So let’s see—how is it that I came to love your work? I recall the love started out, as love sometimes does, on a bumpy path. I got here in September of ’91—I think that was just after KGSR took to the airwaves. I really dug the station. So a few years later, when SEVENTEEN magazine asked me to do a piece about cool radio stations across the country, I contacted you to see about writing up a little something about KGSR. And your response was a very curt (to my ears) no, because, you said SEVENTEEN wasn’t your demographic. Between the lines I also thought I heard some (in retrospect possibly non-existent) snobbery, some suggestion I was an idiot for not getting that, a fool for asking in the first place.

Jody Denberg

But my god! How difficult you made that! Because I have to say that, despite your rejection of me, I could not deny what prompted me to contact you in the first place—you, Monsieur D-berg… you put together a fine radio station! Mighty, mighty fine. Far too fine for me to sustain my grudge for long.

So I kept on listening. And I realized, with a few exceptions—like, go ahead and shoot me but I am just never going to get SRV— that maybe 90% of the time, I just adore your taste in music. I’d get so into it that as Select-a-Set weekends approached, I’d submit lists not just because I loved the songs, but because I wanted to see if I could get your attention. Pick Me! These entries shouted. Look at how similar our tastes are! (And once, you played my Select-a-Set early on, to kick off a whole weekend, and I felt totally chosen. I can’t even remember the whole set now, but the theme was “math” and I’m thinking maybe it included Aimee Mann singing One is the Loneliest Number, and Elvis singing Less than Zero, and perhaps Nick Lowe belting out One’s Too Many (and a Hundred Ain’t Enough.))

On the other hand, I must confess that for years—like about sixteen of them—I just could not get behind you and that Beatles fanaticism of yours. I had a nickname for you then—I think I called you “The Other Fifth Beatle.” And that tagline? KGSR, Where the Music Comes First? I changed it to, KGSR, Where Jody Denberg’s Belief He is the Other Fifth Beatle Comes First. (As you can imagine, when-- during this time of my nickname for you—I heard you sing a Beatles’ song at the wedding of mutual friends, I about peed my pants.)

But then a funny thing happened. I was getting divorced for the second time, and it was hell. Dear Prudence came on the radio one day during that time, and for the first time in my life, I actually heard the lyrics and freaked out at how they touched me. It was then that I “discovered” the White Album, which fast became the perpetual soundtrack bolstering me through that awful time. And as I listened to Dear Prudence, sometime thirty times in one day, all those years of Beatle-resentment I’d developed courtesy of my brother’s fixation on that band, and his insistence on playing their records over and over and over—which drove me mad—well all that dissipated. And I got it. I really got it. And so we connected some more, you and I, and I came to understand this love of yours, and how it could never die, and I loved it too.

Me & Mick Jones & Tony James at KGSR

Then the other week, I had what now feels like a moment of full circle. I emailed to ask you to let me write about you for a new gig I have, writing a blog for JetBlue about all the cool people/places/things in Austin. And—as you had all those years ago, you rejected me again. This puzzled me, but you were very nice about it. I had no interest in a grudge, and did not take this second refusal personally. I just figured you were busy or shy or something. Now, though, since I heard the news, I’m guessing you knew then you were leaving, so maybe that’s why you said no.

If I have not yet made it clear, let me say for the record, I am shocked—SHOCKED that you are going. And selfishly dismayed, though I know you say you’re looking forward to it. This is worse than David Lee Roth leaving Van Halen. This is sadder than peanut butter abandoning jelly. I don’t care if the new station manager stands on his/or her head and spits purple Chiclets and offers me a regular spot to read poetry on air about my Boston Terriers. IT WILL NEVER BE THE SAME WITHOUT YOU MAN! You ARE KGSR.

So I just wanted to tell you, in public, THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH for all the awesomeness over the years. And please know this is not merely retrospective appreciation—I always knew, and never forgot all along, even during that little grudge thing, just how lucky we are to have the station you so carefully and lovingly built.

