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The clown joke.

     “Good enough, you’re hired, son, and you start right now. Here’s your cap and your name-tag. Keys are there. Everybody signs in, no exceptions except for cops and Mister Jimmy’s boys. If there’s trouble, the bat is clipped under here– see? You pull it down and toward you. Try it. Yeah, yeah, good. Good grip. And remember, don’t sweat it: what we lose on the rooms we make on the sandwiches. I’ll be at Taka’s, here’s the number; don’t call me unless the whole place is on fire. Got it? Great. Bye.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-11-19) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA), ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

And thanks to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, which provided almost an hour of the above eight-hour show’s material, as usual, without asking for anything in return.

Email me your writing on any subject and I’ll read it on the radio next week. That’s what I’m here for.

This show has poetry by Notty Bumbo, Naty Osa, Suzi Long and others; the first draft of the first chapter of a new book-in-progress by David Herstle Jones; part two of Scott M. Peterson’s /Mendocino Art Bust/; and so on, until it closes with the latest episode (Ep. 38) of Doug Nunn’s Snap Sessions podcast, which includes a wide-ranging conversation between Doug and tech-savvy musician/repairperson/carpenter/teacher Francis Rutherford. Not to mention, writer Kent Wallace called early in the show from the next future calendar date in Viet Nam, via the magic of the International Date Line that has confused more than one $400,000,000 F-35’s flight computer into requiring a frantic emergency reboot rather than crash into the sea; and various personal historical items between us, Kent and me, previously muddled in my understanding, were made clear over the course of about half an hour, as you’ll hear (see above). Sebastian Iturralde read his story /Stone Creature/. Also Dave Frishberg died, so the break music is mostly a smattering of his piano tunes and, for some reason, the French-whisper-sung music of Nataly Dawn (Pomplamoose). Nataly is continuing to record while battling cancer, and I hope to Christ she wins. I hope she and her doctor kick its ass all the way to Tibet.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

The actual dictionary definition of happiness. Put this on repeat and stare at it. If there’s a clog in the pipes of your own happiness, maybe this will jog it loose.

The Boswell Sisters.


Introducing the Icelandverse.

Surface tension. (via Clifford Pickover)

Colored rice. (via Clifford Pickover)

This is like that song in /Oklahoma/ about Kansas City, where they gone about as fur as they c’n go. I love it that the performer had the thoughtful courtesy to remind her fan to take the camera off his head to not ruin it with the performance urine, though cameras are really okay with that anymore because they have to be.

Speaking of performance art: “Gira didavavav! Craagh!”

And our sun, the heating system. They used to worship this thing, and cut people’s hearts out to please it. Imagine if they could have seen it like this. They’d plotz, but in a good way.

Brrr, Yakutia!

Photographs of people saying goodbye to their dogs. (via NagOnTheLake)

Ten levels of sleight of hand.


The Dutch angle. Those of us with non-perfectly-symmetrical faces know all about this. It’s normal.

Neural network generated zoom cityscape.

Restored, smoothed, interpolated and colorized 1896 film of the pope of cocaine and alcohol, and also of Rome.

Jack Black and a Blue Bear band. Say that a few times fast.

Lester Hubble and the Planets. All the hits. All the great times.

My mother had a friend who watched teevee all day and half the night and I’d see it when I went over there to visit them, so I recall the moment when the History Channel went from all Hitler and WW2 all the time to all ancient UFO crap all the time. His favorite shows were Matlock, JAG, Walker Texas Ranger, and Bill O’Reilly. I think a supernatural moose, a monster in a toilet, the Thousand-Pound Sisters and Bat Boy’s grandson are kind of an improvement.

This Modern World.

Fox news, as you see, is much cuter and more relevant with real foxes.

Dorothy Parker once said, “If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.” You’ll notice all these homes have a sex altar, it’s spelled wrong every time (alter), and it looks like River Tam’s cryo box in the pilot episode of /Firefly/. Which is extra creepy for a sex altar because she was not only technically temporarily dead but cold enough for her flesh to condense water vapor out of nearby air, as well as her being only 15 years old. “You rich people. What’d you do, kill your folks for the family fortune?” Somebody else’s folks, too. Lots of somebody elses and their folks; that’s where the fortune came from in the first place. Behind every fortune is a great crime, or several. (Speaking of which the Skunk Train-ride company just won its court case and is poised to eminent-domain-winkle a few gazillion dollars of prime real estate out of Fort Bragg CA. More about that next week.)

You who are about to die.

This robot from Laputa, Castle in the Sky is a sugar cookie, a sugar cookie who can fly and cut an aerial battleship in half with a beam of energy from its eye.

I’d like to hear Max Forsetter play this on the piano.

Paper, cut. (via Everlasting Blort)

Preparing the breadfish.

Attractively posed ersatz disemboweled cadavers made of wood and clay, just waiting for ancient Hebrew runes on a strip of paper to be placed under their tongue, animating them to rise up and push wheelbarrows of bricks and earth back and forth to build up a tower to Heaven (or destroy the town, depending on the thoroughness of the practical lexical magic experimenter’s grasp of the form). Life is risk. You can’t live, and science can’t progress, in fear.

Stop resisting!

The brick dance.

Le mirroire. In French.

Record player. (via Clifford Pickover)

“Michael Landon’s hair looks swell, it’s Christmastime in Hell.”

Stained glass. Click through the whole gallery. (via Everlasting Blort)

Sigh. Oy.

Art. (via NagOnTheLake)


Postcards of nursing homes. “Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here.” (via NagOnTheLake)

Does this sign make my neighborhood look Hasidic? Apparently yes.

London at night. “The wind makes your hair billow blue in the moon.” But that was windy Venice, this is airless-seeming London. Same moon. (via NagOnTheLake)

Fearless metal riot grrlz of Iran.

Mister Churchill in Moscow, 1942.

Wes Anderson unraveled.

And the winners.

When you wake up in the middle of the afternoon and remember a terrible, embarrassing thing you still wish you hadn’t said years ago, but it occurs to you that probably nobody who heard it even cared at the time and they might even be dead now, so you settle down and go back to sleep.


Hydraulic press spaghettification. That’s the industry word for this. Interestingly it’s also the word for what happens to you when you fall into a black hole, because of tidal forces, which does the same thing but for the opposite reason.

Hover text: “Could be worse. In some towns north of here, it’s already December, and the 21st will last for nearly a week.”

The greatest good for the greatest number, in Dog.

What a doll. When she says, “Oh, c’mon! Is it?” The crayon eyebrows squick me out, but I don’t care. She’s terrific.

Using this method, all of them go much faster than any caterpillar by himself. They probably think they’re racing, in a competition, but it works. I think there might be applications for this in economics, as well as in fleeing up and over a wall from zombies or a poison cloud.

He’s got the clap.



To kill a mockingbird.


Plankton, an assortment. So many different kinds of them.

If you’re happy and you know it.

And I recommend Gondry’s /The Science of Sleep/, because if you like this, you’ll like that.

I never do anything twice.

     “Always put your best workers on the corners.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-11-12) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA), ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

And thanks to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, which provided almost an hour of the above eight-hour show’s material, as usual, without asking for anything in return.

Email me your writing on any subject and I’ll read it on the radio next week. That’s what I’m here for.

Max Forsetter called about half an hour into the show and talked about and presented some of the music and stories from his musical and storied career, interspersed with my inappropriate and clueless interview style, not from my being out of practice but because I’m just not trying much anymore to be at the top of my or anyone’s game; I’m rather resting on my laurels and, let’s be honest here, it’s a thin bed. Max is great, though, and the rest of the show is, ehhh, pretty good, and pretty good all night long, as usual, so kaplah (say kuh-PLAH). Oh, right, also at 1am (four hours into the show) there’s the half-hour Part 1 of Scott M. Peterson’s mathematical dissertation on the subject of art prices in Mendocino over the years, figuring in the Chinese knockoff factor, which, did you know about that? Because /I/ didn’t. And the latest in the Craig L. Stehr saga. He’s housed, in a real house with a real couch, and once again exuberantly typing in capital letters, which I express on the radio by shouting, so you get the full benefit of the treatment.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Key testimony.

“Just because an expert tells you something is hyperspectral video of an alien mothership dropping off cargo, it does not mean that’s probably what it is.” Four minutes of dry, competent debunkment, and well worth it.

Endangered ice.

Rerun: Honest government ad about climate change.

Siena photo award winners. Click to view the gallery.

Here ya go: Goober the Clown on abortion.

So it’s either the snake or it’s Cuba.

The time traveling sheriff.

The time traveling wood. I like the piano part stuck on a loop of /Buy Buy Sell Sell/ by Cake. (via Everlasting Blort)

Turn-of-the-previous-century’s German Bat Girl.

Rerun: I was Kaiser Bill’s Batman. Those are some moves. They probably were instrumental in winning him captaincy of the Enterprise NX-01. Speaking of which, Dean Stockwell of /Quantum Leap/ died this week. Coincidences up the wazoo. Buy one lottery ticket.

Dean Stockwell is dead.

They can’t all be right, they can all be wrong, which throws a wrench into Pascal’s wager. He was pretty smart about numbers but the human heart is a pretzel of desire and mystical mumbo-jumbo, and there you jolly well are, aren’t you. (To paraphrase Lord Buckley.)

Further of the world of topiary cats.

The amazing Fibonacci elephant. Experiment with changing the parameters, controls at top left. (via Clifford Pickover)

Rock stacking simulator.

Secret underground city. (via Everlasting Blort)

The glory that was Geocities. I had a Geocities site, all of course in painfully contrasting colors– text and 8-bit sconce fires and everything. I don’t remember what it was called– it /might/ have been Memo of the Air.



“You always put your best workers on the corners.”

An illustrated timeline of vaccination in schools.

Sharing and cooperation.

Rerun: 2017 beer ad.

Lighted tires. They didn’t catch on 80 years ago because they were impractical, either so soft they wore out right away or so brittle that a sharp bounce could pop them. They couldn’t get it right. /But we could now, with modern materials./ Except, the other problem was the other drivers on the road, who became fascinated and crashed into people and things. Maybe that would still be a problem, or maybe people would get used to it. People crash into things all the time anyway. Deer, for instance, or a stupid curb that’s there for no reason at all (see the next item).

Ow. Dangit! Ooof! Tch. Etc. (say etz!)

The United States of Freedom. Betty Bowers, America’s Best Christian, of Landover Baptist Church.

Proudest girl in the world.

“Don’t resist! [punch] Don’t resist! [punch] Don’t resist! [punch]” “I’m not!”

Mister Wrong.

$780,000 for the coolest watch ever. Runs 60 hours on a winding. That must be some spring.

“Ones who make a corruption are punished in the hell. They are named as the spirits of the pigs.” (via the Anderson Valley Advertiser)

“Restricting abortion /increases/ abortion rights.” Does it, though?

Reb Fountain and Amanda F. Palmer mashup of /Blurred Lines/ and /Rape Me/. Turn the CC on. This is terrific art, squirmingly uncomfortable no matter whether you’re a victim, a perp, merely complicit or you have a working imagination. Especially at the end. They’re looking at you. They can see you. (via b3ta)

Take this quiz to find out if you’ve got OCD. I’ve taken all the five-minute tests like this. Apparently I don’t have even a trace of OCD, nor am I particularly narcissistic or psychopathic, or left-brain or right-brain, or male or female in attitude, or racist or depressed or superstitious or Machiavellian, nor prone to fall for conspiracy theories. It turns out that my Star Trek race is Trill, my Hogwarts house is Gryffindore, my Firefly character is Wash, and so on, pretty much right down the middle. I’m both a dog /and/ a cat. One time years ago I took a test that tells how good you are at recognizing and placing faces and did shockingly well, top of the list. Also spelling ability (as a character trait)… Reading back over this paragraph, I see that perhaps this particular test for OCD is flawed.

The panicky picnic.

One photo of Canadian women’s hockey teams from a hundred years ago is not shown here. Their sweater logo was the American Indian swastika. I used that photo for a cover of my newspaper in the early 1990s and it caused a kerfuffle (say kur-FUH-fuhl). Example: In the post office I was shrieked at by a survivor of /the/ Holocaust, his nose to my chin and his index finger poking my chest, “Thehw is PAIN HEAH, MAHCO! PAIN!” (The accent of Barry Kripke in /The Big Bang Theory/.)

Slow motion rainbow-colored fire tornado. You say tornado, I say tornado.


Rerun: “This is extremely dangerous to our democracy.”

Stephen Fry tells about batteries, greenhouse gases, quantum computing, etc.

English translated Japanese web page list of misunderstood book titles. (via NagOnTheLake)

It’s nice to do this, but the general difficulty of life that makes this so emotional should be addressed. These are only a handful of people. What about everybody else? Look up /Universal Basic Income/.

No. (via Everlasting Blort)


Keep an eye out.

Good call.

Careless love.



A fifty year old R. Crumb poster. I was just thinking of the song /Telegraph Road/, that for some reason always brings this poster to mind, and the next day there it was in Everlasting Blort. Did they hear me say something about it to Juanita and go get it? Weird.

Subway stop names.

Sand Planet.

The Blythe Intaglios.

Monsters, Inc. oldized.

Accordion master of all the world.

A short story.

A good day.


Secret dumb guy.

Good boy, bad boy.

See what people can do?

“It’s like my mom used to say: Tears just make your eyes sparkle brighter.”

The 1-inch 8-track tape deck at about 4:30 in this video is just like the one Philo Hayward provided the Mendocino Community School in the early 1980s. The meters say 3M here, though. In my memory the machine was an Ampex. Hmm.


Art (autoplay slide show). (via Everlasting Blort)

It’s an eye thing.


A trim blonde woman banging out Master of Puppets. Pianoporn.

The 100 best noirs of all time.

And the languorous journey of lovingly restoring an antique clockwork toy bus.




Remember, remember the 5th of November, the gunpowder treason and plot…

     “Stop making new flavors of Coca Cola. Either put the cocaine back or leave it alone.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-11-05) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA), ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

And thanks to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, which provided almost an hour of the above eight-hour show’s material, as usual, without asking for anything in return.

Email me your writing on any subject and I’ll read it on the radio next week. That’s what I’m here for.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

The devil’s ball. (1933, 35 min.)

Note that it doesn’t mention devils and angels and demonic possession. I’d say those are paranormal and crazy and popular enough to be on this chart.

I’m not sure why, but it delights me when she calls the weiner-chihuahua a poodle.

The cat with hands.

Lace possibilities.

How to make death-sized chickenwire ghosts.

A great question, Konnor.

“You okay? You need a minute?”


Earth to COP.

It’s giant, but it could be efficient if used as a bus. I see pickup trucks this big now that only have room for three or four people in it but somehow still have a truck bed too small for even half a sheet of plywood, and I wonder what’s wrong with people who want that; what do you suppose they’re compensating for?

So many useful ideas.

True gun safety on the set.

They’re about to make a movie of The Incal! Jodorowsky’s too old to, but he gives his blessing. (say joh-der-OW-skee or juh-DRUFF-skee)

This year’s John Lewis store Xmas ad.

You’d like to cry some more? Here:

Wings made of bubble liquid. This reminds me of a story I read once where scientists built a research station out of exotic water ice in the supercold atmosphere of a gas giant planet.

Upstairs downstairs.

How they load luggage in an airplane. A little man scoots in and does it by hand, all while you’re finding your seat right over his head. He’s down in there wrecking his back lifting and twisting at the same time from a crouched, kneeling or sitting position. I’d like to see the workman’s comp figures for this job. (via NagOnTheLake)

Explaining capitalism to aliens.

Juanita’s work clothes for Halloween. The batwing/earflaps are attached to the hat.

Rammstein fingerstyle.

My Sharona. It took a bit for me to find where the timing click was coming from; it’s his right thumb. And then later it trades off indistinguishably with the fingers doing it on the guitat’s butt, I think, because there the thumb is doing something else… I can tell you, there was a time when everyone who ever played the guitar imagined he sounded like this.

Robot dogs.

“And then I seal the deal: I do my moves, I do the robot.”

Backward flips record.

Dance dance plague dance. Hi! (I like the one going /Hi-eee! Jenna, over here!/)

The experience. (via Everlasting Blort) (You might have to click the sound on.)

This man makes lovely playable cellos out of ice. (Except for the neck, the tuning pegs, the bridge and the whatchacallit the strings hang upward from on the low end.)

Here’s what an ice cello sounds like. Apparently an ice cello is a nice cello.

The way I remember it, it goes, “If cows had a god, God would be a big cow.” I looked up /if cows had a god/ and it turns out to be Xenophanes (say zeh-NOFF-uh-nees) who said, “If oxen and lions had hands and could paint with their hands and produce works of art, as men do, horses would paint the forms of the gods like horses and oxen like oxen. Each would represent them with bodies according to the bodies of each. So the Ethiops make their gods black and snub-nosed; the Thracians give theirs red hair and blue eyes.” He also said (2,500 years ago), “The sea is the source of water and the source of wind; for neither would blasts of wind arise in the clouds and blow out from within them, except for the great sea, nor would the streams of rivers nor the rain-water in the sky exist but for the sea; but the great sea is the begetter of clouds and winds and rivers.” Shmot fella, that Xenophanes. Shmot.

Earth and Moon.

Rerun: Lovecraft rickroll.

So heavy and sticky the stupid… losing will to live…

Speaking of which: Time change. This time, once it’s done and we’re back on real time, leave it on real time. Never go to DST ever again. The whole concept of Daylight Saving Time is offensively idiotic, let alone that it literally kills people, smears people like hamburger all over the highway.

Ladies and gentlemen, capitalism has a winner!

Look what they can do with their ears. Did you know they can do that?

This makes me think of the Snake game that came with Osborne computers in the early 1980s. (via Clifford Pickover)

Yello – The Race. “Broom baddy broom, the wait bring dog. Now shut the door, keep down the South.” (via b3ta)

I don’t know how I’m only just seeing this now in 2021. It’s an Obama-era music video celebrating the assassination and dumping in the sea, from a great height, of Osama bin Laden, in a famous film that I somehow also missed knowing about, that the Saturday Night Live people of the time are all in. There are some swears. Get a roll of quarters ready for if you have to put a quarter in the jar every time you hear a swear. Also, metaphor rhymes with stegosaur because of course it does.

