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/Quiet/ desperation, please.

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

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


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

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

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

What we forget. (via Zeke)

Looking backward to it.

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

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

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

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

Further delightful things to do with New Yorker cartoons.

If social media hosted a party.

Pinball game music composer in the 1980s.

An intricate zootropic dream of money. Not zootrophic– zootropic, from zootrope.




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

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

Rerun: Even more out of his league.

Last season’s hit shoe.

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

Derelict movie theaters. (via NagOnTheLake)

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

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

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

The other world.

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

Orion: Zorro Elvis.

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

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

If dentists were honest.

People standing funny. (via NagOnTheLake)

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

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

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

And I repeat.

A friend.

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

Church music from other churches than your church.

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

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

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

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

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


She seems nice. (via b3ta)

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

Dog. A husky melody.

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

Book dioramas. (Scroll down for more.)

Another essential skill lost to the ages.

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

Posted July 3, 2019.

The suicide of Porcia.

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

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

“So is abortion.”

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

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

Rerun: A space story.

From our point of view. (via Clifford Pickover)

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

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

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


Time Trumpet.

A very old cartoon that might always be relevant anymore.

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

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

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

The tardigrade conspiracy.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Art hand.

The tragedy of harpmaker’s cornea.

A pleasant travelogue show about a strange place.

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

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

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

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

How to get stains out.

Clever condom commercial.

Complete the sale.

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


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

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

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

A tiny honking bluesmaster. (via Everlasting Blort)

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

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

Backward cool.

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

Smoker’s lungs:

Form follows function. (via Fark)

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


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

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

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

“Your kiss of affection the germ of infection.”

Rerun: Good, though.

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

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

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

Toto Brothers of 1919.


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

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

She seems nice.

Circle of life.

Finalists in comedy wildlife photo contest.

Bo Burnham reaction video. (via b3ta)

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

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


Bo Burnham reaction video. (via b3ta)

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

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

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

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

Hazel Brooks in her heyday.

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

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

That’s timing.

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


And good riddance to bad rubbish.

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The original tree-huggers.

Type the alphabet. (via NagOnTheLake)

Architectural models in film. (via NagOnTheLake)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cie La Mue/tte sample video.

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



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

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

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

How ya doin’.

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

Father and son art collaboration. The adventure continues.

All about Get Smart. (48 min.)

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

The feather dance.

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

Headlock. (via NagOnTheLake)

Rubic’s cloud.

ROUS of Rio.

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

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

Pile drivers.

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

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

And he’d also approve of this rerun.

Don’t sell fake vaccination documents.

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

One-man band.

Eight-man band.

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

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

Sisters with transistors.

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

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

How we get visual stories.



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

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


Not the sharpest tools in the shed, are they.

Vancouver in the ’70s. (via NagOnTheLake)

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Hydraulic press interpretive dance.

Tattoo pain chart.

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

Do you suppose it was something in the doughnuts?

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

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

Inventions of science fiction alphabetized.

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

Institute of illegal images.

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

Badass diver.

Aliens, though? Probably not. (via b3ta)

Blood pressure, fella.

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

Distortion and other effects.

Parkour effect.

The SpiderElephant. (via BoingBoing)

Action and reaction. (via Clifford Pickover)

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

This is also how the stock market works.

And this is how arguing on the internet works.

Long story short.

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

A cartoon from June of 2011.

The philosopher’s good life.

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

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

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

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

Jimi Hendrix on Swedish teevee in 1967.

Josephine Baker’s famous entirely imaginary French house.

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

Russian floaters floating.





Art. (Posted last year in November.)

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

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

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

The treatment.

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

A.I. picking out this and that.

Press play.

Manahmanah birds.

Betty Boop in /Ha! Ha! Ha!/

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

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

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

The screams.

Limbo (say LEEM-boh).

Where ya goin’, Fred? Over there. Ah.


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


Spoilers. (via b3ta)

Flipping the script.

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

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


Rerun: Kurt Vonnegut on shapes of stories.

Man cooks his own chips. And you can too.

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

Tommy can’t sleep.

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

Fembot. (via BitsAndPieces)

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

Bonnet carré du mort!

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

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


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

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

Oh, this is good. Exactly right.

It reminds me of this equally good advice:


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



I wanta do that.

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

What a great ad!

How do they do it?

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

Abundance. (also via Clifford Pickover)


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

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

Covid prayers. (via Fark)

How the immune system works.

Art. (via Clifford Pickover)

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

Rubber alien.

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


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


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

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

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

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


The London Picture Archive. (via NagOnTheLake)

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

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

Fake films shown within shows. Hundreds of them.

