Snow still clings to the foothills, the studio window cracks with sun, and we start with a rare thanks to the crews who kept the power humming through the storm. That small moment of gratitude sets the pace for a Friday sprint across February 20—a date that somehow holds mail routes, bridges, guitar legends, Olympic gold, and a sharp political pivot, all in one breath. We open the curtain on our radio lineup, explain why we passed on doing a doubleheader, and hand the night shift to a trusted friend so you don’t have to overdose on our voice.

From there, we time-travel. We salute the birth of the US Postal Service and admit a soft spot for the imagined life of a springtime mail carrier before tipping our cap to the grit that job truly demands. A quick detour through the Pony Express even sparks a dream: Sacramento hockey in vintage leathers, logo and all. Then it’s steel and seawater with the Oakland Bay Bridge—commissions, approvals, and the engineers who had to invent new theories to make a span that could survive the bay. WWII’s Big Week tightens the frame: daylight raids, RAF nights, and the kind of coordination that changes wars and maps.

Culture turns the dial. Jimi Hendrix thunders into his first gig in a synagogue basement and gets fired for playing too wild—a reminder that genius starts rough. Willie Mays signs a record deal that once felt impossible, Barry Bonds later resets the market, and we talk openly about how sports value shifts with time. A hard note follows with Mike Tyson’s 1986 harassment incidents, proof that headlines can hold brilliance and harm at once. We dust off a Beatles track that waited decades for its release, revisit the Unabomber bombing that etched an image into America’s memory, and feel Brian Boitano’s pride glow from a perfect Olympic skate.

Politics arrives with a phone line and a dare: Ross Perot tells Americans to sweat if they want change, and we remember what it felt like when a businessman jolted the race. We close with a hometown statue of a weeping Kurt Cobain, a lock of John Lennon’s hair fetching a small fortune, and a debate clip that marked Jeb Bush’s exit. Finally, we drop the needle on Steely Dan’s Pretzel Logic, tip our cap to its cool precision, and fast-forward to now: A’s spring games begin, the Kings can’t buy a win, and the weekend calls.

If this blend of history, music, sports, and radio-life scratches your curiosity, tap follow, share with a friend who loves a good time-capsule, and leave a quick review. Which February 20 moment hit you hardest?

A sky the color of orange sherbet and ash settles over fresh snow as I learn my 2018 Mustang GT needs a transmission—first a hopeful $500 fluid fantasy, then a hard $10,000 estimate, and finally a lifeline: a $4,500 rebuild with a one-year warranty and a two-day turnaround. That whiplash becomes the heartbeat of this episode: how fast perspective can flip when the right voice picks up the phone, and how gratitude shows up in the small things—heat from a wood stove, power that stays on, and a plan you can execute.

From there, we slide into radio life—guest-hosting swaps, clearing the throat after a cold, and the easy rhythm of doing a show from home while snow stacks up outside. With the tow arranged and the budget triaged, I lean into the nostalgia that shaped my ears: Columbia House’s 13-for-a-penny thrill and the parental scolding that followed, the K-Tel commercials that promised “20 original hits” in a single breath, and the occasional heartbreak of sound‑alike tracks posing as the real thing. Those compilations taught a generation how eclectic radio once was—disco next to rock, novelty next to soul—when Top 40 felt like a big, unruly family reunion.

We cap it with a time-capsule track: Charlie Daniels’ Uneasy Rider, a talk‑sung barroom tale that somehow climbed into the top ten with all its sharp edges intact. It’s a reminder that pop radio once embraced long narratives, jagged language, and songs that played like short films. That sets up the big question I’m bringing to the air: what’s the most underrated classic rock song? The pick you defend in your car, the one that never got its due, the track that still makes your chest tighten when the first chord hits.

If you love real-life curveballs, radio craft, and music rabbit holes, you’ll feel at home here. Listen, share your underrated classic rock contender, and if this episode hit you somewhere between the wallet and the heart, subscribe and leave a review so more folks can find the show.

The rain is hammering the windows, the fire’s going, and my voice is hanging on by a thread—perfect conditions to tell a story about why radio still matters when you feel crummy. I open with a short check‑in from the couch, then take you straight into the sonic time machine: the 1970s News Blimp, that wild, witty, and perfectly stitched blend of narration, sound bites, and songs that matched the moment. Hearing a classic “end of the world” segment again—equal parts science and satire—rekindles the spark that shaped how I build shows today: go thematic, score the topic, and let music carry the meaning.

