I got the hookup.

A while back, I lamented that I never got to be part of the legendary CBGB, even though, y'know, I'd probably suffer a fatal overload within three minutes of stepping inside any place more hopping than the Thruway Diner.

However, a station on Sirius aired Patty Smith's show, and I got to hear it from the relative safety of my backyard. That was neat.

I don't remember if I ever detailed exactly how a strapped shlub like me happens to have a headphone radio through which satellite radio plays. So far as I know, there aren't many people walking around with 18" dishes bolted to their skulls, and if there are I haven't met them yet, therefore they do not exist.

My family's last remaining luxury is the Dish satellite service, which offers Sirius satellite radio, along with their own music stations. Take one receiver hooked to a VCR, and route the output to a PCTV input, and suddenly my computer becomes a really tricked out radio.

I went through a rather selfish bout two years ago in preparation for the onslaught of 24-hour holiday music on five FM stations, after I realized I had to have something else to listen to or people were going to die of a wave of gloom emanating from my head. I bought myself a rather cheap FM transmitter that, when plugged into the speaker jack of the computer, turned any FM radio in the house into a satellite radio. I had to sacrifice WEBE 108 for this, and considering I didn't listen to the station since the addition of the Delilah show--or as I like to call it, the "Why aren't you married to your baby's father?" request hour--it wasn't really that difficult a choice to make.

I didn't stop there, of course, because I'm a maniac. I bought a cheap (I'm a stingy maniac, remember) RF remote control and transmitter, which allows me to change stations through walls. If anyone was ever meant to be a mutant, it was me.

Now, the remote itself is the size of a 1980s-era cellphone, but because I'm a driven little bastard when it comes to things that involve going outside with a radio, I figured out a way to keep the remote with me on my swing without breaking the neighbor's windows: a Ziploc bag with a hook through it. High-tech, I know. I love the looks the remote gets when people come in and see it sitting on my desk, still in its bag. Oh yeah, she's the one with the remote button issues. Then again, the bag might be getting looks because it has bite marks in the bottom corner from the time I thought it would be cool to take The Puppy outside while I was on my swing. Or maybe it's the duct tape down the edge of the bag. Maybe it's the five holes in the top of the bag from where the hook keeps ripping the plastic. I've used that same plastic bag for two years now. Somehow I think this rules out any cleanliness issues I might be accused of having.

I got the hookup.