Skip to content

Xmas in July annual sotto voce extravaganza.

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-07-31) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

Obligatory disease-capades, a Scott Peterson story about the financial shenanigans of Hospitality House, a very tragic chapter of Jay Frankston’s /El Sereno/, lovely Xmas music, the tale of intrepid but misinformed Alvar Nunez Cabeza da Vaca (his real name), poetry, art, scandal, spectacle, whimsy, disaster, laughter, tears, wonder, science, fruitcake and farce: Xmas in July.

Besides all that, here are links to worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Say “Fruit bats are cute bats.” That’s how you remember which ones. Fruit bats are cute bats.

Shapes and colors.

Life after quarantine.

Life before quarantine. It’s like Robert Altman and Werner Herzog had a baby.

La bella machina. The Babbage difference engine, designed in 1847, and finally constructed. It runs like a top. A very slow, eleven ton top full of gears and including a paper printout and a metal-embossing press for long-lasting results. Never goes obsolete. Just keep it greased, and avoid ever hiring a crank-boy who likes to show off. There isn’t a warehouse full of spare parts for a thing like this if you break it; these are all the parts there are.



Finland, Finland.

The most astounding magic trick ever. “Tens of millions of Americans think the person on the left is the violent aggressor.” Note the tattoo on the soldier-creature’s arm. And the ear on its head. Where are they getting these soldiers from? The Torchwood rift? Mordor?

They came from outer space.


Quelle dommage.

A special anime-style Rick and Morty short subject.

Anime-style SpongeBob.

Chicken-beaten tube drums.

Kaiju! (via Everlasting Blort)

You know what we need to do?

Redneck coronavirus mask test.



The future, stylin’ as ever. (View gallery.)

Except this is the future we got. Not that other stylin’ one, so not /as ever/, after all.

E flat.

Puzzle fun!

Poppo cornu.

Poppo picklu.

Spherical geometry.

Waterskiing on stilts. Dental stilts.

Either those are giant borzois or that’s a very small window. (via Everlasting Blort)

It’s all like, /Mine./ Here’s the thing: I mentioned to Juanita this video of an octopus that really wants the man’s camera, and she went looking for it and discovered there are hundreds of videos of octopuses of all different sizes, from hand-size to Barcalounger-size, and they all want a camera. Octopuses want cameras. They don’t want to eat them or take them apart, they just want to hold them and have them. Why, do you suppose?

Drunk history of the brassiere. With Parker Posey who, by the way, plays Doctor Smith in Lost In Space. Ah-hah! Now you need to see that too.

Pre-flight safety video.

Nixon verbatim.

The story of Beverly Hills.

Hotel rug art.

A metal hand.

Round-trip over the Atlantic by British dirigible in 1930. A ripping yarn. A ripped elevator fin, for that matter. Collapsed butt cone, punctured frame girder, assorted storm damage.

…Time to see Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow again.

There’s an alien starship crash plume on Mars.

Loud. Too piercing, man. Too piercing.

“Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires.” -Ronald Wright

“Ow! I’ve been hit right in my feelings!”

“A wonderful rich woman who lives in the capital. With superhuman strength. Under her mask and Batwoman name she turn into an amazing wrestler.”

I have always felt uncomfortable looking at things like this. Even the Solid Potato Salad video with the happy pretty young women bending all the wrong ways. It makes me cringe. But maybe you like it, so. As long as they don’t go too far it’s not so bad. My step-brother Mark could sit on the floor and pull his ankles up behind his ears and spin around on his butt on the linoleum. That was rather impressive. He could also do endless exercise sit-ups. He could start doing sit-ups and never have to stop until he wanted to. I lost track of Mark, but wherever he is, he might be doing that right now. I also don’t know what happened to Jamie. And Craig is dead; I know what happened to him.

The Solid Potato Salad video. Miss Cellania noticed that contortionist men bend forward, women bend backward. See above. It’s not always true, but very little about people is always true. There’s room for everybody: people who dress like robots or like giant rabbits or like it’s the 1800s or the 1100s or the 3700s, people who compete to recite Shakespeare in Klingon pig-Latin, people who collect odd prototype vacuum cleaners or vacuum tubes or plastic Seattle Space Needles or porcelain Eiffel Tower salt shakers or perfectly ordinary stamps or bottlecaps or firecracker labels, people who scream ethnic slurs through Confederate flag masks pulled down to leave their noses uncovered and shoot you for messing up their Taco Bell order… ehhh, maybe not that. The others, though. People who yammer under their breath all night on the radio. People who like cheese.

“You are wet, sir.”

Come as you are.

“All the couns’lors hate the waiters, and the lake has alligators…” “I went hiking with Joe Spivey, he developed poison ivy…”

How to be correct about everything all the time.

And an eerie Outer-Limits-like solo expedition to an abandoned nuclear missile solid fuel engine test center. “This cabinet does not contain classified material.” “Oh, sure, that’s what you want me to think.” I’ll tell you what /I/ want: I want him to put the paper back in the proper file folder and not just leave it there on top like a vandal or a slob.


The itsy shvitzy spider.

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-07-24) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

I’d just begun playing the intro music and reciting my intro spiel, and a giant spider minced into view on the wall to my left. I left the music playing, got a plastic cup and a piece of cardboard, caught the spider, took it outside and propelled it over the rail into the topiary, came back to say that the theme of the show was /The itsy shvitsy spider/, which I’d chosen earlier in the afternoon. There, a sign. Though this time could have easily been The Eucalyptus Chronicles. (I didn’t know people have such strong opinions about a particular kind of tree.) The theme will never be President Ass-clown, because anything that would always be should never be. You can’t get away from him. Look this way, there he is. Look that way, there he is again. Like in Flight of the Conchords when Bret is thinking about the bongo-drummer creep who broke up the band. If you could only catch him in a cup and fling him away. The whole world can hardly wait for that. Never flush anything alive down the toilet, though. Do it right. Take it outside into its natural environment, let a cat find it.

Among the regular and irregular features, this show has, half an hour in, the second in the San Francisco Mime Troupe’s summer radio drama series /Tales of the Resistance/. This week’s installment of Jay Frankston’s serialized book El Sereno begins about two hours and ten minutes in, rather than later where you’re used to it being. And the show ends not with the Fulity Closet podcast but with a half-hour recorded reading of Jonathan Nolan’s haunting short story /Memento Mori/, which, if you only want to hear that, is here.

Besides all that, here are links to worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Wake up.

Really. Wake up from this horror… But wait a minute. How is this different from the way it was before? It’s exactly the same.

Randy Rainbow’s latest. /Gee, Anthony Fauci./

Cardboard flying saucer.

Some moons. Here’s something interesting: the escape velocity of Mars’ smaller moon, Deimos, is thirteen miles-per-hour.

Looking sharp, there, Mars. Sharp is the next higher, after dapper.

Higher and higher. USA, USA.

We clearly live inside of a glass dome.

…with President Ass-clown.


John McClane shop light.

“Shove it up your floop, mother!” Floop. I did not know that’s the Irish word for that.


She’s so happy. This is so great.

Or these kids. It’s too bad the trumpet and the sax are so far down in the mix. This is 2011; they ought to be kings of the world by now. It’s a little rough in the middle part, they get a bit lost, but that just makes you smile harder. I have this because Juanita misheard something I said from the other room as “Frankenstein with a horn section,” and she found like a dozen of them and sent links to me for review. There actually are plenty of versions of this song done by really fine bands with a horn section, a couple of them are even all-horn bands, but they’re precise, lifeless as a player piano, no wildness, nothing to stir the blood, they’re just playing the notes, where these kids are not just playing nor just performing but being music. This is a shining moment. They help play each other’s instrument to keep the sound going when they /switch instruments/. Note the transfixed groupie girls on the left, seen only from the back– there’s a story there. The honking shitty-sound-system feedback (remedied finally by the bass player reaching over and shutting off the guitarist’s guitar). You can easily imagine future alien archeologists machine-scanning through billions and billions of videos made by the sadly vanished Earth people and stopping on this one. /Oh./ The one who caught it, the one at that machine, calls its fellow researchers to come see. They float around the monitor with their great big eyes and flexible ear holes flapped wide open. They watch it over and over and over. They determine to find some cells somewhere and recreate this lost ancient race and their fascinating world.

Yeah, good choice.

The bass makes it.

“Ideally we walk away from this with ever’body havin’ the same number of holes in their body that they came with.”

They won’t be getting their deposit back. This ship cost four billion dollars to build, which of course doesn’t include how much it costs to take it out and drive it around anywhere, nor any of the cost of hundred-million-dollar flying machines flitting on and off it like flies. And it’ll cost 10 billion dollars to replace it. In other news, President Ass-clown and his allies have already spent a billion dollars just on getting him re-elected. Though the events are not directly related, and the volume knob on the military bathtub-toy continuous bankrupting of America is glued and screwed down tight, all the way up to eleven.

Meanwhile, old Taiwanese people model clothes left behind at their laundromat. (via NagOnTheLake)

Oh, dear.

This is how things should be.

White woman impedes food delivery by Black guy. More funny than tense. Really, there’s no sense of menace. She’s just nuts, and he’s just patient.

Watch a newsperson talk to Donny in 1990 the way newspeople should have been talking to him all his life since, including his whole impossible, ludicrous, disastrous presidency today. And why haven’t they been? And why don’t they?

Cool! A tear-gas tornado!

Great Gig in the Sky for theremin.

Classical pianist arranges accompaniment to neighbor’s cat demanding demands.

The singing valise.

The singing singers.

The golfing tapdancer.

Walking materials. Won’t you come walking, materials, with me.


One leg.

Assault donut. Or doughnut, the way we used to spell it in the old days when they were five, six or eight cents depending on how fancy they were. I just suddenly remembered riding bikes with my stepbrother Craig to a donut place when we lived in Fresno in the middle-late 1960s and, yes, there were cops in there. Craig explained to me that there are always cops in a donut place because they give them free donuts for protection, and I thought Craig was the cleverest person in the world for making up on the spot something so funny and stupid, you know, leaving it up in the air about who was protecting who, or what. Much later, when people really started about how it’s okay for police to be rough with people and shoot them and shoot their dog and so on because police are in /so much danger all the time,/ I found out that they’re really not. Roofers, fishermen, carpenters, forest workers, delivery drivers, late night convenience store (and doughnut shop) clerks, and that’s just part of the list, are all in way more danger to life and limb than policemen, and you hardly ever hear of any of them punching a twelve-year-old girl’s teeth out with her own phone, do you, or blinding a man with a T-club, or, in a group, shooting or strangling someone to death and /then/ looking around furtively and shouting /stop resisting! stop resisting!/ This skateboard kid here is the one in danger, for lese-majesty, for disrespecting them. I have no idea how to fix this.

This is how it starts.

“We’re all a part of daddy’s big mob family.”

MIT is concerned about deepfakes. Watch this film through to the end and take the quiz.

It’s important to note that this isn’t putting lost detail back, it’s /inventing likely detail/. (via NagOnTheLake)

Speaking of which, moon landings get a remaster.

The Last.

Art. (via NagOnTheLake)



Art. (via Everlasting Blort)

“We have a hit! and let’s see what it’s done! Just look at this! It’s just gone down like matchsticks, as if these great timbers were nothing! The walls are now breached and the opposing army will be on its way!” The wonderful show going on inside this man’s head! The big show is always inside.

And there are so many different styles of people’s inside shows. Here’s another kind. (via NagOnTheLake)

Bird sound visualizations. (via NagOnTheLake)



A parallel-world fireman calendar.

Far side of the moon. It’s so flat looking, this way.



And fonts. Illuminati bold. Dipshit condensed.


Gojira, don’t you weep, don’t you moan.

     “Well, one of these nights ’round twev [twelve] o’clock, this old town’s gonna really rock. Didn’t Pharaoh’s army get drownded [sic]? Gojira [Godzilla], don’t you weep.” -Trad.

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-07-17) KNYO and KMEC* Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

*Sorry, but not KMEC tonight, again. Just only on KNYO, the 87-watt Little Lion in Fort Bragg. Available info: KMEC’s website’s been down for three weeks, their web stream is off, their phone line is dead, and the only people who’ve replied to my scattershot texts, phone calls and emails are people who have no idea what’s going on or have an idea and are clamming up about it because they know what side their bread is buttered on. If you know the story, or know somebody who does, let me know so I can blab it and get everyone on the same page through the magic of communication. What I know so far: zip. Except for: the Mendocino Environmental Center’s current with rent to County Supervisor McCowen, but approximately $500 in arrears on payment to Pacific Internet. KMEC fits in a closet in the back of the MEC and costs about as much as a cup of coffee at Schat’s per day to operate, but /somebody in the hierarchy of the Environmental Center has to make sure that piffling amount gets paid./ Who is that person? Speak up; don’t be shy. I just wanta help. I’m not going to hurt you. I will not touch you in any wrong way or at all. If you stutter I will not make fun of you. Once upon a time I myself had a speech impediment. I had a lisp so thick it sounded like tearing sections out of a phone book. I know what it feels like. Even if it’s hard –especially if it’s hard– spill the dang beans.

But that’s not what last night’s show’s about. It’s pretty fancy, as usual. Frightening amounts of both useful and frivolous information. Musical thrills; I mean literal thrills. Half an hour into this there’s Lorrie LePaule’s Mendocino Theater Company radio adaptation of the play /Trifles/ by Susan Glaspell, an early feminist drama from 1909 about small town murder, oblivious official men and a sewing kit with a dead bird in it. There’s this week’s installment of Jay Frankston’s historical, romantic and numinous novel El Sereno about sixty tumultuous years of 20th-century Spain from the point of view of the man with all the keys. John Sakowicz’ poem /Vespers/. David Herstle Jones’ meditation on a lusciously predatory bar prostitute. Jerry Philbrick’s latest festival of gun-totin’ elderly racist right-wing belligerent ignorance. There’s disease, pestilence, innovation in sport, vehicles, taxonomy, creeping fascism, an unusual take on cancel culture, a commemoration of the 75th anniversary of the first of hundreds of times the U.S. deliberately punched itself in the nose (in the desert, actually) with a sloppy atom bomb, and the advent of a new weekly feature of MOTA that will be variously titled: Looks at Fox, Focus on Fox, What the Fox, Fox in Sox, etc. I’m trying to keep the kvetching about President Ass-clown to a minimum, but when it starts taking more effort to avoid looking there than to look there, I look there for a minute or two again, and so what. Also there’s a long bit exploring Charlie Engel’s trials and tribulations regarding Sherwood Oaks that really is very fair, I think, to all sides in the tragedy that we’re all heading for if we live long enough. And that’s just some of it. I’m knocking myself out for you, here, every time, everything on the table, as disgraced genius Louis C.K. and the sainted Alex Bosworth, from whom I seem to be estranged, each once said, and if you like it and can use it, great. If something pisses you off so you write to complain or to show off how you can do better, that’s even more perfect. I repeat, spill the beans.

Besides all that, here are links to worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Let’s start off with cute little tilt-shift Armenia.

A two-dimentional wunderkammer of wunderkammers.

James Randi, R.I.P. Here he is in 2013 on the subject of faith-healing quacks. (1 hour)

From zero to ten million cases, with appropriate musical accompaniment.

Looping zen monk beatboxer.

They’re so cute together. She loves him so much she wants to punch him in the belly. There’s a psychological word for that– the desire to stop the source of too much feeling, even good feeling; it’s just too much to bear, so. What’s the word? Ah, here: it’s called /cute aggression/. There was an article in Vice a few years ago about that.