Oh and one more thing? You know, if you really have to go, I find your imminent departure beautifully timed. Because this is Thanksgiving time, aka time for yet another one of those brilliant KGSR Broadcast Volume compilations you put out to raise cash for the SIMS Foundation. Best record of the year, and another way you gave so much to this town’s musicians.

Here’s wishing that your declared year off from everything will be full of calm and joy and some soon to be discovered heretofore unknown Beatles recordings.

Again, thanks.
Your fan,
Spike

Spike Gillespie is pretty sure this is going to go down as one of the most tumultuous years on Austin radio history. She blogs at www.spikeg.com, KnitBuzz, and-- brand new people, check it out, for JetBlue: JetAustin.

So I'm not exactly sure what type of people I was expecting to find at Segway headquarters, but when I arrived, I was pleasantly surprised. The guy behind the counter, my fellow tourists, and even Our Tour Guide all looked... normal. No duct-taped glasses, no headgear, no Segway Or The Highway t-shirts.

But then, as if to intentionally shatter my delusion, the guy behind the counter announced, "You can go ahead and pick out your helmets."

Oh yeah. Helmets.

While we were choosing our badges of dorkdom, Our Tour Guide poked her head in from outside.

"I almost forgot to ask," she said, smiling. "Does anyone want to ride the hot pink Segway or the one with flames painted on it?"

We shook our well-protected heads: No thanks.

My three travel companions introduced themselves, and they seemed like a fun bunch. The group consisted of a dad in his late 30's, his eighth-grader son, and a friend of the family whom both myself and Our Tour Guide would eventually come to call The Smart Ass.

These guys were all very Texan, but not of the Austin persuasion. The Dad and The Eighth-Grader had both ridden Segways before, and they kept making skiing allusions. And skateboarding. And rollerblading. This made me a bit anxious.

See, I'm a coordinated person. I can shoot a mean basket. I can set a fine volleyball. I can kick any boy's ass at dodge ball (yes, there is residual anger in that statement, and yes, that is a challenge). But activities that require balance and zen-like calm are not my strong-suit. Basically, I hate things with wheels. And things that are slippery. Things like skis and skateboards and roller-blades...

My heart rate was elevating.

Then the guy behind the counter started up the instructional video.

The video was kind of technical, in a Happy Fun Ball sort of way:

Do not call Segway PT names. Do not feed Segway PT. If Segway PT growls, please wet collection manifold with the tears of a firstborn child. Segway PT's manufacturer is not responsible for occurrences of gangrene infection or transmission of blood-born illnesses. Do not say words containing the following letters while riding the Segway PT...

And so on.

Alrighty, then. Hands-on training time!

"The Segway operates using foot sensors that register your weight one hundred times per second," OTG told us. "If you shift to the left, it moves to the left. If you lean forward, it moves forward. Pretty simple."

Easy enough.

"Standing still is actually the hardest part of riding a Segway, so you might feel more comfortable rocking back and forth."

Wait. Standing still is hard?

"Now, let's say you're cruising along and suddenly an infant steps out in front of you and you need to slam on the brakes. Where are the Segway's emergency brakes?"

The Eighth-Grader answered, "There aren't any."

"Right. There aren't any. You have to lean back. We like to say: When in doubt, stick your butt out."

Gotcha.

"And remember: If anything happens, the safest place to be is on the Segway... Because if you get off, what can happen?"

The Eighth Grader kindly answered again, "It'll run you over."

"That's right!" OTG smiled, "It can run you over."

It was right about then that the nice man behind the counter handed out the waivers.

Then it was time for individual training. The Smart Ass volunteered to go first. OTG coached him on mounting the Segway.

"You've gotta be quick about it. Get both feet up there. Look straight ahead, and don't turn the handlebars. If you do, it'll start turning around, and then you'll have to chase it."

He looked like a natural. It only took two tries before he got on. Then OTG set up two tiny orange cones on the floor, and I watched the grown man in a helmet weave his way around them.

He did great. We all clapped. Then OTG pointed at me.

"Wendy! Come up and give it a try!"

