|
Frank Cotolo
June 30, 2011 |
  |
Every summer since our show (Cotolo Chronicles) began over a decade ago, we notice growth and
personal progress. Unfortunately we never see these things in ourselves, just in our audiences and
fans (sometimes the two are different categories - go figure).
|
  |
It's not that we don't change through the years because we do change, we just don't grow much. In
fact, we are decomposing at a frightening rate, and by "we" I mean me. This is bound to get worse
over the next twenty years, unless a piano falls on my head in the next few days and ends this
natural process.
|
  |
I don't weep. Well, not much anyway. I feel that sustaining my meager presence on this planet
continues to contribute, if only through my association with Cotolo Chronicles. In fact, I
cannot think of another area in my life that supplies people with influence, inspiration and other
positive reactions to a man talking his way in and out of rabbit holes for two hours a week.
|
  |
The months and seasons have long been metaphors in the path of a person's life. The summer months
are the bridges to the "September" of one's years. That autumn looms boldly once a person has
reached 60, such as me. So this is a very special summer, a summer of poetic poise.
|
  |
My personal life has been sheltered from the product that I have so liberally presented from the
early days of Internet radio and through the launching of a new millennium. Once in a spell a son
or two of mine have co-hosted, commingled and cooperated with the broadcasts. Another time, a wife
of mine was a member of a panel of cohorts that supported the broadcast. But it wound up being my
sole voice and rhythm that perpetuated the show's hours.
|
  |
Even after all these years, people who listen to me for the first time want to know what drug I am
using. Funny, but the more they listen the more they face addiction to the very voice they felt
was artificially stimulated.
|
  |
I also think about all the personalities that have come and gone since I began doing Internet
radio. Most of them are on Facebook but none of them have sustained a weekly broadcast.
|
  |
So here is the summer of Y2K plus 11 and although I still look vivacious and handsome my heart is
in disrepair from the strain of love lost and the inheritance of cholesterol. And as the tepid weeks
ensue I realize that this is not the summer of my discontent, this is the summer of my poetic
poise. I am a walking, talking composition written in metrical feet forming rhythmical lines; some
rhyme, some do not rhyme.
|
  |