Aerial View was WFMU’s first regularly-scheduled phone-in talk show. Hosted by Chris T. and on the air since 1989, the show features topical conversation, interviews and many trips down the rabbit hole. Until further notice, Aerial View is only available as a podcast, available every Tuesday morning. Subscribe to the newsletter “See You Next Tuesday!” and find tons of archives at aerialview.me.
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Do you work in the so-called "Gig Economy"? A recent New York Times article explains what that is and how it's growing. If you rent out a room on AirBnB, drive for Lyft or Uber or Gett or otherwise earn money piecemeal, you're in the Gig Economy. Apparently, more than 1 in 3 Americans is a freelancer and more companies are eliminating full-time jobs for part-time or freelance work.
On this Bastille Day, I'd like to hear from you about your involvement in the "Gig Economy" and how you manage to cobble together a living. Does the rise of Uber, et al, make it easier or more difficult? And when's the last time you took a vacation? Don't be lazy: call 201-209-WFMU tonight between 6 and 7 PM Eastern time.
Click the pic to see some Asbury Park 4th of July Fireworks.
Last Week: 4th of July, Asbury Park
Last week's show was an audio verite documentary of my bike ride from Ocean Grove to Asbury Park to see the July 4th fireworks. I was very happy with how it came out and hope to do more rides in the future.
Spazz, Jonesy, Asbury, fireworks…I am totally jealous of your 4th.
Oh boy fireworks on the air! Andy Breckman's dream!
These on the scene shows are great Chris.
Silverball must be packed to the brim on the 4th, no?
Brakes sound a little dicey, Chris.
I like bombs bursting in air. Less people hurt that way and prettier to look at.
Do women ever blow off limbs wth fireworks?? Answer is no.
Chris, this was SOOOOOO fun to listen to!!! You, the DJ's, the fireworks, the crowd.... I MISS NYC
It sounds like a drum solo from the 70's- great! Thanks for such a fine show, Chris!
Next year take a listener meetup group with you ;)
Backseat
The man in the backseat coughs quietly into his fist. He stares out into the February cold. The rain coming down reminds him of the Tom Waits song Diamonds On My Windshield.
The cab driver coughs, too. He’s a short, rough-cut man mumbling Spanish into a microphone he’s practically eating. The man in the back seat doesn’t understand Spanish but knows a question when he hears one: "How much from Boulevard East to Adams Street?”
After a moment, the speaker crackles the heavily-accented answer: "Ten dollars."
“Ten dollars.” repeats the cab driver. He coughs into his fist again.
The man in the backseat wishes he were the one behind the wheel. He doesn’t like the way the cabbie is driving. This man is too tense, too tentative. He’s afraid of the car….
The cab lurches and sways, the cabbie grips the wheel white-knuckle tight. If the cab were a horse, it’d be choking. The man in the backseat wishes he could change the music on the radio. He wishes he were in his own car, listening to Howlin’ Wolf.
There is nothing to do but sit back and ride – and keep wishing. There is no choice but to trust the cabbie. The cabbie is going to kill us both.
Not wanting to see the crash before it comes, the man in the backseat stares out the passenger window, watching the rain decimate the snow and ice. He pictures his ex in the mountains, in her cabin. Is she warm?
He remembers the wood stove glowing in the corner, the zone of glorious heat just in front… and the bed, not five feet away, awash in frigid night air creeping in under the front door.
Why did she put the bed there? Why not put it nearer the stove?
The light turns green. The cabbie hits the gas too hard and the rear wheels spin on the greasy pavement, then catch. The man in the backseat shuts his eyes, trying to recall the feel of her flesh against his. Beneath the two down comforters she’d clutch him tight, even asleep. He’d lie awake, listening to the wind howl down the mountain. Staring out a small window high on the wall, he could just see the tops of moonlit pines swaying in a star-filled patch of black sky. Her breath on his neck, he could conjure a world where this was a nightly arrangement, even the old dog laying across his feet.
The man in the backseat feels the cab making its way downhill, turning left, traveling straight. Home soon.
Eyes still closed, he sees her naked body. When they first met he couldn’t tell what she might look like under her baggy clothes. The first time she undressed for him he thought My God!