McHale’s Navy (Hogan’s Heroes of the sea), Year 2, episode 3. “McHale and His Schweinhunds.”

Railgun paper airplane launcher theory and practice. (8 min.)

What happens in slow motion when you shoot a jar of sprinkles and a gallon of mayonnaise with a baseball flying at Mach 1.4? These people spent about $20,000 so we don’t have to guess anymore. (27 min.)

Smells like rain. (via Fark)

Skiing. (10 min.)

A patent medicine ad in a series of comic panels.

“Strictly feminine is the woman devoid of superfluous hair.” And a lifetime guarantee, so be careful with that stuff, whatever it is (probably radium).

How to do it.

! (!!!) ! ! !

Soviet cosmonaut Vladimir Komarov’s open casket. (via TYWKIWDBI)

Ruined churches. If only they had prayed harder.

Cesar Romero (the original /Romantic Rahoolio the Latin Lovar/, intellectual product of Lynda Barry, MacArthur Foundation fellow as of 2019, not to mention Stone Award winner for literary achievement). Scroll down. “To Paula Klaw with very best wish always from Cesar Romero!”

Baht Mon.

Jimmy Olson, the wolf-man of Metropolis.

Nordish ghost lightnoodles.

He has returned, his cottonball cloud fraying a tad at the nether edge. What did he give those homeless people, a squirt of hand sanitizer? (via Everlasting Blort)

Surfina Pelikkan. (via Fark)

New flying things. They get better as you get toward the end of the video.

Did you see /Gravity/? Here’s a part of the film that you heard but didn’t see.

Glorious mud. Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood.


In Istanbul, not Constantinople, this big dog rides public transport –buses, trains, ferries– and goes wherever he may please. The whole town knows him; they pet him and play with him and give him food. The place is crawling with stray dogs, but this one is the king of all of them. He isn’t even especially nice; the İstanbullu (that’s the word for people of Istanbul) just decided by a hive-mind process that he’s the one.

Cars waking up because somebody got inside them and poked at something in there.



Art. (via Everlasting Blort)



British rhyming-slang bingo number nicknames. Think of how dedicated to the sport you’d have to be to memorize all this. Though maybe it’s easy if you start early when your brain is like a thirsty sponge for information, like Chinese people learn to speak and write in Chinese from when they’re very small, and it’s no big deal, and like my cohort learned all the advertising jingles for stores, toys, juice and soda, cigarets, gum and candy, rent-a-cars, all 400 different breakfast cereals, and the theme songs of 1950s and ’60s cartoons and puppet shows and sit-coms, and we retain it all in minute perfect detail, ready to use to negotiate life.

“For fuck sake! He asked for /Minecraft/, Dad, Mine – /Craft!/”

Howdy Doody in chains. Stop dragging my heart around.

“Put down! Stop! Help me! Call Diane!”

Rerun: I’ve become reconciled to the word-order mistake Moe and Larry make at the end of this. It no longer lessens my enjoyment. Also, here’s something to try: just sometime when you and your friends are out in a place where lots of people can hear you, say in a normal tone of voice: “Sloooowly I turned… Step – by – step… Inch – by – inch…” and see how many people whirl to smile at you (inside their breathing masks) and shout back, “Niagara Falls!” Now here’s your homework: Why was that combination of words, said like that, already funny to everyone nearly a hundred years ago? What was it referring to that people who didn’t even have a radio all knew about?

Louise Brooks. I see Louise Brooks in that famous little girl looking into the camera with the house on fire behind her. I don’t know why I see that. They don’t look the same at all. Also, the little girl’s face? That’s the expression on every mug shot ever in the Anderson Valley Advertiser‘s police log column when it’s a woman and she’s in for domestic violence. I always think, /He had it coming, and she knows we know./ I’m sure it’s not as simple as that, but I see that face on a woman’s mug shot and I think, /Good for you, honey./

Fred Armisen’s five-minute survey of punk. “Candlelight… on a boob.” There’s an image: candlelight… on a boob.

Big smile, now. Come on. And good work, gang, for making it all the way down here. Now you know everything. Have a treat. Have a whole box of dollar store chocolate covered raisins in cheap vanilla ice cream, and, c’mon Tokyo, bop till you drop. I’m not a dancer, but you kids go ahead, have yourself a time.

Do they know it’s Samhain?

     “The Devil whispered in my ear, You’re not strong enough to withstand the storm. I whispered back, At least I didn’t lose my golden fiddle to some hillbilly in Georgia.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-10-29) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA), ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

And thanks to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, which provided almost an hour of the above eight-hour show’s material, as usual, without asking for anything in return.

Email me your writing on any subject and I’ll read it on the radio next week. That’s what I’m here for.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Juno spacecraft data generates deep 3D images of Jupiter’s atmosphere.

Rerun: The true meaning of Halloween.

A Bollywood wedding song with bagpipes.

The Cringe.

The Ubermensch (say OO-buh-minsh)

Mamushka! (The Shapoopie with knives.)

Shapoopie. That’s Buddy Hackett as Marcellus Washburn. He also played lovable hippie race-car mechanic Tennessee Steinmetz in the original 1968 /The Love Bug/.

The mournful sound of driving across the Golden Gate bridge with the wind howling through its add-on $240,000,000 suicide barriers like a banshee. But if it saves /one life/ that doesn’t wanta even be a life anymore it will have been worth it. Also, bang for the buck, you can hear that all over the Bay Area. Even at this late date there are people who wake up in the middle of the night when it’s windy and shake the person next to them awake and say, “What /is/ that? Do you hear that?” and the other person says, “It’s the /bridge/. Let me sleep!”

In the Pfizer vaccine trial for 5-to-12-year-olds, there were 4,647 participants and only five adverse events, /none of them related to the vaccine./ For example, one adverse event: “Ingestion of a penny.” (A child in the vaccine group swallowed a penny, where nobody in the placebo group did that.) Cue the antivax nonces to badger school boards to ban pocket change.

Counter-Earth news.

Oh, Long Johnson. Oh, la la la ley.


Wow! Do it again!

Adieu, Charlie. (Full final 40-min. episode of Charlie The Unicorn’s adventures.)

A puff before dying. “Oh, a unicorn! HI, unicorn!” “Hey, Angela! Follow your dreams and anything is possible.” Oh, no.


Porter’s Reel.

Safety first.

How they get those sounds. (via Everlasting Blort)

The tables, they turn.

Speaking of which.

This cartoonist drew a comic strip of the lyrics of a song. Play the song, scroll down and read the comic along with it.

Early in the development of smiling.

Everybody’s happy.

/Heil Southington!/ The flashy Bellamy salute to the U.S. flag was part of a promotion to make a fortune selling flags. True fact: Hitler got the idea for his Hitler salute from this, the same way as he got the idea for concentration camps from U.S. Indian reservations.


A fighter jet and its hot turbulence wake in graceful slow motion. Expensive, but so pretty.

An hour of flying over Antarctica.

Wow Swiss. (via Everlasting Blort)

Symphonic Deep Purple.

“What da fox say?” Come on, say it with me: “Ding ding ding da-ding da-ding-ding.” (via Fark)

Dog costume. You might have to click the sound on. (via Everlasting Blort)

Cornfield clowns. (via Everlasting Blort)

For four decades Leon Redbone took Polaroid pictures of his audiences. (via Everlasting Blort)

Shine On, Harvest Moon.

A presumptuous little vintage, fruity, with notes of cat urine.

Teasing a jealous dog.

The difference between them from the point of view of a translator.

I would like to apologize. (via Everlasting Blort)

Imagine how futuristic and sleek and miraculous this carrier plane seemed to them at the time. It’s still impressive, even here in the actual future, when we think nothing of playing laser with cats or going from block of ice to boeuf bourguignon in eight seconds. (say buff b’gee-YAH)

Calendar art. (via Everlasting Blort)

Pano(ramic Photograpy) Awards. (click to view the gallery)

The Swedes.

I like the motorized bicycles. Scroll down to them. The belt-slip clutch arrangement matches a lawnmower we had once. (via NagOnTheLake)

Sewing machine fundamentals.

Retro McDonald’s. (via NagOnTheLake)

Or– you could just get an old HP or Brother laser printer. I repeat: laser printer. Not an inkjet printer. You can use a laser printer a hundred times a day or only switch it on to use it once every six years. As long as you never spill your Pepsi into it, you’re good, it just works. If you need to print colors, go to Zo Office Supply and Copies, 9:30am to 3pm Monday through Friday.

Editing in the pre-computer so-called good old days that so many people who never had to do this wish were back again.


Good choice!

From the moon’s south pole, and sped up.

How we get Hobart deli slicers.

A convincing argument.

And don’t let adolescent pimples stop you from getting ahead! Eat Fleischmann’s Yeast.

Namaste, witches, werewolves, and Spider, Bat and Ironpersons.

     “This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune, often the surfeit of our own behavior, we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-10-22) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA), ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

And thanks to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, which provided at least an hour of the above eight-hour show’s material, as usual, without asking for anything in return.

Email me your writing on any subject and I’ll read it on the radio next week. That’s what I’m here for.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

The sea.

Jellyfish caught in a toroidal vortex. I think it’ll be okay; it has no hard parts to break (unlike the Russian kids on playground equipment, see below*).

Scooter hoodlums on a tear. Probably a good talking-to would straighten them out. (via Fark)

Stop resisting. (via Everlasting Blort)

Best Ruben Bolling Tom The Dancing Bug Super-Fun-Pak Comix page ever, so far.

Choreography for arms and hands.

Bowling tricks.

The fearless dam ibex, whose plural should be ibices (say AI-buh-seez).

“America. If you don’t like it you can leave.”

The worons.

It’s like their heads are a blender full of bees.

Or wood. (Ventriloquist dummies always remind me of  Nina Conti. If you ever get a chance to see the film she made, /Her Master’s Voice/, do that. Sad and sweet.)

The topiary cat.

The sheep-shape bag blimp and a hundred other British wartime color photos.



More than a dream.

Giant mutant spider dog. Doo-dah, doo-dah.

Wadde Hadde Dudde Da.

But slow.

Halloween horrors.

Alien creatures amongst us.


Do it for America!

Melies (say mel-YAY) – The Haunted Castle (1896).

Time-lapse of the play of light inside a cathedral of stained glass windows.

All the planets in the Solar system, including the gas giants, would fit between Earth and its moon, and then collapse into a single ball that would still be only a tenth the mass needed to become a brown dwarf star. So why bother, I esk you? Is dis a system? Yes. (via Clifford Pickover)

Oh, the humanity.

1910. If insects were large.

An ad for coats that is a dream of flying. They’re a leaf on the wind; watch how they soar.

I like this sport. The shouting in Spanish adds a vital note. All sports should have people shouting themselves hoarse in Spanish along with them. Golf, for instance, and cup stacking, and tennis. Two or three guys, and it should be Spanish or Russian.

Korea. (via Everlasting Blort)

The invention of hangers inside a coffin so if you’re buried vertically you don’t slump down and congeal all undignified into the foot of it for a bulldozer to find when they push the cemetery aside for a highway bypass, like that place in Maine where the woman discovered the corpse of her great grandfather and a thousand others had been moved en masse for an office park, pushed into a pit, and then covered over with a now-haunted highway, perhaps the highway the Austin Lounge Lizards sing about in /Highway Cafe of the Damned/, except no, that was Winslow, Arizona.

Kirsten Sinema as dumpsters. (via Everlasting Blort)



Or they worked perfectly. Either way, there it is.

So patient and cute!

Religion and politics. (via Fark)


I like the Volare part of it.

And now I know Spanish Harlem are not just pretty words to say. I thought I knew, but.


This very short article about Facebook might give you the creeps. Something about the picture at the top. Just look at it for a little bit. Give it a chance to start minutely squirming around.

She starts adjusting you at 1:30.

She feels fanstastic. Hey hey hey.

Rerun: Jonathan Coulton – I Feel Fantastic. “All I know is driving on drugs is better when they’re prescription. All I know is the steak tastes better when I take my steak-tastes-better pill.”


Don’t be racist.

A video slideshow of children’s playgrounds before the spoilsport insurance companies ruined it for everyone.

…Except in Italy or Russia*, where it’s still your own stupid fault when you swallow your cigaret and shatter your clavicle and tibia being flung off playground equipment at forty miles an hour because you weren’t paying attention in fifth-grade physics so you just sit there while your doom is engineered for you.

La Femme – Le Sang De Mon Prochain (The Woman – The Blood of My Neighbor).

A fair question. /Is/ it too much to expect to at least be able to afford the same number of oxen one’s parents had? Really, do you know anyone who can afford even a time-share ox, much less a whole ox.

And she died as she lived.

The wolf at the door. The flan in the face.

     “At other times, though, he can sound trite. The biggest media scandal he can unearth is this: last year a friend of his threw a flan in cabinet minister Clare Short’s face. ‘It was brilliant, she went nuts,’ beams Yorke. ‘The cameras were there. It was guaranteed newspaper front pages and Channel 4 News.’ Then, he claims, the government’s minister of spin, Alastair Campbell, had the story buried. ‘It never ceases to amaze me the way the mainstream press will obediently re-write an event if they’re told by the government to do so. They do, they jump. Alastair Campbell had rung around and said, ‘If you do this, you get no access in the next election. The story was dropped, gone, gone, gone. The public will never see it.’ In fact, The Observer’s political editor Kamal Ahmed confirms that Clare Short was hit by a custard pie at Bangor University in March 2001. If this is Yorke’s conspiracy, it was reported, albeit briefly, in most British newspapers, perhaps just not the ones read by Yorke. Campbell himself is equally dismissive: ‘The situation he describes in which I am alleged to have stopped the media reporting an incident involving Clare Short is fictitious!'”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-10-15) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA), ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

And thanks to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, which providesod at least an hour of the above eight-hour show’s material, as usual, without asking for anything in return.

Email me your writing on any subject and I’ll read it on the radio next week. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll try not to mess it up too badly.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

The wolf at the door. The flan in the face. (You might have to click the sound on.) This is not as sharp as I remember; if you find a nicer one please let me know, to replace the link.)

TED talk for zombies.

Tilt-shift Venezia (say veh-NEET-see-yuh).

Tide in, tide out.

What goes down must come up.

Tony Bennett’s last act. I know a small-hall opera singer who felt his mind was going and so arranged a final show of his career, and it worked out great. A month later and it would have been another story. Timing.

God knows.

Ahhhh. So nice.

Little rhino sounds. It’s just like radiotelescope real gas music from Jupiter. The smallest things and the largest things are connected in strange ways.

“Hello, boy… I wonder if I can pet him…” (via b3ta)

True facts about the mosquito (say mohs-KWEE-toh).

History of the orchestra.



CBGB photographer spills the method. Right place, right time, right guy.

Jocelyn Bell discovered pulsars but the Nobel prize for it went to her male supervisor, of course.

“In the name of God the Most Merciful! I can’t tell you how much I am enjoying it!”

The Great Cardini.

James Bond theme a capella.

Rerun: POTC theme a capella. (There are a lot of these now, all of them wonderful. This one’s my favorite, though, because of the ga!ga!ga! part.) (If  The Bobs did this song, this is exactly what it would be like.)

The air loom. (via NagOnTheLake)

“Ronald McDonald insanity.” (via BoingBoing)

“If you wait by the river long enough, the bodies of your enemies will float by.” Oh, if only.

The slow coup.

The optimistic scenario.


“Jennifer screams the scream of many sequels.”

A warning from the candy cops.

A moving collage of wind-up toys. Missing: the Mouse and His Child.

“That’s five more. They come from the hills; no radiation sickness.” “Yup, five good ones.” (90 min.)

This expensive watch was ruined in a fire. /Or was it?/

Thirteen heads. Eighteen if you count the baby in the middle, the girl on the floor to the left, the elephant, the sun, and the drip-shaped on in the middle on top. Eighteen heads. Or nineteen: the whirling artichoke head at the base. These people’s religious imagery is like a Swiss army knife. But they don’t have fractal landscapes of eyes and feathers like the Yahway guys’ spiritual whatsits, um, angels, that are a storm of eyeballs and feathers. It’s not a competition. (via Clifford Pickover)

Awww. This is what people want from religion, the way this dog feels. I understand you can get it from drugs, too, for a short while. And powerful electromagnetic brain stimulation. But there are still churches where people flop around wailing and crying and rolling on the floor in ecstasy. It’s embarrassing to watch, but they’re so happy and, really, what’s wrong with that? People having sex is embarrassing to watch. If you don’t like it, look the other way.

The thing I always think when I’m flying in a dream is: watch out for power wires. I’ve had dozens of dreams where I gave someone the power of flight and /told/ them: Wires! Most of the time, though, when I’m showing someone how to fly they’re not even interested. I wonder what that means, or rather I would if I believed dreams mean things.

They should let them go. They should let them all go. Especially the one who’s been in prison since she was fourteen years old.

I like a nice fjord. This might be the one in Downsizing. And look, there’s one up there in the sky: a cloud fjord, so. (via Fark)


Wire bending and cutting machinery with appropriate music. (via b3ta)

They’re right, in this video, about people and that sound. I make sound environments and sound effects for a small-town theater company –or rather /made/, for the decades when we could have plays, with everyone sitting close and breathing in each other’s faces and smelling each other’s perfume and farts and cosmetics and everything they had for dinner. For one play –which might have been On Golden Pond (“The loons, Henry!”); it was so long ago I don’t remember which play exactly, twenty years, maybe– but I do clearly remember this: I put a loon sound where the script called for a loon, and on the intermission a tall thin middle-aged aristocratic-English-looking woman with prominent bulgy eyes accosted me in the lobby, furious about the sound effects. She said, “That’s not a loon!” I said, “What’s not a loon? The loon sound?” She said, “That’s /not/ a /loon/.” I said, “Well, I listened to a bunch of things that said they were loons and I picked the one I liked. I’m pretty sure it’s a loon.” She insisted, “That’s /not/ a LOON. I grew up where there were loons. I heard them all the time!” She wasn’t drunk or anything, she just wanted me to fix something that made her really mad. (It was the same loon sound as all those times in the video, maybe with a little more reverb.) …Now that I’m thinking about it, I saw that woman in other places and I remember she wanted people to call her the Rabbit Lady. Maybe she raised rabbits or just liked them a lot. I don’t know. Maybe her rabbits weren’t really rabbits; maybe they were little tigers or kangaroos. Maybe she had everything switched around, like a coffee cup would be called a pencil sharpener. Maybe that would explain it. And when you call somebody a loon, it’s not from the loon bird, its short for lunatic, whose root is Luna, the Latin name for the moon, from the medieval belief that if the full moon shone on your sleeping head you would be driven mad, because someone saw that happen once, and they told someone else, and it just took off because it made so much sense in a time when nobody had any idea why /anything/ happened, and people are comforted to imagine they have some control over their lives and not have to worry they might go insane for /no reason at all/.

