Insult to injury. That’s what it is. I was talking to someone else when Stephen came into God and Suffering class yesterday morning and sat on the other side of me. When I finally paid attention to him, he was busily drawing a chart on a piece of notebook paper. “This,” he said, looking up, “is proof of the conspiracy that they’re out to get me.” I raised my eyebrows. “My favorite shirt is missing,” he pointed to where he had written “shirt.” A line led upward to a question mark. “It’s been missing for two weeks. I don’t know who took it.”

He lifted his finger for emphasis and pointed to the next item, “white van.” “I was planning on arriving early this morning in time to eat breakfast before class. But I got stuck behind a white van, and so now I’m hungry and will remain so until after I’m through with classes. Who drives white vans?” his finger led up a line, “The NSA. The NSA drives white vans.”

He paused once more before pointing to the last item, “macarena.” “For the second time in a year, my radio station has changed. Before it was 92 Zew that’s now 92 Rock. This time it’s New Rock 107. I woke up this morning and my radio station is now playing nothing but Macarena. Whose fault is that?” he asked rhetorically as he traced the line leading from that item upwards. “The FCC.”

“You see? They’re all out to get me. The NSA, the FCC, and whoever it was who stole my shirt.” All three were connected to lines that led to the top of the paper where “Stephen’s misery” was written. “Their mission is my to make my life,” he insisted, tapping on his chest, “miserable.”

He was right about the Macarena. My alternative station started playing nothing but the Macarena song for at least 36 hours straight. All half a dozen versions of it, over and over again, interrupted by a deep-voiced prerecorded announcer, saying things like, “The family that Macarenas together stays together. Good clean fun for the whole family to enjoy.” Or “In the hustle and bustle of today’s modern world, there’s a place that stands apart from all those confusing stations that play lots of different songs. Radio Macarena. One world, one station, one great song.” Or, “No Rock. Alllllll Mac.”

But when I got in my car this evening after class, I turned on the radio to find a new oldies station on 107.3. Cool 107 or something. They were playing 12,000 oldies in a row. “Call us and tell us what you want to hear!” the same announcer said. I wanted to call and demand “I want my alternative music back!”

I think half of the younger generation in Mobile is pissed off that their radio station is gone. New Rock 107 was a great station. We already have an oldies station, a couple in fact.

At least the new station has “oldies” sounding identification bumpers. Although some of it still has that stupid fast dance drum stuff that doesn’t sound the least bit oldieish.

Jonah (drove home screaming to “Born to be Wild”)

In other news, I finally got a telnet program to use through our new internet provider. The bad news is that I crashed Windows on my brother’s 396.