it was very fortunate indeed that there was a legal parking space open at the end of a line of cars. Sure it was six blocks from my apartment, but beggars can’t be choosers. I was certainly more fortunate than the evening board-op, who literally rode into the station on the plow and had to sleep there, rising early to spin CDs all by herself into the following evening. Such was the dedication of the radio host.

That was then. Now that I am a middle-aged pantaloon I’d just as soon stay in bed. Thanks again to Bobby and Nicky for filling in for me this morning on WPRB 103.3 FM and at wprb.com. Tune in before 11:00 EST if electronic, minimalist and drone music are your thing.

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into THE LEAN AND SLIPPERED PANTALOON,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.