Since it's the marathon, that special time when you hear a lot more from the dj's than is seemly, I thought I would let you in on a few facts about some of your WFMU friends:
When he was a 26 year-old loser, Scott used to work in a porn palace on a grungy Jersey highway where the Jim from the local Doors tribute band was a regular. Scott freaked Jim and the other customers out by playing WFMU all the time.
Irwin also worked in the glamorous sex industry, at an "art cinema," when "art" was code for "boobies." I pumped Irwin for more, and here's what he had to say:
At 21, I spent a summer as assistant manager for a porn house -- the Art Cinema, on Springfield Avenue, in Irvington NJ, at a time when non-Hispanic whites predominated in that neighborhood. Today my 97-year-old aunt lives nearby in a seedy senior complex, so I pass through every two weeks. What was the Art is now a social service agency of sorts. I don't glance at it nostalgically.
I'm wondering, really, if the story is all that interesting. I've reflected, and frankly, there isn't anything scandalous, colorful, exciting, or even remotely sensationalistic about the job. It was, in many ways, a most uneventful gig. I can't think of a single anecdote worth relating. Not one! I did my work, got paid, and kept out of trouble. I hardly ever watched the movies, which were XXX-grade, though unrated -- really cheesy fringe-o'-the-biz flicks with washed-out color, dopey wah-wah funk soundtracks, and 25th-rate plots as excuses for gism-squirts every ten minutes. The patrons were suburbanites -- often couples -- fated to learn how unsexy porn could be. The popcorn was artificially flavored. The candy was overpriced. Just like now. The "raincoat brigade" didn't show up. One responsibility after the patrons went home was to sweep between the seats, and I never came across wadded up Kleenex -- just overturned popcorn buckets and spilled Coke cups. The aisles were stickier than the Knitting Factory floor at 2 a.m.
The last job in the evening was to climb a ladder and change plastic letters on the marquee.
Bronwyn was "the world's worst topless dancer" for a summer.
Station Manager Ken says he never worked in a porn store or theater, or danced topless, but I think he has achieved his life's goal by becoming my research
bitch assistant. He sends me the most nauseating smut EVER. When you read something I post and think I've gone too far, blame thank Ken.
And me? People, I'm whoring myself right now. Here's the deal: WFMU needs your money. In return we give you that warm squishy feeling in your pants. Sounds like a fair trade to me. Time to pay up.
Image from The Dirtiest Thing In The Whole Wide World.