This unrestored 109-year-old motorcycle is all original equipment and showroom perfect, somehow frozen in time. The gallery shows different angles and closeups, and some other grand old bikes, including a majestic Flying Merkel, which has the best name of all. I don’t know why I like these things so much, but I do. I don’t /quite/ want to punch and squeeze them, but they are awfully nice.

Rerun: Christian rap. The mythical Jesus Christ is this rap-preaching old couple’s nigga, whatever that means. A clue: He’s the son of the original G.

That word that only one of can call another. The one rearranged of two gees, an n, an i and e-r.

Rerun: History of Earth, with the clock counting down in millions of years to the present day. Things really start to change when the second kind of life appears and starts poisoning the first kind of life with all that oxygen about 2 billion years into the project, and the planet’s day has lengthened to 12 hours, and the surface has cooled from an initial 4000C (7200F) to about 15C, just before the planet becomes a snowball at -25C for 300 million years (4:20 or so into the video.) And then a brief stutter of a few more snowball episodes before that settles down. Surprising: The present day continents were unrecognizable as recent as sixty million years ago, just a blink in the cosmic eye. And all of humanity’s triumphs and disasters and achievements and religions (including thousands of origin stories, many of them involving giant animals in space– turtles and bears and a goose and so on) and wars and poetry and little jealousies and power struggles over who gets control of the holy heirloom tableware or the magic rock, or which day of the week to bang your forehead on the floor and abstain from this or that category of food… All of that –the entire human thing– flashed unnoticed in the last tiny fraction of a second of the video, and in the next fraction of a second there’s the human-caused sixth mass extinction, which we’re past the point of no return into, right now.

Mars. Click it to make it big, then click it again.

Space: 1899. (via b3ta)

“Damage has been set at half-a-million dollars.” That’s all? Money was different in those days. People didn’t sue you because they were painting their fingernails and tripped on the doorjamb. If a train crashed, a train crashed. Trains crash. Also, you could buy a whole block of houses in San Francisco for what it costs to get your Prius fender fixed today, and screwdrivers and toothbrushes and shotglasses (and car headlights) didn’t have supercomputers in them. They just screwed things in or out and cleaned graham crackers out of your teeth and briefly held flammable toxic liquid and showed the road ahead. And when you graduated from high school you knew calculus or at least trigonometry, Spanish, German and/or French, the major dates and locales of history, animal husbandry (you could spay your own cat and assist in the birth of a calf). You could paint a portrait of someone and they’d be pleased with how it came out. Everyone could plumb and wire and roof and cook and sew and type and survey and make change at a register and do any job that needed doing in a new town. They could make tenses agree in casual speech and knew where to put the apostrophe in a sign, knew how to dance gracefully, who to hold the door for, to take a slap and like it and learn from it and not get fresh with that one again. You knew the names of at least a hundred colors and a hundred nuanced emotions. You could play the piano and recite from memory at least one epic poem and possibly even a whole Shakespeare play. It was rare if a person couldn’t sing or tell a joke. Also, every spigot everywhere could be fixed in a minute with a washer that was so cheap they gave them away from a bowl next to the free rulers and paint stirring sticks and free golf pencils, and if you were white you could enter any diner, sit at the counter, spread out the newspaper (morning edition or evening edition of any of a dozen different newspapers just for your city), relight your pocket-cigar and settle in for a lunch hour that lasted an hour. And the coffee was terrible everywhere, so bad that it’s a wonder people drank it at all. So it wasn’t just money that was different.

The list. So far. Sigh.

Drums. (David Gurney sent the link to this.)

Sweetheart pistol grips. (via NagOnTheLake) (I’d put a 1950s cartoon rocket on it. Or a Mars-Attacks-style alien laughing cruelly: /Ack-ack-ack!/) (“We come in peace, we come in peace. Don’t run away! We are friends! Ack-ack-ack!”) (/Pew-pew-pew-pew-pew!/)

Covid risk chart. Though left out is attending an unprotected sex orgy in a septic tank. That would be in the point of a corner.

A cartoonlike glimpse of the real future our timeline sadly diverged from. This reminds me of the science-fiction story, /The Gernsback Continuum/. Just a brief peek into another reality. The reporter in the science-fiction story was unnerved by his experience, though, and became a recluse. He would be delighted with this and learn to play the guitar and ride a skateboard. It’s inspirational, like young Frank’s flying rocket-pack in /Tomorrowland/.

A new kind of robotic prosthetic leg for people who get their meat ones blown off in some pointless war somewhere to benefit weapons manufacturers and to control resources for giant corporations whose rulers might as well live on another planet, they’re so removed from common human experience. The leg is both quiet and powerful, and can walk all day on a single charge. If you have two of them, I think you can go to sleep and they’ll wake you when you reach the beach.

The closer you look, the busier it gets. Look intently enough and you can see Kenneth Patchen’s butterflies bigger than the Earth, not to mention leopards made of golden wire not merely circling the sun but right down there wading around in it up to their eyeballs.


“It’s not a miracle. It’s democracy.”

Old-school lungs filling with air. Yours are doing exactly this right now. And again. Again. Don’t stop.

Yahgh! Ai-eee! Wah!

Balloons in space.

What is intelligence? That’s a good question.

And what does /the/ mean. Define the word /the/. You see that the dictionary can’t even do it but instead it tells you how to use it, and even that’s confusing. /The/ is /the/ weirdest word.

Up there in the French future.

…That reminds me of the animated film /Avril et le Monde Truqué/. April and the Deceptive [Extraordinary] World.

And this. Rerun: Invention of Love.

Birds. Click to view the gallery of 10 images.

Murder mittens. Press the beans, the weapons appear.

Television characters only know one story. (via b3ta)

I think we all learned a valuable lesson today.

Beatnik wedding. (via NagOnTheLake)

Quickly, Nobu!

A clever workaround.

What people most want to know about. It’s never Jesus or quantum mechanics, nor Del Shannon’s /Runaway/.

What you’re up against. (via b3ta)

Imagine if we were shaped like this, what masks would look like. The creature is fine; that kind just naturally looks upset. It’s smiling, smiling about being snatched up into the air and given a hug by the goddess who provides.


How to make a cute teddy bear out of a little towel, a ribbon and three rubber bands. Juanita saw this, squealed /I’m doing that!/ ran for a towel and did it, and you can too. This will be valuable knowledge in the soon-to-come post apocalyptic wasteland, when you have to coax a terrified surviving child out of a hole in a tree. Any woman in your wandering band who you had your eye on, but who has been on the fence about you, will see you do this, and you’re in. This makes up for when you had to shoot that dog.

Wiggly. She doesn’t seem happy at all to me. This is uncomfortable to watch. For you too?

I love this up to but not including the child screeching at the end like fingernails on a blackboard. At the Albion Whale School in the 1980s someone had donated lots of perfect expensive hardwood graduated-by-centimeter blocks, and I used to make immensely tall, spindly towers out of them in the high-ceilinged main room, that I had to use a ladder to complete. I used the radial arm saw at my employers’ place to make a crate of blocks out of leftover pine shelving, and those were fun too. This man’s project is not tall but it’s impressive.

Awww. Oh. Tch.

The existential threat.

“Swedish health officials believed a few basic measures, including limiting gatherings to a maximum of 50 people, would control the spread of infections, along with Swedish common sense.” Yeah, about that.

Cities in space will use this technology.

The theme of Knight Rider for eight cellos.

You can speed this up to 1.5x speed and it’s just as good, but maybe that’s just what I /want/ you to think.

“The head of the Association of Independent Mortgage Experts sent a mortgage company executive expletive-filled video messages falsely alleging the man’s wife performed sexual acts on United Wholesale Mortgage President & CEO Mat Ishbia while in college.” Why, though.

The new roller.

Change return.

And, to close, opening credits. (via b3ta)

Make a little birdhouse in your soul.

     “So a couple weeks later he calls because he played it for the Queen Mother and she kinda got a kick out of it. And I said to Mel, the biggest shiksa in the world loves our record, we’re in!” -Carl Reiner

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-07-10) KNYO and KMEC* Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

*Except not KMEC this time, again. Further info on the KMEC saga is late in arriving. I’ll blab as soon as I get something concrete on the disappointing state of affairs that I struggle mightily to restrain myself from speculating paranoidly upon. As of press time, their website’s been down for two weeks, their web stream is off, their facebook page appears static and their phone line is dead.

Meanwhile, half an hour into this particular show is the San Francisco Mime Troupe‘s first installment of their new project /Tales From The Resistance/, and it’s pretty good. One line of many that stuck in my mind: “The man’s fingers tangled like a ball of indecisive sausages,” and that’s not only because I cut an entire hot Italian sausage into sauce for the spaghetti dinner, or rather breakfast, I cooked while the extra-long Futility Closet podcast, the Galapagos Affair, played to close the show. In between those, a remarkable dreamlike poem about ghostly throat-singing monks of Mount Shasta, by John Sakowicz, Scott Peterson’s questioning the questionable morals and funding of Project Sanctuary, the first two chapters of Jay Frankston’s book /El Sereno/, which I’ll be serializing until October at this rate, selected material from the invaluable Anderson Valley Advertiser, the usual array of edutaining tragi-comic events of our strange times, a fascinating explanation of a promising new theory of the origins of consciousness, and much more. A bottomless fractal landscape of rabbit holes in rabbit holes in rabbit holes. Oh, and Ennio Morricone died, so also there’s his music, for inspirational breaks.

Besides all that, here are links to worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Bright loud fireworks label art. (via Everlasting Blort)

New York fireworks from the train.

A still collage of all of L.A.’s fireworks last Friday night at once, seen from the hills.

L.A. fireworks with appropriate Blade Runner music. (via b3ta)

A seemingly endless page of Joel Remy art gifs that sensibly wait to load until you get to them. (via Everlasting Blort)

Simpson’s paradox explains why you choose the graphs and articles that you insist the idiots who don’t believe what you believe only need to see to suddenly agree with you. And you’ll misinterpret this too as showing you are right, because that’s how people are.


If you’ve always wanted to watch a bunch of big fat men strangle a little black boy to death in the facility where they put him when his mother died of cancer, while maybe a dozen other orphan children continue to eat their lunch and watch his murder along with you, now’s your chance… What did this unacceptable outcome escalate from, you ask?  It’s like this: from so much unfairness of things (dead mother, etc., see above), the boy threw a sandwich at another boy, missed, and then was insufficiently remorseful nor respectful when his keepers told him to clean that up right now, ya ungrateful little piece o’ shit, which is probably not exactly how they put it, but place yourself in the action from the boy’s point of view. Would you meekly clean it up? Or would you tell them all to go fuck themselves.

Check out my vast and trunkless legs.

Walk to the store?

Crouching in the air. (via Everlasting Blort)

(Ennio Morricone is dead at 91.) The Danish National Symphony Orchestra perform Ennio Morricone’s theme from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. Watch for when the camera goes in close on the very well-used and loved old Fender Stratocaster. Except for frets nine through twelve, which the musician avoids like the floor in the floor-is-lava* game, the fretboard is worn down from the pressure of years of fingers. Everywhere else but there. I’d like to hear the story about that.

The same piece performed by the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain.

Texans on the moon.

“Oh, my God. Jesus. Holy crap! This is not the way to come.”

“Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooohh! Oooh! Wahh!

How to see the currently-visible-to-the-naked-eye comet.

Sava? Tres jolie bien, merci. (via Everlasting Blort)


Imbruglians. (Rerun.)

Elegant, efficient Asian clothing and accouterment modeling. It’s a kind of understated robot dance.

Everyone’s a critic.

Disco 84. (via b3ta)

Baldwin Lee – photographs of Black Americans in the South. (via NagOnTheLake)

Danderine grew Miss Wallace’s hair. And we can PROVE IT. “After using Danderine, my hair grew so fast it fairly /crawled out of my head/.” I guess they made their real money when people discovered the effect couldn’t be turned off, and they were willing to pay anything to stop it. It’s like the Blue Fairy Book story of Why the Sea is Salt.

Tokyo in 1913.

Defunctland. (via NagOnTheLake)

The boss bagpipes.

Randy Rainbow’s latest: Poor Deplorable Troll.

What bowed strings actually look like in very slow motion. They really travel. They stretch so much.

What is it? And how did they get it in there? The hole smashed in the roof is smaller than the giant thing is, so it didn’t get in that way. And what is the crap he’s raking out of it? If it’s dried squid string-meat, then okay. Except it doesn’t look clean.

Further no. This makes me think of some of Diane Arbus’ work, specifically her photographs of mentally retarded people gleefully turning somersaults in the grass, not that there’s anything wrong with that, or them, where there’s for sure something wrong with these willfully ignorant yahoos and this:

Or rather the Life Magazine photo from the 1960s of a whole Ohio town, including children, enjoying destroying poor little foxes with baseball bats. I remember it clearly but I can’t find it. I found this, though. They’re still doing it, but on a much larger scale. Horrible. And it’s Maryland, not Ohio.

The National Joy Council reminds you that joy doesn’t last. You get a taste of it and you spend the whole rest of your life trying to get it back. It’s a gateway drug. It leads to harder stuff. I know what I’m doing. I can take it or leave it alone any time. Yeah? Tell us who gave it to you, kid. Do yourself a favor. Be smart.

*Speaking of lava, a volcano story with lots of encouraging images of a little volcano’s progress. From a humble rural farm upbringing it made something of itself and became a volcano outstanding in its field, but not without breaking a few eggs.

I am Beef Stroganoff.

     “The world seems a little less funny without you in it.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-07-03) KNYO and KMEC* Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

*Some distressing news, besides that Carl Reiner died: Friday morning I got via text from the on-hand engineer that Mendocino Environment Center’s (KMEC’s) internet service has been interrupted with no firm reconnect date. As this internet thingy is how my show and many others’ shows get to KMEC live, this particular show was not heard on the air in Ukiah but only in Fort Bragg. (If you’re solvent enough to pay the MEC’s back internet bill, please do; you’ll be a real hero, and not the kind of hero that gets other people killed, like in the 2005 film Serenity, but the Carl Reiner kind of hero.) (We still have Mel Brooks, until they cancel him for being a Holocaust-denying Nazi racist for writing /Springtime for Hitler/, like vandals just painted RACIST FISH on the Copenhagen statue of the Little Mermaid, commissioned in the year 1907 and unveiled in 1913.)

And some thrilling news: I’ve been in contact with the San Francisco Mime Troupe, whose new project is a series of 25-minute edutaining radio shows titled /Tales From The Resistance/, and starting next week I’ll be airing one every week, as well as other material from the magical Mime Troupe. Mimes on the radio! That’s what I’m /talking/ about.

And here are links to worthwhile educational items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Riot police, all of them armed to fight a war (!) march into a public park to break up the properly-masked-and-socially-distanced peaceful violin vigil for the very kid the police murdered. The camera woman says sadly, Oh, no… No, no… over and over, which you’ll discover you are already saying, yourself. Or maybe you’re not, because you’re worn out from saying Oh, no to our suckworthy present world. Sociologists call this /Oh, no/ fatigue.

Finger ninjas, part 4. Collect the whole set. (via NagOnTheLake)

A safety message from your local Fireworks Control Board, scourge of styrofoam hat-heads everywhere.

A whole Indonesian scooter-modifying community to learn about and wish to join or actually create your own local chapter of, right in your own town. (via NagOnTheLake)

A girl, and a fan, and a fellow. A bit shaky on the slow-motion splits, nothing at all like the dance mastery of the superhuman Nicholas Brothers, but luminous into somewhat numinous.