Bird breath. (via NagOnTheLake)

Math birds flying in a hyperbolic manifold. (via Clifford Pickover)

Graphite human-alien high-rises.

The hippie temptation. (50 min.)

Le Reel Sainte Anne.

Encampment, Wyoming 100 years ago.

Single O.

What does this remind you of?

Ice ice castles. Ice ice castles.

A dive into neural net generated nature.

My step-brother Craig, dead now for 40 years, once when we were kids won ten dollars in an off-camera game show studio audience participation contest. Afterward we were at a toy store and he spent three-fifty of it on a set of hundreds of green plastic army men in a giant bag. I don’t remember which one of us was burned worse playing with lighting them on fire in the back yard, to hear the vooOOP or voooEET or vvvv-WUTT sound falling drops of burning army-man plastic made. They probably don’t make them out of napalm anymore. Pingpong balls were also interesting to burn. They burned in a fascinating growing then contracting ring shape and were consumed so quickly and completely that they left no ashes, just a string or wisp of lighter-than-air barely substantial soot that floated up and vanished. Also, the sound of pingpong balls burning: It isn’t just rushing air, and there’s no crackling, but there’s something about it that suggests electricity. And it was a rare event. Pingpong balls don’t grow on trees, you know, not like army men by the bag. You had to spread out the gang and knock on doors all over the whole neighborhood to get one pingpong ball.

“Whizzing and pasting and pooting through the day. Ronny helping Kenny helping burn his poots away.” Accurate depiction of Boomer childhood.

Time-lapse of covid in the U.S.

Rerun: Plinky the cat.

“I’ll tell you what it looks like.” (via the Anderson Valley Advertiser)

Robots. (via b3ta)

Skip to 32 min. “The villain still pursued her. The writer’s dream.”

And /Bad/ on tiny tubas (technically, euphonia). Not bad.

Scenes from an Italian restaurant on Gamma Hydra 4.

     “What if Jesus God was a little Asian Mexican gay Black guy? Not a dwarf, maybe, but petite, and he could still make fish and bread and wine appear out of nothing by waving His hands, and walk on water and cure leprosy and bring people back from the dead, and all the other Penn & Teller Fool Us and David Copperfield tricks, and He was still technically the offspring of the Mythical Creature that created itself and then every star and planet and galaxy and cosmic ray and photon of light in the entire 4 times 10 to the 32nd power cubic light-years of just /this/ universe, whose spacetime It also created, as well as laws of physics, and with all that power and glory It still gets cranky if you seethe a goat in its mother’s milk, whatever that means, or mix chicken and eggs or dance on Sundays or get a haircut or wear clothing with more than one kind of fiber in it –a shirt, or pants, for instance, with cotton /and/ Spandex– or engrave a picture or sass back to your momma, or you can’t give Him a fig from your branch when its not fig season and you haven’t got any –He’s clearly the real deal as described on the tin– but it’s still /weird/ that He’s this /tiny little effeminate lisping ethnic guy/ and not, you know, the Nordic surfer weightlifter dude in zoris and a white bathrobe. Would evangelical speakers-in-tongues and exorcists and beaters of Him into their children still respect Him and pretend to want to do what he would do? Or would it make it easier for them to finally grow up, and grow out of that sort of thing, like getting tired of comic books for little kids and moving up to better, more nuanced comic books, like League of Extraordinary Gentlemen or Delilah Dirk or Watchmen or Sandman or Saga or Girl Genius or Strong Female Protagonist?”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-10-08) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA), ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

And thanks to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, which provided at least an hour of the above eight-hour show’s material, as usual, without asking for anything in return.

This was my first time back in KNYO’s studio in Fort Bragg since being at Juanita’s for six or eight weeks and doing the show from there, because of her car trouble adventure. There’ve been a few changes and I didn’t react well. First, my keys didn’t work and I kinda freaked out about that. Once inside, I found the streaming computer was replaced and new streaming software was on the screen, with little changes to it all that encouraged how off-base I felt. Though nothing was really wrong, that I knew of.

Two or three hours into the show I noticed that my backup recorder was off and dark. Apparently I had been in too much of a hurry to push the power connector all the way in, and it ran out its battery. I fixed that and started it again.

After the show was over I went to put the real recording in my thumb drive to take away with me and saw that there was no main recording in the streaming computer. The person who reinstalled the streaming software had not checked the box in settings that automatically makes a recording when you’re on the air. (How would they know to do that? It’s not their fault.) And I’d been up for like 26 hours at this point…

Go back a little. Almost midnight Alex had called from Arkansas to derail me from what I was reading because he didn’t like it, and some kids came in from the bar next door and sat down at the mic and got in a discussion with Alex about the whole world and James Bond movies, so I gave up and went out for a walk, a couple of times (!), and got back just in time for the phone thing to screw up and start honking. Anyway, the whole night was exhausting and a fricking debacle and what /I/ think are some pretty good parts of the show are not even preserved, so– uh– ahem, ya know, you might like it better this way. I don’t know what you like. People are always surprising me with what they like and what they don’t like. Kids wear safety pins in their tongue now, earrings in their noses and eyebrows, and smoke cigarets that smell worse than ever (when they’re not electronic cigarets}, and they brand their labia with swastikas; they can have a big blotchy ridiculous tattoo on their face and neck, and just all kinds of stuff that seems crazy to me, but I know it takes all kinds to make a world. And here’s the thing: branded and self-tattooed and drugged-stupid people can work in a restaurant or a bank or anywhere and nobody gives them any shit about it. It’s /normal/ to be all self-mutilated and fucked up now, just as it used to be normal, through most of U.S. history, for everyone to be drunk all the time, and to solve points of argument with fisticuffs, outside.

In case I wasn’t clear, above, the recording is slightly distorted from hasty setup, and it’s pieced together around two-plus missing hours. The glitch in the matrix is at 25 minutes in.

If I had known to come a whole /hour/ early to get used to the new stuff and get everything set right, I still would’ve screwed up that show. I think I’m just not as smart or present or maybe /ruthless/ as I used to be. I feel like an old grumpy cat so much of the time now, and everyone wants to run the vacuum cleaner and move us to another house and take me to the vet and not have the good kind of wet food and rock in rocking chairs when I forget and let my tail uncoil. It’s not the world, it’s me. I know that.

Email me your writing on any subject and I’ll read it on the radio next week. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll try not to mess it up too badly.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

/Is/ it just me, though, or does Boots Mallory look like a cross between Maria Bamford and Nellie McKay?

“That’s so deep I’m getting the bends.” -Al Fusco

Far. Good casting.

How it works.

Time-lapse of ADHD boy watching a math lesson and time-lapse of the same boy watching the video-game racing scene of Star Wars prequel number one. It’s the same boy but it’s like night and day.

And Every Michael Jackson grunt and shriek and huffed pant, disembodied from the music and all cut together.

If you’ve got no patience for the build, skip ahead to about 10:20.

Funky ukulele music. Play that funky ukulele, white boy.

These men labor so you don’t /have/ to do it without the fez on.

The 1939 Schlörwagen (say SHLOO-ah-vah-gen) (hard G). A Dymaxion Car ripoff, but small and cool, and I’d like one, please, but maybe with an electric motor instead of a lawnmower motor.

“It’s a trap!”

Don’t check it out, don’t split up.

Don’t do this. As if.

Dynasty catfight. (via b3ta)

How many Switzerlands in a Brazil. (via Clifford Pickover)

Mechanical marble toy becomes more elaborate until it’s an incremental freeway cloverleaf. (via Clifford Pickover)

Slow-mo paint flinger. It’s like a Yiddish theater comic guy’s name. Shlomo Paintflinger.

A shoreline of sped-up clouds. (via Clifford Pickover)

“La la…. Ha la la… La la la la la la… La la la la la la…”

“Well, I planned to make a lot of money, and then become a nun.” “And he brought us in to meet them, and it was Paul McCartney and John Lennon, and he said, ‘Paul, John, I’d like you to meet these girls; they’re going to be Britain’s first all female rock and roll band.’ And John said, ‘What ya got there, in that case?’ I said it’s a guitar. He said, ‘Girls don’t play guitars.’ And I thought, /Oh, are we gonna show you!/” This is a brilliant short documentary. By the end you’re weeping. At least I hope you are.

Let’s all go to the lobby. Maple-cured-bacon-wrapped baklava. That’s what they should have out there. And it should cost fifty cents for four of them. In the future they’ll have 3D food printers to instantly make anything you imagine out of any other kind of old food in a hopper. Steak, pineapple, Snickers bars, whatever, all made from lettuce and soda crackers and surplus yellow cheese. And your favorite soda pop will be full of vitamins and minerals and latent fiber, better for you than today’s most expensive and disgusting-tasting health food crap. Intelligent food that /likes to be eaten, and it lets you know that/. Cybernetic food. Meanwhile, as more and more of each of our bodies is replaced with limbs and organs and parts that are stronger and longer-lasting and feel better (and never ache) and are charged by the yellow light of Earth’s sun, we won’t need so much food anymore anyway and we’ll get enjoyment of eating virtually via software running in the indestructible quantum computers that our brains will have become. There’ll be flavors and sensations and activities and visions– and it won’t be like drugs, where it’s only the ephemeral fleeting feeling of inexpressible wonderfulness of everything; it’ll be real, sharable, explainable, fully remembered experience with a whole new expanded vocabulary that’s adequate to the task, as far beyond what we know now as a 1950s automobile drive to a movie-night of Polish dogs and tootsie-rolls and /The Tingler/ was beyond our ancient ancestors’ turning rocks over for bugs to eat and being pleased when they found a big one to bite in half and share with their mates, who never had a bath in their lives, nor brushed their teeth, nor cut their filthy toenails.

This is a subway station in Russia. One day we will catch up with Soviet Russia of the 1950s and have nice places like this, ourselves. It’s not as far out as the food thing, see above. It’s totally possible, perhaps by 2031, when it’ll be easier to build subway terminals because they won’t have to tunnel; they’ll have to be on top of the ground to keep from filling up with seawater every tornado. (via NagOnTheLake)

The crucifix gun. The pipe and cane and cigaret lighter and flashlight and telephone pistols. The skeleton key and pocketwatch guns. Ingenious.

“You know, sitting here with you, with your head tilted just so, I can see right up your nostrils, and I like what I see.” That’s the quote that occurs to me, but really the bottom front of her nose is a bit too angular and faceted for my taste. There’s a kind of fish it reminds me of– a gar? A garfish? Is that the right one? Here’s something else: enjoy imagining what she’s about to say to or about whatever or whoever is to your right, where you can’t see. Is it a warning, like the stains? Is it the horrible bitch who bullied her in school because of her nose? Is it news that she’s pregnant or has cancer, or is it the greatest trumpet player in the world blowing her mind with impossible skill and feeling? Or did she just remember where the envelope of money (or evidence) must be?

Bad Lip Reading of the Walking Dead. “And that’s how they do it on Broadway.”

Our demon-haunted world, part 437.

“FMAAA. FMAAAAH.” “Felix, what are you doing.” “FMAAAA. I’m clearing my sinuses. FMAAAA.” “Stop it! Everybody’s looking.” “FMAAAAAA.”

The goatmaster general.

They’re totally stopped. She rearends them. Consequently she screams at them because they laugh politely when she blames them for hurting /her/ car. With fortunate video of whose fault it really is. Hint: it’s not the good-natured black people. It’s the crazy white girl. If the police showed up later and shot the black people we’d know about it, so you don’t have to worry.

Everything but the celery.

Rerun: Celery.

Art from the Dreamtime. Fire dreaming.

And Birnam barn. This makes me think of Monty Python, maybe a Terry Gilliam animation.

Victim of them.

     “The first author would like to acknowledge and thank Jesus Christ, through whom all things were made, for the encouragement, inspiration, and occasional hints that were necessary to complete this article. The second author, however, specifically disclaims this acknowledgement.” –Michael I. Hartley and Dimitri Leemans, Quotients of a Universal Locally Projective Polytope of Type {5, 3, 5}, Mathematische Zeitschrift 247:4 (2004), 663-674 (via FutilityCloset)

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-10-01) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA), ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

And thanks to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, which provided at lsteast an hour of the above eight-hour show’s material, as usual, without asking for anything in return.

Here’s my latest dream journal post on Medium. And here’s something odd that I don’t quite understand: when I go there not logged in to my account, to see what others will see, I’m only shown the latest month of posts, when they really go back a lot longer than that to where I started keeping a dream journal again (after years of not). I can look up some other writers on Medium and see all their dozens of posts in a list. I wonder if access to my posts is limited because I use a free account.

I’m looking forward to when you send me something of your dream journal. Or regular journal; it doesn’t have to be dreams. Email me your writing on any subject and I’m happy to read it on the radio. That’s what I’m here for.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Holly Tannen – Victim of Them.

German auction of an accordion fit for the Hindu deity with the most hands. (I’m having some trouble finding out which one that is. Accounts vary. Some of them have more heads than normal, too.)

This doesn’t seem to be any effort at all for her. It’s almost as though she’s not even in the same room, or as if she’s mentally across town, or has gone to Mars, like in the John Prine song. As natural as breathing. Really impressive.

The people, they are dumb.

The facts in the case of Dr. Andrew Wakefield.

The grand Gregoir (say gruh-GWAR).

Coin-operated haunted house machine. The man made it himself from scratch. (You might have to click the sound on.)

Why does the rain.

The power of schnauzers. “No time for play! Go straight!” she says in Russian.

Rerun: Bobby McFerrin and the power of the pentatonic scale.

Kerry Callen and the power of cartoon physics. “If you don’t love me now, you will never love me again.”

Happy French people enjoying a revolutionary new French invention in 1952.

What make you happy?

The beauty and utility of the duck stamp. John Oliver. (12 min.) You might recall that in the film /Fargo/ the husband of pregnant law officer Francis McDormand won this competition. It was in the very last minute, the highlight of the story, for me. Some might feel the highlight of the story of /Fargo/ involved a motorized vegetation chipper/shredder.  That was just something else that happened in the story, not a highlight, to me.

Speaking of which, rerun: The power and grace of SuperJesus.

Caravaggianical (say kar-uh-vaj-YAN-ih-kul) cosplay. (via NagOnTheLake)

Undersea internet cables. Play the video of Earth turning around to see them all. A huge chunk of North America’s connection to Asia goes through a cable that enters the sea in Manchester, just north of Point Arena. There’s a building with a coiled-razor-wire-topped fence around it.

Vesuvio. (via Everlasting Blort)

Don’t be skinny. Skinny girls ain’t got oomph. Oomph!

A lovely placeholder from the past of Girl Genius webcomix, because Phil Foglio is recovering from shoulder surgery and can’t use his good hand to art with for awhile. Which snail is your favorite snail? I like Udolpho, probably because he gives a big smile and looks directly into the camera. Remember that next time someone’s taking your picture. That you know of.

Click through 30-some lonely photos. (via NagOnTheLake)

Happy horror cornfield clowns. (via MissCellania)

Traffic in 1972. Full concert.

Smells Like Teen Spirit with deaf captions made of people’s names and titles of posts on various media.

The Pink Panther theme played with a marking pen. Turn it up loud. (via Clifford Pickover)

…And the video that autocued after that for me: An educational film about topology. Surprisingly engrossing.

Copycat laws.

What country is this, I wonder. It can’t be the U.S., where a single child would fall off or scrape his finger on the ground or something in the first minute it was there and the parents would sue the city for 400 million dollars. In Italy, I read, if you trip and fall off a bridge, or get your ankle stuck in a revolving door, or reach without looking and put Brylcreem on your toothbrush instead of toothpaste and throw up, the law considers that to be your own stupid fault. (via Clifford Pickover)

Why aren’t all internal combustion engine vehicles this way? It looks like it adds a hundred pounds to the bus for the sliding rails and maybe a splined telescoping drive shaft, but think of the advantages to being able to fix any part of the motor while sitting on a normal chair. My friend Dan and I rebuilt a VW bus motor in 1978, I think, or ’79, and it was a royal pain in the ass to just get it out from under there and put it back in, not to mention sitting crosslegged on the ground the whole time of fixing it.

All about trick hydraulic truck bed niche culture. (via MissCellania)

Fastest gun anywhere and anywhen, until 2012, when he died of a heart attack. In all the shots he fired in all the thousands of competitions he won, and all the practicing and hunting and so on that he did in his whole life, he never hurt anybody or anything, to speak of, that he wasn’t aiming at; he was that careful. According to his wife Becky, “Bob started suffering chest pains while driving home to Butte from a Missoula hospital after receiving treatment for a mild heart attack.” His last words were, “Keep drivin’, Becky.” That’s my new motto: Keep drivin’, Betty.

So long mahr, we’re off to join the wah. That’s how they talk there. They put an R on the end of things that don’t have one, and take it off things that do, just to be clever and sound like someone in a movie. Speaking of which, we learn from movies and plays that British people who fancy each other stay apart for as long as they can stand it, while the tension ratchets up and up, and then when it’s too much to bear they rush to an attic or toolshed or cloakroom or secluded gazebo and fly at each other like magnets. Kissing like swordfighting with their long sharp brittle-looking noses they tear each other’s clothes half-off –always only half-off– in a mindless frenzy, and then somehow it’s a little later in the afternoon, they’re sorry about whatever happened between them while the cameraman was changing film reels, and they’ve ruined each other’s lives and marriages and families and possibly the Empire’s hopes of winning the wah… And it’s not as if there was anything to be done about it; they knew at first glance what would be. As Ruby Bell said to Rachel Archuletta in Mendocino Theater Company’s 2006 production of Steve Martin’s /The Underpants/, when Rachel says she’ll simply not rendezvous with the dashing Count, not be unfaithful to her husband, “It’s too late, dear. You’re already thinking about it.” But this article is about buses.

