PODCASTS: ListenTweets by @frostyshow
Sanjay Kumar, News & Traffic
If you search for Sanjay Kumar on the Internet, you'll find he's either a former CEO of Computer Associates (now doing 12 years in prison for accounting fraud), a solider, or a wrestler. I assure you, none of these people are me! I've been in broadcasting for a couple of decades and have had a few names (radio people often have more than one name). So, for most of my career, I've been Ted Asregadoo (my real name), Ted E. (groan), and now Sanjay Kumar. I am Asian Indian, but was born and have lived my entire life in North America -- with most of that time in the Bay Area. In my radio career, I've been a DJ, traffic reporter, news writer, and news anchor. I also worked in promotions, marketing, and social media for a group of radio stations for a few years. The good thing about having all those jobs is that it has made me a very versatile radio talent (a good thing to have these days as the business has really changed). Anyway, that's the skinny about me. If you're a big Twitter user, you can follow my musings, retweets, and conversations about music.
Sabrina / Producer
Q / Phone Producer & Blogger
Tim / Technical Director
An interesting development.
I had to completely clear out my house in LA last year when I moved ot San Francisco, because I was going to rent the place. That meant every closet, drawer, cabinet, and storage area had to be emptied out & sorted. It was while doing this that I came across three undevelpoed rolls of film, rolling around forgotten in the back of a junk drawer.
Yes, film. That stuff we used last century when taking photos. Actually two rolls were exposed rolls of film with the built-in counter showing they were waiting to be developed and turned into prints. And the third roll was still inside an old disposable Kodak camera, 36 photographs snapped long ago but still waiting to go through the developing process. After all this time, I had no idea what would be on there. I feared the exposed film would have gone bad after all these years....10 years at least, best as I could guess.
These days, it isn't easy to find a place to develop old fashioned camera film. But an internet search led me to a mail-inplace online that looked reasonable. As a test to see if this place was any good, or if the film itself was still any good, I picked one of the rolls and mailed it for developing. The suspense was killing me while I waited. What could be on that old film? And just how old was it? What era of my life was I about to get another look at?
Finally, the package showed up in my mailbox. It felt heavy and thick, suggesting all the photos had actually come through. That would be 36 of them if I was lucky. Imagine that, 36 photos from a decade ago....what would they be?
I opened the package with my old utility knife, and carefully pulled out an envelope with a big lose flap. The kind of envelope photos used to arrive in when you picked up your film from the photo finishing place; photos in the back, negatives in the front, exposed film roll on the side. And here was another packet just like that. I wiped my hands dry of all moisture. I reached into the back of the envelope, felt a stack of photos, grabbed the edges and slid them out.
It only took a few seconds and I already had to stop. The first photo was crystal clear but immediately become blurry as I looked at it. My vision clouded and I could no longer see. I held the picture to my chest, subconsciously shielding it with my hand so the falling drops did not hit it. That's where that photo belonged anyway, over my heart.
I realized what this roll of film was. There were photos from the days when I shared my home with a fluffy four-legged white walking smile I'd named Rudydog. It looked like he was about two years old, so that put it around 2001. I used to take roll after roll of him, just because. I'd snap an entire roll of film just following him around going about his day, nothing special. I have hundreds of pictures of him through the years, but now would have given anything to be able to have just one more. Now here was another forgotten slice of his happy life coming back to me, one little glossy card at a time.
The first photo was a beautiful shot of him showing off his smley-faced pose as the sun set behind him. The next one caught him laying on the flowers I'd just planted, squishing them with a mischievous grin. Next picture, he's shaking off a gallon of water into the living room after getting out of the pool and running inside before I could close the patio door. There's another shot of him walking around with his squeaky little football in his mouth. Oh how I remember that noise. There's a shot of him eating dinner out of his favorite bowl, making a mess scattering a handful of stray pieces all around the edges onto the floor.
There is a photo of him laying contentedly on top of the cold air of the floor vent, eyes closed, sleeping. From the camera angle, it looks like I was laying there next to him, probably taking a little nap of my own after snapping the picture.
And on they went. Moments of nothing in particular, nothing anybody else would have bothered to take a photograph of. Now of course, I am glad I did. I remembered every image as if it were yesterday. And I loved seeing him sprawled out underneath that palm tree again, chewing on his rawhide stick. Or laying there underneath my keyboard, eyes peeping up approvingly as I played him a song idea I was working on.
Rudydog was always there. He was my shadow. And after far too few good years loyally by my side, he was gone. That old roll of film gave me back 36 moments with him.
I can't wait to get the other two rolls developed. Who knows what those photos will be. They may be more of my dog. Or they may be old photos of friends who have also drifted away over the years, good times that have been forgotten, or other things that just seemed like they deserved capturing on film at the time.
I can't wait to see what photographs will come back from those other two rolls, 36 possible pictures on each. I'm thrilled that I might get 72 more chances to relive moments that have been completely forgotten, probably trivial. And priceless.