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“Treating Delilah Like a Real American Bada** (See, I Told You I Was Counterculture)”

Just last night I was cruising home from work, an act which I usually meet with silence or the classical station. For some reason the classical DJ’s seemed a little off as of late — issuing these real somber dirges during snow storms (an event of plentiful beauty, as many know), so I thought I’d turn the dial around. Sunny 101.5 laid the always serviceable “Love Yourself” by Justin Beiber and then “Wherever You Will Go” by The Calling, so I thought, hey, I’ve found my station.


The DJ got on and started talking after The Calling. She started going on a rant about love, which I figured, hey, some DJ’s just like to do. It was nothing too out of the ordinary.


She sounded very skilled at her craft though and persisted with this speech about how, if the initial spark of your relationship is gone, it’s tragic that you let life get in the way of that. And I was thinking, being madly in love with someone every day, that sounds terrible.


But it was indulgent. It was selfish, like the ’90s were. It was un-PC, like much of the ’90s were (although sometimes I look back on that Fuzzy Zeller thing and just shake my head, I have to say). Her words toted an ideal that was deaf to convention, deaf to all of our current, chic issues and topics, and extolled elements of romance and passion. I mean, whatever your opinion on whether this stuff is feasible, you’ve gotta at least respect her tenacity.


At some point I realized I was listening to Delilah, a syndicated radio show sort of like the cosmological counterpoint to Bob & Tom (this might be a whole other post in the works here), and staged at night, instead of the morning. I got the handy-dandy pocket gem of “Don’t Speak” by No Doubt, after another brief little aside.


Where I really lost it, though was when this guy named Chillian (sp.?) called in and professed to his ex-girlfriend that he missed her and he wanted to request a song in dedication to her. This is kind of a cool feature that Delilah has. He and his boo were supposed to get married, but then she called that off saying she wanted space, and finally informed him that she didn’t think the relationship was working out at all. I totally expected some flailing vitriol like Ugly Kid Joe’s “Everything about You” or that Taylor Swift song about never getting back together. But I realized how stupid I was and how little I knew about humanity when he just said that he missed her and wanted to play “Name” by the Goo Goo Dolls. “Name” is a song that’s really grown on me over the years and sort of has this subtle, aching quality that’s hard to detect if you haven’t been through something affectively similar. Anyway, all my efforts to sing along were thwarted by sobs, as tears welled up in my eyes. I guess I’m just another radio-listening automoton, emotionally subservient to the great love shaman that is Delilah. But that dude was a real American dada**. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

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