I approached the Segway with great caution. I stood behind it, held its handlebars, looked straight ahead.

"Now, step up," OTG instructed. "Look straight ahead, and don't turn the handlebars."

I stepped up with one foot. The Segway moved around to the left. I started to chase it, but OTG caught it for me.

"So you have to look straight ahead," she said. "Don't turn the handlebars."

I stepped up with one foot again. The Segway again moved around to the left, and I again started to chase it. But OTG caught it. Again.

"It takes a little while to get the hang of it," she encouraged. "The brain learns really quickly."

I tried again. Um...

"Why don't you try looking directly at me. In the face. Maybe that will help."

Eventually, I made it.

"So now just relax and let your weight settle evenly," she told me.

I immediately began to wobble back and forth. It wasn't a graceful wobble, either. It was actually more like lurching. Quickly lurching back and forth.

"Don't forget to breathe," OTG said. "The more you breathe, the easier it will be. You're tensing up."

Of course I am. This is what I do.

In between lurches, I slowly drifted aimlessly from one side of the room to the other. OTG was super-encouraging. She followed me around, trying to bring things under control.

"So are you ready to try the cones?" she asked.

Seriously? Do I look ready? I thought to myself.

"Sure I am!" I said aloud. No need to sound like a wimp.

She told me to do figure-eights around the cones. And I did. Very slowly. Picture a sloth. I wanted to look up at the guys sitting there waiting for me, but I was afraid I'd fall over.

Then, she asked me to do a 360 degree turn. I did (slowly). And that was all for training, except for getting off of the thing. But that was just like getting on. It went equally well.

Before I knew it, it was time to venture out into the real world.

Our Segways were already lined up in a row outside. OTG helped me on mine, and I had slightly less trouble. Then we took off down the sidewalk, just like that. There I was in the back of the line trying to remember to breathe, and minding every little crack in the sidewalk.

We crossed traffic like a row of really dorky-looking geese. Or like the worst Abbey Road cover iteration imaginable. We headed toward the convention center and got there in a flash. OTG gave us the signal to gather round.

"As we were riding here, did you notice the stars on the sidewalk?" she asked us.

As we stood in front of the Convention Center, OTG pointed out more things I'd always overlooked. For instance, I'd never noticed that one whole side of the building is covered in solar panels, and that the Convention Center is the size of six city blocks.

"Now we're going to do what I like to call The Segway Slalom," OTG said, pointing to series of columns supporting a balcony. "These guys are fun to ride around. Let's take a few minutes to have some fun!"

She turned around too look at me. "You still look freaked out," she said.

"No! I'm fine," I lied.

"That must just be your regular face, then," OTG said with a smile.

We cruised down to that old out-of-place tower on Cesar Chavez, making a few little stops on the way. OTG told us yet another fact I'd never known: The tower was built as a fire department training facility. They'd light it on fire and practice rescuing people from the top. Of course that was before the lake was dammed and the area around it became prime real estate.

Believe it or not, by the time we got to City Hall, I getting really comfortable on the Segway. In fact, I got on and off by myself when we took a quick break. It was like I was becoming one with the Segway. I'd think right, and it would go right. Cool.

We rode all the way to the capital, making some interesting stops on the way. By then, I was zooming up that gigantic hill, weaving in and out of people, leaving them in my Segway dust. I wished we could go back to The Segway Slalom. I was ready for it now.

During our ride back to headquarters, I thought about all of the tour-type facts I'd learned. There really were too many to mention, but here are a few:

• The new Austonian building is the tallest residence in Texas.
• The Littlefield building used to have seven stories, but two more were added later so it could remain the tallest building in Austin after the Scarborough building was erected.
• City Hall was designed to look like an abstract armadillo.
• The City Hall building actually generates more energy than it uses.
  

Ironically, Duck Tour buses treat Segways with a similar disrespect. We passed two different Duck Tours, and each time the driver stopped the bus and instructed the passengers to quack at us with their stupid duck mouth things. As if that is any cooler than riding a Segway.

