Dystopic Exactitude

I find myself listening to Boston radio a lot these days. Sometimes my dial settles on 93.7, the local Mike station (which is a format in which a very large set of songs is played at random, without the strong presence of a DJ/local 'personality'). After concluding a set comprised of the Scorpions' "Rock You Like a Hurricane," Norah Jones' "Don't Know Why," and Hank Williams, Jr.'s "All My Rowdy Friends Are Coming Over Tonight," the station went to commercial with a pre-taped bumper. I realized, there's nobody at the wheel! I want someone to be driving this silly bus that is my listening experience. It's too disconnected, too sterile, to have a machine choosing what I hear next. I love to think of an underpaid, entry-level DJ trainee devilishly laughing at the absurd combination of music he's chosen for me, just me, to hear. I want the music I hear to reflect the choices of another human with whom I may share a common experience.