A lot of times you see somebody in a vehicle up in the air and you think, /That’s not flying. Call that flying? ‘Cause I don’t,/ like the old woman said to the filmy, fishy, smelly, seductive invading aliens wafting creepily up away from the cats in Carol Emshwiller‘s /Almost the End of the World/. A helicopter, for example, is just constantly frantically needily clawing at the air to keep from falling end-over-end out of the sky. But this guy is flying. No noisy motor. No seatbelt, even. He nonchalantly takes his street shoes off and puts his teevee slippers on. Dangerous? Sure, though, notice: from takeoff to landing he is in a parachute, in a box of pillows. /Leonardo da Vinci/ could see this all those hundreds of years ago and cogitate for an afternoon and make this out of stuff just lying around in Italy of those days and fly in it, or rather send a small village boy up in it first, just in case, and within a decade or two wars would have begun to be fought in the sky, and we wouldn’t have had to wait so long for progress upward. We’d have cities in outer space by now, circling the sun like Kenneth Patchen’s leopards made of golden wire. This project is the very definition of inspiring. He is a leaf on the wind. Watch how he soars.

A virtual tour, in a dozen (so far) short videos, of the Studio Ghibli museum. Hayao Miazaki was always all about flight.

A short film about stoneworker Etsuro Sotoo’s involvement in the construction of Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia in Spain. (via NagOnTheLake)

Bauhaus ballet. (30 min.) (via b3ta)

How they did it in the old days.

Speaking of which: Two-Ton Tony Galento’s training tricks.

But can you songify President Ass-Clown? Challenge accepted.

A happy trick involving bicycles.

Scottish Power To The Key Workers posters.

There’s some swearing in this. Even if that bugs you, it’s worth it. In places where they have flamingos, they know what this guy is singing about, if you call that singing. Out of their natural environment flamingos are crazy boasting bastards. And they’re not pink because they’re pink. They’re pink because of special bacteria in what they eat.

“Think about it: a mask is just a bumper sticker for your face. Conservatives, now your mouth can own the libs without even openin’ itself.” He has a little trouble keeping a straight face at the end. The truth is all just happily bubbling up out of him like a fountain.

I like it that the artist gave Hegel a little potbelly. It lends gravitas to the philosophical bushwah, as both are historically accurate. That’s those particular philosophers there, all over.

SNL health product commercials.

The future. Click on Closed Captions (CC). Click on the gear (settings). Click Auto-Translate. Choose English. This is 2020 forseen in 1947, when my mother was 18 years old and typing 130 words a minute on a manual Royal in the office of Youngstown Sheet and Tube. It had not quite yet entered her mind to run away to California. It would be ten years before she’d meet my bio-father, a young architecture student with a smart mouth. Radios all had big hot vacuum tubes in them in 1947. And they envisioned /this/:

Rerun: The apprehension engine.

This amazing performer blows the longest trill in trumpet history. He never runs out of air because he uses his cheeks for an air reservoir, like the bladder of bagpipes. He’s not faking it when he staggers and almost passes out. You can die from trying this. Horn players have dislocated jaws and even had a stroke from this. There’s a fine line between ecstatically hyperventilating and popping your brain like a balloon.

If I had unlimited money for a house full of big blank walls and at least one /very/ bright, high-rez video projector, there would be something like this on a continuous loop, for art, with the music off, of course, or better music, like Yes or ELP or AWB or Brian Eno or that Irish /Emu/ woman singing in an ocean of reverb. It would be to your left on your way to the (normal-size) bathroom, not even in a prominent place, that’s how rich I would be. It’s an hour of sharp busy video of our sun, the heating system, where each day takes one second. (via NagOnTheLake)

The above image, zoomed all the way in, to see the Sun Duck that the old Lithuanian witch down by the tracks was always telling you about.

Rerun: Literal version of Total Eclipse video. In media years, this is ancient. Media years burn faster than dog years anymore.

This one in the series is particularly useful.


Among the fishes he rests in pieces.

Oh, Jesus. Oh, for fuck sake.

Maybe they just did not-see that.

Why are you alive?

Your stabber stabs. Your slicer slices.*

Your tooter toots.

Your fractal image generator generates fractal images.

If you’re in a boat and there’s a bear swimming in circles with his head stuck in a jar, you do what you gotta do. /Benny, come around again. I almost got it./ Teamwork.

The Mahammad [sic] Ali of all sardine packers.

Oscar Mayer’s great new Sack O’ Sauce in a Can O’ Meat.


The true colors of ancient insects turn out to be teal and orange, the color scheme of a thousand modern science-fiction films, as though the filmmakers were clued in to this ancient secret by an interdimensional alien time traveler playing a prank on his power-mad brother that risks the destruction of the universe but what can you do? They don’t hate each other, exactly, they’re just rivals in a contest that has gone on since before the beginning. We are less than ants to them… Or it might be, as a writer for put it, “To be fair, it’s not necessarily laziness per se. Your average colorist has to grade about two hours of movie, frame by frame, in the space of a couple of weeks. It doesn’t take that many glances at the deadline bearing down on the calendar before you throw up your hands and say, “Fuck it. Everybody likes teal and orange!” Take the next mental step: Why does everyone like teal and orange? Perhaps because that’s the color everything used to be at the dawn of oxygen-based life? Hm? After a hundred million years of anaerobic vomity slime-brown, anything would have been a drink of cool clean water, so teal and orange it is. (via NagOnTheLake)

It’s always an appropriate time to recommend reading Roger Zelazny. I’d start with /Lord of Light/, but I just mentioned bugs preserved in amber a moment ago, so.

“Through my own extensive internet research, I’ve learned that all I need to be safe is this tea made from mulewort.”

Night parade of 100 demons.

Speaking of President Ass-clown, President Ass-clown more and more reminds me of the robot in the Oz books but minus its good qualities (bravery, loyalty to Dorothy). Here, from Wikipedia: “Tik-Tok is a round-bodied mechanical man made of copper, that runs on clockwork springs which periodically need to be wound, like a wind-up toy or mechanical clock. He has separate windings for thought, action, and speech… When his works run down, he becomes frozen or mute or continues to speak but utters gibberish… As Baum repeatedly mentions, Tik-Tok is not alive and feels no emotions. He therefore can no more love or be loved than a sewing machine.”

A dance to the nations of the world song to show which countries Britain has militarily invaded mostly in service of a handful of truly Dickensian rapacious conscience-free trading company magnates. They avoided Ecuador for some reason. Why, do you suppose? What, or who, were they afraid to rape and shoot and plunder and bring civilization to there?

Out of this world, by Jam Handy. “Heaven and Hell battle for the soul of a bread salesman.” (20 min.)

Trailer for the new Ghostbusters movie.

“It’s fascinating to see just what the algorithms do with this sort of information, and if I’m polluting their dataset with car pictures instead of faces, then, well, that’s my little way of fighting the Rise of the Machines.”

Helicopter Canada 1966. (60 min.) (via NagOnTheLake) This is okay. I’m sorry for what I said about the helicopters, before.

Should this cop have a gun? He doesn’t seem to need one, and clearly he can’t control his temper and shouldn’t be a cop until some sort of correction is applied that works better than the last time and the time before that.

Happy Coltrane sing-along. I hope a passenger is the one holding the camera, and it’s not the driver, though the driver gets Father of the Year for fathering.

*And a little more about tableware. A tableware toccata.

Tortoise is safely home, sleeping with the bees.

     “Look, whoever planned this stunt was smoking a lot of jazz cabbage, I can tell ya that much.” -Ze Frank

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-06-26) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

And here are links to worthwhile educational because sensational, sad, sick, triumphant, despairing, and/or merely gratuitously prurient items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Poor cherries. (via Everlasting Blort)


And ballet/contact-juggling a weighty broadsword. I know a guy who has a sword just like that, for historical costume drama fun. It’s not too heavy to pick up with one hand, but you can’t swing it like a sword with only one hand at the base of the grip, and two or three emphatic swings with both hands and your arms are tired and your lower back has made that /tchh/ sound that means it’s going to hurt for a week. When you see people fighting with these things in movies, and they hit each other and fall down and get up and just keep fighting for half an hour? That’s some bullshit. But the broadsword fight at the end of the Sean Connery film /Robin and Marian/ is entirely realistic. Two swings each, a single flat glancing blow on armor that staggers both combatants, swinger and swingee, and both sit down in the mud to catch their breath and discuss the wisdom of this course of action. All of that, and this waifish little superpowered tutu guy /dances/ with it and makes it look like it’s floating in the air. (Sorry this is a Facebook link. I can’t find it elsewhere.)

Hobbyist remote-pilots /500 mph/ toy jet back and forth and up and down. But how, without real-time telemetry and a VR visor? You count to three and it’s completely out of sight. It’s very exciting. FWOOOOSH!

One-minute 3D modeling tutorials. “Look at you, you’re the Pipe Lord, makin’ all these pipes. Pipes here, pipes there, pipes and more pipes. What’s even in those pipes? /You/ don’t know.”

Rerun: Circle world.

Police union boss barks about what unfair meanies people are who call cops thugs and disrespect them. Intercut with video inconvenient for his point. (Click the sound on.)

So far.

Who’s /really/ looting America? The same big unaccountable crooks who’ve been looting it all along, that’s who.

Tokyo at night with one or two people in the whole place. If Godzilla were to attack the city now it would look totally unrealistic; it would be like a man in a Godzilla costume knocking over little model buildings.

Stylish future plague-wear.

Blythe intaglios.

You know what’s weird? I see a thing like this, a trailer for a disaster movie and, after everything that’s going on in the real world, it’s /comforting/. It’s nice to imagine a world where we only have to worry about /one thing/ and that thing is not at all our own stupid fault but just something falling eternally around the sun according to the curvature of spacetime, and then suddenly there’s a planet with a bunch of tiny people on it, shooting at each other over whether to pray by bonking their heads on the ground or by mailing money to a teevee station. And then they look up, and WHAM.

Rise and fall of the Blockbuster empire. The animation is like watching popcorn pop, fill the pan, and then it all unpops again back to the way it was before. (via NagOnTheLake)

They’re spending a lot of money making a teevee series out of Isaac Asimov’s /Foundation/ books. I’m really looking forward to this.

How we get t-shirts and q-tips.

How we get silk underwear. (via NagOnTheLake)

It looks like a cartoon 1920s traveling salesman costume. Or a French music-hall variety show impresario. Or a weapon designed to attract a child and explode when taken to show to the gang. Or a kind of fancy candy, though it probably tastes like dust on a metal screen door, like the moth I ate when I was four. Moths are likely all very similar in flavor, though you might get an argument on that from a connoisseur of moths, such as a cat. One time a nearly microscopic gnat flew at my face and then shot all the way up my nose, and I was overwhelmed by a sharp smell all around me of /wet dirt/. It must have landed just right on a sensor cell. I know I’ve told you about that before. Anyway, circus moth:×932/smart/

How they write Rick and Morty.

The sound of science. Fan music and art about a game that’s almost /ten years old/. (via b3ta)

Music for prepared ukulele.

Seb Skelly’s latest, on ten horns. Yup, /Ten Horn Seb Skelly/, that’s whut all us gazebo-men called him, back in the Big War. “We will fight in the gazebos, we will fight in the pavilions and bandshells…” Stop, you. /What’s the first rule of Gazebo Club./

…Same thing but with piano added by cruise ship lounge entertainer (pre-COVID) Max Forseter.

They shortened their band name to The Chicks. Dixie had connotations.

The risks for the next little while. Space alien invasion is not even in a sub-menu.


Rerun: The Cerne Abbas Giant’s giant knob. “The biggest example of a noble British tradition that’s echoed down the ages.”

Ze Frank on snow monkeys. “Marriage? But Papa would never allow it… Elope? What about the zombies?”

USA, USA. (via NagOnTheLake)

Why America’s police look like soldiers.

There’s a thing I read the old Jews used to say, to not despair because “the whole /world/ isn’t crazy.” That’s right. And /she’s/ right. One day, if we grow up enough to not punch ourselves in the nose back into the stone age like a stupid Three Stooges routine on a loop, AOC will be president of the United States.

What was the internet like in the old days?

The even older days, when you could not only win a miserable little monkey in the mail but somebody actually tried to make money out of how kids would all think how great it would be to have a monkey in their hat.

A tale of two Californias in a graph.

The cure.

“Nah, just kidding. Screw that guy.”

An interesting store. Tattooing, needle books, band-aid, assorted random metal knick-knacks, old shoes. You can even get a chili-dog and a short beer.

A nice video essay about slap bass with plenty of examples.

The theorbo. Ken Sorbo is kind of a right wing lunatic, but if he played theorbo… Theorbo, Kevin Sorbo? The automatic accent you use is the same as for /Ee tubutu, Solo?/ Han shot first.

Do, do, do.

A particularly spiritual day’s page of Gunnerkrigg Court.

That’s true: of the two of them, Trump and Biden, Biden may be many things but he is not a whiny bitch.

Watch. I can drink water. Anyway, that’s a long story.

Ramming speed.×1000/media/img/photo/2020/06/photos-week-2/a19_1220307177/original.jpg

Karmical delivery.


How to make a popup book. (via NagOnTheLake)

The John Wilcock comic archive. (via Everlasting Blort)

My work is done here.

How ancient Egyptians really lived and worked. (via Clifford Pickover’s Reality Carnival)

Why is it even happening?

Fauve. About two boys. (In French, but you can turn on the English subtitles or not; it’s obvious what’s going on even with the sound off.)

“The object of my invention is to provide a means by which animals which burrow in the ground can be destroyed, and which trap will give an alarm each time that it goes off, so that it can be reset… This invention may also be used in connection with a door or window, so as to kill any person or thing opening the door or window to which it is attached.”

“Oh, it’s sweet! Yum. This is why the whites are so healthy.” (via Cliff Pickover’s Reality Carnival) I was fine until the point where the man says, “I am going to keep this paper and show it to my children.” I suddenly began crying hard, that full-body crying that gives you a headache. I told Juanita what was going on, and she looked up at me from her work and said, “See.”

That’s love.

100 days, 100 nights.

The marriage of Bette and Boo.

Oh, Nana. (click the sound on)

The Manhattans – Kiss and Say Goodbye.

The ever increasingly thrilling elaborate Miniatur Wunderland, the world in a nutshell.

Memorize the true names of the different fireworks.

War in Cuba? That’s a young man’s game. “Comes with pistols which discharge wooden ammunition for the purpose of knocking over the toy Spaniards and Cubans.” Or you could flick them with your index finger. Or crush their heads, crush, crush.

“I’m crushing your head. Crush, crush.”

Space. (via NagOnTheLake)

Everything is something else.

Science explains illusions.

I like this photograph. An attractive pet-owner passed the time posing for Stanley Kubrick, reading a paperback on a sweaty hot night. Of course the dogs are all long dead of old age. I wonder where the woman is now, what kind of life she had, and if she’s still alive somewhere. I wonder what she sounded like. And what’s the terrier-dog looking at? Maybe a piece of cheese. Also, interesting choice of three kinds of dogs to have, and it’s great that they’re all allowed on the bed.

Okay, here’s one with the terrier-dog looking at the camera and the Cocker-mix looking over there at the cheese. You pick which one you like more. (I know the link looks weird, with all those percent signs, but it works.)[Woman%20reading%20on%20bed%20with%20three%20dogs.]-24U39YXP3JD.html

Come dancing. It’s only natural. Just like the Palais on a Saturday.

How to ride on heelies without cracking your skull on the pavement. (Technically the leading injuries from these things are to the wrist and elbow.)


Which of the founding fathers owned slaves and had forced sex with them and so also owned all their own slave children? Trick question. It’s all of them.