An interdimensional train ride.

And another one.

A documentary about Gene Roddenberry and Star Trek: The Next Generation. William Shatner interviews the real people involved. (60 min.)

Kazuo Ohno – My Mother. (45 min.)

Interviews with animals.

Fred Armisen’s impression of a nature-show time-lapse decomposing fox.

Images of mermaids and tritons.

“Also it’s very very hot. You can’t even touch it.” Funny. You can look up for yourself images and videos of where the wind blew millions of dollars worth of this crap over because of its being set in too-sandy concrete, or a rivulet undermined it…

How we get balls, specifically basketballs. You’d think the process would be entirely automated by now, but there are still a lot of human hands involved.

How animals would walk if they were people. (via BoingBoing)

Literal steampunk coffeemaker.


On the other end of the scale (and the gene pool): this antivax loonball with an Oedipal fixation. Don’t get me wrong; he doesn’t necessarily want to do his mother; he wants you to do your mother, but only if you’re someone who reported that he got covid after he told everyone covid was a hoax and caught it anyway, because you hurt his feelings, you effing MFer. (I like the shape of his head, though. He’s like a beluga whale machine in a penny arcade or a highway gas station, that swears bitterly at you from a scratchy record inside when you put a penny in and gives your fortune or advice on a strip of paper. Remember those?)

Documenting the last payphones in America. (via Everlasting Blort)

“It is a truth universally acknowledged.”

Inspirational bullshit posters.

Hot Wheels.

The myth of plastic being recycled.

Here’s a way to tell how stupid your religion is. Check the rules. If it’s against the rules for you to do this, as though you could, that’s a sign.

Eyes. Dutch sailors brought this there in their testicles. It’s a fact.

A compilation of the /It’s A Fact!/ bits from Kids In The Hall, from thirty years ago. The young actress’ name is Jessica Schifman, and she is now a successful architect in Toronto. It’s a fact!

Why does the woman want it to get off the boat /here/? Why doesn’t she just start the motor and take it someplace the monsters can’t go, like the edge of the water right over /there/?

Images of different forms of music notation. (via Clifford Pickover)

Living music notation. I imagine that how these people interact is how people who read music fluently interact with the page, what it must feel like. It’s a back-and-forth process.

Speed guide to Super Metroid. Just skip to anywhere in this and marvel at the explanatory competence of Rain, the author. (via BoingBoing)

The Box, by Richard Matheson, adapted for the internet age by Abby Howard. (via Mendocino cartoonist and handyman Bill Cornelius).

The Box, by Richard Matheson. It starts here on page 2 and runs to the middle of page 7.

Elementary canal.

Careers in sound effects. Make $3 a week and eat steak. (It doesn’t sound to our age like it would be much of a steak, but in 1934 you could buy a Sears piano for $5 including rail shipping all the way from Chicago. And they’d lift it into your parlor and stick around and tune it for you.

The beturbaned (say bee-TERB-und) organist here, Doctor Lonnie Smith, just died Tuesday.

How Germany teaches trainee train men (and train women) to keep trains from ever going the wrong way and crashing into other trains.

Not a jot of room for improvement in that choreography. With genius choreography there is always a nice balance of inevitability and surprise.

Rerun: “Beyond expert.”

Art. (via BoingBoing)

Art. (via Everlasating Blort)

Art. (via Everlasting Blort)

The Pointer Sisters sing 1,2,3,4,5 – 6,7,9,10 -11,12. (12 min.)

Cyclical art. “The young girl, with her unblinking eyes and calm expression, is plunged under the water as the tides rise, before emerging again as they fall, a cycle that repeats over and over, day after day.” Also her head is as big as a beachball.

Auroras seen from space.

And Julie Andrews in 1968. Whenever anyone complemented her on her grace in motion, her poise and posture and showmanlike presentation, she always attributed the whole shebang to being taught to tapdance as a small child, because of Shirley Temple.


This means phwoar.

     “You don’t have a skeleton inside of you. You’re a brain. You’re inside of a skeleton. You’re piloting a bone mecha that’s using meat armor.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-09-24) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA), ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

And thanks to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, which provided at least an hour of the above eight-hour show’s material. And the San Francisco Mime Troupe. Sorry about screwing things up last week, but I got the end episode of the Mime Troupe’s summer radio series on properly this time, and it’s pretty good. Lots of original music in the story, and there’s a part where a character mentions sex in the kitchen, which jumped right out at me like a Jack-in-the-box and made me think of the film /Cherry 2000/, where the dishwasher spills over so badly that soapy water gets into Cherry’s mechanism, through her ear, and she shorts out, and the man has to get off of her and venture away into the Forbidden Desert in search of the abandoned factory that created her, for replacement parts, to make her alive again. That’s love.

[Edit: This is way after my deadline for myself, but I keep forgetting to put a link in my weblog to my latest dream journal post to Medium, so here. I’d love it if you send something of your dream journal. It doesn’t have to be a dreams, though. Email me your written work on any subject and I’m happy to read it on the radio. That’s what I’m here for.]

BUT BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Life is a roller coaster. (via b3ta)

Time-lapse demonstration of seasons from a geosynchronous orbit viewpoint with all the other distracting things in the sky removed.

The planets, including Goldilocks, ahem, I mean /Earth/, with its liquid water and meteor-sweeping moon and protective magnetic field to keep the solar wind from eroding the atmosphere. Lots of great pictures and interesting explanations; start with Mercury and work your way outward.

Astro photo contest winners.

Dance. (via Everlasting Blort)

Cow zipper.

The Gunfighter.–eKU

Circus day in our town. Well-cared-for animals, happy to work all day and all night pulling ropes and poles and other animals’ cage-carriages, being whipped, chained, and teased by clothed flesh-colored monkeys who put their head right inside your hydraulic shredder of a mouth full of teeth like a bunch of swords, while all around thousands more monkeys shriek their shrieky laughter through air that smells like prey meat and prey sweat and excitement and fear, and lights are flashing in your face and you’ve never been free and everything is frustrating and wrong, and you’re a LION, for fuck sake. Don’t close the mouth. Don’t. But.

Vitamin D from the sun, our limitless node of psychic energy and source of all health and life. (These guys again, on the concentrated health benefits of the yoga of letting the sun shine up your butt, the [Something] Flower Position; I don’t remember what it’s called. This time they request of their bemused city council to designate a particular park downtown for people to have their not-at-all-gratuitously naked ritual and not get arrested again, because we have freedom of religion in this country, or at least we /did/, last time /I/ read the Constitution. That’s the short version.)

Can you fix climate change? No. Can you make it worse. I guess, sure. Can you stand on your head and drink a glass of water? Maybe if it has a bendy straw. I can wiggle and bend my big toe separately from the other toes, but I still can’t make that wonderful Scottish-Mexican rolling-R sound in speech, nor dance like a person. Depending a lot on luck, I can either fix just about anything put in front of me in a novel and ingenious way or ruin it completely in just as clever a way. I have a lot of trouble forcing myself to fulfill important paperwork even if it’s to save my life –unless it’s my project, like my radio show, for instance, and then I just sail through it. Tell a little about what you can do. (via b3ta)

Table of Lissajous curves. (via Clifford Pickover)

Bounce juggling.

Friction. (via Clifford Pickover)


Monster name generator. Vampire Terror Rhino, for example. I like that. I can easily visualize it. I’ve seen video of angry rhinos chasing people backing away frantically in jeeps. Regular non-vampire rhinoceri often weigh more than a big American car and can run 30-plus miles an hour for essentially ever. I used to be pretty good at backing up a car fast down a long curvy driveway; in my late 20s I did that all the way out to the road from the Whale School every Friday afternoon with a car stuffed full of kids all standing on the seats looking out the back window, leaving space for me to see to steer. When I imagine having to do that with a rhinoceros after me it doesn’t really change anything. Except for I’m a little out of practice and know way better now than to do that, we’d be fine. And there isn’t any Whale School anymore –hasn’t been for thirty years, and the last time there was a Rhinoceros in Albion was 1932. Now, the Feathered Frost Cobra, from the previous item, that’s a terror.

Do you remember finding out that whales have a human-like hand of bones inside their flippers? Well, elephants are all up in their high heel shoes. Or they’re like those Chinese foot-binding victims. Both, because it’s the same thing.

Here’s Christine Lavin on the subject of high heel shoes. She and crucified people can see your house from here. (via Clifford Pickover)

I’d like to see the movie this is the trailer for. The thick makeup makes me feel queasy to think about –I don’t know why, but I hate makeup almost as much as I hate piercings– but here makeup is important to the story, so.

A picturesque little rock mountain in the sea off Italy, viewed from the air.

Bat dog –view (and sound) from the dog.

Dog dreams colors and shapes.

Tripping. A documentary about Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters. (60 min.)

Two people orgasmic about colors and color names, but in a black and white film, so you have to color it with your imagination. Keep it inside the lines.

Rock and roll crayon colors.

Davie504 features bass prodigy kids.

The real nitty gritty.

It reminds me of Katy Simonton playing Aunt Bella in Mendocino Theater Company’s production of /Lost In Yonkers/, where she said, “Ahty, ya won’t believe it! The theatah had ayah conditioning! I was ekshully /cold!/” Mercedes Ruehl played Bella in the movie, and she was great too. They were both great.

Out of all the bands with Lamed Wufnik in the name of the band, these guys are clearly tops.

The goat’s kung fu is strong. (via Everlasting Blort)

It’s like in /Firefly/ where Mal says, “Now, I did a job. I got nothin’ but trouble since I did it, not to mention more than a few unkind words as regard to my character, so let me make this abundantly clear. I do the job. And then I get paid.”

Here’s that, in the original inflection, and 49 more quotes that will make you want to go back and watch /Firefly/ again. When you do, start with the movie, the way you did the first time.

Lots of light and open air disperse the smell of the sheets in there.

T.B. sheets. The sound engineering choice to put (almost) each instrument fully in either the left or right channel was common at the time, but here even the bass guitar is entirely in one channel (left). Listen with headphones. (And don’t decide about how far to turn it up until the harmonica shrieks at least once, in both ears at once, because it’s the loudest thing on the record.) This is one of the cuts that might have been, but wasn’t, from Van Morrison’s contractual-obligation album, where he had to turn out another album for them before the label would let him go, and he just, as you can tell, extemporized the we’re-gonna-call-them lyrics in one take, but people liked it and bought the single.

Masks. (via Everlasting Blort)


Today in Great Scientists of the 21st Century: Jason.

Penn and Teller explain vaccination.

The late Ricky Jay’s magic stuff is all up for auction. Or was, last week; it’s probably all gone now. The wrist device was where they got the idea for the trick Han Solo used to win the Millennium Falcon.

The late Norm MacDonald. As Bill Burr said, that guy wasn’t pretending he didn’t give a fuck, he really didn’t give a fuck. And the world is poorer for his passing.

Of course there are a few people who hated his guts.

He had at least three imaginary dirty uncles. That we know of.

And then there’s this guy, who wrote a paean to Norm MacDonald, which it’s easy to 98-percent agree with. Stick it out to the end.

I’ve seen a lot of the DryBar comedy series and I generally prefer the women comics, but this man has an appealing natural wry favorite-uncle smarter-than-he-lets-on delivery.

Speaking of which, Tom Hanks. Although this looks like someone either read or saw /A Boy and his Dog/ and /Damnation Alley/ and /Castaway/ and thought, /I could make something like that, if Tom Hanks would be in it./ I even liked him in /Cloud Atlas, especially the story at the end/. Sorry, I never saw /Turner and Hooch/; I can’t pronounce upon that… Oh, I see, it’s Tom Hanks and a dog, so, sure.

Do not erase. (via NagOnTheLake)

Sbby lbhe sevraqf. Onssyr lbhe rarzvrf. Sha jvgu EBG-13. Decode that here:

Safe for work. Carlotta Guerrero twerking to Mozart. (via Everlasting Blort)



And Teddy Boys. (via Everlasting Blort) …I had a few reusable mascot cartoon characters I appropriated and/or constructed for a newspaper I published from the early through middle 1990s called /Memo/. There was the Cute Little Dog, a mini-schnauzer or terrier; he looked like Tintin’s Snowy but more like a real dog. There was the Blackbird of Weltschmerz (who brought the mail in her beak for the letters-to-the-editor pages). There was That Wacky One-Arm Girl, always smiling in the same pose at the breakfast table with an also-smiling Bob-Dobbs-like man who was sometimes her father, sometimes her boyfriend or husband, and they’d have a simple conversation in word bubbles, one bubble each; for example, he might say, “Ska-wunt. Ska-wunt-ska wunt-ska!” And she’d say, “/Daaaad! SPA-FON!” And there was Black Leather Teddy, a Teddy bear in a leather bomber jacket (not a camiknicker, or ‘teddy’, as you might think. I had a Dover-book clip-art jacket; I didn’t have a clip-art camiknicker) and wraparound sunglasses. Sometimes the mascots would have a crossover adventure in a display ad or a boxed strip –one Easter-time the Cute Little Dog filled the whole cover page, with a magical shining holy halo of assorted objects and vehicles (washing machine, Eiffel Tower, candy bar, coffeepot, fire truck, sailboat, ice cream cone, etc.) circling his head; the caption was /HE IS RISEN!/ (meaning back from the dead, because in an earlier issue, in an ad for the binoculars store, I think, he was tragically martyred)– but most of the time they stood alone (except for That Wacky One-Arm Girl), representing, as the kids say now. Black Leather Teddy was meant to be John Lennon. Neither he nor the Cute Little Dog could speak.

Turtles all the way up.

Talent. Stay with it through the pause. He’s not finished.

The /Free Bird/ of 1820. /FREEBIRD!/

They’re German women, but doing Swedish gymnastics. Hard to deny with it right there staring you in the face. Like the twerking, see above, safe for work.

More kimonos. Or maybe the same kimonos as last time. Kimonos! (I remember telling you not too long ago that the word for bathrobe in my family when I was little was kuh-MO-nuh. You know what else we had? MUK-uh-luks. That was the word for slippers: MUK-uh-luks. And the word for electric teapot was PITZ-popper. I remember that distinctly.)

James Veitch deep-fakes Sir David Attenborough. I skipped you past the explanation of how it’s done. You can pull the time back and watch that. (via b3ta)

Makes puppets of any person or painting. It’s like the movie /SimOne/ (Simone). (via Clifford Pickover)

The W.W. Chambers mortuary pinup girl calendar for 1948. “In case of death, call Chambers.”

Suit yourself.

Things designed to sink and then unsink. Sink-unsink, sink-unsink, again and again.

What do you suppose they sell in there? (via AVA)

The father of ophthalmology wrote and illustrated a book: /Ophthalmodouleia/ (say opff-thul-mudduh-OO-lay-uh). (via Everlasting Blort)


A five-minute explanation of light and color and how we see them.

Tenjo Sajiki, Japanese avante garde theater troupe. (via BoingBoing)

Right place, right time. The source of Norman Collier’s success. (via b3ta)

The night lunch.

The night snack. Ken Nordine.

The opposite of “We are your friends. Do not run away. Ack Ack Ack.”

“Satanists stand six feet apart. People afraid of COVID stand six feet apart. /You/ do the math.”


Stoicism City.

Hundreds of arts.

Stop-motion Rube Goldberg project.

Things you might see on the Appalachian Trail. Bears, deer, water, mountain vistas. An owie on your elbow. But worth it. What an adventure.

But where are the deaf girls? Aren’t they allowed?

She is entirely unsafe. The wild chopping without looking, dancing around in the path of the knife. Spit-laughing everywhere onto the food and food surfaces. Handling poultry and giblet stuffing and salad on the same surface and without even washing her hands in between. She /wipes her poultry-and-spit-and-stuffing-contaminated hands on the dish-drying towel!/

Slime design. (via Clifford Pickover)


How we get lava lamps.

It’s a selling point, Carl, an opportunity for an ad man to shine. I been in this business a long time, so listen to me: if they can fit this unfortunate girl, they can fit /anybody/. Kick it around a little and see if you can’t come up with something catchy.

It’s like the last-visible-dog scene in /The Mouse and His Son/.

Speaking of which:

Once I’ve got zoetropes on the brain, everything looks like a zoetrope.


There are two kinds of people. 1. People who go /ha ha, stupid robot/. 2. People who want to pick it up and help over the line. 3. People who get an idea about how to solve this and try to figure it out. 4. People who look at their own floor, what you can see of it under the mess, and sigh. /Four/. /Four/ kinds of people. And people who set a cat on it and watch it ride around licking itself, so that’s five.

Betty Boop advocates for humane treatment of animals.

Rerun: What happens to your body after you die.

And I wish mice wouldn’t get in my house and make me have to kill them. They are so smart and cute. I don’t mind killing a rat. Rats are /too/ smart. They’ll be the boss around here in a few years if we don’t watch out.



     “Lay down your weapons and prepare to be boarded. Your cooperation, though mandatory, is appreciated. No-one will be harmed if this goes smoothly. Be smart… Tch. Now, see, that one wasn’t smart. Don’t be like him.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-09-17) annual Talk Like A Pirate Day Special KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

Speaking of ARRRH! with a little oy-yoy-yoy added: At 9:30, half an hour into the show, I put on the final episode of the San Francisco Mime Troupe’s summer radio series /Tales of the Resistance: Persistence/, set an alarm for 28 minutes, took my headphones off and took a nap. At least I thought I put it on. It was only when I resumed the position before the mic that I realized I’d started the wrong one, a much earlier episode, because of a folder mixup I made when preparing things. That’s why, in the recording, you hear the Mime Troupe intro start, then a moment of silence to drive home the seriousness of my blunder, then the end of the Mime Troupe outro. I cut my half-hour mistake out of the recording. I’ll play the right episode of that next week. I’ve already written to the Mime Troupe lady to apologize.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

The Codex Seraphinianus, a video survey.

It ain’t a big thing, but go ahead and make a big thing out of it if you can’t help yourself. That’s one way of looking at it.

“Coney Island, the world’s greatest fun frolic.”

