This is WKCO, you're on the air...

"Hello, you're listening to WKCO: Kenyon College Radio. This is Daniel Barnett filling in for Alex Murphy. Tonight, I'm going to be bringing you songs in every color of the rainbow; that is, songs which feature colors in their lyrics, titles, albums, artists, et cetera. Up first we have Jimi Hendrix with Purple Haze. Enjoy."

I looked down at the soundboard and I realized the microphone was not on, and that I had been speaking into a muted, aluminum tube for the last minute or so. No-one had heard me. I chuckled, took a deep breath, brought the mic up, and began again - this time, without the nervousness of the initial lead-in. I cued up Hendrix and got to work, furiously putting together a set-list for the two-hour slot. It appeared as though I had a long night ahead of me.

Last night, I hosted my first radio show. I began interning with WKCO, my college's radio station, about a month ago, and I'm incredibly excited to be delving into the world of broadcasting for the first time. In the midst of an uneventful evening yesterday, Alex, a senior working on his thesis project, sent out an e-mail to all associated with the station, asking for someone to cover his 8:00-10:00 PM slot that night. It was 7:30. Being one of the new kids on the block at WKCO, I didn't know whether or not I could accept that invitation, but I was chomping at the bit to do so. Knowing that there were a couple of DJ's working at the station, I walked down and joined them in the midst of their show. After a few minutes of talking between songs, I brought up the fact that Alex wouldn't be taking up the reigns, and that I was wondering...

About five minutes later, I found myself running back to my room to pick up my laptop so that I had some familiar music on hand. I called up a friend of mine: "Kelly, what are you doing RIGHT NOW? I need a co-host." I arrived at 8:05, huffing and puffing but with gear in tow, and set up. By 8:10, I was on the air, playing Purple Haze, Yellow Submarine, Sky Blue Sky, Greenback Dollar, The Black Keys, et cetera. Once my co-host, and a few mutual friends, showed up, there were iPods floating back and forth with songs, and me switching between digital devices with increasing ease. We joked around between songs, justified playing songs containing no color - at one point, we played Fleetwood Mac because, well, Stevie Nicks sounds like a goat, and goats can be white or grey or brown or... - but generally, just having a blast. We bantered and prated back and forth, and at one point, my friend Brian even read a monologue on air in the voice of Alan Rickman. I could go on and on, but A) you probably just had to be there; and B) suffice it to say, we put on quite the production.

At 10 o'clock, I packed up my laptop and left the seat open for the next DJs. The night had been a blast, and left me looking forward to the next time someone needed a substitute or a partner. Before leaving, I checked the station's computer to see, just out of curiosity, how many people had heard this hap-hazard and far-too-enjoyable show I had just produced:

There were only seven people listening.