And fragile white sadness. This is to make fun of Lana Del Rey. You can still think Lana Del Rey is cool and enjoy them ripping on her at the same time. Nobody is as cool as Lydia Lunch, Laurie Anderson, Vi Hart, Simone Giertz or Physics Girl, and so what? Everyone can’t be Simone Giertz (say yeertz) and go around inventing and building amazing machines and speaking Swedish, Chinese, Italian /and/ California English with equal fluency. Be the best person you can be, and be happy with that, or sad, whatever blows your skirts up.


     “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting, it has been found difficult and left untried… What are the Christian ideals? Charity. Hope. Faith. The poor. The mourning. The meek. Those who hunger and thirst. The merciful. The pure. Peacemakers. The persecuted. To lay your life down for another. These are all extremely tough. It will take a miraculous transformation of my desires. I will have to lose even the smallest desire left in me to save my life.” -G.K. Chesterton

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-06-19) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

For various fiddly I.T. reasons KMEC’s automation switched away from this particular show an hour in, at 10pm, and there was nothing I could do to fix it from my remote location, even if I weren’t busy doing the show. KNYO was consistent. There are just extra steps and extra links in the chain to have MOTA on KMEC, and so there’s more that can go wrong. I contacted Sid; he offered to do what he can to get this set right by next week, though he’s not really responsible for operations at KMEC anymore; he’s just a dedicated radioman. And then things will go fine for a few weeks or months and something will break or get sabotaged again, or merely absentmindedly unplugged by someone sweeping or who wants to plug in a phone charger there or something, and we’ll deal with it again, and that’s okay. That’s the way the world is. My back is, I’d say, about 95 percent now and that’s cause for good spirits. You’ll remember my declaration that I’m never picking up a heavy thing again, that heaviness is God and Isaac Newton saying that’s where that belongs. We’ll see how long /I/ remember, this time.

And here are links to worthwhile educational because sensational, sad, sick, triumphant, despairing, and/or merely gratuitously prurient items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Andra Day sings Strange Fruit.

Nina Simone sings Pirate Jenny. (My internal Pirate Jenny story is a combination of the particularly well-realized one in /The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen/ graphic novel and a sort of kaleidoscopic montage of Sandy Glickfeld’s stage career, including her Audrey in Gloriana Opera Company’s production of /Little Shop of Horrors/, and of course her Pirate Jenny.) Nina Simone first appeared on a big stage at twelve years old. Her parents were there, in the front row. They moved her parents farther back /so some white people could sit there/, and Nina Simone said she wasn’t playing another damn note until her mother and father were back in their damn seats in the damn front row, and there was immediate compliance. Some performers spring full-blown from the brow of Zeus; they’re who they are from the beginning. Nina Simone sometimes joked that she was a queen, but she really was. Every performance was a brave adventure, a flight into the unknown. She’d trail off in the middle of a song, in front of thousands of people, and have a conversation with someone in the audience who caught her eye, about something that just occurred to her to wonder about, or she’d get tired of a song and just start making things up, puzzling over whether this was working or not. Her eyebrow would twitch and she’d abruptly change direction and be singing /about/ the song from before, which all sounds like Biff Rose, too, doesn’t it, except the queen part. I’m tired of talking about Nina Simone. Where was I? Oh, yes, thanks:

Regarding the Confederate flag, the American swastika.


That will teach you.

An animated graph to show to your friend who started out thinking there was no pandemic, then thought there was a pandemic but it was no big deal, and now thinks the pandemic is over and there’s nothing to worry about and masks are stupid. Your idiot friend.

The modern romance novel. Just like the old kind, but now with vampires and werewolves and space aliens, as well as the traditional firemen and billionaire playboys who need to pay someone to pretend to be their wife to close an international business deal, and hot, steamy cowboy twins who share a love for a special librarian who doesn’t yet know she’s a real-estate-fortune heiress and a dragon shifter (that’s a weredragon). Or a mermaid.

I love this. Man invites people to look at the moon.

Some other places in the sky whose timing and position have no secret message for you about being careful in dealing with a friend or about why you’re a neatness freak or you’re too jealous to be allowed to have a gun or anything heavy or sharp. In other news, I just noticed that most things in the sky look like magnified food. Fancy cheese or something, with or without crumbles. Just like color-touched-up nebulas look like color-touched-up smoke, and a river delta looks like veins in a leaf.

2020, the movie trailer.



Rerun: Germs.

I know you’ve already seen this. I just want to express that the way the white woman and her white husband (it turned out they’re married) talk, all poisonously nauseatingly scrupulously polite, while they /drip concentrated evil/ is exactly the behavior of everyone on every nonprofit corporation’s board I ever had to speak with for any purpose. I think it’s a special class they’re given; I don’t think it’s genetic.

Art. (via Everlasting Blort)

Art. Art. (via Everlasting Blort)

“Tommy, is that really you in there?” “RAAAWR.” “Oh, Tommy, what’ve they done to you?”

Burn-Em-Up Barnes– King of the Dirt Track!

Emulsional rescue. (20 min.) (via NagOnTheLake)

A bottomless page of thousands of unproduced film ideas. (via NagOnTheLake)


Erik Gales live.

Ze Frank – True facts about the cat’s senses. I hadn’t known the bit about goats’ self-leveling eyes.

What is time. A history.

/I’d/ like to see the movie that this is a trailer of.

Another one in the series. They always yell at them to put their hands where they can see them /after/ they’ve shot and kicked them to death; isn’t that strange. And why does the only bodycam that matters always get mysteriously shut off or dropped in the gutter for the money shots? Never mind. Move along. Move along. Nothing to see here. Oh, wait, the restaurant’s camera got it all. Oops.


Art. Odd and beautiful photography.

A doll’s house.

Supernova machine. Article and video.

What are the astronauts doing right now? Well. Wouldn’t /you/ like to know.

Symptom. (via NagOnTheLake)

/Attack of the Clones/ re-cut as buddy-cop film: The Nice Jedi. (via Neatorama)

The accent expert.

The coolest fashion in swim syoots at this yeah’s nylon trade fair.


Black allies matter.

You know the story, but the pictures of the place make it real.

This is how people are.

And it’s like this with everything except puppies and chocolate.

A town with a sweet name: Pie Town, NM. Look around in Shorp for more of these; they have a thing for Pie Town.

The truth is out there.

“All my rockets that didn’t work.”

I like photo #10 the most. Everywhere around the little girl are creatures whose brains are on idle. Just the one little girl and her focus on the poor pig is an island of consciousness in a sea of subtly but obviously less than that. Also I like photo #19 for the same reason.

“Dude, be careful ’cause shit might come flyin’.” Mark Frauenfelder calls what the guy over there in that car is doing, the perfect analogy to not wearing a mask to protect others from COVID-19.

Learn about artificial gravity for space travel. (30 min.)

Firefly characters gender-swapped.

One man’s papercraft popup art demo reel.

An amazing DIY 4K video projector project, from start to finish, but leaving out the pesky metal-cutting chore. (30 min.)

The squares are square. The squares made of squares are square. And nothing is moving.

Dizzy. (via NagOnTheLake)

In time-lapse, flames wash over the mountain and obliterate the fire station.

Art. (via Everlasting Blort)

Weasels [turtles, javelinas, snakes, monkeys, etc.] ripped my flesh!

Les klaxophone.

Tiny travel scenes made of food. (More in Instagram link.)

Photo booth. (via Everlasting Blort)

Chain of falls. (via Everlasting Blort)

A plug for Lydia Lunch’s podcast. Keep it Lydia, Lydia Lunch. (1 hour)

And Dave Chapelle: Eight minutes and forty six seconds. (30 min.)

Too soon?

     “First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, then you win! It sounds hopeful. But think of it like those guys with all the guns and power. You’re their they. You ignored them, you ridiculed them, you queued up to fight them, and they shot you. And they went home and patted their kids on the head and ate dinner.” -Gilbert Gottfried

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-06-12) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

And here are links to worthwhile educational, sensational, and/or gratuitously prurient items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Dreamlike autochrome images of the past. (via NagOnTheLake)

Moose and fly.

Judy Mayhan’s 80 now. She just fell and broke her hip and is in the hospital. Here are some recordings of her singing almost fifty years ago in the Seagull bar in Mendocino. Pianist John Gilmore just died a couple of months ago. Kiyoshi’s still around, though, somewhere.

From the before times.

Six years ago. “Okay, so we’ve established that police used appropriate force against a DANGEROUSLY LARGE but incredibly fragile out-of-shape MONSTER weakling.”

And way longer ago than that.

Rerun: Respect the cup. (via Everlasting Blort)

All substitute teachers eventually get around to this trick.

“Every man is a wrestler.”

Another metaphor for something.

Map of the players. Click the sound on. (via Everlasting Blort)

See, it’s just math. Cute, catchy math. (via Everlasting Blort)

Many young Kiwis are getting the wrong idea about relationships.

Wonder woman says don’t chew on things. She should know; she is a goddess. If you chew on things you would become as powerful as she is, and when everyone is special, no-one is.

Special, super, meh.

Toastercycle. It takes 1 Robert to toast bread, 180 Roberts to power a car, 43,000 Roberts to power an airplane. “My legs hurt. That’s a lot of work. It’s crazy. I know it now.”

Oh, dear.

700 early MTV music videos. (via Everlasting Blort)

Barnaby Dixon’s latest fluorescent puppet.

Latest funny demented racist park Karen. Impressive aplomb on the part of the young woman in black. If you need an example of aplomb to model your aplomb upon, there she is.

Come on, be fair to the guy. It’s new technology, and it takes awhile to get used to it. We’ve only had wheels for six thousand years, and for the first thousand of those years it was just a potter’s wheel, so.

Explore the entire inside of the International Space Station with your arrow keys and/or mouse or thumbs or whatever. I’m surprised about the clutter. It’s very like my house, especially the room with all the wires everywhere.

It’s the lawnmower from the intro montage of /Eureka/. It doesn’t look like it at first, what with the rust and the damage and the depradations of time and circumstance. But after a little elbow grease and a coat of paint, voila.

David Ossman of Firesign Theater. A short piece called Time Capsules.

“We’re thinking about hiring your advertising agency to push our product.” “What’s your product?” “Industrial air-raid sirens.” “Ah! We have just the thing. /Mrs. Thompson? Send some girls up./”

Jan Švankmajer – Dimensions of Dialogue.

Lot 63, grave C, a documentary about the boy killed at Altamont. Though there was less violence at that massive concert than in any comparably populous /city/ of the time. It was quite peaceful. Except for, you know, what happened to the boy. And also somebody punched Mick Jagger in jealousy because his girlfriend seemed to be more into Mick Jagger than him. And not just in jealously but in the nose, too. Right in Mick Jagger’s nose, just before the show, and you can’t even tell by looking. Shelley Reader hit me in the nose in sixth grade with a wooden chalk eraser and it’s still messed up– bent a little, with a bump at the top that might have been /designed/ to hold glasses up. I can wear glasses with one whole ear-stick broken off and they stay right where they belong, as long as I don’t sneeze, and with the climate disaster’s effects on plant life I don’t seem to be allergic as much anymore, so it all worked out great.

Nice animation. Lovely song. He’s quite old now but he still sounds good. Nothing wrong with /his/ nose. Nobody ever punched Cat Stevens in the nose. (I just realized that Bret McKenzie of Flight of the Conchords looks exactly like Cat Stevens.)

Just half an hour, and then the kicker, and the look on his face and the way he feels –the way we all feel– after the woman explains things.

Not so much slashing as rather staccato stabbing. Still, why? They look like they’re having fun, so maybe it’s just youthful spirits and a sense of hijinks, or blowing off a little steam after a hard day’s work marching around shooting riot technology at people from inside armored robocop suits, here in the future we got whether we deserve it or not.

You cannot protest near a flag.

“Okay, now that I hear myself say it out loud…”

Rerun: The Avalanches: Frontier Psychiatrist. (via b3ta)

Awesome pingpong.

Awesome pyjamas.

Some kind of awesome space pyjamas.

Jane Fonda’s workout with fart sounds added. (via b3ta)

Sax and pipe.



Velveteen land.

Further /Your ware! Your ware! Let me taste it!/

And scroll down for a monster story. (via Misscellania)

Per servire e proteggere.

     “There’s a reason you separate the military and the police. One fights the enemies of the state, the other serves and protects the people. When the military becomes both, then the enemies of the state tend to become the people.” -Admiral Adama

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-06-05) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

And here are links to worthwhile educational, sensational, and/or gratuitously prurient items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Black parents explain how to deal with the police.

Candy shop.

The borzoiest (say bor-ZO-ee-yist) borzoi ever. And the videos. So nice. You can’t tell just by looking, but a borzoi’s fur is silky-soft and has lanolin in it to make your hand petting it silky-soft too. And up close all borzoi dogs smell like salted popcorn, whereas other dogs only smell like that between their toes and/or when they’re puppies.

I love this.

The luxury high-tech dream bed of the future.

A very unusual old photograph.

Two lizards. Kind of crunchy looking.

And more lizards.

Tiny automata.

Wait for it.

Bob Paquette Microphone Museum. There are four kinds of things I like to see a lot of at once in a catalog or in, like, a wall of them: 1. All different sizes and shapes of cheap wristwatches. 2. All different kinds of musical instruments, mainly ridiculously expensive electric guitars and novelty instruments. 3.  I’ll think of something to put here later.  And 4. Microphones. They are simple and wonderful technology. I have a microphone that was made in the 1940s on a 1930s design. I’ve had to repair it a couple of times, once in the 1980s and once in the early oh-ohs, but it still works and sounds great. They’re just so shiny and interesting. There’s nothing weird at all about having a thing you’re thrilled by, and no, I’m not being defensive. Shut up.

Architectural firm develops an office furniture plan to minimize spread of disease. This went past hundreds of trained architectural eyes to be fully approved for release, yet somehow no-one saw what you see immediately on glancing at it. (Look quickly, probably they’ll pull it down or change it out soon.)

What about /my/ plate?

From the start, my money’s on the white one to last longest. That’s a solid house, on the relatively stable center of the slide. And notice how when it’s undermined and it tips into the water it bobs upright again just like a ship. Of course it is as doomed as the rest, but that’s the one the revenant time travelers would pick to view the event from, people like in the story /Vintage Season/. (via the Anderson Valley Advertiser)

Spongo! The toothbrush of the future

Pripyat in the present day, in the Other World where the training was one percent better and the mistake was not made.

The advantages and disadvantages of your parrot character in game play.

Selfies. (via EverlastingBlort)


Luca Stricagnoli’s one-man-band-on-guitar latest. A normal guitar with just one neck this time.

This is like something Simone Giertz would make. The video only shows one cycle, but it’s made to go and go. (Though if Simone Giertz had made this it would spin as fast as an electric fan and the flame would strobe on and off like an old movie projector.) (And if Survival Research Labs made one it would be thirty feet tall, weigh seven tons, go around thirteen times, unscrew itself, and fall apart, the massive parts crashing down to stop just inches before the feet of the audience.) (I think everyone in Survival Research Labs’ crew has had some kind of traumatic injury– deafened or lost a hand or an eye or has a plate in his head or something.)

Guardians of time.

Beautiful. The concept, the execution, the result. Big effective art can be entirely static and peaceful too.

And I don’t usually repost a link to a reddit thread, but you might get a kick out of browsing through this. For instance, in the bible-contact-juggling photo op, three items down, you’ll notice the top of Trump’s hair has become a golden ferret curled into a tam o’shanter hat, a lenticular foam frisbee, a cough drop, or a button that if pressed down on by a big finger would make an airy squeak and you’d look up to the sky and say, “Press it again. Harder.”

