Stand by.

Funny the things you never hear on air. It's true.

No, this is not a shocking exposé.

You know the joke, a la Robin Williams. A DJ walks into a control room, tired as hell and everything's wacked out and nothing's where it *needs* to be. He's (or she's) swearing, right and left (and up and down besides, just for good measure) as the clock counts down unstoppably -- "standby" -- to the magic moment -- :56 -- :57 -- :58 -- :59 -- :00, and at that very instant the room falls silent as a Kyoto rock garden the instant before a mellifluous voice goes out over the airwaves seducing countless listeners, telling them "everything's all right, what a lovely day we're having! Our politicians are not just corrupt, but unaccountable; our boys and girls (but not the open queers) are dying in Iraq; the planet's warming up alarmingly, and not to imply a causal relationship here, but we are having floods and wildfires and tornadoes like we've never had before. At the same time, our elected governor's too busy running for higher office to do anything about any of it. But we're alive and well, the time is such-and-such o'clock, so have yourself a great, great day."

Or something like that, before we cut away to NPR just long enough to handle whatever the crisis of the moment actually is.

The things the voice reports are almost uniformly horrible. The frustrations getting the voice to air are almost seemingly insurmountable. But suddenly, without warning, whatever the words say, whatever the facts are, the *tone* of voice says, all at once, both "it's incredibly important" but just as importantly, "it's ok". It is the voice of conciliation. "The world's a mess. We know that. It's OK. We will get through this."

And in the minds of listeners, they somehow sort of "get it". (If they didn't, or if the voice sounds insincere, they will tune out. They don't. We're doing *something* right.) Gawd only know what they've just been through when they walk out to their cars to turn on their radio. Maybe they just got fired, or diagnosed with HIV *and* cancer. Maybe their dog just died. Maybe their stewpid motherfuckin' asshole sorry excuse for a boyfriend just walked out in a huff (and slammed the door). Maybe they just found out that the fugly Pulte/Beazer/whatever snout-house that they borrowed a quarter zillion dollars against their minimum wage jobs in order to buy won't sell for more money than they spent buying it just last quarter and now realize they face bankruptcy (if they're allowed to file for bankruptcy at all, given the recent change in the laws). There's no telling. Their lives suck, and for reasons that we can not start to imagine.

It doesn't matter. That voice comes on and weaves its magic web around them. Calms them down just long enough to realise that *way* worse things, and more important things, are happening that still affect them which *maybe* they stand a chance in hell of doing something about. It's OK. We will get through this. Nothing's ever really totally impossible.

So I went to the office this afternoon where I was supposed to get an after-hours access card for the station, and they sent me back saying I needed a letter from someone on letterhead -- everything but notarized -- explaining *why* I needed such-and-such access. The basketball coach gets enough of a car allowance to buy a new Lexus each year, but I can't be trusted to have access to a stack of used minidisks when the legislature finally recesses. Whatever.

Then on the way back I pick up an application for admission to the University 'cause there's just no tellin' what crazy things I'll do when I get *really* desperate. And I'm almost really desperate, finally.

Then I walk in to the station and start madly emailing all the people I know who are working on Iran because there is a rumour about 7 April possibly being a significant day in US/Iranian relations. (Not just 'cause Carter cut off dimplomatic ties on April 7th way back when.) One of the people that I email is a female Presbyterian minister who just got back from a two-week trip to Iran. (I wouldn't even point out that she's female if it weren't Iran, specifically -- but it *is* kind of an "issue" in Iran.)

Renee walks in -- she's the evening news director -- and basically asks me what's up and if I really am finally doing my story on Iran like she's heard, 'cause so is she, and she's got these two women who just came back from Iran set to come in for an interview in fifteen minutes. Amazing -- not two minutes prior, I'd emailed one of 'em asking if they'd be willing to come in on short notice, but stating that I'd gladly go wherever she was if she just couldn't. I tell Renee as much. She invites me to sit in on the interview that *she* set up. I can't jump at the chance near fast enough. And then she lets me ask questions, though realistically, by this point, I have done little more on this particular story than be in the right place at the right time.

Rev. Barbara Due and Dr. Kathleen O'Malley show up. With just 45 minutes 'til Renee's set to go on air to host "Democracy Now" we start our interview on one of the most complex and explosive topics of the day -- but only after making both of them run back down to the parking lot 'cause parking is a bitch at UNM.