The man in the backseat wonders if she’s dating yet. Probably. He tries not to picture other men but it’s no use. Then he realizes it’s good to envision her with someone else… or he might be inclined to make contact. Better to think she’s going out with a new one every night, that she broke up with him so she could. Better to remember how she tried to blame everything on him. That his role is villain.
But still… tasting her, touching her — that’s all he wants now.
The man in the backseat imagines he’s headed to her. He wishes he had cabfare to go two hours north. How much could it possibly be? One hundred dollars? Two hundred? Would the cabbie even go? Would he drive one hundred and twenty miles or more?
No way. There’s no fucking way.
The man in the backseat recognizes his neighborhood, begins to call out directions. Turn right here. Right again. Two blocks.
The cabbie turns, totally unsure of himself or his vehicle. He drives like he expects to be smacked in the face at any moment. Soon they’ve arrived. The man in the backseat yells. Stop here! The cabbie pulls to the curb, switches on the dome light. The man in the backseat pays the fare, tipping one dollar for the lousy service.
Once in his apartment, he pours himself a drink. He sits at his desk, swirls the bourbon around, stares at the phone, ponders a phone call. What would she say? What could she possibly say at quarter-to-four in the morning?
He swallows the bourbon, decides he’ll have another, then go to bed. He can’t spend any more time thinking about her. She didn’t love him. She never would.
He wonders who did, who would.
He drinks his drink. He goes to bed.
Aerial View on Streaming Devices
While on vacation I used an Amazon Fire TV Stick to get my Amazon, HBO Go and Netflix video. But I also ownloaded the TuneIn app and was able to listen to WFMU and all its streams AND Aerial View archives!
The TuneIn app is also available for Roku. A future edition of the WFMU newsletter, Blast Of Hot Air, will feature a guide to listening to WFMU on various streaming devices.
The Host with the Vest
Obligatory Throwback Pics
I recently found a box of slides from a 1987 Fourth of July party I threw in the backyard of the house I was renting in Tenafly, New Jersey. I was still smoking then and - apparently - going through a vest phase. The pics include lots of WFMU luminaries whose names you may and may not know.
L - R: Kaz (back to camera); Carla Dawn Behrle; Leila Haddad (WFMU DJ); Bob Martin and Bill Berger (WFMU DJ)
OVER THE AIR: Every Tuesday night, 6 PM Eastern time on WFMU in the metro NY/NJ area at 91.1 FM and on WMFU at 90.1 in the lower Catskills, Hudson Valley, western New Jersey and Eastern Pennsylvania.
ON THE WEB: Streaming audio in several formats is available at wfmu.org.ON DEMAND ARCHIVES: The Aerial View Archive page features archives going back to nearly the beginning of the show in RealAudio and MP3 format.PODCAST: Aerial View is available on iTunes as a podcast.WFMU MOBILE: Listen live via the mobile app or browse the archives. Get the iOS app here and the Android version here. Amazon Kindle users can use the TuneIn Radio app. Info for other platforms, including Blackberry, etc. can be found here.
AUDIOBOOM: Hear Aerial View and easily share it on social media here. Mobile apps are here.
"I'll see you TONIGHT, 6 PM Eastern time, on WFMU!"
Aerial View was WFMU’s first regularly-scheduled phone-in talk show. Hosted by Chris T. and on the air since 1989, the show features topical conversation, interviews and many trips down the rabbit hole. Until further notice, Aerial View is only available as a podcast, available every Tuesday morning. Subscribe to the newsletter “See You Next Tuesday!” and find tons of archives at aerialview.me. (Visit homepage.)
<-- Previous playlist | Back to Aerial View playlists | Next playlist -->
Work and the ability to earn a living has become a theme in the Presidential campaign. Hillary Clinton mentioned the "gig economy" during a stump speech yesterday and Jeb Bush recently said that Americans need to work longer hours, though we already take less vacation and time off than almost any other nation. Yesterday, Paul Krugman wrote about the misplaced notions of this "Laziness Dogma."
On this Bastille Day, I'd like to hear from you about your involvement in the "Gig Economy" and how you manage to cobble together a living. Does the rise of Uber, et al, make it easier or more difficult? And when's the last time you took a vacation? Don't be lazy: call 201-209-WFMU tonight between 6 and 7 PM Eastern time.
