Other Writing

The dial drifts, searching for something colder. Something frozen. A tundra.

It’s anywhere in Wisconsin on a Sunday, and the Packers are on television.

An unmistakable sound appears: the clink of ice in whiskey glasses, the buzz of a packed bar, and a crowd that’s either about to celebrate or be escorted out.

Behind the bar, a nineteen-year-old with an empty tip jar and zero business sense is already plotting.

[Announcer Voice: Charismatic Midwestern philosopher with a strong accent. The vocal...

The static shifts—warmer now, like the hum of a cabinet TV on a Saturday morning. The kind that sat on the floor and was the centerpiece of the living room.

Something familiar begins to appear—decorative glass grapes on the coffee table, wood paneling in the basement, and a station wagon in the driveway with rear-facing seats.

Somewhere beneath years of static, an old broadcast comes back to life.

[Announcer Voice: Nostalgic yet gruff, like a guy who’s smoked too many Marlboros and yelled at a...

The needle drifts lazily across the dial now... no urgency, no static fighting back. Just a slow, easy scan—like a Sunday morning with nowhere to be.

Then it finds something. A new frequency. The low rumble of an outboard motor idling in the distance. The slap of water against a hull. The smell of two-stroke oil and sunscreen.

The boat ramp appears.

[Announcer’s Voice: Relaxed. Seasoned. Maintaining a healthy day-drinking buzz.]

Ahoy, mates… you’ve tuned to 98.9 FM, home of The Boat Ramp...

The static returns—full and familiar—then something new cuts through, like the rattle of a tractor engine coughing to life.

I’m instantly taken back to my childhood on the farm, where wisdom smells like diesel fuel… and every lesson begins with a swear word.

[Announcer Voice: Young. Worn-in. Mildly impressed with himself.]

Howdy folks… You’ve stumbled onto Back Forty Talk Radio, 1070 AM—where the coffee tastes like motor oil, the air is crisp with a hint of manure, and the conversations are...

The dial drifts on its own now… searching for a different kind of story. It settles on one of those late-night advice shows that somehow only exist after midnight. Tonight’s host: Uncle Tootsie.

The letters are real. The problems are real. The advice… well… that’s another story.

[Announcer Voice: Late-night talk-show host. Warm, witty, and completely unqualified.]

Hi there… and welcome back to Ask Uncle Tootsie here on 103.5 FM. Pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right with...

The static builds like the whine of a jet engine spooling up, and then, just like that, the frequency locks in. For a half-second, I can almost smell the jet fuel and see that name written on the side of the aircraft.

[Announcer Voice: High adrenaline. Somewhere between fighter pilot and used-car salesman.]

In naval aviation, nobody cares what your mother called you. You get a call sign, and the more you hate it, the faster it spreads through the squadron like food poisoning on deployment.

Here...

The static hums—faint and restless. I reach for the dial, turn it ever so slightly, and watch the needle glide across invisible frequencies until a sound catches.

The signal sharpens. The noise fades. The distant percussion of a slot machine paying out—everything drenched in neon and nostalgia.

The frequency locks in… Vegas.

[Announcer Voice: Low, raspy, fast-talking baritone—slightly unhinged, like he’s three energy drinks into the night]

SHENANIGANS! That’s what we call it here at 100.9 FM. The...

There’s a space between memory and forgetting.
That’s where this journey begins.

Imagine yourself in a room with no walls, no color, no shape—just a dim light cast onto a table. And on that table sits a vintage 1980s boombox—glowing softly, waiting in silence. Patient. Like it’s about to take you somewhere… if you’re willing to listen.

I've been in this room before. In one way or another, we all have.

Step closer. The light begins to reveal scuffed corners, faded dials, scratched surfaces worn...

Every life has a soundtrack. Mine just happens to play through a busted boombox with bad reception, a loose antenna, and no pause button.

Through the Static is a mixtape memoir from Duke “I Got This” Adametz—a collection of absurd misadventures, hard-earned truths, and the moments that refuse to fade. Told through fictional radio broadcasts and chaotic frequencies, these stories rewind a life lived loud: through cancer treatments, Navy call signs, haunted hotel rooms, Goldschläger-fueled...