It's a *great* interview. Renee asks questions about human beings and culture, eliciting vivid responses that will *make* even disengaged people *want* to listen. I, on the other hand, ask arcane and somewhat stilted questions about centrifuge technology and treaty obligations, which will bore most people stiff, but will establish credibility in certain other listeners' ears. In short, we cover *all* the bases.

BINGO. There, in 31 minutes, between the two of us, we've got all the interview we need to do not *one* but *two* jam-packed five-minute stories, save maybe some opposing voice explaining why Iran just can't be allowed to enrich its own Uranium, and some levelheaded narration to weave it all together.

The story is -- or better yet, the stories are -- half done. Visions of sugarplum AP awards dance through our heads.

At least that's what we think until I go and listen to the sound file that was actually created. By this time Renee is on air.

It may be the sampling rate, who knows. But what *was* an incredible interview about Iran in person comes out sounding, at best, like Lincoln Perry doing a parody of his stage persona doing his best impersonation of molasses in January. "Eeeeeuuuuurrrrraaaaattiiicck! Nip dissshhhhhht iiiiiiiiinnnnnnngglat biisssrinnmiglatt gssshhhuuungft pup!!!" What the fuck is this? We can't use this! It's garbage!

Renee *did* put in a minidisk to back up the interview a few minutes after it started. We lost a lot, it's true, but she saved a lot as well. And Liz (the new IT person) is so insanely "on top of" computer problems that it's not completely hopeless that we'll *maybe* even be able to recover the computer file which has the whole interview. I maintain hope that it's one of those "Microsoft only" so-called compatibility "issues".

OK. It's a pain in the ass at this point and we *can't* use the file at least not now, and not from other computers on the same network, but we *can* download the MD recording (in real time) and get at least better than half of the interview we conducted.

Or so we think.

I go into Studio D and download it. Crystal clear, as it records! But the computer's totally screwed up. I hear it *perfect* on the MD as it plays, but when I go to edit what I've downloaded, I find out it's made a file full of goopy glitches we can't use. I listen to the same five-second stretches time and time again, to determine whether it's just a playback problem or a recording problem. It's a recording problem. We get the more or less rambling bits on file ok -- no digital "slow talk" problems here -- but when it comes time to explain that "the president won -- policy is not a matter of -- matter of -- p-p-p-p-uh huhblic . . . bbeing shut-t-t . . . bbbbut most imp-p-p-portantl-l-l-ly djib bjib glvbpl to replace the president", we're screwed.

Oy vey. This is useless! I can't very credibly explain to people that "djib bjib glvbpl" is Rev. Due's cogent explanation of Iranian parliamentary procedure (which in the original recording, it really was, I swear).

We are experiencing technical difficulties. Please stand by.

Meanwhile Renee's running control and I'm running to get the messagebook and calendar and write down phone numbers to call and desperately, apologetically tell the ladies we just interviewed: we're so sorry, but if you *possibly* can, we'll *both* be here tomorrow within this two-hour window, and we'd *love* to get just some of it again, if it's not too much trouble.

And then I've got one phone number written down wrong (my fault -- human operator error) and wind up calling some guy named "Ray" who's never heard of me and doubtless wonders why I'm asking him about Iran. Poor guy. I apologised profusely, double-checked my numbers, and left messages everywhere I could without sounding like a complete and total NUT.

I still wonder whether the file will play right on the computer in studio C. I need to try it.

And the Newsbooth computer wouldn't even let either Renee or me sign in to it in the first place. We were locked out. And so will Steve be tomorrow morning, most likely.

The good news is we've got Liz who is *so* on top of things computer network-wise it *isn't* even funny. She used to maintain teletype machines -- seriously -- and understands what we're up against and dealing with in terms of deadlines.

If she can't fix it well enough for us to get something to use by Friday morning, probably no one can.

But damn it, we'll have *something* on air for Friday, about Iran, so help me.

And then we'll likely get the calls -- "how come you didn't ask about this, or that?" To which I'll have to say "we did, I swear, but lost the tape, and so I can't prove it". Yeeh. Sometimes it's really not about bias, but just about technology.

I love the News. We weren't exactly watching V1 rockets land on London from the rooftops but in our own far more mundane way I'll be damned if we weren't still doing the very best we could. :)