A young Mister Bean explains Matrix special effects. (10 minutes) (via NagOnTheLake)

Rerun: The incredible jelly donut juicer.

Trigger warning: blood spills out of the tall, gentle old man’s ear after a policeman shoves him down so he hits his head on the pavement. Another officer seems for a moment to want to help him, but he’s pulled away to continue to march to menace some people to camera-left. Later, when called on all this, the police claimed the man tripped. You know, he just tripped over his own big stupid feet. Why didn’t you help him, then, you know? Protect and serve? Here: “…During that skirmish involving protestors, one person was injured when he tripped and fell.” (After internet outrage, two officers were temporarily suspended from duty, with pay, over this. Such shabby disrespect of their brothers in blue incensed the other 57 officers in the squad, and caused them to resign from police-riot duty in a huff. Because every day is upside-down day now.) (Click the sound on.)

A metaphor for something.

Social class.

Stop the madness.

Ad for Old Spice after-shave liquid. (Well, let’s see what it’s made of… It turns out to be mostly two kinds of alcohol that you can’t drink because they’re poison, a little propylene glycol, some tap water, a few molecules of color, and then, according to the company’s website, It opens with spicy, citrusy top notes: nutmeg, lemon, orange, star anise & aldehydes. Then the floral heart becomes apparent with carnation, jasmine, geranium, cinnamon, heliotrope, & pimento. All this is laid on a base of ambergris, benzoin, cedar, vanilla, tonka bean, and musk.” And I suddenly remember: in an office where I used to work, the young woman at the front desk, a single parent of a small boy, told me, for some reason, that she was always really attracted to men who smell like after-shave.  I said, “Did your father smell like that?”  She looked surprised, narrowed her eyes and said, “Yeah.”  I said, “Do you think that might be why?”  She said, “Why what?”

What’s funny is, random notes pecked at on your keyboard at typing speed do in fact sound just like jazz.

Is 2020 over? No.

And how to copy an Eames chair, in case you ever have to do it fast, to prove your worth in a test of usefulness the space aliens give when the sun is about to explode and they can only evacuate a few hundred of us in their scout ship.

From the bed.

     /”History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.”/

There’s no fresh recording of last night’s KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show because there was no new show –Bob Young helpfully reran the previous week’s MOTA show. (You’ll find a link to that show by scrolling down to last week’s post.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with that show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

I hurt my back moving heavy things a few days ago and it’s one of those things that gets worse before it gets better. It’s getting a little better. A good sign: today I could very slowly get out of bed and, with difficulty, make it to the toilet and the kitchen and back to bed, though I couldn’t get anything from the bottom shelf of the fridge to cut up and feed Melody the pet bird. Juanita can do that when she gets home from work. I gave Melody a hard bit of noodle, her favorite thing ever, next to an oily nut which she’s not supposed to have, to shred and exult over shredding. /“Ha ha! Marvel at my powahh!”/ She got that line from the brilliant Hyperdrive (2006 British science-farce). Maybe some apple later; I didn’t  think of that. But the carrots and corn and broccoli and kale and sprouted garbanzos might as well be on the moon; the shelf is low and I’m afraid I’ll end up stuck down there. Juanita got Melody in 1997 or 1998 so she’s heard a lot in her time of being very old for that kind of parrot. The last time a pet bird of Juanita’s died was so long ago and so hard. Every once in awhile something bad happens and I say, “It ain’t the end of the world,” because it isn’t. But when Juanita is sad it is truly the end of the world. I’m going in there and getting the right food and doing it right; maybe put off the inevitable a little longer. But not now; painful enough to get back onto the bed. I’m such a whiner, so many people have it so much harder than I do, but it hurts so much and it’s scary.

It was interesting the other night, my first time (except for when my back went out in the Memo newspaper office in 1995) of overcoming the strict unconscious prohibition on pissing while in bed or lying on the floor, even when there’s a jar to piss into and you’re looking right at it, holding onto all the relevant items and nothing can go wrong — on your side because it hurts to be any other way except maybe on your back or your front, and /certainly not sitting up/ — talking to your own internal infrastructure: “Come on, you had to go so bad a minute ago. You can start anytime… I’m counting to ten, and if you haven’t started by then there will be consequences.” I suppose I’m lucky to be the model that has a little flexible hose there, not so bad until you think, /What if I get used to this and weeks or years later I’m sleeping and have a dream of pissing and think it’s okay and just piss the bed in real life without the jar?/ I never had a problem of that when I was little. Lots of famous people who I admire did: Sarah Silverman, JFK, Kenneth Patchen, Helena Bonham Carter, of course Stephen Hawking… I looked it up; there are hundreds of names we all know in that category. To this day Samuel L. Jackson still pees himself every once in a while, and not just in bed; even while filming a movie; he gets so excited. It’s a very long list, and it doesn’t seem to have impeded their careers or progress or character development into a good person. I guess there’s no shame in that; I don’t have to worry about it.

When I was four I threw up in the oil furnace grate in my grandmother’s hallway, not being able to get to the bathroom in time and being surprised by the unfamiliar process –it doesn’t give you a lot of notice; just a few seconds, and you don’t really know what’s happening so you hesitate to move. My grandmother, cleaning everything up, said to me, “Why didn’t you use the wastebasket, you little pig?” I know that sounds mean, but it was hysterically funny at the time and it still makes me laugh to think about it. And it taught me a valuable lesson that has stood me in good stead: here it is nearly sixty years later and whenever I enter a room I note where the wastebaskets are and if they’re containers or sieves, like how a cowboy gambler always sits facing the door, and like you always look at the seat of a chair before you sit down and so never break headphones or a pair of glasses nor be surprised by sitting on an all-the-way closed or all-the-way open toilet. Several times, not only in a workshop or on a plumbing job, I have saved the day (and the floor, and whatever’s spilling if it’s expensive) by just grabbing up a basket or bucket or pitcher or big cup and holding it in the right place while I figure out the next thing that has to happen.

Long story short: because of back pain, I couldn’t do the show last night. That was the first airdate I’ve missed in 23 years, since I started Memo of the Air on KMFB in February of 1997.

I’m sure to return this coming Friday night. Send your writing — poetry, schoolwork, a chapter of your unfinished novel, your woo-woo conspiracy theory (or debunkment), creative kvetch or gripe or snipe, or all eight– in the body of a regular email (address: –remove the SPAMBEGONE part for it to work) and I’ll read your writing on the radio then, 5th of June, between 9pm and 5am on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg and 105.5fm KMEC-LP Ukiah, as well as and This is ongoing; any time you’ve written something and you’d like it read on the radio, email it to me and that’s what I’ll do. That’s what I’m here for. It would be nice to be paid for it, like back at KMFB, all those years, but KMFB was a rare bird, commercial in structure yet noncommercial in freedom. I see that government-funded yet very restrictive KZYX will be begging for another $100,000 again later this week and, as you know, all that money and much more goes into the personal pockets of the handful of people in management and none of it goes to the local airpeople actually doing all the shows donors  like enough to pay the station for. If even  a single one of the airpeople is not independently wealthy and so needs a tiny portion of every dollar he produces for the firm, does it seem right to you that he gets nothing? When management of any charity besides a mediocre run-of-the-mill NPR-colonized radio station, pays the workers little or nothing and keeps all the donated money for themselves, and it’s found out, widespread outrage is justifiably expressed. What is different, I wonder, about the local monopoly of high-power so-called public radio, that nobody seems to give a shit about this, least of all the workers being cheated? I’m stopping about that now or I’ll be at this all night. I mean– stop. Stop.

Speaking of which, and another thing I discovered, trying to manage life from bed instead of using the full-service toilet or the full-service computer or relatively full-service kitchen: It is a bitch to compose writing on a phone. I can see why nobody uses complete sentences anymore and why people think it’s weird when you post more than five words. In other than temporarily less-than-fully-abled times I can and often do write a thousand words in fifteen minutes and press Send. The only way to do anything substantial on the phone is to use the built-in dictation gizmo, which drives you nuts going back over everything and fixing it all because it heard you wrong. It takes /way/ longer to dictate text, and have it come out the way you mean to say it, than to just type on a real keyboard. Catch me doing /this/ on the phone ever again. I like the idea of a spy agency somewhere listening to me mutter when I’m alone, but they can do that through any of a dozen other things in the house as well as via the phone, and they can figure out what they imagine I mean without my commentary and revisions. Gives them something to do besides eating doughnuts and wanking and saying 10-4 and exchanging racist bon mots and throwing darts at the corkboard and cleaning their guns for whatever they’re being paid per hour.

Okay, here are links to worthwhile educational and/or sensational items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s undone and unaired show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

In the money.

“I octopus his face in, eel only break her heart.”

Let’s see a show of hands.

Museum of ridiculously interesting things. (via EverlastingBlort)

They call it /The picture that crawls right up your spine!/ I didn’t experience that effect, perhaps because I was flat on my back.

Dunkin’ bagel, smash in the coffee.

“You’re ruining the inegrity of the game, breast cancer; this is what we do on Sunday to forget how much we hate ourselves.” An hour of brilliant and easily misunderstood Doug Stanhope. The video and audio gets a little choppy in the middle sections but it clears up for the big finish.

Tragically moidered cats. (via EverlastingBlort)

What every pharmaceutical commercial is really saying.

One of the things we get to see because there are dashcams and the memory in those things is really durable.

“Rene and I built this in the barn.” (via TYWKIWDBI)


What the narwhal say. (Apparently it’s /click, whirrrr, tweebleep./)

And free comix to read. I might have shown you this before. Probably did.


Estonia. When you’re trying to be so good.

     “The world leader that really came to nothing as far as my memory was concerned was Hitler… in the days when the Nazis were just a comical kind of minority party of nuts that no one took seriously at all… the man sitting next to me was Hitler. He made so little impression on me I can’t remember a second of it. He had no personality whatsoever.” -Orson Welles to Dick Cavett

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-05-22) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

Just before showtime I always put something random on –a 1940s government film about why not to dry-clean clothes in the sink with gasoline, for example, or a crazy-eyed radio preacher’s explanation of how if you use contraception you’ll never be raptured up into Heaven because that’s just Onan spilling his seed into Jehovah’s outraged face again (that would be William Tapley, the “Third Eagle of the Apocalypse”), or a 25-minute guide to restoring the luster and function to a particularly rare brand of antique toy steam engine, or a rainy-day 1950s morality play of two teenage girls, one who lays out her next-day school clothes and goes to sleep on time and so is perky and sweet and with brushed hair and an even hem the next day and has friends and fun, and another who stays up late looking at movie magazines, drawing pictures of boys she likes and smoking a cigaret and so ends up a drug-addicted prostitute, pregnant of scooter-trash and dead at twenty-two. True story.

Anyway, the audio you hear at the beginning of the recording of last night’s show is the last minute of a conversation between actor Sir Richard Burton and Dick Cavett in 1980, twenty minutes more of which is here), in case you’d like to hear all of that. The part where Richard Burton tells about the continuous coal seam that runs from Wales across beneath the Atlantic Ocean to Pennsylvania– that’s not strictly based in fact, but the idea of it was the germ, I think, of /The Navigator/, a film about time travel and plague, though that’s a copper mine, not coal, and Wales to New Zealand, not Wales to Pennsylvania, and the 1300s not the 1930s.

Random test audio I play before showtime is heard on KNYO, but KMEC listeners at that time hear /El Show, Musica en Español de Jose Noriega/, the title of which, like so much in beautiful Español (which I understand only a tiny amount of and that probably incorrectly) is great goofy fun to declaim like a carnival barker or a wrestling event announcer.

Also, in the show, I mentioned Alex’s Gardening Service and for some reason didn’t give any contact info. Here is that: Mowing, weeding, blowing, leaf clean-up, etc. 707-357-7164. And where I talk about botching a couple of segues, you won’t hear the problem in the recording. I edited to remove the incompetence; I don’t usually do that, and it’s not really a big deal, it’s just life, but I was ashamed, and I had few minutes. (I think, /That’s how it starts./ It’s a slippery slope down to where  you’re fixing everything and that’s your life, a fractal landscape of edits of edits of edits down to the quantum foam.)

Speaking of shame, my mother just called because her email stopped working (last week (!), she says, but she didn’t want to bother me) and the computer told her it could not connect, or something, so I talked her through rebooting the modem and router and restarting the computer and getting her email, and it became the familiar frustrating half-an-hour-long cartoon nightmare of us not being able to understand each other and both of us getting more and more upset and she hung up, so. I called and she didn’t pick up. I left a message.

Next time it’s biologically safe for me to go there and go in her house I’ll install remote-operator software and then afterward be able to just fix it without having to communicate, or at least to see what’s on her screen when she’s telling me what she sees but it’s like all the words are replaced with other words by spinning a pointer on a wheel of words. At least the gang in the next yard have temporarily left off chainsawing trees into chunks, and shoving the chunks –and each other, to go by the shouting– through an industrial chipper.

Ahem. Here are links to worthwhile educational and/or sensational items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

The monster under the bed.

They saw the sun first.

Sea you.

Poignant math that the world is made out of. (via NagOnTheLake)

Rise and fall of the Nazi dinosaurs.

Night cab. Some of this looks like it was animated with sewing machine embroidery. (via NagOnTheLake)

To be fair, this is what most of that kind of music sounds like to me anyway.

And yet I love this. Big crazy smile. Would watch again. And again.

Animating the walk.

Then she stops, and always just in time. Queenie, Stripper Queen of Space, performs for shy proto-YipYips in a soundstage on another planet. Entirely SFW.

The swish machine.

Another love-match shipwrecked on the shoals of undaintiness.

Heeere I come to save the daaaay!

Rerun: Gal in Kalamazoo. The jumping into the air to land in full splits always makes me cringe.

Slow motion cat pouncing. And slow motion shots of the same cat as a kitten six years ago getting confused about how to drink water and having to sneeze it out of his nose. Cat’s name is Smee.

Lottery. Your numbers are lucky!

John Gast’s /American Progress/. In the sense of progress as juggernaut steamroller of buffalo and Indians.

You might remember Katie Scott’s first Story of Flowers. Here is Story of Flowers 2. (via NagOnTheLake)

Black people reacting to blue-eyed soul. I love this way more than I ever liked that song.

People reacting to seeing their formerly invisible skin damage from the sun.


Key and Peele – Das Negros.

Here. Scroll down and look at those numbers. Think what we could have done instead with all that vast treasure and all those irreplaceable natural resources and all of that wasted manpower. Because it was and is wasted. What was the point of attacking and occupying Afghanistan and Iraq? What would have happened if we hadn’t? I’ll tell you /one/ thing that would’ve happened: literally millions of murdered and maimed and crippled and scarred and displaced people wouldn’t have been murdered and maimed and crippled and scarred and displaced. A trillion is a million-million. If it’s five million dead because of what Dick Cheney and those other monsters lied us into doing, we could have just given every one of those people a million dollars instead of kicking in their door and shooting them in the head, of bombing their house down on top of them. Or at least we could really /be/ that shining city on the hill full of wise, good guys, instead of what we are: increasingly a slum of angry misery lorded over by wiseguys. Just look at those numbers and think about it for a minute. It’s not too late to turn around and go a better way.

I like women standup comics more than men, and they’re better doctors and dentists and pilots too, but this guy’s pretty good, in a dry way. He’s often as observant as Louis C.K., and in looks and manner he’s like exactly halfway between Steven Wright and Andy Kaufman.

Tolkien character or antidepressent?


Everything you need to know to survive.

An ad for a video card.

