It’s that time of year again. Along with the curse of pollen-induced allergies and uncertain weather, spring has added another misery to my life. It is now pledge week on NPR. It hurts me. I turn on the car radio desperate for
the sound of an adult’s voice a little news, and what do I hear but local and national show hosts saying nothing newsworthy (or interesting) whatsoever.
Pledge week is like that awesome free game that’s pre-loaded onto the computer. You’re having a great time, and then suddenly you get the little message saying that’s all you can do without giving them money. Game over. Curse you,
Blaster Ball NPR, with your teaser tidbits followed by pleas for cash! If I wanted to listen to someone endlessly asking me for money, I’d let the kids watch the hours of advertising on cable kids’ programming.
Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes it’s nice to have a bit of a break from hearing which political candidate has made a horse’s behind of him/herself, but if I had a choice, I wouldn’t replace it with awkward ad-libbed conversations on the virtues of Shostakovitch. Because he doesn’t have that many as far as I’m concerned. I’m a Telemann gal, through and through. TMI?
I thought the hosts had reached the bottom of the awkward and embarrassing barrel as they heckled each other over their favorite composers. Clearly, I was wrong. Today, at least a two-hour segment was dedicated to listeners’ pets. That’s right. People were asked to donate in the name of Fido and Rover. Hey, they appreciate public radio, too. They’re canines, not cretins, you know.
So now I am forced to get in on the act. If Millicent Muddlefuddle*** can donate a fiver in the name of Scooby, Whiskers, Mr. Mittens and Lulu Frisikipants, I can take the game up a notch and donate in the precious memory of my departed fur-baby. Well, fur-baby might be a bit of a stretch.
*** name was completely made up. I pinky swear.