The real world.

And the open-secret law about hospital bills. This could save your life. But if you /ride to the hospital in an ambulance/ because you’d die otherwise, you’re still on the hook for that, and it can run up into tens of thousands of dollars just to go across town; even more if the ambulance is a helicopter. Prop your thumb up in the air on a fence or something to hitchhike before you pass out from loss of blood, that’s what to do. And if you wake up, don’t sign anything until you talk with your uncle Tony.

Acoustics of the stairwell. These guys are firemen, I think.

Debs. (via MissCellania)

“Can’t ride up ever.”

Earth from space, European Space Agency material including, of course, the fires, which you can see from space with just your regular eyes.

How they made the Gateway Arch, which was later featured in the teevee series /Defiance/ with a little radio station at the very top run by the son of a space alien crimelord (the albino aliens), who had a sort of Romeo and Juliet romance with the daughter of the wealthy (human) operator of the town’s gulanite mine. It’s a near-future western. The town has a prostitute and a sheriff and everything you need. The sheriff’s raising another kind of alien teenage girl (redheaded tiger/lizard people) as his own daughter, who he rescued from a crazy alien-mind-control-tech cult. Pretty good show; real science fiction, not space elf fantasy crap. Anyway: Gateway Arch (pre-space war that ruins the planet because of crashed out-of-control alien terraforming tech):

Lily Hevesh (Hevesh5). (via NagOnTheLake)

Dead dog, dead dog. G’boy! Okay, come on.

Part of what’s wrong is, if that’s the thumb on this side (I’m not sure it is), the hand is on backward /or is it?/ (via Fark)

Names for then-new colors: “Pimps, still in the prime of life and stomachs on the grass, drinking absinthe.” “Funeral March, composed for the obsequies of a great deaf man.” Etc.

People sitting on or in the black-and-white moon.

The /Mars Attacks/ jellyfish.

Why is your mouth making that noise?

Flowchart. Should you wear a mask.

Gotcher nose! Ha ha ha! And what’s this behind your ear? A quarter!? How did /that/ get there?,imgsize-573549/nose-swab_istock.jpg


Matterhorn wingsuit flight.

“Maybe the cure for geese who behave like jerks is to play harmonica to them.” They’re either singing along or correcting his intonation.

Owls got legs.

Clams got legs.

This fits ancient descriptions of what an angel looks like better than any art you’ve ever seen that’s supposed to be an angel. A thousand eyes made of feathers.

“Not a vaccine hoochie.” Some kind of hoochie, though. /Hot-cha/, as they used to say.

This is what happens when you build a guitar in the woods, Larry. It’s way different from what happens when you find a stranger in the Alps. It’s destructive, in a way, but something comes of it besides a car with its fenders bashed in and its windows smashed. Nice work.

Speaking of which, some clips of the late Norm MacDonald, /late/ meaning dead. He had a rare kind of genius, and the world is poorer for his passing.

Of course I want to see it. But they put everything in the trailer. There must be a funny Yiddish word for doing that:

Re-rerun: Stay cool, Bret. Stay cool, Murray.

“Tug of oar.” A tweedle beetle paddle battle muddle.

Useful self-defense skill. For if she’s ever attacked by a couple of Coke bottles bearing a playing card and a cupie doll and she has her little sticks along.

Science jokes. (via Neatorama)


Hero doorman.

Brave amateur reporter/activist woman. Good aplomb.

She does celebrities meeting your dog. My favorite is Kristen Wiig. And Christopher Walken.

“Wife crashes her sister’s job interview after finding out she slept with her husband.” (via Fark)

Rick and Morty, the Reader’s Digest version.


Rerun: Man tries burning them out, discovers why a gasoline-air mixture works in cars. On the plus side, put a garden in.

The largest star in the universe.

All our stupid problems in the one small dot. (Sung to the tune of /Atchison, Topeka and the San-ta Fe./)

My medium is everywhere. Can’t stop the signal, Mal.

Radio. This is also how all the, ahem, greats started. Rush Limbaugh, Nat Budgerton, Jeannette Crews, Piers Morgan, etc.

Film supercut, a ballet of interchangeable chaos.

Natural disaster movies. How we get them.

Underwear hockey.


Osaka walk.

Pope-struck-by-meteor sculpture.

Elvis does his bit.

Here ya go. Go on, scroll down. Enjoy. The lungs you get from smoking are cool-looking, kinda Goth, but my favorite is the liver you get from drinking; it’s like I imagine the British food /spotted dick/, which I’ve never seen, but it’s probably like the liver here.

Squeeze Box Man commentary (part 7).

Rockized military cadence. This is so great!

It doesn’t look safe.

Eric O’Shea.

/That Thing You Do./ Free, with ads. Good enough to watch twice. This was Tom Hanks’ favorite movie he ever made, he said once. Everything went smoothly, everyone on the cast and crew liked each other a lot and had a great time doing it, and it turned out perfect, just the sweetest little movie ever.

Stay classy, righteous-strike guys.

She seems nice.

Not a good idea to fall into there, I’d think. Stand a little farther away. The rails should tell you something.

Product contains peanuts.

Haley Reinhart’s latest.

And the rest of these are just a few of the offerings from the astounding Everlasting Blort of just the last week. Bookmark their page. Go there every day:

Two girls, one trailer.

Back to work. (click sound on)

Cultural appropriation. Just kidding. They’re only kimonos. I used to have a kimono when I was little; I thought everybody did. Though in our family it was pronounced kuh-MOH-na and they were made of printed towel-cloth. Good thing there are no pictures of me in that or I could never even be elected dog catcher nowadays, because of the scandal of my racist gender-tone-deaf religio-cultural offense against decency. I’d try to campaign anyway, and try to explain, “It’s a bathrobe, and I was three years old,” but that would only make it worse. Also I remember once pulling the sides of my face back to pretend to be Werner Oland (say VEHR-nuh OH-lunt) as Charlie Chan. He was the best and most Germanic of all the Charlie Chans, just as David Tennant, an exotic Scot, was the best Galifreyan Doctor in /Doctor Who/. I saw all the Charlie Chan movies on the Mexican UHF station that stayed on after the other three teevee stations in L.A. shut off for the night. I’d get out of bed and warm up the Zenith and learn how to fight imaginary crime. Then nearly sixty years later someone stole the catalytic converter right out from under my car and clever Chinese quips don’t really help you in real life. Sure, it’s cute when Charlie Chan’s son runs after him through the hotel lobby, shouting, “Pop! …Pop! …Pop!” and Charlie says, “Pop-pop-pop. Honorable number one son sound rike motaboat! Well? Speak up. What is so important?” but in the real world the /police/ don’t even pretend to do anything about crime. You call them and, “Yeah, we’ve been getting a lot of that lately.” They don’t even come around and look at the hole where your car parts used to be. They have more important things to do. I don’t mean to sound dismissive; I’m sure they have. They must, right? There are sirens going off all the time here; surely they’re not just playing with the switch.

Rolling Stone tribute bands. Scroll down forever. There are a lot of these guys. It’s a whole industry. I notice a lot of resting-bitchy-face.

MRI scan of moving your eyes. This is what all faces look like from the inside, where it counts. Resting bitchy face is only skin deep.


And botanical menorae.


/Quiet/ desperation, please.

     “From Hell’s nose I snirkle at thee.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-09-10) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

This show begins with the hour-and-twenty-minute Snap Sessions tribute to musician/graphic artist John Chamberlain and ends with a Futility Closet podcast featuring the San Francisco earthquake of 1906. And, in between, the usual goods, at least an hour of those goods via the Anderson Valley Advertiser, America’s Last Newspaper.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

What we forget. (via Zeke)

Looking backward to it.

The veins down in Africa. See the great, gray-green, greasy Limpopo River at low right, flowing eastward through Mozambique toward the Indian Ocean. Yup, that’s the one. “What’s your opinion on Kipling?” “I’ll tell you, I don’t know, I’ve never kippled.”

A wok on the water. Jungle of Nool, heat of the day, cool of the pool.

There goes Robert E. Lee. I don’t mind chopping wood.,t_content-image-full-desktop@2/v1631284817/RTXGV70H.jpg

Don’t even think about your phone when you’re driving. Don’t touch it. Don’t look down at it even if it goes all /LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME/. In fact, put it in the glovebox or the trunk and take it out when you get where you’re going.

Further delightful things to do with New Yorker cartoons.

If social media hosted a party.

Pinball game music composer in the 1980s.

An intricate zoetropic dream of money. Not zoetrophic– zoetropic (say zo-uh-TROP-ik), from zoetrope (say ZO-uh-trohp).




See what’s become of me. Fear and loathing in French phenomenology.

De facto truant officer overmatched by three little boys. So far out of his league.

Rerun: Even more out of his league.

Last season’s hit shoe.

A jazzkeys message. Afterward, scroll down and click on Create Your Own.

Derelict movie theaters. (via NagOnTheLake)

Large women who weirdly don’t seem to be ashamed of themselves at all, I mean, what’s going on here? and who also were great friends with the late Leonard Nimoy. I love the idea of this side of him that was hidden until now. I hope they open more pages in the book of his long and always already interesting life. But first, these women; they’re so billowy and foldy and squishy and edible. I wonder where they are now?

Sandy Winkler rarely spanks. News at 11. (via PerfectForRoquefortCheese)

Models for the White-House-infiltrating gum-chewing floozy in /Mars Attacks/. She was an alien. The gum provided breathing gas for her to live in our atmosphere without a tank.

The other world.

Mercury, land of mystery and color. (via Clifford Pickover)

Orion: Zorro Elvis.

This is the gun that Vincent used to shoot out the heart that painted Starry Night. It’s seen better days.

It’s nice to watch this man restore a rusty WW2 pocketknife to new condition. But it was 99-percent intact and functional. There was a window in time there when they really built things. I have a vacuum cleaner from that era that still sucks up a storm.

If dentists were honest.

People standing funny. (via NagOnTheLake)

People modifying their space. This reminds me of one of the school dormitory blocks I lived in in the late 1970s, where it became a fad to bolt two-by-fours horizontally to your corner of the tiny two-person room for a platform, put one vertical two-by-four to post up the unsupported corner of it, and move your desk and chair underneath. If both occupants did this, it added almost a third to the floorspace of the room. End of semester, time to move out, reverse the process, save the bolts, leave the wood out by the dumpsters. Nobody ever got in trouble for it, and as far as I know no bed every tumbled out of the sky… I really like the idea of a promised place to live. Give people good jobs building them, and a non-ridiculous guaranteed annual income, and solve so much, alleviate so much insecurity and angst and real suffering in the world. /Then/ let’s see how many people want to try to sleep huddled on the sidewalk in the rain, or in a drain culvert, or get hosed out of a doorway, or kicked or burned to death or pissed on in an alley or the park, because I don’t think anyone does.  And it would be so easy. The Soviets did it when they were poor as dirt.

Beef. It’s right here. Look– look where I’m pointing.

Demons snapping their fingers in illustrations from 1283 A.D.

And I repeat.

A friend.

“The comma pump, which has bedeviled musicians for hundreds of years now.”

Church music from other churches than your church.

What we all imagined we could do with that Electo-Harmonix Memory Man we spent a week’s pay on in 1982. Another for the series of almosts in life, most of which turned out to be good enough.

“Let go of my thumb drive.” “No! It’s being used!” “Who’s using it?” “You are!” “I’m not. Let go.” “No!” …”Okay, let’s be grownups here. What would happen if I just pull it out?” “Nothing. Or maybe you’d lose all your data.” “Okay. Shut down.” “No! Somebody is using your computer!” “Shut down?” “Okay.”

Ah-hah! Found it! Actually, I said, “Juanita, hey, remember the cookies one, where it goes /skoot-skoot-skoot/,” and she had it before I turned back to the computer.

Lazy man’s load? No, paratrooper’s load.

I see. Enough squares and society becomes a kind of swirly swastika. (via Clifford Pickover)


She seems nice. (via b3ta)

Charlie the Unicorn: The Grand Finale (Part 3). (via b3ta)

Dog. A husky melody.

Faceted dog. Barnaby Dixon’s latest puppet project, in progress.

Book dioramas. (Scroll down for more.)

Another essential skill lost to the ages.

It’s a cute li’l tilt-shift world. There’s so much that we share.

Posted July 3, 2019.

The suicide of Porcia.

Same woman, different angle. She was a cutter, but she had her reasons.

Dough. “A snail gives reference to the size of the blob.”

“So is abortion.”

A quick compilation of the chess-streaming enjoyably understated smirky triumphs of Eric Rosen.

Herons eat rats now. I’ll bet you never thought things would come to this, but it was foretold. Next: dogs and cats lie down together, rivers of menstrual fluid run backward, signs and portents in the sky, a cure for the shuffles…

Rerun: A space story.

From our point of view. (via Clifford Pickover)

From the ISS’ point of view. (I experimented with stepping the quality way up and turning the speed down to .25 and it plays smoothly; that also stretches it out to 100 minutes. This sort of thing would be great for a screen recessed in a porthole frame on a basement or bathroom or bomb shelter wall. The forward wall. And big, like the teevee in the main room of Star-Trek-style spaceships.)

When technology progresses to the point where we can have real replacement eyes, there’ll be templates available to experience the world in other ways. For example, your ordinary town, if you choose, might look like this one to you. All the bumps in the pavement and obstacles and so on (and people, human or otherwise) would be replaced in your view with something appropriate to this environment, so you would never trip or walk into a pole. Click through the images. Think how neat it would be to live here, and have your radio station in one of the little shops, and a Coke machine with drinks in heavy little corset-waisted bottles (maybe there’d have to be 3D printers everywhere for extras like that).

Zooming in on a 3D-printed fractal tower rising and peeling and falling forever. (via Clifford Pickover)


Time Trumpet.

A very old cartoon that might always be relevant anymore.

Robert Mac at DryBar. I wondered if he played Gary in /Legends of Tomorrow/, but no, not the same guy. (40 min.)

Ladybug, how she works. Or he; there are guy ladybugs –you can tell by the proboscis; a boy ladybug’s proboscis curls to the north. (Say pruh-BOSS-iz.)

And ground zeroes of Earth. An outrage, every one. A cowardly attack from space on our Homeplanet. That’s why we have to throw ten trillion dollars and twenty years and a million lives at Pluto to bust up the terrorists’ ability to ever do it again. Who’s with me?

The tardigrade conspiracy.

     “I’ve got my tinfoil hat on, my mind cannot be soiled, I’ve got my tinfoil hat on, and their evil plans are foiled.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-09-03) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

This particular show is only six-and-a-half hours long. Your mother and I are doing the best we can, kids, I was exhausted from the events of the last couple of weeks; you can hear it in my voice, especially at the end. The show? Good, though.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Ed Asner died last week. Here are some clips of a cartoon character he voiced: Granny Goodness in /Superman: the Animated Series/ (late 1990s). (via b3ta)

I don’t know why they call it sad. If they were having any more wholesome genuine fun their atoms would explode. (via Everlasting Blort)

Trautonium. A fusion of old and (relatively) new analog music tech.

Art hand.

The tragedy of harpmaker’s cornea.

A pleasant travelogue show about a strange place.

This isn’t only about vision; it applies to all aspects of consciousness, knowledge, religion-and-politics. In all these things, there is generally a right answer about the number of dots and where they are, and even about how the illusion works, which science can find and show, and foes of science can bitterly screech against, fixating on their own or their own family’s or tribe’s or church’s or association’s dot and/or explanation. (via Clifford Pickover)

I can’t seem to find something I saw last week that struck me as valuable; it was a simple demo of how unscrupulous people can use the same table of numbers to get wildly different-looking graphs of data points and make, to dolts, whatever case that pleases them. So, instead, rerun: Here’s a seven-year-old article, with video, about misleading graphs.

Nietzche (say NEETS-sheh). (Or say it however you want to; he died of syphilis long ago; he couldn’t care less.) (Which reminds me: One Xmas or birthday or Faire or theater after-party I had to go to because it was Juanita’s friends, maybe five or ten years ago, I was talking with a sharp-dressed twenty-something boy about something I’d read in, and I said, “BoingBoing dot net.” He said, peeved, “BoingBoing.” I said, “Yes, BoingBoing dot net, and–” He said again, even more peeved, insisting, “/Boing boing/,” and this went on for a surprising while, for nonrobots. I thought that he might be high and stuck in a loop, and perhaps he thought the same thing about me, except that he was clearly angry and I was amused, hoping he was kidding about being angry, which is the standard situation, in my experience. Anyway, later, on the way home in the car, Juanita explained to me that you’re not supposed to say the dot net or dot com part anymore, especially to somebody who maybe works for that thing, whatever it is; it’s insulting or something, perhaps belittling. But how could that be? There are plenty of places, my own email server included, that if you don’t put the right suffix on you wake up in the wrong place. And I make it a point to add the dot net or dot com or dot US or dot ca or dot info or dot gov part, even when it doesn’t matter because it’s hugely obvious to every browser, like with the TheOnion or NagOnTheLake or Fark or Blort.Meepzorp. I do it out of whimsy, like when someone complained early in David Letterman’s career that he said /pants/ on teevee. He found out that there are millions of English-speaking people who find the word pants disgusting (this is true; it’s as much of a swear word to them as bloody, or cunt). To address this, David Letterman named his production company Worldwide Pants… In similar news, scientists –well, social scientists; it’s kind of like science– did a study and found that statistically the most disliked word in English is /moist/. Many people who hear or see or are reminded of that word cringe in revulsion. There’s a scene in the pilot episode of /Dead Like Me/ where the disembodied spirit of dead Georgia Lass is hovering around her own memorial gathering, and she sees a chance to communicate when her mother, Joy, goes into the kitchen carrying a trash bag she’s just filled. We know from a conversation at the dinner table that Joy hates the word /moist/. Joy, a neat-freak, notices, in front of the fridge, that her garbage bag has leaked a trail all the way from the other room. Georgia can do so little in her noncorporeal state, but she can move refrigerator magnet letters slightly among the other letters to complete spelling /moist/ directly in Joy’s field of view just as Joy bends to clean up the garbage juice of her daughter’s funeral.

Hurricane Ida footage from Louisiana and New York. Stay for the subway flash-flooding. Moist.