Stunning 15-minute pilot episode of, it’s to be hoped, an eventual whole series. CGI body-dysmorphic science-fiction. I’m not entirely sure what’s happening in it, but it’s interesting. And I love it that technology has finally reached a point where any motivated young artist with a good gaming computer can bring a dream like this to life.

Photographing dreams. (via b3ta) (42 min.)

Your biological safety mask.

The laundry sketch.




Make sandcastles and the water washes them away. (via b3ta)

“Ehhh, c’est la goddamn vie,” she says.

Play a virtual bank heist and escape room game in 20 minutes, free. You’ll need paper, a pen and a calculator.

Trailer. I think I saw all but two of these films.

A little help.

Rerun: Ronnie Cramer’s /Pillow Girl/. (Unmute the sound.)

Grandma Zelig. Also she was an astronaut. (via MissCellania)

Can I think about about it for a few days before I choose, or do you have to know now?

Remember the story I’ve told you about forty times now about Lenny Lax telling me in the 1980s that electronic music is for people who don’t know how to play music? Here, for an hour, is either an illustration or a refutation of that principle, depending on whether you like it or not. (I was about to say, You might know this guy’s band, Orbital, from their big hit /Fluffy Pink Clouds/, but I just looked it up, and that’s Orb, and /Little Fluffy Clouds/ I was thinking of, and it’s not this guy, though it sounds very like it because of similar machinery):

And cat twist. At exactly this speed you /almost/ get what it must feel like to be able to do that. (via TYWKIWDBI)

Thank you, masked woman.

     “The largest peaceful protest in U.S. history was our 2017 Women’s March. Of the 5,246,670 participants nationwide not a single person felt the need to arrive in tactical gear waving an assault rifle. I guess the shelter-at-home protest has more pussies than we did.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-05-15) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

Furthermore, here are links to worthwhile educational and/or sensational items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Our sun, the heating system. So violent, lumpy and chaotic. The Earth is less than one hundredth the diameter of the sun. If you were to place us on the sun, and you’re watching this on your tablet, the entire Earth would be smaller than a ball of beebee shot. Under 28 gees it would take less than two seconds to fall out of sight inside even as it vaporized into iron plasma and the sun wouldn’t even notice, though it would raise the iron content of the sun by a tiny amount. It wouldn’t burp or splash nor change temperature or color. Our big world, all our gloating triumphs and petty and great problems, not to mention mountains and rivers and oceans and obsessions and compulsions, is practically nothing; it’s a speck. And the sun is not a big star, though lots of people used to pray to it and even cut out other people’s hearts and twist their entrails out on a turnspit to please the sun, for it to reward them with crops and make them victorious in commerce and war and that ball game they used to play with the basket ring on sideways. I don’t remember what the game is called. It was a long time ago… /Ullamaliztli/, that’s it. I’ve seen kids playing it in the far future too, on motorized rollerskates; Alita Battle Angel is terrific at it her first time, because of her competition coordination instincts and the fighting training that she got in the Martian army and experience fighting in the war that brought down the flying cities.

After. (via DarkRoastedBlend)


This is not normal. (via Everlasting Blort)

Apocalyptic dioramas.

If these brilliant Dutch girls aren’t on top of the world in five years there is no God. (via Everlasting Blort) (Click the sound on.)

Do you see what I see? (via NagOnTheLake)

Cameras for the space age. (via NagOnTheLake)

SNL feminine products ads.

Here’s violent lumpy chaotic radio nutcase Alex Jones played over video of a pizza company’s eerie animatronic giant rat mascot. And you know what? It works. They should hire him, or sponsor him. They’d have to get him to agree not to take his shirt off; that might be the deal-breaker. He likes to take his shirt off, probably because he knows his weirdly inflated beachball-like ribcage and belly is fascinating. What part of /your/ body do you think is interesting enough to call attention to in that way? For me, I’d choose the fantasy-book-frontispiece river-system map of veins on my ankles and inner forearms, as there’s nothing special about my chest, though an x-ray technician once told me I had /very long lungs/. I said, “Is that good?” She said, “If you like that kinda thing, sure.”

The wheel of cheese. (via TYWKIWDBI)

Rerun: Engineering magic of the automotive differential. (A Jam Handy film!)

Exercise with Debbie Drake. She sounds just like a woman who used to call me on the radio to talk in the middle 20-oh-ohs, where at one point she was breathing in a funny way. I said, “What are you doing?” She said, “Exercising. In my room.”

You kids don’t remember, you weren’t there, but there was a thing for years called Columbia House, where they’d mail you eight or ten or a dozen LP records, that you’d choose from catalog in like four-point type, for just a penny or ten cents or a dollar (later there were CDs), and then until the end of time they’d send you another record /of their choosing/ every month or so and somehow bill you full price for it if you forgot to mail them a letter to cancel it, and enough people forgot and enough of those who forgot actually paid to make it profitable, I guess, adding to the bookkeeping scam of it. That’s what Cat is talking about here. And an analogy is made between that and something about the political and economic system. I notice Cat hasn’t been at the paint lately. It’s a running gag that Cat is addicted to drinking blue paint (ugh) to get high. When he does, you can tell because it’s all over his face and shirt, like mug shots of people who put paint or toluene-based glue in a bag and inhale it to clock out. They look so funny, but it’s horrible. They’re destroying their brains, the most important part, but huffing paint or gasoline or whatever is better to them than their life; that’s what’s tragic.  Won’t you donate to KNYO-LP to help continue our work bringing attention to, among other subjects, the plight of these suffering misérables, some of them /as young as eight years old/? They are literally in Hell, and you equally literally are not. Every little bit helps.


Mussels. (via NagOnTheLake)

Click anywhere on the painting and zoom in until it’s gross.,0.000&i=Rijksmuseum/SK-C-5/SK-C-5_VIS_20-um_2019-12-21

…Okay, now, if /that’s/ art, what’s this?

And this. (via NagOnTheLake)

And this. Ivan and Juan.

Craig Louis Stehr sent me this link to a gallery of paintings of the love story of Radha and Krishna, each in a slightly different style. They’re interesting.

Vienna. (via NagOnTheLake)

“Oh, ho! There is something I want to say about the pinky, but I better get my flute out.”

Markov-chain-generated AC/DC lyrics.

“Kurland portrays the girls as fearless and free, tender and fierce. They hunt and explore, braid each other’s hair and roam.”

“Okay, girls, this one’s a burger and tater-tots. Love up them poles like you mean it. Daddy needs a new pair o’ shoes.”

The old days. Same as the new days. (via NagOnTheLake)

See-through rockets video. See-through rockets are /go/.

Alive or not. (Hover text: “Computer viruses currently fall somewhere between prions and fire.”)

Ze Frank’s latest. How the batfish do.

Creatures in Quebec. Qute.

What the hell is the /matter/ with these people?

What the hell is the /matter/ with these people?

Deejays performing, such as it is, where we can’t hear what they’re hearing but only see what they’re doing, which isn’t much, is it. (via b3ta) This reminds me of one time about thirty years ago in the copy shop where I was waxing rhapsodic to bassist Lenny Lax about a then-new kind of synthesizer, and he said, “Electronic music is for people who don’t know how to play music.”

On the other hand, if the theremin was Pavarotti…

Karen gone wild. She’s very upset about something, and she takes it out on the really very accommodating policemen who only want her to move her car over there. But they are short and Hawaiian and she hates them, so she /will/ not give them the satisfaction. (Click the sound on.)


Cities. (via DarkRoastedBlend)

Magical Jutland.


Iceland putting it back.

Thirty or more years ago I read a science fiction story that I’m almost certain was titled /The Boy Who Walked Around the Moons of Jupiter/, about an 18 or maybe 20 or 22-year-old boy being interviewed by a technology reporter because he was engaged in a project to early-virtual-reality walk on a treadmill around 3D images of all the then-known moons of Jupiter. At the end, the boy called out to his mother to come in and clean him because he’d wet himself again and couldn’t stop his game without having to start all over. “Mom!” She didn’t come in right away, so he shrieked, “MOM …I’m wet!” This is like that, except real, and the video-game-playing boy doesn’t care that he’s disgracing himself but the mother cares. (If you can find that story for me, the Jupiter one, I’d be obliged. It’s as gone as the song, from the same era, about Samson’s Radio Dogs that I’m starting to wonder if I just dreamed it.) (Another thing but from only like fifteen years ago that I’m having trouble finding is a weird ten-minute video of sexy dangerous or distressed women on paperback book covers computer-morphing from each to the next over music made of OOOoooming sounds and metal squeaking and clanking– it was called /Pillow Girl/. That’s gone. But in compensation I’ve just learned the Urban Dictionary definition of the term: “A Pillow Girl is a female who puts many pillows on their bed that they don’t sleep with. /What a Pillow Girl she is./” I like that and will be saying it occasionally on the radio, where appropriate: What a pillow girl she is. Also it might be a cute thing to say in a baby-talk voice to your pet dog. It doesn’t have to mean anything; dogs go by tone of voice.

I just told Juanita I was having trouble finding /Pillow Girl/, and she remembered that it was made by Ronnie Cramer and so went straight to it, though it’s fuzzy and low-resolution compared to the DVD Bob Woelfel brought back from a broadcasting convention and gave to me and I lost, dang. I’m sure you can buy it and other award-winning Ronnie Cramer projects. I don’t have money for that, but you can. Anyway: Pillow girl. (Click the sound on.)

“Vernon Deck, former Western League player, can put a regulation-size baseball in his mouth!” You only have to do one thing well to make it in this world, and he could do two things. It’s a gift.

What’s this ad for? Guess before they tell you and win a prize. (via Everlasting Blort)

How we get [fill in blank].

How we get diseases. Now you know.

Things down there. (via DarkRoastedBlend)

“But even sea cucumbers that lack anal teeth are outfitted with tools to defend themselves.”

Workers bolt the giant eagle heads onto the Chrysler Building, crawl around in the sky, assembling scaffolding and taking it apart. “Pretty high /up/, there.” “What’re you yellin’ at /me/ for?” “Dis is Local 16th doin’ the plast’rin’ onna Chrysler Building.”

Vaccines timeline. (If you drag the dragbar to the end and click on Filter, you can narrow the choice of disease whose vaccine info you’re looking at on the timeline.)

Addicted. (via Everlasting Blort)


A brand-new computer-made-up word and definition every time you refresh the page. (via

Infinite new algorithm-generated anime characters who all look suspiciously like Alita Battle Angel. A ten-minute demo.

Lots of fairytale art by Edmund of the Lake. (via MissCellania)

“Say /What/ again, I dare ya!”


Nooooo! (I saw this three minutes after Juanita gave me a stern lecture on the subject of how I’m always breaking her precious dishes by being too rough when I wash them, or being careless around them, for example, I’d just flashily spun a pot on its handle as I picked it up out of the dish drainer to put it on the stove, and this time it slipped and fell, okay, but it /broke nothing/. Let’s be fair, though; five cracked glasses or dishes in thirty years is not so much. To me.) (Her remembering every tiny goddamn little thing is useful more often that it’s trouble. See /Pillow Girl/, above.)

Ogmios School of Zen Motoring. (via b3ta)

Like with the Bad Art site from last week where the art was not bad at all but rather pretty great, this site shows Sad And Useless Too Terrible For Words photographs that are not sad nor useless. It takes all kinds to make a world. If you have trouble enjoying vicarious embarrassment, think of this as a fun exercise. Expand your horizons.

“Watch what happens when you zoom in on this bread.”

And it’s /baked by electricity!/


     “I am a man of GOD! And I CURSE this restaurant first for not accepting my coupon, and also for not letting me and my WIFE and CHILD eat INSIDE like a PERSON!” -Actual man, of God, with a hunting knife with a crucifix on it duct-taped to his Sunday-suit-pants, after they already ate outside in the shade on the grass at a nice park table, so it must have been boiling up in him the whole time.

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-05-08) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

Helicopters and noise and all three kinds of sirens and rumbling traffic again, and lawn and yard equipment in every direction. Oh, well, it was quiet for awhile. And then in a little bit it’ll be out-of-control fire season again, and after that /Christmas/. What? Nothing, never mind.

Anyway, here are links to worthwhile educational and/or sensational items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Historical moms. The spectrum of looking out for us, from prophylactic cliff-edge rope leash to laughing nervously while circus-dad blows flaming lamp oil past your face.


There were four movie cameras rolling that day. None of them caught the initial explosion of fire. This video is mixed up with digital reconstructions of the event, which is confusing, pay the fake parts no mind, but at 4:23 into it, you can see all four cameras’ views synchronized in split-screen, with the familiar audio track of the radio guy breaking down crying, and there’s no shame in that.

The exciting of trains!

Limbo – The organized mind. (via b3ta)

Newton’s cradle tricks you haven’t seen yet. (via NagOnTheLake)

Trailer for a new show about psychedelics. (via NagOnTheLake)

Infinity Kitty – catnip trip.

Killing in the name. Baby Yoda’s got nothing on this one.

We go forward, we go back.

Over too soon. (via b3ta)


Fly like an eagle.

Beautiful fine art flipbook. (via Everlasting Blort)

Trailer for a new game where the object is to prosper as /the/ Pope of Rome. (via NagOnTheLake)

A wonderful horrible story. (via b3ta)

Distorted minor-key metal tunes changed to major key and played on acoustic guitar.

Pretend cigaret brand.

High-rez photos of BBC show sets. For Zoom backgrounds, maybe, as if you’ll ever do that again if you don’t absolutely have to.

Pictures of peoplish places on Earth.

How to protest safely.

Squelette de dragon. (via Everlasting Blort)

A French thing to try with your kids, that I saw coincidentally immediately after reading an article about the children’s game of The Floor is Lava.

Rerun: The floor is lava. “Rick, if you came to Zumba more often you wouldn’t be dead weight!”


(Relatively) hot under there.

Nature’s barcode.

The one on the right for the second half of the song played a sympathetic French policeman in /Hugo/ and played psychotic bully martinet York in /Hyperdrive/ (2006-2007). He pops up seeminly impossibly often in odd places throughout the culture. He might have clone brothers, like Patton Oswalt does.

Hobo nickels.

Joey Nickels.

Bola al Rojo sobre Hielo transparente.

And Portishead – The Rip. (via b3ta)

May Day. International Workers’ Day.

     “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-05-01) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

Furthermore, here are links to worthwhile educational and/or sensational items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Shrike galleries. Prey artfully impaled on barbed wire by birds with a brain the size of a pea. Before people came along with fences perfect for the job, the shrikes used plant thorns. (via TYWKIWDBI)

Satisfying and frustrating at the same time, this short story will remind you of the episode in Black Mirror about people blackmailed into following odd communications and instructions and interacting with others in the same predicament, but nothing mentally strenuously horrible happens here. I’m not sure why I like this so much, and the end is right and not right. It’s strange. See what you think.



Delicious. “Every person I’ve had taste this has had the same reaction. Their eyes roll into the back of their heads.” (via NagOnTheLake)

Jellyfish cat. The sound.

Nebula 75! Featuring mysterious Space Maiden. (15 min.) In Thunderbirds, the blonde woman puppet (not Space Maiden in Nebula 75) seems modeled on actress Wanda Ventham who played Colonel Virginia Lake in /UFO/ (1970-1971). But that was years after /Thunderbirds/; Wanda Ventham (Benedict Cumberbatch’s mother) looked very like Sylvia Anderson of Sylvia and Gerry Anderson who produced not only /Thunderbirds/ (in Supermarionation) but also /UFO/ (live action). Sylvia made the original puppet characters, and Wanda Ventham was cast in /UFO/ because she matched the puppet. Now you know everything and I have to shoot you, blast-and-damn-it-all. You are too clever for your own good. You’re probably tired of people telling you that. Sorry. But you are, and it just gets you into trouble, poking your wooden nose where it doesn’t belong, Commander. We’ll see how clever you are with your /strings/ tangled, like /so/!