New York. (via Everlasting Blort)

Piper Laurie in her heyday.

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

A fun test.

Trouser fashions.

She’s right. (via Everlasting Blort)

Further good advice. (via Everlasting Blort)

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

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

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

One Comfortably Numb.

Another Comfortably Numb.

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

Cannot be unheard. You have been warned.

Synchronized strolling.

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

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

If. Hiroshima flaneur.

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

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


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

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

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

The Great Flydini.


Logic gates.

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

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


Landscapes big and small.

“Wet hands don’t melt steel beams.”

Don’t stop. You stopped. Tch.

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

Cute li’l tilt-shift German mountains.

Ad for cheese.

A new cat-theme game.

The midnight zone.



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

The 9 Kubler-Ross stages of alien invasion.

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

Light swizzles. (via BoingBoing)

If you could choose your superpower or super-attribute.

How big are black holes?

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

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

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

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

Malkovich. (via Nag on the Lake)

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

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

If you see a beach.


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

Four harmonicas Take Five.

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

The truth is up there. (via b3ta)

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


The Corvair Ernie Kovacs died in. (via AsylumEclectica)

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

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

Rerun: Wrong way down a one-way street.

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



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

Eh, it’s a living.

Falling down. (via Cliff Pickover)

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

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

Bloob. Pash. Plishhh. Etc.

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


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

Self-harmers in VBS.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

Living Olympic pictograms.

Such a beach.

Drowning doesn’t look like drowning.

Walking on the moon.

How we get balloons.

Rerun: Top-down view of juggling.

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

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

A modern interpretation of Blake’s London.

The Q continuum.


The nose nose. Also: Gawker is up again.

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

AAACK! Three Daughters for Cathy, Daughter Two:

The bin chicken. (via b3ta)

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

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

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

Rerun: Parking help. Stay to the end.

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

Land of the buffalo.

Art. Fauxliage.

Memorable movie shots.

Classic paintings animated.

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

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

Art. (via Everlasting Blort)

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

Manson! (via Everlasting Blort)

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

The all-new 1955 Huffy Super Radiobike.

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

The future.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Just asking.

Looking for trouble. (via b3ta)

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

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

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

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

Super Speed Guy.

Wires. (via NagOnTheLake)


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

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

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

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

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

Unwritten rules.

Correlation of vaccination rates with politics.

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

A short horror film for dogs.

A paean to dogs. A paean! A paean!

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

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

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

He is dead.

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

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

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




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

The Big Apple in the good old days.

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

HIPPA violation.

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

Rerun: Six Finger.

At no point.

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

And trois petits chats. Then deux. Then un.


The girl, the gold watch, and everything.

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

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


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

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

Pissed-off mother bird.

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

Very nice new instrument, though pricey.

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

Sounds of real space.

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

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

If not now, Venn?

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

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

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

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

Ashes, ashes.

Fall of Saigon. (via the Anderson Valley Advertiser)

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

Pets behind various glasses. (via NagOnTheLake)

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

The student becomes the master.

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

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

Eastern Europe. (via Everlasting Blort)

Cleveland, city of light, city of magic.

History of Soviet animation.

Solid objects.

How we get telephone books. (via b3ta)

How we get whatever these things are.

And these things.

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

And a nuclear-powered knockoff Gameboy.

Beautiful and sad. A watercolor Fukushima story.

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

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

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

Underwater atomic bomb test, 1958.

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

Wax. (via MissCellania)

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

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

Plinky melody.

Mister Blue Sky used in the films.


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

Pink Floydish cover of Billie Eilish.

Latest vintage paperback covers. (via b3ta)

Miss Department of Illinois, 1950. Bendy.

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

France teevee Olympic animation. (via b3ta)

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

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

Alternative ipsums.

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

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

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


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

And three seconds.





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

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


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

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

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

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

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

Ze Frank – Wild pigs.


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

Lucky Dog.

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

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


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

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

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

The progress Ian Davis has made on his new hand.

Ukrainian railroad ladies. (via NagOnTheLake)

I saw that coming. Or rather going.



The alternative limb project. (via Everlasting Blort)


A good idea.

Judy’s floating head.



Extreme sheep herding.

Rocket science.

Sound toys.

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

Who’s a good girl?


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

Hundreds of years of heartbreaking anti-Asian hatred.

Puzzles. (via BitsAndPieces)

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

Rerun: The Beatles.

150,000. (via NagOnTheLake)

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

/Bite! Bite! Bite!/ So cute!

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

Carousel. We go forward, we go back.

Darlingside – Futures.