How to get stains out.

Clever condom commercial.

Complete the sale.

Fascinating historical photographic art. Japanese salt prints. (via NagOnTheLake)


1950s road trip cars. My favorite photos in this collection are, 1. The Smiling Irishman’s used car lot, 2. The redhaired woman in a green dress leaning on a silverish-brown Chevrolet, with her little dog (or possibly coat or pile of laundry) on the hood, and 3. The pink cupcake woman under a tree, at the end. (via Everlasting Blort)

Maybe NSFW, though she sincerely apologizes for, as she puts it, flashing her hoo-ha. (You might have to click the sound on.)

Whales still have rudimentary hands from when their long-ago ancestors were land animals. You just can’t see them normally because they’re inside a fin. Elephant ears are not rudimentary flippers from when their ancestors were sea animals; they’re blood-cooling fins.

A tiny honking bluesmaster. (via Everlasting Blort)

The smile that conveys /trust me again/ before they stab you in the back again and again and again, until you learn.

“I passed the test. I will diminish and go into the West.”

Backward cool.

From the Comtesse DeSpair’s AsylumEclectica. Nonsmoker’s lungs:

Smoker’s lungs:

Form follows function. (via Fark)

Rerun: Hidden-camera clips of kids meeting a “gorgeous teacher” and waiting till he (or she) leaves the room to react.


Because this is half of what the internet is anymore, where it used to be more like that New Yorker cartoon of a woman in the other room saying, “Are you coming to bed, dear?” and the little man at the computer in the dining room says, “I just can’t now. Someone on the internet is wrong!”

And soon it’ll be more like The Neural Yorker twitter page, and all the bitchers and whiners and meanies out on the street, out of imaginary work, replaced by computers that have learned to bitch and whine (and cartoon and do standup comedy and drive a truck and cook and placate angry complainers and walk the dog and change diapers) with steadily improving efficiency, not us organics who long ago plateaued in all those areas. The best drivers and cooks and bullies and haiku writers are no better than we had fifty or a hundred years ago. Also: “A modern smartphone running a top chess engine like Stockfish can easily beat Kasparov at chess, or any human player, for that matter.” –Håkon Hapnes Strand (via Clifford Pickover)

Maybe human-produced cartoons will always have an edge, after all, though.

“Your kiss of affection the germ of infection.”

Rerun: Good, though.

Mathematicians with over a thousand followers on Twitter (each; I hope it means each). There’s hope yet for us. Humans, I mean, not necessarily mathematicians. Who would you rather have running the world, rocket scientists or the BitChute, Building 7 and tide pod challenge crowd? Rocket scientists, right? (via Clifford Pickover)

“…And the tardigrade conspiracy is that tardigrades exist. When they clearly don’t. There’s no such thing as a tardigrade. It’s a total lie. A total Democrat lie. Sure, they can show you a tardigrade, just like they can show you a talking sponge, or show you people eating pizza in the “International Space Station”. That doesn’t make it real. Show me where it says tardigrade in the Bible. Go on. Because you can’t. And if this school board, if you people continue to push the Tardigrade Lie on the children of this community, on /my little daughter and my little son/, we are coming for you! And I know I’m s’posed to say I’m kidding, but I”m /not/!” [Ma’m, your three minutes have expired.] “That’s all I got ta say. I’m done. /You are all demons from Hell and you have been warned!/” [Edgy cheering erupts in the meeting hall. The air reeks of steamed pink righteous fear sweat even with the cross-breeze of the transom being open to the hallway. The banging gavel sounds like a woodpecker.]

Ghost town left by Hollow Earth cult. (via DamnInteresting)

Toto Brothers of 1919.


The capybara is the Prius of the animal world. (via NagOnTheLake)

Imagine the terrible threat that they’re practicing to confuse by spinning around till they’re dizzy taking turns shooting at it… Don’t make it all about the hat, Roy. It is just a hat, and you know I didn’t do that on purpose. And maybe it’s a good thing that happened. It’s a notice of room for improvement. We just need to rehearse more, and shoot and dance and spin around even faster. Now let’s go again, and try to keep your stupid head down this time, you’re making a fool of us.

She seems nice.

Circle of life.

Finalists in comedy wildlife photo contest.

Bo Burnham reaction video. (via b3ta)

Ready to start crying? (You might have to click the sound on.)

The scene in Doctor Who two or three Doctors ago, where the Doctor brings Vincent Van Gogh to an art exhibit in our 21st century, just as a nice thing to do for him because, to preserve history, he has to take him back and leave him in his own real time to go mad and kill himself, the way he did in the original timeline.


Bo Burnham reaction video. (via b3ta)

In the early 1970s at Homewood (at Lake Tahoe) they had lifts where you rode four abreast with nothing to hold onto for two of the four. There was no backward tilt to the seat and no bar to bring down over the front. I had a shiny windbreaker jacket and also slippery ski pants on, and was clenched stiff in fear the whole way up, every time… Ah, I just looked at some pictures of the place. Apparently they still have those. And I see pictures of other (unnamed) places where you sit /six/ abreast. Yet the statistics show that riding a chairlift is as safe as riding in a car. How can that be? I wonder how many people fell off that thing. These really old ones that seat only one or two, at least there was a vertical tube you could twine your arms around if you wanted to, though hardly anyone does in the pictures:

…And this article about the fire about to engulf Lake Tahoe shows those four-abreast lifts /with/ a safety bar, but the whole mountain is on fire. Scroll down to that.

And the picture at the top in this Guardian article is remarkably close to my mind’s-eye image of a Bethe blaster, a future artillery energy weapon in stories by several unrelated science-fiction authors in the 1940s and ’50s. From Wikipedia: “The powerful space weapon called the Bethé blaster operates by causing a fast atomic fusion explosion in all low-atomic-weight elements in its target, thus completely vaporizing it. It was named after physicist Hans Bethe.” (via DamnInteresting)

Duke Ellington and his Orchestra performing live at Carnegie Hall in 1943. The whole two-hour show.

Hazel Brooks in her heyday.

Thrilling math visualization. Read the brief captions that appear at the beginning of the video. (via Clifford Pickover)

A good friend to watch teevee with pays attention. You can talk about the show afterward, the structure, the shape of it, have a real shared experience.

That’s timing.

Brian and Charles. Awww. Then, Oh, no. Then Awww again. Then, finally, Uh-oh.


And good riddance to bad rubbish.

Traish LaRue and the raccoon that quoted Žižek (say shla-voy-ZHEE-zhek).

     “Most things people say are just to try to feel better about themselves, like, for example: Stuff THAT in your speedos, Jacuzzi Bob!”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-08-27) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

And thanks to Bob Young (no Jacuzzi Bob, he) who, when KNYO unexpectedly conked out and went off the air on Wednesday, alerted David Gealey to confirm the transmitter needed some toasted parts replaced that nobody in the area has, and then sent it overnight-rate (in this case more than $200, just for shipping!) to the people taking up the slack for the company whose /entire staff is dead of COVID-19/. Fixed in a jiffy to factory specs and shipped back, it was reinstalled just in time for Friday airpeople, including me, to do our shows. Speaking of which, go to, click on the big red heart and help the station out. Unlike the bloated high-power stuck-up NPR stations, KNYO doesn’t get any annual six-figure tax-derived shot in the arm from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting to be in thrall to NPR and associated controlling-interest-posh-money donors, but depends on you. Also, unlike with every other station I know of, commercial or noncommercial, every penny of money donated to KNYO goes directly to something the station needs, like equipment, and electricity, and rent, and water to flush the toilet, and music publisher’s fees (and the occasional transmitter repair), and zero of your money gets skimmed off and diverted into the pockets of the gold-tooth glad-handers lording it over the radio station from their leather chair. At KNYO everyone including management is a volunteer, in it for radio. Click on the heart. The heart. Yes. Just like that. Yesss.

There’s a lot of locally written material in this show. There usually is, but even more so this time. All the regulars and a few surprises, including Charles Cornelius Tyler‘s latest song… And I was reminded that I only seem to mention the Anderson Valley Advertiser when I read something from it on the radio, and never bring it up here or on the MCN listserv or on, even though the AVA is often the source of a full hour of a show’s material, and I’m sorry about having given the impression of taking them for granted for so long, so here: The Anderson Valley Advertiser, a hoot and a holler and only a dollar, the last real newspaper in America. It’s just $25 a year (that’s 50 cents a week) for full access to everything on the website, late-breaking as well as archived material going back decades (and more of that all the time as the scanning and web work progresses). And they’re still printing on real newsprint today, if that’s what blows your skirts up, and it should. Here are full details about subscribing, whichever way you want to do that:

Here’s another fun thing you can do, and this one’s free: Scroll all the way to the bottom of this page, enter your email address and click on Follow. After that you’ll get a notice by email when I update once a week with something a lot like this but *new and improved*, because it’ll be in your email, the high-tech convenient social communication medium of the Space Age.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Lachy Doley had a giant whammy bar welded to his Hohner D6 Clavinet, the Cadillac of clavinets. Now all the kids will want one.

And here’s a look inside L.D.’s /whammy clav/.

Chinese great proletarian cultural revolution ballet. (via Everlasting Blort)

All the way to the end, please. The /we did it!/-ness of it. The thrill of victory.

What part of our lives is not at all like this?

The original tree-huggers.

Type the alphabet. (via NagOnTheLake)

Architectural models in film. (via NagOnTheLake)

I like the idea of this little girl getting her own guitar and becoming amazing with it.

The Surfrajettes. Perfect marriage of sight and sound. Just look at those speaker cabinets. I saw a middle-1960s Karmann-Ghia that color once– it was like melting pistachio ice cream (of the era; they used to dye pistachios bright red, but dye pistachio ice cream a color close to those speakers and that Fender Jaguar guitar). (Two rather more modern cars that look good that color: a 2002 Thunderbird and a Fiat 500 of any year) (Notice, when you look up aqua 2002 Thunderbird, they tend to show them from the side and side-front mostly, because the angle is not so good from the back. And after-2000 Thunderbirds are deceptive in another way: they look great from the side and side-front, but /only until you get close and see how tubby they are/. From across the street they’re attractive, but standing right next to it you can practically smell the mid-life-crisis alcohol sweat of the lunatic right-wing Pillow Guy type who colors his hair, eyebrows and pencil-thin mustache orangish-blonde and squints rather than put on the glasses… Ah, jeez, sorry, back to the Surfrajettes: my Aunt Wanda had a chair like that; the wedge-shaped arms of that chair flap open like a piano bench on the top to hold packs of cigarets (cartons lived in the refrigerator), a weighted-tape-dispenser-size lighter, TV Guide, candy, whatever, as well as they mirror the contour of the guitarist’s sturdy thighs, like the little tree in the very back matches the posture of the girl on the left, and the flat teevee matches the stones of the fireplace and the facets of the right-hand girl’s hard plastic dress. I repeat, The Surfrajettes:

The blue car at the very bottom. Another good color for a car, this one fine-looking from every angle and the right size, too.

Cute tilt-shift effect to add to video games. Let it auto-play through several of the example videos. Everything looks better, not just cuter, in tilt-shift… Oh, wait a minute… Yes, there’s my million-dollar idea for the day: Regular prescription glasses to wear all the time, that make the whole real world around you a tabletop-tiny/Viewmaster world. Tilt-shift glasses… Oh my god– no, better: you’d start a company where people upload stereo-pair images, and you’d ship them a real ViewMaster device and stereoptical picture disks. Well, when you do that and the money starts pouring in like the cookie money in /Small Time Crooks/, be sure to cut KNYO a generous check. Or go to, click on the big red heart and give till it hurts.

(And I had another million-dollar idea just now: Merciful Briefs ™. They’re regular briefs for boys but without the stupid rubber bands around your thighs they’re as loose and comfortable as boxer shorts but smaller, so they’re even cooler in hot weather.)

[Edit: It turns out that a company already offers the service of making ViewMaster disks from your photos (they call them reels) and selling you a ViewMaster clone toy to view them with. But they only accept 7 images per disk, when a disk has 14 pictures for 7 stereo pairs, so I don’t think this is even 3D… I think they’re just putting the same image in both the left and right eye, completely missing the point of the toy and the experience. I intend to write them a stern letter. But Merciful Briefs ™ are still on the table.]

Cie La Mue/tte sample video.

Blackadder says MacBeth. A metaphor for the puppet theater of religion and politics in general. (via BoingBoing)



God-Man will save her. (Recalls the /I sent you a truck, a boat and a fucking /helicopter/ joke.)

Speaking of which, kind of, though no joke, there’s Facebook Live video shot out the window by Linda Almond, 55, of Waverly, Tennessee a very short while before that flood out there knocked the house down and drowned both her and her husband. Their daughter and son survived. The moment-by-moment of it is fascinating: in the video Linda says, “I wish I had one of those,” and then she says, “I need a light.” They’re smoking cigarets, which, nothing wrong with that, but it’s the kind of clever/ordinary detail hook you appreciate in /fiction/ about people in trouble, even before you learn that’s how people really are.

This hyperventilating antivax/antimask lunatic again, but improved all over by being musically metallicated.

How ya doin’.

(That coupled with the fuzzy-red-balloon-about-to-pop anti-mask guy –see above– reminds me of Verge Belanger’s late-night radio show, for about ten years of which there was a person who called himself Rev Ron who’d phone Verge up at like 2am almost every week and just yammer for half an hour about space aliens, football team/govt. conspiracies to kidnap and mind-control him, Walt Disney’s frozen head, chemtrails, everything– a sentence of this leading into a sentence of that without finishing any thought because it was all one super-attention-span thought, like the first five minutes of the film /Conspiracy Theory/. Rev Ron had a recurring compulsive-tic word; it was the phrase /in any way shape or form/ compressed down from seven into only two or three syllables that came out in a fast blurt (like enw’sh’pfm)… Australian transplant (via Britain originally and then California) singer Charles Cornelius Tyler used to tell about a word of his father’s: /tenerit/. Charles grew up thinking it was a normal word to announce you were about to speak, that you were finished speaking, or to express resignation or wistful despair or enthusiasm for whatever had happened, was happening, or would come next– a word whose meaning depended on the timing, context and occasion, like a swear word but allowed. Charles was eighteen before he realized that tenerit was /at any rate/, and yes, it still meant all those things, and there’s nothing wrong with that, in any-way-shape-or-form, how ya doin’, like.)

Father and son art collaboration. The adventure continues.

All about Get Smart. (48 min.)

It’s Leon Theremin’s (orig. Termen’s) birthday today. Here’s the trailer for the definitive documentary about his life, which included stowing away in a freighter from Russia to take New York and the musical art world by storm in the 1920s with his electronic musical invention, the theremin; being kidnapped back to Russia by Soviet spies and put to work inventing secret listening devices for Stalin, and then being found by Western reporters at the end of his long life, in the 1990s, working as a gardener in a music school for girls and brought back to America to be reunited with Clara Rockmore, his lovely 1920s protege and, incidentally, to repair a college professor’s broken antique theremin to good working order with a single sharp glance and a Swiss Army knife.

The feather dance.

Planet of trilobites. Earth was in fact the planet of trilobites, some of them twelve feet long, for a hundred million years. They’re still around, kind of, as pill-bugs, like mighty dinosaurs are still around as chickens.

Headlock. (via NagOnTheLake)

Rubic’s cloud.

ROUS of Rio.

Relative sizes, rotations and tilts. (via Clifford Pickover)

This here’s the ballad of a gentle laxative. Ya gotcher so-lo version, and yer one where the whole band is on the bus. What is irregularity? That’s a good question; I asked it myself when I was your age. Well, son, it’s when you don’t use the toilet at exactly the same time and /only/ at that time every day. I know, it’s weird, but millions of people in the world had it drilled into them that God wants you to decide in advance what time you go to the bathroom. My own stepfather used to wake up with an alarm clock every day at the same time, drink a glass of hot water and take a shit. Your grandmother told me about that and I didn’t believe her… Sure, it’s a free country, you can if you want to. Let me know how it turns out. I guess it might be useful someday, if you’re ever in prison or the army or you’re a bank-robbery hostage or something.

Pile drivers.

Don’t take my coconuts. (via Everlasting Blort)

Glen Gould would highly apparently approve. He was always doing things like this.

And he’d also approve of this rerun.

Don’t sell fake vaccination documents.

Cactus fasciation (say fay-shee-A-shun).

One-man band.

Eight-man band.

Clockwork 3-D running-catbus zoetrope (say ZO-uh-trohp).

I still do all these things, but not exactly these things. My stoplight game is to snap my fingers just before the light changes to make it look to the other cars like I magically changed the light. And I develop a fresh rhythm each time of stepping on the crack, then not, then set a fraction of the distance-to-crack to step, then maybe a crack again, and vary it like a roulette wheel of time signatures. If it starts matching a song I sing the song.

Sisters with transistors.

I’ll bet soldier girls can do it. I’ll bet moms who can pick a car up to get it off their baby can do it.

Moms in fighting trim (who could probably to the shovel trick).

How we get visual stories.



Where one second takes an hour. I hadn’t seen this yet or I would have put it in the /Girl, The Gold Watch, And Everything/-theme post a few weeks ago.

America is a dog playing poker, saying, /War is a last resort,/ and waggin’ his tail.” –Roy Zimmerman


Not the sharpest tools in the shed, are they.

Vancouver in the ’70s. (via NagOnTheLake)

Kunta, queynte, kunton, cunt. This might be the word you want. (via b3ta)

Rerun: Pleasant, smart-hot Susie Dent explains swears, in the process of which she gets to swear like a sailor. I’ve just always appreciated when women swear. And children– when children swear in a joke it makes it much funnier, especially of course if the punchline relies on it, but it doesn’t have to.

And rerun: Universal Basic Income. UBI removes any pretended need for overlapping agencies and their bureaucratic clutter and waste and fraud and cheating, truly raising millions of people up out of poverty and despair, and it’s actually cheaper, and better for the whole country, much like the way Medicare For All tosses out the horrific injustices, needless expense and byzantine bullshit of the corrupt, for-profit medical insurance industry and replaces all that with /you can get medical help from a real doctor when you’re hurt or sick./

Oh, Afghanistan (you can leave your hat on).