Skate tap. View this as a marionette show.

/Pachuco Bailarin/. I want to say, Pablo Escobar, but that’s not right… Perez Prado, that’s it. Pablo Escobar, when he was young, could have stood in for Andy Kaufman; look him up, you’ll see. Perez Prado could not, not only because he was so tiny, only 154 centimeters. Small but scrappy, as Jo Lupo described herself in /Eureka/.

Galaxia de pasión. (“¡Cómo puedo pensar en volar mi barco pirata cuando mis bolas arden con la pasión de mil soles!”)

Randy Rainbow’s latest.

I love this. Pokey LaFarge – Something In The Water. And look up everything else you can by Pokey LaFarge. I don’t remember which of their songs it’s from, but the harmonica player makes a haunting didgeridoo sound, and the clarinet woman is consistently brilliant, winding loops of notes that go around and around your midsection and right up your back and pat you on the head and pinch your cheeks.

Technical support.

Fitness. “As an incentive to excel, the colors of the boys’ shorts indicate their ratings on performance charts.” This was 1962, when you were eligible to be drafted into the military up to 26 years old, so a few of the boys you see here working so hard to perfect their little bodies were blasted into lean hamburger and/or driven mad in Southeast Asia anyway for the profit of the war industry. I’ve heard theories one way or the other about whether JFK would have seriously inflated the American war in Vietnam into what it became if he had lived. But we’ll never know.

Your mother when she was your age in Minnesota years. (via NagOnTheLake)

Everybody who was anybody. (via NagOnTheLake)

“A mass of hatchling Giant Rainforest Mantids danfling [sic] below their ootheca.” (via TYWKIWDBI)

“What’s the hold-up! …/Wouldja go!/ …If you’d just /go/ then we could /GO/.”×1000/media/img/photo/2020/04/photos-week-3/a04_1210677689/original.jpg

Stable geniuses. (via b3ta)

The troubleshooter.

Rusty old toy truck new again. Nice work. For the short of attention span, play at 2X speed.

All the punks. Scroll down. (via DarkRoastedBlend)

Spanish-language sci-fi cover art. Scroll down and click on the individual items to make them big and sharp.

Further 1950s Soviet space art. Much of it is new to me, probably to you too. (via DarkRoastedBlend)

This interests me: “All images copyright Lee Shulman.” I understand about pictures forever belonging to the photographer who shot them, but can you really claim copyright on digital copies of anonymous family pictures found in a thrift store? It seems like claiming copyright on an old book or an action figure because someone threw it out and you found it and liked it enough to copy it and share it, and I’m pretty sure that’s frowned on. Or is it a result of digitally cleaning up and sharpening and revivifying the photos and somehow making them fresh art by the work put in. Or the order or format they’re presented in, as in a collage or a montage. Is this like that? Who cares; they are interesting photographs of the world of the past.

Museum of bad art. (via BoingBoing) But none of it is bad. I don’t understand why they call it bad, unless they mean good by saying bad, like saying something is sick because you like it, or saying something is cool because it’s hot, or the other way around, or nicknaming a giant Tiny or a baldheaded man Curly. This is great stuff, not bad at all. Maybe I only think that because I’m an uneducated Philistine art slob, but I like all these paintings way better than those $20,000,000 splashes of crap that periodically get stolen and make the news and you can’t even tell what it’s a picture of. Is it a swirl of mashed car parts? Is it, somebody ate a box of colored pencils and threw up? Did a squirrel dipped in paint paint it?

Further professional Ghanian movie posters.

Baphomet cross stitch. Sweet. “Lord of lies, watch over this house, I pray. Make it safe by night and day.”

They died peacefully. (bia b3ta)

Martyred screams.

Nerdwriter on comics and Alan Moore.


Tony Santoro’s guide to illegal tree planting. This is not the Tony who with his wife Sally used to fix cars in Fort Bragg (CA), but he sounds just like him. I could listen to this guy all day, and so can you; he’s recorded hundreds of videos. He’s a self-taught botanical expert who swears like a sailor. Swaz, rather. Swaz like a sailah.

MST3K Godzilla vs. Megalon. Including the commercials of the time. (Film starts 10 minutes in.) “This watery manifestation of a vengeful wrathful god couldn’t have come at a worse time.”


Carmen Miranda. (via NagOnTheLake) Just on a whim I saved a couple of adjacent frames, where she’s moving laterally, and used Irfanview to combine them into one image, a pretty good stereoscope 3D pair (scroll down a few inches to that,  cross your eyes to merge the two Carmens into one, and focus on the relatively stable hat-face-decolletage area). I’m sure I’m not the first to think of this technique for making stereo images from film clips, but it’s pretty great. Try it yourself using this and other films. Here’s the film:

…And here’s the 3D image:


Tin Tan & The Malagon Sisters – Cha Cha Cha.

Mary Neely.

Rex Chapman.

How they do it in Egypt.

Hey, kids.

Computer-generated music and lyrics in different styles.

“A puff of smoke that ruined their lives.”

Makeup, to me, runs somewhere on a spectrum between ridiculous and repulsive, but for some reason this sort of thing is all right. Tattoos of this would be crazy in the bad sense of crazy, but it’s only paint, and after she takes a picture of it she washes it off, and that makes it okay for me, as if it’s any of my business what she or anybody does with their own body.

All the piano hooks.

The real BleachMan.

Speaking of Andy Kaufman, Andy Kaufman on the Midnight Special. (via EverlastingBlort)

The big one in VR.

Ethereal, numinous, other-worldly.

Trailer for a documentary series about conspiracy theories, that for a change isn’t just slapping your face with goofy theories but making sense of it all.

And Linnea Quigley’s horror workout. “You get lots of sunshine and fresh air. There’s nothing I like better than going for a run in the woods, past an old cemetery, alone,” she says.



Damiano’s Lute.

     “When they are finished, Macavity returns disguised as Old Deuteronomy, but his cover is blown by Demeter and he ends up in a fight with Munkustrap and Alonzo. Macavity holds his own for a time, but as the rest of the tribe begin to gang up and surround him, he shorts out the stage lights and escapes in the resulting confusion.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-04-24) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

Furthermore, here are links to worthwhile educational and/or sensational items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Rumeynye! Rumeynye!

Race is a flawed and fundamentally stupid concept.

And on the seventh beer we rested.

Rube Goldberg machine of Rube Goldberg machines.

Galleries of foreigners’ photographs of the post-Soviet world. With links to the photographers’ own sites.

I haven’t been following the Tiger King thing, but about two-thirds of the way through this video explaining it I thought, /That’s very like Mendocino County, what they’re describing, and I see that Tiger King guy as Jerry Philbrick but not so mean and bigoted and angry./

Glasgow, 1868. (via NagOnTheLake)

Irish Travelers. (via Everlasting Blort)

The heroic trio.

Turning a giant torus of colored pencils.

A card trick. “Hey, Jeannette, d’ye like magic?” “No, I don’t, really… Stop it, you scare people… That’s not the way to make friends.” (via Everlasting Blort) It’s the video with the two brown-gray birds; you might have to scroll /up/ to get to it, which is odd, and of course click the sound on.

Chemical magic. (via b3ta)

Gravity wave harmonics from black hole collision and merger. (silent graphic)

All fourteen window cameos.

Twilight phenomena after Krakatoa.

An exhalation of alpacas.

A medical inhaling bong. “A much neater and agreeable way of administering medicine to reach the seat of the disease in the air tubes of the head.”

Dune fan art.

Who UV Zhu? You know I do. (via Everlasting Blort)

Re: the venerable drinking game: You can’t schwartz a schwartz, you can’t perfigliano a perfigliano, but it turns out that you can zoom a zoom.

Rerun: skateboard ride.

Pork Queens of yore.

Whatever happened to Miss Sewer Cleaner of 1952? (via WeirdUniverse)

Cute. (via Everlasting Blort)

This is probably pretty close to what it must feel like to him in real life.

Ramadan memes.

Naps. Awww. (via Everlasting Blort)


Paved with intentions.

Worse than Boris.


Curse you, Lucky Ducky!

The title story.

Jared Kushner’s coronavirus task force!

Jesus Christ shut up.

Demo of bargain katana. Invest in good tools.

What you didn’t know.

Pictures at an exhibition. (via NagOnTheLake)

Double Dutch. (via Everlasting Blort)

How people of the UK think about the National Health Service. (via NagOnTheLake)

Rescue cats.

Chronological Joni Mitchel playlist.


Take me with you! (Japanese comix read right-to-left.)

Which goes faster, a bullet smashing through a Prince Rupert’s drop or the Prince Rupert’s drop smashing itself because a bullet smashed through it?

Why did they?

An endless catalog of creepy objects. If you ever get to the bottom let me know, because I don’t think there is any bottom to this.

An essay about anger in acting, using Jack Nicholson. (9 min.)

Quick cuts. Imagine assembling something like this in the ancient times, using film, splicing tape and a razor blade. It was a different world.

A neat trick.

Philip, the last sweet potato.

Quarantine dog good boy. (via NagOnTheLake)

The membership levels. As if you get a choice.

And Season 4, Episode 11 (S04E11) of Futurama, the story of what happens when President-Nixon’s-head-in-a-jar distributes an economic stimulus of $300 (with his name and face on it) to everyone, out of the trillion-dollar surplus resulting from senselessly destroying and looting the silken civilization of the spider planet Tarantulon, and a rundown on what everybody in Planet Express does with his or her $300. (18 min.) (Click the sound on.)


Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

     “The society for literary advancement and gestation (SLAG) announced their decision late last night to disqualify eight year old prizewinner Gerald (Little Milton) Bostock following the hundreds of protests and threats received after the reading of his epic poem Thick as a Brick on B.B.C. Television on Monday.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-04-17) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

Furthermore, here are links to worthwhile educational and/or sensational items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Anne Frank’s vlog.

Nothing to see here. Move along, move along.

Helium dog.

Our sun, the heating system. Also 25-percent helium. So far.

Light haze, clear sailing on the 405, the 10, the 110, the 105, the 710, the 605 and the 210. Another perfect day.

Old John Prine did one of the House of Strombo little concerts. This is gorgeously recorded. (45 min.)

Homemade nuclear explosion lamps. You can make your own out of cotton balls and plastic bags and maybe that swing-arm lamp with a broken arm.

Rerun: Easta! (via Everlasting Blort!)


I don’t get why they’re all men dressed in dresses. Where are all the women dressed in –whatever you call what men wear? I guess they have their own club. These pictures make me think of the country place where the main character in /Fleabag/ went, in the first season, to learn to meditate.

The Song of the Happy Mall Walker. “Go out and shop, and get healthy while you’re doin’ it!” There’s a famous piece of advice for bands just starting out: Never give the drummer cocaine.

It doesn’t look like such a big deal, but it’s kind of a big deal:

Speaking moistly. (That’s funny just by itself, but they sent out questionnaires last year to find out what English word, out of all 800,000 words, annoys the most people and gets right on their top note, and it’s /moist/. It was /moist/ for Joy, dead-Georgia’s mother in /Dead Like Me/, and Georgia saw a chance to communicate with her from beyond the grave by moving refrigerator magnets to tell her that she was there; it was hard to do, and the only letters available would spell /moist/ which she knew her mother hated, but you work with what you have. Joy, sitting crying on the kitchen floor in the midst of a broken-open wet trashbag during the funeral get-together, saw that and wilted.)

Dinner and the card game. (via NagOnTheLake)

The high note.

Little Archie.

How to survive a robot uprising.

The journal of crap wildlife photography.

Moo meow. Moo mieux. Moo meow. Moo mieux.

R.I.P. John Conway.

Jiffy service.

They know your.

Everybody knows.

“Now, listen! I have got to have those pearls!” Silent /Ten Commandments/. (131 min.)

Rerun: An honest meditation.

Every one.

A little perspective. (via

A little more perspective.

Where does the time go?

Hot Rod!/ starring James Lydon, Art Baker and Gill Stratton, Jr. (1 hour) (via NagOnTheLake) This isn’t a car wreck tragedy film; it’s about doing the right thing, using your mechanical know-how for good and never for evil, and so gaining the approval of not only the town girl but your father the judge.

Idiots in cars seventy years later.


Ray Harryhausen’s stop-o-bloody-mation radio reel.

Master of pizzicato.

Real-life horror movie trailer.

Ze Frank’s latest.

I always like his show and the cars but this is special.

Fjords. Dreamlike, crinkly, baroque. What a world. Thanks so much to Magrathean planetary designer Slartibartfast.

MMmm. Warm road. Caramel ice cream lions.

The spirograph star, with animation.

One day they’ll find one like this. It’s gotta be out there somewhere. (via Cliff Pickover’s Reality Carnival)

Or this.

Soviet space graphics.


These people did Glengarry Glen Ross in their house with their little kids and baby dolls. And then disappointed me by bleeping out the swears, but it’s their art, not mine, and it’s still cute.

Cats. (via NagOnTheLake)

Marble track.

Lonely Tokyo.

This is a real living thing on planet Earth. There are gazillions of them. They’re all around us, watching us, but mainly thinking about their favorite food, rotten meat. Meeeeeeat.


The president and his imaginary publicist.

And all six episodes of /Bendito Machine/, longest, simplest and latest (15 min.) on top; shortest, busiest and first at the bottom. They stand alone but the story really develops in sequence.


Tell me about the oranges, Lilly.

     “This is the wort that with wyrm fought, she that prevails against venom, she that prevails against that which flies, she prevails against the loathsome that yond the land fareth. Put thou now to flight.” –from The Nine Herbs Charm to Cure Infection (10th century)

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-04-10) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

Furthermore, here are links to worthwhile educational and/or sensational items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Okay, the whole world isn’t crazy.

Threads. (9 min.)

Old John Prine’s one of the House of Strombo series of little concerts. Gorgeously recorded. (45 min.)

Rerun: Enhanced-color quite-closeups of Jupiter.

Easta! (via Everlasting Blort! and NagOnTheLake, and more)

The wiggly forest.

Many helpful food tricks and tips for being shut in. “Then you’ll take some Parmesan cheese, get that grated into smithereens.” “And we’ll put this on auto-chop, which doesn’t work well if your knife isn’t haunted.”

Drone view in, through and around abandoned oil platform.

Musical instruments that look like a Klee painting.

How we get lathes. “Now you know why we say, /The world turns on Colchester lathes./”

Ze Frank’s latest. (via

Got the bazazzas. (via NagOnTheLake)

Got the baZAZZawazzas.

Exploring possibilities of Zoom.

Happy band.

Rebar corrodes. Concrete decomposes and loses its integrity. This one’s in Italy, but thousands of bridges in the U.S. are in late-stage only-slightly-pre-this shape.

Stupendous feats of bicycular balance, even after a painful fall. They get right back up and continue. They are so peacefully amazing you start crying. (8 min.)

Rock balancing.

A brilliant stage production of puppets, of the film /Manos the Hand of Fate/. (1 hour.)

“Hello, Dale. Did ya miss me?” “Golly, Flash, /did/ I!”

Tides, with a time-lapse of some boats at a wharf at the end.


All the king’s rent.

Raise your paw if you identify with this bear.

Bird opera.

“Tell me about the oranges, Lilly.”

Distancing explained with mousetraps and pingpong balls. (via Everlasting Blort)

Moggie’s dream.

