How the station signed on
It started as a logbook argument about endings; the logbook won, as it usually does. The notes became segments, the segments became a run of programs, and the programs needed a transmitter. You are tuned to the result: independent weekend broadcasting about a hen, a street, and the people holding a plan they swore they'd follow.
The format suits the subject and it suits the desk. Everything aired here was observed before it was reported — including the punchlines, which received additional review.
The editorial policy, in five segments
- Observe, then broadcast. Nothing airs until the logbook has heard it enough times. Hunches wait in the green room regardless of volume.
- Temperament over constants. Lane and score figures shift between versions; the station reports signal character and hands every exact number to the game's own panel.
- The arcade frame, always on. The game is covered strictly as entertainment — reaction, rhythm, nerve, fun. The frame is what every other sentence here is wired to.
- Corrections outrank compliments. A listener who catches the studio in an error takes priority over our best ratings week. Corrections print with thanks, on air.
- No hype, no doom, no reverb. The subject is neither a miracle nor a scandal. It's a small street with decent manners and a hen with a schedule that never survives the plan — we report from there.
Funding, honestly read
Static files cost approximately a sandwich per month; the desk works weekends for the same reason anyone keeps a hobby — because it's better than not. The hen was offered a fee and, per our records, declined with dignity. This financial quiet conveniently guarantees we owe nobody a paragraph.
Found an error on air? The call-in is open, corrections are our favorite mail, and the strongest questions graduate into the listener mail with credit.