Now, for those playlist comments you love:
The cab driver coughs, too. He’s a short, rough-cut man mumbling Spanish into a microphone he’s practically eating. The man in the back seat doesn’t understand Spanish but knows a question when he hears one: "How much from Boulevard East to Adams Street?”
After a moment, the speaker crackles the heavily-accented answer: "Ten dollars."
“Ten dollars.” repeats the cab driver. He coughs into his fist again.
The man in the backseat wishes he were the one behind the wheel. He doesn’t like the way the cabbie is driving. This man is too tense, too tentative. He’s afraid of the car….
The cab lurches and sways, the cabbie grips the wheel white-knuckle tight. If the cab were a horse, it’d be choking. The man in the backseat wishes he could change the music on the radio. He wishes he were in his own car, listening to Howlin’ Wolf.
There is nothing to do but sit back and ride – and keep wishing. There is no choice but to trust the cabbie. The cabbie is going to kill us both.
Not wanting to see the crash before it comes, the man in the backseat stares out the passenger window, watching the rain decimate the snow and ice. He pictures his ex in the mountains, in her cabin. Is she warm?
He remembers the wood stove glowing in the corner, the zone of glorious heat just in front… and the bed, not five feet away, awash in frigid night air creeping in under the front door.
Why did she put the bed there? Why not put it nearer the stove?
The light turns green. The cabbie hits the gas too hard and the rear wheels spin on the greasy pavement, then catch. The man in the backseat shuts his eyes, trying to recall the feel of her flesh against his. Beneath the two down comforters she’d clutch him tight, even asleep. He’d lie awake, listening to the wind howl down the mountain. Staring out a small window high on the wall, he could just see the tops of moonlit pines swaying in a star-filled patch of black sky. Her breath on his neck, he could conjure a world where this was a nightly arrangement, even the old dog laying across his feet.
The man in the backseat feels the cab making its way downhill, turning left, traveling straight. Home soon.
Eyes still closed, he sees her naked body. When they first met he couldn’t tell what she might look like under her baggy clothes. The first time she undressed for him he thought My God!
The man in the backseat wonders if she’s dating yet. Probably. He tries not to picture other men but it’s no use. Then he realizes it’s good to envision her with someone else… or he might be inclined to make contact. Better to think she’s going out with a new one every night, that she broke up with him so she could. Better to remember how she tried to blame everything on him. That his role is villain.
But still… tasting her, touching her — that’s all he wants now.
The man in the backseat imagines he’s headed to her. He wishes he had cabfare to go two hours north. How much could it possibly be? One hundred dollars? Two hundred? Would the cabbie even go? Would he drive one hundred and twenty miles or more?
No way. There’s no fucking way.
The man in the backseat recognizes his neighborhood, begins to call out directions. Turn right here. Right again. Two blocks.
The cabbie turns, totally unsure of himself or his vehicle. He drives like he expects to be smacked in the face at any moment. Soon they’ve arrived. The man in the backseat yells. Stop here! The cabbie pulls to the curb, switches on the dome light. The man in the backseat pays the fare, tipping one dollar for the lousy service.
Once in his apartment, he pours himself a drink. He sits at his desk, swirls the bourbon around, stares at the phone, ponders a phone call. What would she say? What could she possibly say at quarter-to-four in the morning?
He swallows the bourbon, decides he’ll have another, then go to bed. He can’t spend any more time thinking about her. She didn’t love him. She never would.
He wonders who did, who would.
He drinks his drink. He goes to bed.
The TuneIn app is also available for Roku. A future edition of the WFMU newsletter, Blast Of Hot Air, will feature a guide to listening to WFMU on various streaming devices.
Listen to this show:
ON THE WEB: Streaming audio in several formats is available at wfmu.org.
ON DEMAND ARCHIVES: The Aerial View Archive page features archives going back to nearly the beginning of the show in RealAudio and MP3 format.
PODCAST: Aerial View is available on iTunes as a podcast.
WFMU MOBILE: Listen live via the mobile app or browse the archives. Get the iOS app here and the Android version here. Amazon Kindle users can use the TuneIn Radio app. Info for other platforms, including Blackberry, etc. can be found here.
AUDIOBOOM: Hear Aerial View and easily share it on social media here. Mobile apps are here.
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