Painlessly get a sense of art deco. (30 min.)

Painlessly get a sense of a rare kind of black hole.

Victorian freak show.

The Nine Herbs Charm to Cure Infection.

“Okay, philosophers. You must construct a philosophical thought experiment with the following items: A time travel machine. A color blind child. An alternate Earth with one minor difference. And… a horse.”

Why not take off your shirt, pull your pants halfway down and attack police vans with two swords, one in each hand? (Short answer: They outnumber you ten to one, they have the equipment and authority, and they just trap you and wear you down and beat at you and still somehow make it look like /you’re/ the bad guy. You can’t win.) I love the sound of the narrators’ voices all the way to the end, but I don’t understand Spanish. To get English subtitles, click on the CC icon (Closed Caption), click on the gear icon (Settings), click on Subtitles/CC, then Auto-Translate, then English. It’s not very accurate and a lot is left out, but you get a sense of their cute relationship. I did know what sangria means. It means blood or bleeding, something like that.

Why not recharge big lithium batteries in the house, even next to the fireplace? (Answer: beyond the heat and shrapnel and unstoppable flames, there’s highly toxic hydrogen fluoride gas. Do it in the driveway so the whole neighborhood can enjoy it.)

The fair of the future. No sangria. (But robot-squeezed orange juice.)


It laughs and runs away with it.

“One beef chunk. You have so many.” “No.” “One beef chunk. One beef chunk.” “No.” (via


Motor rebuild time-lapse. (via PerfectForRoquefortCheese)

1948. This shape is all metal, not fiberglass. The sparkly finish that looks cheap and toylike to us, that wasn’t cheap to them, it was novel and amazing; it’s tens of thousands of flakes of real gold mixed into the paint at the sprayer with a machine that the maker had to invent just to do it. Imagine this beautiful shape in solid deep blue or kelly green or candy apple red, though, or a line of cars like this next to each other on a lot, each in a different startling color. Features include a power lift for access; just touch a button and the whole thing opens up like a clam. “No rearview. In a car like this, anything-a behind you, Tony, what’s it matter?” (Anything-a behind you, Tony, like-a two world wars and never again.) A car for, um, the future that we didn’t get because, instead of never again, /again and again and again/, like popcorn popping, like a boot stomping on a human face forever, the flaw in our casting. And a great deal of the bad might have been greased by all the tetra-ethyl lead in everyone’s brains because of no-knock gasoline… but I suppose you can’t blame World War 1 on what came after it.

And the creepiest Dating Game. Read the description under the video.

Jake leg waltz.

     “They resolved to leave means neither of ingress nor egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the Red Death.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-04-03) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

Furthermore, here are links to worthwhile educational and/or sensational items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Astronaut Chris Hadley reviews space movies. (30 min. and worth every min.)

“Do not fear, but please stay here.”

Stay the fuck at home. (via Everlasting Blort)

“Here is Colin with a slab of cork from the bark of a cork tree.” (43 min.)

Life with Rogar. “Do not punish.”

“Stand in a corner and cry softly.”

Hey now.

Simulating an epidemic. 20 minutes and worth it.

The girl on the magazine cover.

Nina Conti is so wonderful. Here’s just one of her performances. (Also see, if you can find it, the terrific little movie she made about giving up her career in ventriloquism when her old ventriloquism teacher died; it’s called /Her Master’s Voice/.)

Couple make their own Haunted Mansion experience for you.

Animated paintings. Scroll down for two of them. (via Everlasting Blort)

The first fifty digits of pi recited (or sung) by different people in all different styles.

Tense. Man asks cop the same questions cops have asked him, and uses the same tone of voice they do, to see how they like it. Answer: they don’t. Also, the thought comes to me belated because I’m white: good thing he’s white. Jesus, that /look/ the cop gives him at the end. I often use the term /looking daggers at/ someone; that’s that look.

Overlapping stock footage.

Bird just hit the edge of the map.

Didn’t see that coming.

This comic frame is about how, through all of this, the putz is mainly concerned about his image, his teevee ratings, that people think his hair is real, stuff like that.

Constructive use of one’s time.

The plague doctor and the unicorn, a fable of isolation, desolation, and chihuahuas.

Choose your own adventure.

Bird flight paths.

Preparation. (Click the sound on.)

Luca Stricagnoli’s latest.

Ten great bass women.

Slow-motion bird-feeder cam.

Ze Frank – The Giraffe.

“Hail to the Wizard of Oz, to the Wizard of Oz, hooray, hooray. Don’t offend our wizard; he’s a wonderful guy…” This is six years before Judy Garland’s Dorothy.


Truck on ice.

I think this was the child’s idea.

“The last man on Earth sat alone in his apartment. The telephone rang.”


The scene in /Omega Man/ where the last man on Earth plays /Woodstock/ in a theater over and over to look at thousands of people in one place.

Bikini beach party. You kids don’t know, but there was a time when there were a hundred real movies just like this in almost every way, except for the African-American fellow.

Crash footage with one of the cars digitally edited out.

“This film was shot live on the 8mm-square surface of a chemical reaction.”

Odd man out. (30 min.)

Fool such as I. That’s Jimmy Tokita and his Mountain Playboys. (via NagOnTheLake)

Daddy, what did you do during the Coronavirus?

And the global haiku project. I played with this a little. Try it; you’ll get sucked in. You get emails afterward when the ones you participate in are complete.

Driving (crashing and burning) on other planets.

Long walking tours. Florence is nice. The wet forest is pretty.

Walruses can whistle with their big walrus lips. “So no-one was gonna tell me? I had to find this out on my own?” (via Everlasting Blort)

Rapping Doctor Suess.

This giant pipe organ is set up for MIDI. They try an experiment.

It’s beautiful, but looking at the smoke coming from the flares /I can smell it/ and it makes my eyes sting. Does it do that with you?

Creepy and fascinating.

First-rate mime skills.

“Lets you upload a portrait, and then uses deep learning technology to transform your image into a renaissance painting.”

Squirrel Nut Zippers are still touring and recording. Or were, a couple of years ago, here:

“Ya know what, ya do ya thing at the loybrary, the kids come fa da boobs, they stay fa da books. Evvybody wins.”

The girl chewing gum. (12 min.) (via

Pictorial timeline of the old 20th. (via

20 women throughout history (including 5 from the future)

London’s dreadful visitation.

Ze Frank’s latest.

Meerkats are interested to meet a giant very fancy and placid pet pig who hardly even knows they’re alive.

And a rerun: ten soothing hours on the Wuppertal (say VOOP-air-tall) monorail electric hanging train. Imagine you’re in the train, and it’s passing safely and (almost) silently along its route while you sleep. Just start it playing, put on your pyjamas, brush your teeth (don’t forget to floss) and lie down. Every time you half-wake up it’ll all be there around you, flowing past you and your bed in this marvelous machine. A monorail system is a wise move; no property must be bought up for the line. Constructing and operating it is little more expensive that maintaining the roads beneath it anyway. It’s clean, fast, efficient, unaffected by weather, traffic, floods and earthquakes. Safer than any other form of transportation. The structure is always exposed to the sky; it can be festooned with solar panels for much of its power needs. Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. Ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa.

Eleventy kinds of broken.

     “That all Plays, Bear Baitings, Games, singing of Ballads, Buckler play, or such like Causes of Assemblies of People, be utterly prohibited, and the Parties offending severely punished by every Alderman in his Ward.” -Daniel Defoe

     “Introverts are rejoicing. My lifelong aversion to being touched and love of solitude are finally going to pay off! Suck it, touchies!” -Hal

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-03-27) KNYO and KMEC Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy. (Left-click for instant-play. Right-click to download.) And thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with the latest show and also other ones going back awhile. And you can go to Links To Recorded Audio, see above, and hear older shows yet.

A rare glitch in the automation, so KNYO wasn’t joined by KMEC until 9:30 when I discovered this and put it right; other than that, clear sailing. Alex Bosworth called from Arizona and is having an especially hard time, though, and I’m not very sensitive about other people’s real unhappiness even in the best of times, and when he hung up it sounded final, like the part in the movie where they hang up or stomp away from the park bench sounding pissed off and you don’t see them for five years and then when you do they say, why did you hang up on /them/?

Matt McGranaghan wrote:

>Marco, Alex’s call last night was a particularly moving Memo of the Air moment. I hope you and he are both OK, individually or better collectively. He seemed resolute but maybe he was seeking help. Hard to tell. To your credit, you handled it as well as anyone could.

>I had been meaning to write to say that I could not explain why I find/found your conversations with him so darned compelling. Almost naughty, like listening in on a party line, or to a therapy session in a room with too-thin walls. Maybe it was the open expression of opinions, some small bit of good-natured jousting. Maybe the hearing takes and experiences that are a bit wide of my own. Still don’t know. May never figure it out.

>It might make your program planning easier but I did look forward to that segment, and could tell that you did too. I guess.

>Hang-in. Lay low. Wash your hands. –Matt

I wrote back:

>Matt, I don’t know. If it’s a new person, or like a former specialty prostitute who wrote four books about putting herself through grad school on the equipment God gave her, I’m gonna want to hear whatever they have going on even twice or three times through but that’s enough, please. But if it’s somebody who calls all the time to push an hour-and-a-half of my reading material off the table into the trash, and /they know that’s what they’re doing/, I’m sorry, but I want them to read their story and say Wash your hands (you’re right, that’s a funny polite exit now) and hang up. Even if or rather especially if I like them, and even if they have, as Alex does, a shit-ton of health problems and are deserving of extra love and care.

>There are things going on in the background for everyone all the time. I expected other callers for last night and they both flaked, including the one that said she’d call what turned out to be when Alex called, and I thought maybe if Alex and I only talked for five or ten minutes the other person would try again if it was busy. That was why I said at start that I’d like to keep it to ten minutes. Alex thrives on company and is miserable in private, and I’m the other way around. My experience with conversation in real life is, unconstrained I talk until I say something cryptic or weird that nobody but Juanita would understand, try to pull up (“Pull up, Rogue Six, pull up!”) and just make it worse, and then internally agonize about it for the rest of my life; so I should quit while I’m ahead, but I always hope the other person will say, “Oh, my, look at the time,” and they take responsibility for leaving each other wanting more, to look forward to next time. /They/ do that; that’s what I want.

>Meanwhile the world’s in the same worse sucky hole than ever anyway in this bad science-fiction timeline, billionaires’ world wars ruining everything for everybody so they can stay billionaires, and cynical fake democracy, and plague, and devastation; disasters should take turns and not be comically wedged in the door together like this all at the same time. I’m gonna heat my tea back up and work on my web thing. Thanks for writing. Wash your hands. –Marco

IN OTHER NEWS: Confidential to the small but significant number of people who’ve been writing me privately for years and telling me in the grocery store (or even in the radio station when the mic is off but they won’t sit at a mic and do it for real) to cut off Alex (or anyone) for whatever reason of theirs, every one of whom has also told me never to say their name on the radio, because they want to kvetch in paranoid privacy, which I hate, um, I hate that, as well as the smug whispering campaigns against writers they have a personal history and issues with or who they just don’t understand so it makes them feel like they’re being made fun of so they’re pissy about it, and so on: If you want to participate, participate. If you want to snipe, snipe in public from now on with your name on it; be a man, or a woman, whichever is better. If you want to sabotage other people’s projects, go ahead, but stand up where everyone can get a clear throw at you with /their/ cream pie while you’re doing it. Okay, now that I have this all straight in my mind I know what to say next time, but it’ll probably come out a lot simpler, more like /Fuck you, clown!/ You know all those old grumpy people who ever just appeared, swore bitterly at you, and you were like, What was /that/ about? It’s all beginning to make sense. It’s about shorthand, minimalism, zen.

Anyway, here are links to worthwhile educational and/or sensational items that I set aside for you while gathering last night’s show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Christine speaking Shetlandic. I’ll be in my bunk.

The adorable bee hummingbird, the smallest of birds, barely bigger than a bee. Only as big as a big bee. (via NagOnTheLake)


For the love of God, Montressor. (41 min.)

Rediscovering Medieval music.

Reinventing music with stuff you find just lying around the house. The flapping rewinding tape one is my favorite.

“It’s okay. You can look at my butt.” (A lesson of social distancing.)

Queen of the rodeo. (via NagOnTheLake)

Ghost Story Club. (via

Lily Hevesh’s latest.

Joseph’s latest.

Rerun: The /sound/ of this. Use the good headphones.

Collection of lovely videos about work in rural China. (via NagOnTheLake)

“God dammit, you guys. Fine, how can I help.”

Shelter in place.

Read this whole thing, but if you just can’t force yourself to, then skip to the end graphics and the conclusion, which is that a hard quarantine is less effective than hard distancing. The animated demos about halfway down the article show why.

Stream the animal kingdom.

How we get mermaids. “The qualifications are beauty of face and figure, the ability to take direction and face long hours of strenuous physical discipline.”

Stills of the mermaids.

Say it ain’t so, Joe…

[Update] …But apparently they removed that like five minutes after I picked up the link. Here’s another article about the latest accusations against Joe Biden. I don’t know, except– even without considering this case, to me either Elizabeth Warren or Bernie Sanders would make a far better president than either Joe Biden or Fat Donny Two Scoops, and of all of them Warren has another twenty good sharp years in her. Maybe there won’t even be an election. Maybe those of us left alive will all be under drone-enforced martial law by election time in a Black Mirror scenario of horror, hunger and oppression and, on top of it, the worst fire season ever because of climate disruption and we’ll be using wheelbarrowsful of money for toilet paper, and a handful of evil fucks in charge will /still/ somehow be profiting from bombing the Middle East and Africa and wrecking and re-wrecking Central and South America just to feel like they’re in charge of the Raft of the Medusa for another fifteen minutes. Ahem.

I fratelli Cuomo.

“We gotta get outta here. Steve’s got warrants.” “I got warrants, man.”

I love this.

And this. “But the Lord told Shavulva, don’t worry.”

Sir Patrick Stewart is reciting soothing Shakespeare sonnets on Twitter.

The little blonde one, Diane, is less squinty and more focused on the camera’s nose than the others, but there are those worrying hickeys under her arm. That’s probably why she didn’t win, and next year she’ll be too old. That was her one chance to be National Doughnut Queen. Thanks a /lot/, Bobby.

The classic liberal/conservative analogy.

The sexy cars again.

Rerun: Mystery of the leaping fish. (Filmed in 1916, 30 min.)


How to play a bunch of random-sounding notes in a nonetheless precise pattern like a professional of that.

Somebody on the MCN Announce listserv wrote about going out to several stores to get essential supplies, which turned out to be vodka and trash bags and a third thing, I forget what, but I thought, /Essential supplies?/ It reminded me of this:

Tilt-shift Azerbaijan.


Sono il sindaco e sono stupito dall’ignoranza di voi gente.

But then it’s worse. Somebody could step there and break his tibia. Or a horse could.

Relatively, yes, they were.

A virtual giant orchestra/choir of music students.

Something sphinx around here. It looks like it’s crocheted of bubblegum rolled into snakes. Here’s the neat thing about all cats: they’re 100 degrees Fahrenheit inside their fur coat, and a sphinx cat doesn’t have that coat. So it’s hot to the touch. And it smells like a cinnamon bun because of a special genetic chemical in the folds of its flesh, the way the place between a puppy’s toes smells like salted popcorn.

About Lois Weber. Who’s Lois Weber? Exactly.

Strange sarcophagi. (via NagOnTheLake)

And archimaps. (via NagOnTheLake)

Oh, my, look at the time, wash your hands, it couldn’t hoyt, hummena-hummena, etc.