     “And I asked the Lord: Lord, why is there only one set of footprints in the sand here? And the Lord answered, That is when your friend died of an easily preventable disease.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-08-20) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Hydraulic press interpretive dance.

Tattoo pain chart.

Awww. (You might have to click the sound on.) (via Clifford Pickover)

Do you suppose it was something in the doughnuts?

This is clearly a sport. Driving a car in a car race is not a sport. Playing a video game is not a sport. Cup stacking is a sport.

Self-aiming bow and arrow that can track and hit a moving target. Skip ahead a bit if you don’t care how it’s done but just want to see the triumphant results. This is a robot sport.

Inventions of science fiction alphabetized.

“OH! I want you to look at /all/ of /those wiggles!/” “I could do this all day. In fact, this is a wonderful way to relax– or get too excited and never be able to go to sleep!” (via b3ta)

Institute of illegal images.

Olympic synchronized swimming upside down with appropriate music. (via b3ta)

Badass diver.

Aliens, though? Probably not. (via b3ta)

Blood pressure, fella.

And when a demon from Hell comes in your mouth, and you take the problem to a professional to get that seen, here is what you can expect. Apparently it burns like fire for the exorcist to shpritz your jeans with magic water. When he demands your name, you drool and faint. And when he bops you on the head he’s not really hitting you all that hard; he makes the cartoon sound of the hit by yelling BOOM! or BAM! into his microphone. You go to the bathroom, the white stuff comes out, and you’re cured. That wasn’t so bad, was it? /Next./

Distortion and other effects.

Parkour effect.

The SpiderElephant. (via BoingBoing)

Action and reaction. (via Clifford Pickover)

Police Squad. “Cigaret?” “Yes, I know.” (via b3ta)

This is also how the stock market works.

And this is how arguing on the internet works.

Long story short.

Who will think of the poor rich landlords who own 24 apartment blocks? So sad for them, all alone in their private jets with their stocking feet up on the elephant-foot hassock, smiling about the way things used to be, are, and will be again, washing their hands in the air and saying, “Splendid, but… not splendid /enough/.” My gosh, the nightmare of socialism. Next the spoilsports will meddle in droit du seigneur.

A cartoon from June of 2011.

The philosopher’s good life.

This is like somebody had a faint idea about who Seth Rogan was and the Seth Meyers people asked him to write something for them and he heard /Seth/ and submitted this. (via b3ta)

“Gone are the bad days of noisy roads, to be replaced with harmonious ones.”

Johnathan Pie on UK and US foreign policy, how and who and why they suck.

Renato Carosone – Tu Vuò Fa’ L’Americano (via Davis Gee)

Jimi Hendrix on Swedish teevee in 1967.

Josephine Baker’s famous entirely imaginary French house.

Rerun: Asian Shirley Temple in /Solid Potato Salad./

Russian floaters floating.





Art. (Posted last year in November.)

Rerun: The highest speed happens around 3:20+. This reminds me again to recommend the 2013 film /The Secret Life of Walter Mitty/.

Twenty years of expensive pointless murder, torture and misery in a minute.

Hundreds of pages of attractive rockets and missiles, some showing partially exploded view and/or cutaway view. (via BoingBoing)

The treatment.

Four takes. But what I want to know is, what is it /about/ her buns that makes them the best. Also I’m afraid he’ll hurt his neck doing this. He’s not a young man.

A.I. picking out this and that.

Press play.

Manahmanah birds.

Betty Boop in /Ha! Ha! Ha!/

The gas scene from a high school production of Little Shop of Horrors.

“Everything is so vivid that it’s a kind of nothing. That’s why you just laugh.” Oooh-kay. It reminds me of the project of a man I knew who was peaceful and mild and slow to the point of seeming mentally retarded (that’s what enlightenment looks like) –I remember he wouldn’t look directly at you but smile aimed slightly off to the side, like at your ear. One day in Headlands Coffeehouse, in the early oh-ohs, he gave me a battery powered electric fan with a speed control on it, that he’d taped long black cardboard blades on. “Here’s what to do,” he said. “Look at the sun with your eyes closed, hold this up in the way, so it’s a shadow on your eyelids, and speed it up and slow it down, kind of /tune/ it, until…” I said, “Until what.” He smiled even wider and said, “/You’ll/ see.”

Like /The Birds/ but, instead, grocery trolleys. (You might have to click the sound on.)

The screams.

Limbo (say LEEM-boh).

Where ya goin’, Fred? Over there. Ah.


Fissile raspberry isotopes. Not Rb, that abbreviation is used for rubidium.


Spoilers. (via b3ta)

Flipping the script.

A little bit louder version of the same sort of point. What it’s like. (via Fark)

“Can’t understand a word you are saying.” (Fark again)


Rerun: Kurt Vonnegut on shapes of stories.

Man cooks his own chips. And you can too.

Man makes his own /Howl’s Moving Castle/ and then gently sings the names of all the people who helped out with some money or this or that little part. (52 min.) (via b3ta)

Tommy can’t sleep.

The official pain scale. Learn it, and so be a far more helpful patient.

Fembot. (via BitsAndPieces)

And clips of London during WW2 cleaned up and detailed. Fascinating. (17 min.) (via b3ta)

Bonnet carré du mort!

     “Cacambo, who had seen much, did not lose his head; he took the Jesuit robe which the Baron wore, put it on Candide, gave him the dead man’s square cap, and made him mount his horse. It all happened in the blink of an eye: Let’s gallop, my master; everyone will take you for a Jesuit who is going to give orders; and we will have crossed the borders before they can run after us. He was already flying, uttering these words, and shouting in Spanish: Make way for the Reverend Father!”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-08-13) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Oh, this is good. Exactly right.

It reminds me of this equally good advice:


“Look, an authentic local in their natural habitat.”



I wanta do that.

Night watch. This calls to mind the article about how cave paintings were sometimes laid out like animation, with overlapping moments, so several horselike creatures running were really only one, a study of motion, the original Nude Descending a Staircase.

What a great ad!

How do they do it?

I was just thinking about all the guitar effects boxes I used to blow all my tip money on in the early 1980s. Most of them were stolen, alas. One, an envelope follower filter that I used all the time, I gutted and put the guts directly in the electronics case of my guitar. I wore out two crappy off-brand wah pedals. I still have my ElectroHarmonix Micro Synthesizer (it’s an analog distortion box and octave multiplier and divider and some filters). Anyway, here’s something cool, for being very niche, a box that converts your bass guitar into a groovy sitar. (I saw this in Clifford Pickover’s Twitter page.)

Abundance. (also via Clifford Pickover)


Trevor Moore is dead. He died of an unnamed accident last week. He was a talented teevee writer, performer, musician. Here’s one of his sketches. It’s like a Kids in the Hall routine:

And here’s his /What About Mouthwash/. Jim Bob Bambalini says, “Pour out a bottle of Listerine, for the ones who can no longer do the same. RIP, gone way too soon.”

Covid prayers. (via Fark)

How the immune system works.

Art. (via Clifford Pickover)

The oldest family 3D photos of Stonehenge. (Cross your eyes to make three images and focus on the one in the middle.)

Rubber alien.

How to stop the child crying. My favorite: “Where’s your tongue?”


Fishdraw. I saw this in BoingBoing. It generates a new old-fashioned-drawing type of fish including its generated scientific name. Refresh, refresh, refresh.


The model for the H.M.S. Camden Lock. “Protecting Britain’s interests and preserving justice in a changing galaxy.”

Little mobile gas chambers employed in the British pet massacre of World War 2.

“Please pull ya head outcha ass. And go get a shot.”

Davie504 on Japanese bassists. This just gets more and more interesting. A lot of ads, but it’s totally worth it.


The London Picture Archive. (via NagOnTheLake)

“Somebody told me you people are crazy, but I’m not so sure about that. You seem to be all right to me.”

Reddy Kilowatt down through the ages. (via Everlasting Blort)

Fake films shown within shows. Hundreds of them.

New York. (via Everlasting Blort)

Piper Laurie in her heyday.

“So this is just basic’ly Cirque de Soleil in the pool. LOOK at this shit. These muthafuckas are moon walkin’ in the water!”

A fun test.

Trouser fashions.

She’s right. (via Everlasting Blort)

Further good advice. (via Everlasting Blort)

A theory about Seth Rogen and a question. (via Everlasting Blort)

Goofy rubber hats. Here’s a thought: I wonder if anyone was ever found drowned wearing one of these. And the intrepid newspaper photographer first on the scene had a moral qualm.

There’s a place in a movie called /Kelly’s Heroes/ that I saw in the early 1970s, where Donald Sutherland, playing a sort of stoner hippie World War 2 character, sees something (or somebody, I don’t recall what or who) that he likes and says, insinuatingly, “Covet-covet-covet!” I still say it every once in awhile, fifty years later.

One Comfortably Numb.

Another Comfortably Numb.

The Mayonnaise Maidens. I prefer Miss Salad Dressing. She seem nicer. It might be just an artifact of the copies-of-copies the top image went through to be here, but Miss Mayonnaise looks like she’s got a robot Terminator eye, which is cool, but just– I’m sorry, but her face is too wide and sharp-edged to suit me; she looks like a nutcracker. Miss Salad Dressing looks like she knows she did a bad thing and maybe hurt your feelings, but she wasn’t malicious; she’s not going to do it again, but she won’t take any shit about it and why should she apologize? I like that attitude; we’re a lot alike, I think. But the lower-down pictures, better quality, give an entirely different impression. Still, Miss Salad Dressing is my choice.

Cannot be unheard. You have been warned.

Synchronized strolling.

How was your day, hon? Anything interesting happen at work?

And Danny Elfman and Trent Reznor rub together and sparks shoot out.

If. Hiroshima flaneur.

     “It was all very well going on about pure logic and how the universe was ruled by reason and the harmony of numbers, but the plain fact of the matter was that the world was manifestly traversing space on the back of a giant turtle and the gods had a habit of going round to atheists’ houses and smashing their windows.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-08-06) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

I read Kim Stanley Robinson’s story /The Lucky Strike/ starting after a music break at about 5 hours and 10 minutes into the show. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve read that story, I always break down crying at several points, and not just crying but nearly sobbing. It’s one of my favorite stories ever. Maybe you’d like to read that for yourself. Here’s a place:

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

The Great Flydini.


Logic gates.

“I think it’s time to appoint a kindergarten teacher to lead communications at the CDC.” -Dr. Lucky Tran

“How are we supposed to trust /anything/ if the rules for a constantly evolving pandemic with dangerous new mutations are not set in stone from the /beginning/?”


Landscapes big and small.

“Wet hands don’t melt steel beams.”

Don’t stop. You stopped. Tch.

“Naw, ya see Ah had a ideer you’d be plumb daycent once you got ’round toowit.” The real pilot for the Andy Griffith show was this episode of /Bringing Up Father/.

Cute li’l tilt-shift German mountains.

Ad for cheese.

A new cat-theme game.

The midnight zone.



“It’s the dance of our people and these are our garbs. She just did a ceremony. Tell him about the ceremony.”

The 9 Kubler-Ross stages of alien invasion.

The official tangled cable appreciation page. (via Cliff Pickover)

Light swizzles. (via BoingBoing)

If you could choose your superpower or super-attribute.

How big are black holes?

The day Fabio took one on the nose for the team. A whole goose. On his nose.

“This is what happens when you climb a ladder in the Alps, Larry!”

Aaaand this is what happens when you knock out a Duckworth in an Applebee’s.

What’s Molyneaux’s problem, anyway? (via NagOnTheLake)

Malkovich. (via Nag on the Lake)

So what am I, chopped liver? Hey! Over here!

Time out of mind, this, but I just saw a reference to it, so went and found it again. It’s pretty cool.

If you see a beach.


The 1966 of prostitutes in Paris. (say peh-RdEE)

Four harmonicas Take Five.

/Everlong/. What’s weird to me is, this man is nothing like Lynda Barry’s cartoon character Romantic Rahoolio the Latin Lovar. He’d never be mistaken for him. And yet that’s who I think of… I think that it’s okay to enjoy the look and mental sound of Rahoolio in private, as a cartoon, but if you were to call someone in real life /Rahoolio the Latin Lovar/ I’d understand how they might be offended by that. (Again, I can’t figure out how to get a photo to stick up here in the body of the post. It just always goes to the end, so that’s where you’ll find it.) (From 1992 or ’93 through ’96 I relied on a child’s printing press program, Instant Artist for DOS –$19.95– to make headlines, titles, display ads, cover art and cartoons such as /That Wacky One-Arm Girl/ and /The Cute Little Dog/ and /Black Leather Teddy/ for my newspaper /Memo/. Right out of the physical cardboard box, and without your having to read any instructions, every part of the operation of Instant Artist was entirely intuitive and did exactly what it was obvious you wanted it to do. Now it’s 2021 and we’ve had nearly thirty years of mind-blowing progress in hardware and software. What the hell happened?)

The truth is up there. (via b3ta)

20-min. airplane flight in to the mountains of Borneo, narrated by competent by-the-book pilot. As he says of the weather, the trip, the landing and the field, “Very nice.”


The Corvair Ernie Kovacs died in. (via AsylumEclectica)

Don’t look. The gruesome view from the other side of Ernie Kovacs’ Corvair.

And the path to the pole he wrapped the Corvair around because he was drunk and he was trying to light a cigar and drive at the same time. There’s a lesson here.

Rerun: Wrong way down a one-way street.

My step-brother Craig had one of these toys. The football was a little cut-out wad of felt. I don’t remember if it was in the rules, but with Craig, you could kick a field goal by flicking the football with your finger. They’re right about the noise it made. It went /NAAAANGGGGNNNGGGAAAANGGGGGGGNGNGNNG/. If you played it on the rug it wasn’t quite so bad, but a table would amplify it.



Cat’s all like /Die! Why won’t you die!/ (punch-punch-punch-punch-punch)

Eh, it’s a living.

Falling down. (via Cliff Pickover)

“That’ll learn ya ta eat yer Raisin Bran!”

“HO-lee CRAP! Right through! Lookit how it deformed the frame!”

Bloob. Pash. Plishhh. Etc.

And scenes of the 1890s around the world. In the film it looks so much nicer than the way things are now, but it really wasn’t. Unless you were rich life was short and hard, shorter and harder than we have it. (It was half as long and ten times as hard.) Clothes were expensive, hot in the summer and cold in the winter and chafed and itched like crazy. Condoms were made of split and stitched farm animal bladders, best used fresh because they tended to dry out and flake, also you could be jailed for even having one, which might be preferable to using it. Child mortality was very high, only partly because of boys and girls as young as eight having to work in brutal conditions in claustrophobic mines and unsafe factories; mostly it was disease. The only way to fix a tooth problem was to yank it out with pliers. But then, as now, if you were white and rich you could eat steak, kiss, fuck, sail around looking at nice views and having baths drawn and grapes peeled for you and lounge in bed till the crack of noon. But in those days if someone murdered your rich ass and stole something fungible, they could go a short stagecoach or train ride in any direction and call themselves some other name and entirely get away with it. That’s harder now, though you’d still be dead, I suppose. They could open a barbershop and slit their customers’ throats and drop them through a trap door into the basement where their wife would make them into meat pies and sell them in the market, and if they didn’t get greedy about it they could make a nice living for awhile and retire at 38 and enjoy themselves until they died of syphilis or gout or consumption or dropsy. That happened all the time. You could go into a bar, have /one drink/ and wake up with a headache on your way to Shanghai, kidnapped into slavery, or wake up blind or prone to convulsions because the liquor had wood alcohol or lead or absinthol in it. But you could knock on Nikola Tesla’s door, or Mark Twain’s door, and they’d open the door and you’d be standing there talking with Nikola Tesla, or Mark Twain. You could switch any German toddler for toddler Adolf Hitler. You could avoid stepping on that butterfly and preserve the original-timeline future spelling of entire dictionaries of words. Even so, we have it better now, thanks to science, liberals, labor unions, and the separation of church and state.


Hard to look away, isn’t it? And hard to stop saying it out loud: “Romantic Rahoolio, the Latin Lovar.”

Self-harmers in VBS.

     “If you read the bible in reverse, it’s about the world’s population killing each other until there’s only two people left, and then the woman pukes an apple and they both get naked.” -Macaulay Culkin, D.D.

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-07-30) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Lucky Strike, the cigarette with vim and pizzazz! Be a trim athletic hero, smoke Lucky Strike cigarettes!

Perry Bible Fellowship webcomic. I’d forgotten all about it. Strange and wonderful.

So it’s decided: Thor is a Jedi. The Aesir have it.

Living Olympic pictograms.

Such a beach.

Drowning doesn’t look like drowning.

Walking on the moon.

How we get balloons.

Rerun: Top-down view of juggling.

Jim Heid’s drone flyaround of Time and the Maiden wooden sculpture on top of Savings Bank in Mendocino.

“Let her be. It’s just a phase. Last week she was Tinkerbell.”

A modern interpretation of Blake’s London.

The Q continuum.


The nose nose. Also: Gawker is up again.

A history of toilets. (Apropos: In the Roger Zelazny book /Lord of Light/, on a planet colonized by Hindoos, the people are kept in a state of backward technology by the original crew of the spaceship, who control access to reincarnation into cloned bodies and have kept genetic technology only for themselves to become the Hindoo panoply of gods and goddesses over all. Whenever someone invents anything that might lead to the repressed world rising up, that person and his invention are, ahem, removed. This enforcement happens to the future science-fiction Hindoo re-inventor of the flush toilet.) (I prefer to spell it Hindoo over Hindu, to spell and say Hareem (say huh-REEM) over Harem, and to pronounce gala /guh-LAH/ rather than /GAY-luh/, /re-NAY-s’nss/ over /REN-uh-zonss/, and /ka-REEB-ee-un/ over /KEHR-uh-BEE-un/.) Sorry. Toilets. Focus:

AAACK! Three Daughters for Cathy, Daughter Two:

The bin chicken. (via b3ta)

The church of God the Giant Chicken. (via Everlasting Blort)

“I have now officially heard a song in the key of Q-Flat Minor.” This reminds me of an incident in the novella /The Ugly Sea/ by R.A. Lafferty, where an out-of-place young Jew in a salty waterfront bar incurs the wrath of the whole barful of rough seamen by speaking harshly to the crippled pretty twelve-year-old daughter of the barkeep as she persists in playing the piano badly. He says, “Stop, miss, I beg you. Stop playing. It is acutely painful.” They toss him out on his ear.

