Wait until Spring, Bandini, or, on Second Thought, Maybe Don’t

The last two posts here are essentially promises that “I’ll be back,” but I won’t be, not in podcast form, anyway. Aren’t there enough podcasts already? That’s a rhetorical question. There are.

Ten years ago, when I started THIS IS NOT A TEST, podcasting was a little more niche, you could say. There were about 200,000 podcasts, which is already a lot, but only about 80,000 of those were active. In a sea of 80,000, it’s pretty easy to be seen and noticed and get the word out about what you’re doing. It reminded me of the early web: all possibilities, no interference.

Now there are almost five million podcasts, or so I’m told, and the form has kind of been set and established. I love Marc Maron’s WTF (RIP WTF, BTW), but every podcast doesn’t have to be an imitation of it. Just a suggestion. But that’s just another way that the evolution of podcasting mirrors the evolution of the web. Both started out wild and unpredictable, both became tame and repetitive.

Which is cool, that’s what happens to everything, so it’s to be expected. But me, I just don’t care to foist my unsolicited opinion about everything onto whoever will listen anymore. That need kind of disappeared along with my testosterone. Draw your own conclusions from that; I know I’ve drawn mine.

Five years is a long time to do something like a podcast, and to leave behind 130 episodes is a pretty impressive stain for a weirdo punk trans freak of nature. In the first year, I did a new episode every week, which seems ridiculous in retrospect, because it was. They say if you do what you love as a job, you’ll never work a day in your life, but I think a rich person who never had to work at a job wrote that.

Everything becomes work eventually. We can rationalize work-type work because someone usually pays us to do it. Unpaid work is the realm of the bourgeoisie, you know, those who can afford to dabble, and I ain’t that. So I bid you fond adieu and will spare you any more French words. See you on the flip flop.

WRITTEN BY A HUMAN