Kathy and Judy are friends with benefits. As a two-person radio show, every Saturday from 10am to noon, Kathy and Judy bunker-down, and open-up to local Chicago listeners, “We want to know about people’s lives,” says Judy.
What is most perplexing about this relationship is the fact that they are friends, in fact, best friends in a profession that is most characteristically known for it’s solitary existence.
The life of a journalist is so often characterized as a solitary endeavor. The idea of a journalist is individualistic, someone who lives somewhere between sweat and finger-numbing research, not laughing to half-baked in-studio attempts at a cartwheel.
Yet the idea at the Kathy & Judy show is fun. The audience is always in on the joke, even if you are somewhere between a friendly hatchback and a two ton truck in the middle of the highway.
While Kathy is roaring to a lagging joke that has just settled into Judy, Judy spins around in an absolutely sobering moment and explains, “but you know, we always say that this show is Kathy, Judy and our relationship.”
This poignant observation is almost startling, considering that this friendship is nestled somewhere between Michigan and Wacker in the middle of peak hour traffic. Traffic that is absolutely soaked in people passing each other, looking down, ear buds in, absolutely devoured in their solitude, despite the passing graze.
In a time where the norm of business is impersonal, and being personal is a foregone habit, Kathy & Judy brazenly flaunt their relationship in the face of blasé assumptions about the individualism of journalism.
They feel, they engage, they rave and swear and cry and experience the absolute blessing of the job they have so honestly deserved. For two hours a week, they publicly share their relationship, open the cavity of their lives and allow us a walking tour.
Business is unapologetically personal here, and business is booming.
What is most perplexing about this relationship is the fact that they are friends, in fact, best friends in a profession that is most characteristically known for it’s solitary existence.
The life of a journalist is so often characterized as a solitary endeavor. The idea of a journalist is individualistic, someone who lives somewhere between sweat and finger-numbing research, not laughing to half-baked in-studio attempts at a cartwheel.
Yet the idea at the Kathy & Judy show is fun. The audience is always in on the joke, even if you are somewhere between a friendly hatchback and a two ton truck in the middle of the highway.
While Kathy is roaring to a lagging joke that has just settled into Judy, Judy spins around in an absolutely sobering moment and explains, “but you know, we always say that this show is Kathy, Judy and our relationship.”
This poignant observation is almost startling, considering that this friendship is nestled somewhere between Michigan and Wacker in the middle of peak hour traffic. Traffic that is absolutely soaked in people passing each other, looking down, ear buds in, absolutely devoured in their solitude, despite the passing graze.
In a time where the norm of business is impersonal, and being personal is a foregone habit, Kathy & Judy brazenly flaunt their relationship in the face of blasé assumptions about the individualism of journalism.
They feel, they engage, they rave and swear and cry and experience the absolute blessing of the job they have so honestly deserved. For two hours a week, they publicly share their relationship, open the cavity of their lives and allow us a walking tour.
Business is unapologetically personal here, and business is booming.