Whither A Self Help Radio Without Gary?

I should title this "Whither Death & Taxes," as that is the theme this week, but since I won't be doing it, I am concentrating on my absence. As you should. For what is my absence but the lack of my presence? Surely I woke up this morning expecting to be there, & you should be expecting me to wake up next to you every morning. Wait. What? I mean, you should expect that I am on the radio when I am supposed to be on the radio (you know, like we're supposed to be happy), & when I am not there, you should be thinking, "But where is Gary? Could he be (as we might assume he be) in a mess o'trouble? For he ain't got a lick o'sense! But maybe he'll find a bit o'luck, & we'll see him when we see him." You should be thinking that, by the way, in a bad Southern accent. If you're thinking it in a good Southern accent, you're missing the point.

Instead of preparing for my show in (what is it now?) nine days - & this show will change everything you think about dope dealers & greeting cards, I promise you - I have been watching the Larry Sanders show. If only Self Help Radio could be the Larry Sanders Show. This is my fictional invitation to a fictional talk show host played a person who has the beautifulest of all names, Gary, but spells it with two rs as if to say he's better than those Garys who spell with only one r. & he is. But he's the only one. Take that Garry Fucking Marshall! I didn't need you to finance my movie anyway.

So the show won't have me this week, but you will have the show. Except the show won't be hosted by me, so, although I am certain Art Baker will do a fabulous job, it won't quite be the show that I do. You know, the show that I do to you. For you. Because it is just me & you, my love, & the problems of one very minor radio celebrity & one completely oversexed listener don't amount to a hill of beans in this laser-hair-removal world. What are those problems? Well, I'd suggest we start at the Potsdam Conference & work our way down.

I'm hungry. Want to grab a bite to eat? Cool.

Preface To A Self Help Radio Without Gary: What If It Becomes A Habit?

Dearest Friends,

I am sorry I cannot be with you this week. Self Help Radio has been, alas, the victim of a buyout. A hostile takeover. Evil corporate ethics at their worst.

So this week, Art Baker of Jamaican Gold has kindly decided to step in to be a place-holder (& to do a damn fine show, I suspect) while the dust settles. While the lawyers fuck. While the money is counted.

This probably means a great deal to you, the shareholders. After all, you urged me to go public in October. You were all like, "Gary, your show is a public treasure! Let's all own a piece of you!"

The blame is partially my own, of course. I have a gambling problem. My problem is, I don't know how to gamble. I am completely incapable of learning the rules to any particular game. The cards need to add up to 21? How can they do that without calculators? The little ball goes where? Okay, I've put my coin in, why doesn't the machine move? Tens are wild? Is that like saying "nines are frisky but ones are dull"?

In any event, I lost even my controlling share in Self Help Radio. Next week, I will be an employee of the show, not the owner & proprietor. Which reminds me, I need to get a new shingle to hang out front. Anyway.

I can't be at the show this week, but please tune in to hear Art Baker talk about "death & taxes" & play songs about it. I'll be back the next Friday with a continuation of the Indiepop A To Z series, but, alas, you'll hear these chilling words - the death rattle of a show killed by commerce:

"Self Help Radio, a fully owned subsidiary of Bloat Enterprises, Worldwide. All rights reserved."

Sigh.