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Lewes, Delaware
Jim's Towing Service
March 28, 1997     Cape Gazette
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March 28, 1997

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CAPE CzAZETIZ, Friday, March 28- April 3, 1997 - 23 C.0000PE LIFE Cape Henlopen A Festival a delight for the senses JuOe Ltm ot The seond aimual Cape Henlopen Arts Festival raised over $1,500 to support arts education in the Cape School District on 22. At left, Ross Koessler of Lewes watches glass bead making by lrl Glares Crafters, while above, Olufemi Red- wood- CapeHigl student, performs with the DEC- CASA dance tmoupe. Bdow, Katherine Orr of Silver Spring, /bid., Verity Vatson and Megan Tyleeki, both of Rehoboth Beach, loarno work with pastels, while below left, Cape stu- dent Allison Funds belts out a solo. A real psychiatrist would never take me as a patient I really enjoy listening to the radio when I'm driving in my car. And one of the hottest programs on the stations today is the call-in talk show hosted by a psycholo- gist, where you can get all kinds of good professional advice. I can understand why this would be very popular. To me, there is nothing more rewarding than lis- tening to someone whose life is more pathetic than my own. Just kidding. It's really the sociology that interests me. And no, my pants aren't on fire! The problem is that I'm really addicted to this show and have become sort of a voyeur on wheels. I can't turn it off. I know that if I set out in my car to go down the street and just buy a quart of milk and come right back, more than likely I will end up at the foot of the Delaware Memorial bridge, sweating bullets over some couple whose marriage includes the wife dressing up as a Girl Scout and ringing the doorbell with a pizza delivery for her hus- band. I can't stop for anything. I admit I've chewed my nails to the nub while cruising by a group of AROUND TOWN nuns with a fiat tire to find out if Bob from San Diego has a chance of getting over his compulsion of dating women with bright red full lips. But today, the format for the call-in show is different than those radio programs of the seventies. Back then listeners would call worried about their neighbors hav- ing seen them at a Hootenanny, the political implications of not owning a Volvo, the correct proto- col for a hot tub party and a lot of stuff about the moon being in the seventh house when Jupiter is aligned with Mars. The credentials of the psycholo- gists then were pretty laid back. They would be head of mainte- nance one week and behind a microphone the next. The typical banter was to just let the caller ramble, since no one had any idea what he or she was talking about anyway, and the psychologist had more pressing needs, fike how to figure out the phone system which was lit up like a Chrislmas tree It was like listening to those long pauses on FM radio stations. You don't know if the music is over or if it's part of a Beethoven sonata. Occasionally there would be a "tell me how you really feel about this, Ramone," but mostly everyone was asleep in the studio and at home. By contrast, calling in to a radio talk show today is terrifying. The psychologist is educated, smart and tough. It's like going to the commandant of a large maximum security prison with the complaint of a broken fingernail; a woman commandant who resembles a giant redwood tree, wears correc- tive shoes, has a chain around her waist with huge brass keys, has a five o'clock shadow and one mole on her chin that exudes a long thin black hair that if a good breeze is blowing whips across her face. Now the crazy thing is that the whole time I'm listening to this station, I recognize that I'm the one who really needs to call in. Even the inscription under my high school year book picture foretells "Most likely to be neurot- ic." And I have fulfilled that destiny in spades. A real psychiatrist would never take me as a patient. It would be like trying to figure out how electricity works. So, I cruise the highways and byways listening to Bob, Ted, Carol and Alice getting bashed with the likes of "Are You Out of Your Mind?" Some days it's good to be anonymous. And stop asking if my pants are on fire! I haven't called. Nancy Katz