Inca trepanation.

Artificial intelligence illustrates Samuel Taylor Coleridge – Kubla Khan.

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

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

A kind of calligraphy. Juanita can do this.

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


Bouncy castle terror in Belarus. Oh, the humanity.


Leave pyrotechnics to the pros.


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

Who has egg on their face?

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

Late model Devo.

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

The birds.

And more birds from the same bird channel.

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

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





Every throw a coconut, every lass a queen.

     “[The blue key] opens the worst aspects of herself. Like Pandora’s opening the box containing the ills of the world, Diane’s commission of murder provides a mechanism whereby the most evil parts of herself will flourish and find expression. Her hire of the hitman is the key that opens her darkness, which up to this point has been contained.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-07-09) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


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

A lot of wonderful made-up stories this time, especially later in the show. One from Sebastian Iturralde, as usual, and another from his friend and, in this case, collaborator BurnHeaven. A long story by Ted Chiang: /Hell Is the Absence of God/, from the book /The Story of Your Life/, whose title story was adapted to make the movie /Arrival/. And, of course, there’s poetry by Notty Bumbo, John Sakowicz, Douglas Wayne Coulter and others, and a new story by Alex Bosworth, who wrote me last week to tell me to stop saying he lives in Arizona. Sorry about that, Alex. A report by Andrew Scully. Health info, genetic and space science and medical and paleontology triumphs. A new mind-control fungus found in a fifty-million-year-old ant’s butt preserved in amber. Just a million things.

You too can be part of next week’s show. Sent your writing as plain text in the body of an email to (remove NOSPAM for the address to work). If you’d like me to enradio your music or recorded work, send me a link to it.

This coming week again I’ll be in the back room of the KNYO storefront (325 N. Franklin) for the show. The number there is 707 962-3022 (after 9pm PST, Friday night) to read you own work in your own voice live in real time. Or, if you’re local enough, walk right in with your instrument(s) and show-and-tell materials any time (this coming Friday) after 9pm, though take into account that for the rest of summer 9:30 to 10pm is taken up with the San Francisco Mime Troupe’s latest radio drama series /Tales of the Resistance, Vol. 2: Persistence/. We have a Max Forsetter-approved piano-thing. It’s all safe with masks and two-meter distancing and everyone’s vaccinated. No-one will jump at you and hug you or even grab your hand the way I always hated it that people used to do everywhere. It’s actually better now.

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

The God of Loss.

That’s sand blowing across ice. (via TYWKIWDBI)

Abandoned Soviet places and things.

Numnum cat embellished.


Two people who love each other shouldn’t hide anything. (Scroll down for more.)

This series reminds me of something I read long ago: “Whenever you feel small and powerless, remember that a single turd can clear an entire waterpark.” It turns out to work with liquid feces, too:

Weigh in on what to change the name of Fort Bragg (CA) to. I say, Lindy Petersville, or The Palms.

Rocket projects. Skip ahead to 7:15 and then go from there.

AIEEE! “Somebody get a hose! A hose!” “Oh, my gad!” “There’s a fire! Over there! A fire!” “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you, it’ll hit me first.” So, with a bang /and/ a whimper, then. (via Fark)

Paris in 1900. (via NagOnTheLake)

Skip around it this. It’s full of magic and wonder.

How ants walk. (via TYWIKIWDBI)

Hindu art-ish horses’ eyes. Doo-dah, doo-dah.

At the animal bar.

Mud, mud, uproarious mud.

Elysia, valley of the nudes. “The American Indian never caught cold until the white man put clothing on him.” Hmm, is that so?

I don’t know what martial art this is, but there’s the Indiana Jones problem to consider.

Same here.

Make sure you don’t have a mouthful of Pepsi when you play this:

Art. (via Everlasting Blort) (Sometimes –like now, for instance– I feel like saying, just go to Everlasting Blort and spend the night there. Their curatorial powers are consistently off the scale.)

In their native language. (20 min.)

Greenland, with a rat-a-tat-tat.

Blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah.

Lovely sea creatures gracefully swarming.

Multiverse-hopping motorcycles.

Utrecht, city of blutwurst, city of cycling. (via Everlasting Blort)

The fried chicken and potato salad story. (via Everlasting Blort)

Even when you can’t miss, you can still fall short, son.

Fire-breathing relay trick.

The sound of millions of monarch butterflies all flying around at once. You better get your mukluks up out of the cellophane before they scorch. (Action starts at 3:25.)

The guy’s all, Oh, man! This is crazy! Why did it do that? But think of it from the shrimp’s point of view: same thing.