From there, we map that influence onto modern craft. I talk through why a playlist with purpose works better than a stack of hits: songs become chapters, jokes turn data into memory, and a smart clip can teach faster than a lecture. You’ll hear how free‑form FM, deep cuts, and FCC‑era constraints sparked a generation of creative producers who used humor and hooks to make facts stick. It’s media history with a pulse, and a case study in storytelling any podcaster or radio fan can use.

Then we pivot to the villain of the night: the common cold. I walk through symptoms, timelines, and the stubborn truth that a virus doesn’t care about airtime. To break the fog, we weave in comedy about office germs and a handful of gloriously retro cold‑medicine ads, the kind that promise atom‑traced relief and time‑released serenity. Some myths get poked, some advice still holds, and all of it reminds us that tone is everything when you’re trying to help people feel better. We close with a few musical nods—because when your head is stuffed and your patience is thin, a good song can be the best medicine you can actually take.

If this blend of nostalgia, craft, and sick‑day honesty hits home, tap follow, share it with a friend who loves old‑school radio, and leave a quick review. Your notes help me keep the lights on, the fire warm, and the playlists tuned just right.

A rainy Northern California morning sets the scene for a fast-moving journey through history, sport, music, and food lore—proof that one small idea can spark a chain of discovery. We start with storms, travel disruptions, and the practical realities of wind advisories before turning to the surprise heartbeat of the day: Presidents Day and the long arc of George Washington’s legacy. From there, the thread snaps to a century-old mystery—was the Baby Ruth bar named for Ruth Cleveland or a clever dodge to avoid paying Babe Ruth? We unpack the legal chess, the parachute candy drops that stunned cities, and the glowing sign near Wrigley Field that teased a truth the company wouldn’t say out loud.

The “Ruth” motif keeps running. A 16-year-old phenom, Sam Ruth, clocks a blistering 3:48.88 indoor mile, vaulting into the record books and reminding us how names echo across time. Then the dots reach the stage lights: Ruth Underwood’s leap from conservatory precision to Frank Zappa’s wild, uncategorizable genius. Her story captures the thrill of leaving safe lanes for a fearless sound where xylophones sprint, harmonies collide, and labels fall away. It’s a salute to the artists who know the rules and choose to build new ones.

“Underwood” turns one more corner into the pantry. We trace Underwood Deviled Ham, the oldest food trademark in the United States, and explore how “deviled” became culinary shorthand for bold spice. That history lands right on the plate with deviled eggs—paprika-dusted proof that everyday food can carry centuries of language, memory, and family ritual. By the time the Grateful Dead’s Friend of the Devil plays us out, the map is clear: weather alerts, Washington, candy bar folklore, track records, Zappa brilliance, and the quiet power of a shared snack all live on the same line when curiosity leads.

Join us for a lively, link-by-link ride that blends storytelling with sharp facts, from FAA delays to trademark drama, from stadium legends to kitchen classics. If you enjoyed the journey, follow the show, share it with a friend, and leave a quick review—what dot would you add to the chain?

A quiet plan to tidy the upstairs office turns into a milestone celebration and an unexpected time machine. We hit 400 episodes and crack open a plastic pouch of 45s—no sleeves, plenty of stories—and let the music score a candid look at memory, clutter, and what deserves to stay. As dust lifts, labels gleam: Columbia Hall of Fame, Motown Yesteryear, Starline, Reprise. Each record becomes a little biography of taste and time.

We start with Bob Dylan’s Lay Lady Lay and its aching flip I Threw It All Away, then stumble into David Seville and the Chipmunks for a reminder that every collection has a wild card. The vibe swings back with The Lovin’ Spoonful’s Do You Believe in Magic before Junior Walker and the All-Stars roar in with How Sweet It Is and the propulsive Nothing But Soul. Gordon Lightfoot’s If You Could Read My Mind slows the room to a hush, only for the Kinks to light it back up with All Day and All of the Night and a swaggering B-side, I Gotta Move. The Outsiders punch through with Time Won’t Let Me, and Motown’s engine purrs with the Four Tops’ I Can’t Help Myself and Stevie Wonder’s Uptight. Smokey Robinson and the Miracles close the loop with The Tracks of My Tears, the perfect smile-through-it sendoff.

Between spins, we talk about spring cleaning, sentimental cards with handwriting we can’t toss, jackets from vanished stores, and the gentle art of letting go. The takeaway is simple: keep what changes your next hour for the better—what makes you move, call, sing, or finally hang that print. Everything else can find a new story with someone else. Thanks for being part of this 400-episode ride and for letting these songs ring a little louder.

If this resonated, follow the show, share it with a friend who loves vinyl, and leave a quick review—what record would you save first?