Category Archives: Musings

I was up way too late last night, but I had to see an old friend off.

For many who grew up in Chicago during the 90s, Q101 was a constant. It’s my longest-held radio preset, a fixture in my daily life since about 1993 or 1994. Q101 was there from the angsty, flannel-clad  junior high days through the whirl that was high school, for late-night college studying and working around my current house.

The last few years, I haven’t listened as much. I don’t spend much time in the car, and I wake up better with talk radio – something about shocking the brain awake. And with the ease of digital music and streaming sites like Pandora and Grooveshark, Q101 and other terrestrial radio seem terribly clogged by commercials.

But without traditional radio introducing us to new stuff and reminding us of the old, how would we know what to download? Before rewriteable CDs existed, I would record songs off Q101 onto cassette tapes, creating mixes marred by bits of DJ overrun or commercials. I listened to those tapes until they nearly wore out, and only tossed them about two years ago.

I heard a couple weeks ago that Q101 (and The Loop) had been bought (by Randy Michaels, the same man who tried to destroy the Chicago Tribune) and would likely be switching to an all-talk format. I hoped the switch wouldn’t happen. Early this week, when it was confirmed that Q101 would indeed flip formats Thursday at midnight, I turned my radio there – and it’s stayed.

The DJs, knowing their time was limited, really rose to the occasion and played what they wanted – and it’s been spectacular, like revisiting my teenage years. You don’t realize how much music imprints with your memories until you start hearing a string of songs that you intrinsically tie to specific moments – driving home from senior year in the Blazer with broken AC, coming home after a party, or just staying up late, studying, plugged in with headphones to not wake my parents.

Last night, I got home from a tweetup and settled in to work on a presentation for next week’s Econ class. I curled up on the couch with my laptop, streaming Q101′s last hours. I was exhausted from a five-hour commute Weds night, but I was determined to make it until the midnight format change. I was transported, listening to all these songs that I knew after just a few chords. Suddenly I felt like I was 17 again, cramming for Mr. O’Leary’s AP Bio class, alone in a quiet house with just the radio for company.

On Twitter, thousands were commiserating – at one point, #q101 was trending worldwide, more than #hp7 or #harrypotter, despite the opening of the final movie. All day, we’d been tweeting about the station’s demise, compiling playlists and singing virtual karaoke as Nirvana, Oasis or the Smashing Pumpkins were played.

When midnight came, Chris Payne went into over time, but could no longer legally use the Q101 name, though it’s so entrenched he slipped a few times. I finished my work and flipped on my bedroom radio as I settled in for the night. I lay in bed with the lights off, listening to the last few songs, just like I used to.

They went out with the Pumpkins’ “Tonight, Tonight,” which was perfect, and then the Cure’s “Friday, I’m in Love,” which was the first song played on Q101 in 1992. At 1:01 AM, they went to commercials, and that was that. It was exactly the right way to end, and I’m glad they were allowed to say goodbye properly rather than a middle-of-the-night, unannounced switch.

Did you listen to Q101? What will your new preset be?

Early Friday morning, after a crazy week of midterms and tradeshow prep, I paced my front porch before dawn, waiting for the cab to take me to the airport. I had gotten home from class at 11 PM the night before and frantically packed for a weekend away and a tradeshow, finally crashing into bed around 1 AM before rising again at 4:30. I tossed and turned in between, fretting I wouldn’t wake up with the alarm.

To top it off, my cab was 30 stress-filled minutes late.

But Friday at noon, I rented a brand-new Corolla and drove away from all of that, windows down, hair whipping around, sunglasses framing my gaze at palm trees. I had miscalculated my layers and was sweating in running shoes and jeans, but the sweat felt so good – warm and summery.

For two hours I drove south into increasingly rural Florida. The speed limits increased as the scenery changed from Orlando sprawl to orange groves and cows.

And then I arrived. I stayed a wonderful weekend with my 85-year-old grandma at her senior retirement community, comprised of a couple hundred small homes, many of which are converted RVs. The pace of life is entirely different: my cell phone picks up only the weakest single bar of Edge network signal, and the internet is an optional expense and experience. As we watched TV Friday night, my grandma asked if I had heard anything about “that Facebook thing,” and I smiled, telling her that indeed, it’s part of my job and I’m always connected.

All day, we watched people walking and biking  (and golf carting) up the street to the community center, where the pool, laundry facilities and a host of daily activities form the nucleus of the little neighborhood. A schedule of activities on her fridge lists several options for each day, from bingo and crafts to health screenings and shrimp boils.

It was exactly what I needed. I sent a couple idle tweets as we were in town to eat out, but for the most part, I was cut off, and after the initial twitching, it was bliss.

Saturday, I slept in, waking up with a face full of Floridian sunshine, and after a light breakfast, went for a fabulous run. Since the community is hemmed between a highway and a lake, my route was limited, so I zig-zagged up the streets and around a pond, and then through an orange grove, with trees dotted with fruit ripe for picking. Afterwards, I went for my second swim of the weekend, soaking up sunshine and warmth and peace.

Sunday morning we went out for a leisurely breakfast. “What would you like to do?” Grandma asked once we returned, bellies full of French toast and coffee, facing just a few hours before I had to leave.

“Sunshine,” I answered, knowing that although I would spend a few more days in Florida, I would be trapped inside a windowless, over-air conditioned convention center.

So we sat on her patio in lawn chairs, our books unopened as we chatted idly in the sunshine. We didn’t talk non-stop, and the comfortable silences were filled with enjoying a beautiful summer day – in February.

Reluctantly, I packed up the car, grabbed a couple oranges off her tree, squeezed Grandma tight, and drove north. Soon my phone dinged with emails and missed tweets, but I ignored them, trying to savor the unplugged peace as long as possible.

I need to do that more often.

How do you unplug? I often unplug for a few hours on a weekend – or an entire weekend day, when possible – but this was so much better.