Rerun: Avner, the napkin sketch. (Bob Ross sent this link.)

Rerun: Parking help. Stay to the end.

The video CNN will play at the /real/ end of the world so you’ll know they’re not kidding.

Land of the buffalo.

Art. Fauxliage.

Memorable movie shots.

Classic paintings animated.

How to do it all. How to do every damn thing there is to do.

Art. And marriage, really. Their marriage is so sad. But look at what they did together, that he got all the credit for, not that it seems to have cheered him any.

Art. (via Everlasting Blort)

An amazing illusion. Stay for the end. (via Everlasting Blort)

Manson! (via Everlasting Blort)

Chirigota. A flock of hideous Barts at ‘Pasodoble y Cuples’ at Carnaval de Cádiz 1992. (via Everlasting Blort)

The all-new 1955 Huffy Super Radiobike.

A two-hour movie mainly about a legendary recording studio mixing board. (Craig Stehr sent this link.)

The future.

The live commentary on the video: “I’m still waiting for my pizza.” “You’re not getting it.” “I paid for it and I want it.” On one hand, it’s right there, just go pick it up. On the other hand, we’re already too close.

And, regarding the MCN Announce listserv discussion of renaming Fort Bragg (CA) after someone besides Braxton Bragg, here’s a song about a fictional character somewhat modeled on him: /Jubilation T. Cornpone/. “He weren’t nobody’s dunce.” JTC and Braxton Bragg both seem to have been a sort of hapless Southern cracker version of Harry Flashman, though without Harry’s great luck, nor his luminous wife who he unjustly thought of as his “dear brainless Elspeth.” (Until the flight by night from psychopathic Queen Ranavalona of Madagascar, when he discovers, decades into his forced marriage to Elspeth, how talented she is, and what a rock she can be in adversity, and how unfair he has been, though it doesn’t interfere with his continued compulsive sexual infidelity in further stories. He knows throughout his life what a pathetic piece of work he is. That seems to be the running gag of the series: everyone who finds out what a moral and physical coward Harry Flashman really is, is soon removed from the picture almost comically by death or worse, and Flashman can go on receiving awards and medals and praise –and a statue of him on a horse– and escaping consequences. Though I think Elspeth might have known all along, too.)

This decision tree is something close to what I was thinking but way more thought-through and coherent. I’m sure you’ve seen it already. It’s everywhere, and should be.

Speaking of accomplishment. Oscar Peterson Live at Ronnie Scott’s Club, 1974 (BBC). This half-hour clip presents what’s widely considered to be the greatest piano solo ever (according to Rick Beato).

Who is she? She’s got great gams, I’ll give her that. And the rubber gloves and space frock are a hot touch. (Red is black in black and white.)

Here she is charming up a sausage snake to win the crown of Miss Universe 1955.


Awww. Still a doll at 85. Good for her.

All-of-history timeline app demo video. Which is cool, but I’ve tried to use the actual project on my computer and phone and neither seems to work, whether the adblocker is on or off. Maybe it’s something I’m doing wrong… Oh, I see, you have to manually open every category and check each checkbox to turn it all on. Still cool. Maybe there’s a control to globally do that. If you find that, let me know.

Just asking.

Looking for trouble. (via b3ta)

Rerun but in higher resolution that was available before: Weird German ballet. It’s like the inspiration for the Romeo and Juliet that Darren Nichols (Don McKellar) wanted to do in /Slings and Arrows/.

Something about the camera angle and the apparent size of his floating head, relative to the rest of him, is strange. Does it seem odd to you? Also the rubberiness of the kinescope process– it reminds me of a cross between /Thunderbirds/ Super-Marionation and the hand-and-stick puppet Topo Gigio, though I’m not sure why. Another thing: I looked this up because I read that the two main legitimate complaints, among Vietnam era helicopter pilots, about the accuracy of the film /Apocalypse Now/ were 1. Special-effects bottle rockets don’t look or fly like real rockets, and 2. Nobody played /Flight of the Valkyries/ from the tannoys. They played Johnny Rivers singing /Memphis Tennesee/.

Topo Gigio. “All the way back from It-ly.”

…Also, a nice coincidence– at the moment of my writing about Vietnam helicopters and rockets, see above, Juanita just out of the blue sent me from her break-time at work a picture she took of a drawing her coworker’s child made and left taped to a shelf or table, of helicopters and bazooka rockets and /pew, pew, pew/. My favorite part is the giraffe in a beret and cat-eye glasses bending over to glare at the three men rushing to jump off a cliff… Let me see if I can show you that here… No… Almost, but… No, that doesn’t work either… Dang. Okay, apparently today WordPress is only letting me add images to the end of a post, not here in the middle. Fine, then. Scroll down. And scroll back up again. See, in the old days you’d just take the paper loose and stick it on wherever you want it. There was wax on the back. That was the life. Until you ran out of printer’s wax at 3am. Candle wax doesn’t work; I found /that/ out.

Super Speed Guy.

Wires. (via NagOnTheLake)


Loretta Young could pull her tongue out to seven inches long. True fact.

Must be jelly ’cause jam don’t shake like that. Nor paralyze you and reel you in to digest you with powerful chemicals and leave nothing but your scaly husk.

In contrast, bubble whales. Oh, they are so cute.

If you’re old enough, you can smell these rooms, just from looking at them. They all smell like stale cigarette smoke. Everyone smoked in those days, and it soaked into everything, especially couch cloth and rugs and curtains. (via NagOnTheLake)

And it has Bill Murray in it again, though you only see his hand.

Unwritten rules.

Correlation of vaccination rates with politics.

They remind me of the Darling Mermaid Darlings in /Pushing Daisies/ but without the eye-patch.

A short horror film for dogs.

A paean to dogs. A paean! A paean!

Meet a talking cut. Not cat, cut. A talking cut.

The audacity of it. The lack of fear of consequences.

Is it my imagination, or were cigarettes fatter in those days, more substantial. Or were these people just very small people and the secret was very well kept.×1066.jpg.pagespeed.ic.GJQKjJhclM.webp

He is dead.

Why do this? That’s what I think now. When I was 15 I knew why. Now it’s just ridiculous, a huge waste of time and money and materials. Get off the lawn, ya lousy punks! And quit hitting the house with your goddamn ball! Like Kay’s mother, in the Piedmont restaurant, which is no more (Kay’s mother is also no more), dismissing space exploration as a sad waste of metal that would be better made into washing machines and car fenders and window awnings, things people actually need. “I know what you like it for,” she sneered, “The /adventure/.” I’ve told you this story before: She said she once was riding on the bus past a launch facility and, out the window, she saw a huge used-and-now-useless rocketship fuel tank just sitting there. “The /waste/ of it!” she said, “And for what? Adventure.” All the expression of contempt in the way she said it. /Adventure./

India will, India will rock you CRASH, rock you, CRASH. I love it how the person with the camera runs inside to watch from behind the window (!), where it’s safe because you’re inside now.

KNYO is next door to a bar. So, yeah. But add a dog tied to the sidewalk trashcan, barking like a barking metronome, and a biker idling his mufflerless Harley like a string of M-80s going off. And drunken laughter. And clouds of cigaret smoke pouring in through the mail slot. (That’s the pre-covid /normal/ everyone says they want the world to get back to.)




Venice. (via twitter/Pickover) (This sort of photography always reminds me that it won’t be too long before we have actual replacement eyes that we can set to see everything like this all the time, even in the dark, or to show us long-forgotten people’s names superimposed on their forehead when we bump into them in the grocery store, or to watch a movie, or read instructions for removing your own appendix with camping equipment, or to project laser dots on the floor to play with a cat or blind an attacker.)

The Big Apple in the good old days.

This puts me in mind of the ubiquitous (which means everywhere at once) Patton Oswalt insisting on refugee S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the backup weapons base being issued their security lanyard as quickly as possible. “You need to have a lanyard.” That’s not what this red-haired woman says. I can hear her say lanyard a few times, but that’s about the only word I can make out; she’s so languid with her mouth muscles. She doesn’t seem to care if you have your lanyard or not. She doesn’t care about anything. I’ll bet she’s tired of people telling her to smile. (via b3ta)

HIPPA violation.

Ah, yeah, that’s it, baby. Take it off. And put it back on again. That’s the way I like it. Oh, yeah, good, that’s not right. Phew! Wow. Do it again, I got the money. This is the best detachable finger magic David Pescovitz has ever seen.

Rerun: Six Finger.

At no point.

Further Olympic commentary, well-captioned. (Click sound on.) (via b3ta)

And trois petits chats. Then deux. Then un.


The girl, the gold watch, and everything.

     “Get a couple of drinks in her, she’d be a pistol.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-07-23) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Pissed-off mother bird.

Angry sprinkler tantrum. (via (You might have to click the sound on.)

Very nice new instrument, though pricey.

Man and woman thereminists (thereminos?) do battle, and the therawoman mops the fricking floor with the theraman. To his credit he gracefully concedes defeat. (via )

Sounds of real space.

Also via –Cat traverses interworld portal, and math myths.

Ganymede and Jupiter. Including lightning storms. Animation made from real digital fly-by images.

If not now, Venn?

What is electron spin? I didn’t know, and now I kind of do.

Commonly mispronounced equations. My favorites are the two in the low-right corner: DOOT cah-DOOX and za-BO-ba fak-TOH-tah. Star Wars characters. Or Farscape characters.

The man who took these pictures, Danish (say da-NEESH) Siddiqui, was killed last week taking pictures in yet another dangerous situation. (Right-arrow through the gallery.) (via NagOnTheLake)

The creepy perfect safety and harmony of a frictionless world of inanimate things. (via Clifford Pickover’s Reality Carnival)

Ashes, ashes.

Fall of Saigon. (via the Anderson Valley Advertiser)

Restoring an ancient metal toy truck from being rusted nearly to flakes and powder.

Pets behind various glasses. (via NagOnTheLake)

Shattering wine glasses with sound, shown in extremely slow motion.

The student becomes the master.

Video feedback. We use to do stuff like this at the old Mendocino Community School. We had a video mixer and several monitors and cameras.

See, now, this sort of thing is what squealing /OH MY GOD/ should be reserved for.

Eastern Europe. (via Everlasting Blort)

Cleveland, city of light, city of magic.

History of Soviet animation.

Solid objects.

How we get telephone books. (via b3ta)

How we get whatever these things are.

And these things.

Some other things… Pencils, mattresses, recaps, sunglasses…

And a nuclear-powered knockoff Gameboy.

Beautiful and sad. A watercolor Fukushima story.

“Lorry full of aerosol cans on fire.” It’s not the box truck, but something beyond that. It really gets going about two minutes in, when the cans begin to pop like popcorn, or like the video of a small army of peace officers emptying their guns into that black guy who fell asleep in his car in a McDonald’s parking lot in Vallejo a couple of years ago but maybe not quite as frantic as that, and without all the cops’ crazy shouting afterward to the man to put his hands up, or, what, they’d somehow put all the blood back in and pat his plumbing and wiring and brains back together and murder him again? …Okay, apparently I’m not getting jaded of carrying around the memory of that sound… And I’ve just gone to try to find that video again, made by someone across the parking lot; it’s gone, replaced by crappy-sound security cam video that doesn’t have the impact, doesn’t reveal or horrify to that extent. I played the original on the radio at the time, so I’ve got that. ANYWAY, lorry, spray cans exploding: (via b3ta)

1957 London from the 660 trolleybus. (via Everlasting Blort)

Loose lips sink ships. Keep your mouth shut! (via b3ta)

Underwater atomic bomb test, 1958.

I loved the books, and all the earlier film and video versions of the story; this looks pretty good too. I’m not gonna say I can’t wait, because obviously I can wait, but.

Wax. (via MissCellania)

An extremely cool-looking very fast little airplane. I wonder if they got the idea for the shape from /Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow/ or if it was the other way around.

This guy’s done a lot of videos but I like this one the best. It’s about the Barkhausen effect. (via b3ta)

Plinky melody.

Mister Blue Sky used in the films.


Trailer for new Blade Runner animated series. /Black Lotus/. I like anything where the girl fights like River in /Serenity/. Up until this, I haven’t seen it done so well in animation. Very fluid.

Pink Floydish cover of Billie Eilish.

Latest vintage paperback covers. (via b3ta)

Miss Department of Illinois, 1950. Bendy.

Watch a hot shamanic Catholic (crosses herself) grandma shoot an apple off her own head with a chain reaction of crossbows. I hate that cruel and stupid show, but every once in awhile I see a clip of it that’s neat, like this, for instance.

France teevee Olympic animation. (via b3ta)

Robot pilots now consistently beat humans in agility flying races, as well as at other video games and full-size fighter plane dogfight trial simulations. I’m not surprised.

“You don’t rewrite what I write and then leave my name on it! Got it? You don’t rewrite what I write!”

Alternative ipsums.

Literal /tornadoes/ of Russian mosquitoes are /not/ sucking whole herds of cattle dry of blood, because they are males, not females. Female mosquitoes do not form into tornadoes. So at least there’s that.

I don’t remember where I first saw this real-life closeup high-rez UFO fly-by video, therefore it is proof of alien life:

…But it’s too bad that it doesn’t sound like these ones:


“Ever is over all.” Musical performance art. Odd. Like the opening scene of /Cool Hand Luke/. (via BoingBoing)

And three seconds.





     “So you insulted them. There goes the mining agreement. There’s an old saying among my people: Never use a Star Trek solution for a Babylon 5 problem. And if you want something from the natives of a particular locale, cutting down their sacred tree or meddling with their lizard-god’s asteroid-deflecting monument or having sex with their larvae or eating their larvae and chewing with your mouth open is probably not a good idea. Luckily there are other planets with naquadah in the crust that we can starburst to before the Cylons or the Xindi or the Khachaturians run us down. I’ll be in my bunk.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-07-16) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

[I got a late start today so I’m shortcutting the process and posting this without frills. Check back again later tonight for those frills. In awhile, after I get finished with some stuff I don’t feel like talking about, there will be a frill or two here, and a number of corrections, and an explanation to last night’s listeners as to why whole chunks of the on-air show were replaced by random automation music, harrumph. (The recording is made in the studio and so contains the entire uninterrupted show.)]

[Edit: Ya know what? Who cares. This is fine. I’ll call Bob tomorrow to talk about robustifying the system, and get that fixed (sigh). Everything was working so well for so long without a hitch. Maybe the machinery just feels the need to be touched. Maybe it’s the current solar storm activity gaziggling the chips. Maybe it’s whimsical sabotage. It ain’t the end of the world… Molly, I got the book, thanks. Mervin, I’m sorry, I thought the guy on the phone was you; I don’t know who it was. And to whom it may concern, I left the thumb drive with the Caspar event video files on the amplifier or the rack; look around, it’s there. See yez next week.]

ANYWAY, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Alexandr Misko strolls beside the placid Volga, mellifluously plucking out Africa.

Ze Frank – Wild pigs.


Cool 100-year-old gravity-powered tramway for a brick factory. Never needs gas or electricity or winding.

Lucky Dog.

21 years. This reminds me of Time Cop, where Jean-Claude Van Damme (Time Cop) goes back in time ten years to protect his earlier self from Ron Silver’s villainous time sabotage. He’s in a mall where he and his wife were; without explaining, he replaces his earlier self. His twenty-something wife startles at his walking around the corner and coming back looking thirty-something. She goes, “What happened to you?”

Kaleidoface. I can’t get it to work with my computer or my phone, but it looks like a fun thing and maybe you can.


Do-it-yourself phone repair. Step by step instruction video.

Smiling so hard it hurts a bit just in front of my ears.

Infrared art photographs. “These were created using military imaging technology, this time a thermal heat camera that can detect body heat from 30m away and is illegal under international law.” Well, /that/ guy’s in trouble. (via Neatorama)

The progress Ian Davis has made on his new hand.

Ukrainian railroad ladies. (via NagOnTheLake)

I saw that coming. Or rather going.



The alternative limb project. (via Everlasting Blort)


A good idea.

Judy’s floating head.



Extreme sheep herding.

Rocket science.

Sound toys.

Rerun: Jane Zhang sings the Diva Song from The Fifth Element. With her mouth.

Who’s a good girl?


People relaxing and swimming in an abandoned Soviet prison labor camp.

Hundreds of years of heartbreaking anti-Asian hatred.

Puzzles. (via BitsAndPieces)

Rerun: Point of view of winning downhill bike racer. For much of this they’re all going at freeway speed. On bicycles. On snow, rocks, mud, gravel, fifteen miles down a ski mountain.

Rerun: The Beatles.

150,000. (via NagOnTheLake)

This is a real living creature. (via Everlasting Blort)

/Bite! Bite! Bite!/ So cute!

Now, /there’s/ a place I’d like to have a radio station. Inside with a theater for plays as well, and movies, with a library and a cheap good cafe and a laundromat.

Carousel. We go forward, we go back.

Darlingside – Futures.


Inca trepanation.

Artificial intelligence illustrates Samuel Taylor Coleridge – Kubla Khan.

Craig Stehr sent me this link. It’s the entire un-ironic Bhagavad Gita sung in the original Swedish but captioned in English.

Rerun: The entire bible but the guy is screaming it. Nine hours long. /Leave Britney aloooone!!!!/

A kind of calligraphy. Juanita can do this.

They’re not real doors, and that’s too bad. Why can’t they be real doors? (via TYWKIWDBI)


Bouncy castle terror in Belarus. Oh, the humanity.


Leave pyrotechnics to the pros.


All these cops still have their job, including the one who shot the miserable man to death in anger. With video. They muted the gunshots on the video. You don’t hear the shots.

Who has egg on their face?

Bang. Zoom. To the moon, Alice. To the moon.

Late model Devo.

A vertical comic strip about wombats and their extraordinary physical attributes and abilities.

The birds.

And more birds from the same bird channel.

Hey, guys. (I had noticed this. Somewhere also there should be a collection of people chopping the air with their hands as they explain things, because a lot of youtube people do that, too.)

Speaking of which, this is fracking adorable. (You might have to click the sound on.) (via Everlasting Blort)