Each time we were taunted, my companions and I stood tall, in solidarity. Sure, we were wearing helmets, and sure, we looked pretty stupid. But we knew better than those silly people stuck in their cars, or stuck on their bikes, or stuck on their feet. We should have been pointing and laughing at them. They had no idea what they were missing.

STATS

Gender:

3 male, 2 female (including Our Tour Guide)

Likelihood I will Segway again (out of 10):

After obtaining my Favorite Segway Accessory: 10

Who gave me my tour, and how much did my tour guide rock (out of 10)?

SegCity Segway Tours & Sales, 11

Favorite Segway Accessory:

Invisibility Cloak

I instantly loved that shirt, and quizzed him on what the message meant to him. Was it supposed to be cynical? It was, he said. But to me this message was freedom in a simple statement. Permission to slow down, abandon goals, give shit up. And, my life being serendipity central, the sentiment also dovetailed nicely with other thoughts I’d been waltzing and moshing with earlier in the week.

Look at my man boobs!

Next factor: FMS. This is short for Fraid of Missing Something, a syndrome whereby if you say no to an invitation, you can bet that you will later hear the event was more fantastic than any anticipated Second Coming. My FMS started when I was very young and forever excluded by my older sisters. Every month I say to Warren, “We are going to do less this month,” and then ninety invitations come in and I say yes to 89 of them because god forbid I should miss out on a particularly delish tray of snacks, a fascinating guest speaker, or an opportunity to feel professional jealousy as I mingle with my more successful peers.

A third reason I am too busy—and I’m guessing why all y’all all are also probably too busy—is OPTIONS. People? We have so many more options for occupying ourselves now than we did a mere ten years ago. What with everybody and their mother now capable of making movies, records, and books and uploading them; and what with new gadgets coming out at an alarming pace (however did I live without the Wii Fit Hula Hooping option?); and what with WiFi so utterly ubiquitous as to make getting unwired an Amish-inspired wet dream… well yeah, of course we’re busy. Hell, I just read about an app called Freedom that, when launched, will block your Mac from accessing the Internet for eight hours at a time, unless you reboot. (And I’m guessing there’s a whole lot of rebooting going on out there.)

The biggest culprits, I say, are the Internet and the iPhone, the latter, of course, allowing us fulltime gluttonous access to the former anytime, anyplace. And no, I am not here to suggest, in a curmudgeonly fashion, that the world has gone to hell in a handbasket, and we are all doomed courtesy of technology. (Though from time to time I wonder…) Just making some observations here.

Yay Regina!

This reminded me of the time Warren and I were in Hawaii, and we went to watch the lava crash into the Pacific, a stunning natural phenomenon. The place was packed, no one would shut up, and along with the cacophony of drunken merry widows and fidgety families and Japanese tourists chattering about this event, there was the nonstop sound of cameras clicking. (Which, if you think about it, is pretty funny, since that is a synthetic sound, designed to emulate old-school cameras.) I felt like the only one who wanted to watch in quiet.

This in turn, brings me around to another one of those sayings I count as being in my top ten favorites. It’s an Alice Miller quote: “Contempt is the weapon of the weak and a defense against one’s own despised and unwanted feelings.” I refer to that one frequently, whenever I am feeling judgmental about others, and remind myself to recognize what it is they are doing that reflects back things I do that I wish I didn’t.

So maybe I don’t take endless photos, maybe I was the only person at the Regina Spektor show (and the lava place) trying hard to just watch and listen. But all these busy, busy videographers and photographers and texters and amateur backup singers screaming along with the lyrics? They serve as a good enough symbol of my own insistence on near constant multi-tasking—consuming audiobooks while dogwalking, answering emails while talking on the phone, knitting while watching movies and, no really, recently meditating while in a hot tub, because I just didn’t have time to do those activities separately, so I mashed them up.

Scenic Landscape Shot with iPhone

You Are Here

Conor Oberst is Love

Spike Gillespie will be throwing her modem away any day now. She blogs at KnitBuzz and spikeg.com. And she’s selling t-shirts with a REALLY COOL SLOGAN. Check it.