Comic drama. I love the way the little creature looks up afterward as if: Did I do good, boss? This reminds me of one time Juanita was carefully, totally painlessly trimming her pet bird Melody’s toenails to keep her from getting stuck in blankets and cloth, and Melody was /screaming and screaming/. Juanita said something in a tone and accent I don’t remember hearing from her before or since: “Come on, you’d think I was /killin’/ ya.”

Comic book store files suit against neighbor hotel, submits the case in comic book format. (Illustration starts on page 6.) (via Fark)

History. (via Fark)

“Well, there are certain sections of Philadelphia that I wouldn’t advise you to try to invade.”

How we get ladybugs. A cross between /bleagh!/ and /yeech!/

The Cattywampus Zone. “You cain’t mess up grits –GAKH… Oh, but y’all did.”

And this one.

Box wars.

Speaking of which, life imitates Onion:

Josephine Baker, 1935.

Grandma drummer.

The sky is falling.

And dreamy photos*. (via Neatorama)

*I felt these photos would look better in black-and-white, so I looked up how to quickly turn my monitor to grayscale (and back again afterward) in Windows. Correct; they do look better. And it turns out to be kind of cool to continue to use the computer in all black-and-white. Here, try it:



Cut me some meat, Hunca Munca!

     “I good to you. I steek up for you. If you no help me now I say, Fuck you Jobu, I’ll do it myself.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-07-02) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


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

Tickets are limited for the KNYO Caspar Community Center 4th of July family friendly extravaganza all Sunday afternoon and evening, so check now, don’t wait, you may already be a winner:

And you can still help Jose Xanuitzil’s family and his young children. To recap, a terrible tragedy happened on June 11th when Jose, a long time beloved employee at Harvest Markets died in a car accident with his girls in the car. Jose’s 11 year old daughter, Samantha was severely injured and was hospitalized and had to undergo surgery to save her life at UC Davis. 15-year old, Nicole, has had to make decisions while her mom has been at UC Davis with Samantha. The family was still grieving the loss of Jose’s sister to COVID and now they have lost him as well.

Donations to help with burial expenses and the girls’ care can be made at all Harvest Market checkout registers. You just ask to donate and the checkout clerk will add it to your items and it’ll show up on your receipt. Any amount is good, however small or large. You can also mail a donation to Mendocino Coast Children’s Fund, PO Box 1616, Mendocino, CA 95460 or donate at

This coming week I’ll be in the Franklin Street storefront again for the show. The number is 707 962-3022 (after 9pm, Friday night).

You can come in with your instrument(s) and show-and-tell materials; it’s safe with masks and two-meter distancing and everyone’s vaccinated. Just walk right in, sit right down… Ah! /That/ was the song I was trying to remember, from the mafia jukebox in my grandparents’ restaurant when I was little. /Walk Right In, Sit Right Down/, here:

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

The tale of two bad mice and a frustrating hoax of painted clay food, by Beatrix Potter.



A cautionary image for the Fourth of July, or any time, really: X-ray view of man’s exploded hand from playing with fireworks. Granted, it was a professional mortar firework, but don’t play with fireworks, even the little kind. Every year children are blinded and otherwise crippled by complications of harmless-seeming /sparklers/. Between fourth and fifth grade I almost set the house on fire with a sparkler. Clay Street, Fresno. I was grounded through Halloween. Get glow-sticks from the dollar store instead and swing them around in the dark on a string. And try not to put anybody’s eye out with that, too.

Somewhere in America.

The Thief Lord kettle. (via NagOnTheLake)

Storks in space. Asteroidal fire-breathing car-stomping Godzilla storks.

One day in Bangkok: Revenge. (The scooter is worth Rs 23 lakh. In American money that’s $30,000. Whatever way he broke up with her was the wrong way.) (I’m seeing that a woman destroying her former lover’s vehicle in anger at being dumped or cheated on is common now all over the world, but I’ll be calling it a /Bangkok revenge/ from now on.)

Daa-woosh, daa-woosh, will you do da fan-dang-go.

When a cabinet minister resigns. (via b3ta)

Suddenly (comma) chameleon. (via NagOnTheLake)

Show me the Monet? Yo, I gotcher Monet right here, pal. For two hours. (via NagOnTheLake)

Warning lights.

Simple and quick explanation of public key cryptography.

During the show I mentioned the harrowing first ten minutes of Spalding Gray’s film /Gray’s Anatomy/. Here’s the whole film:

Ow. (via b3ta)

Tenacious D. They can’t be back if they never went away. Tenacious D forever.

…Speaking of which, the scene of Jack and Kage (Kyle) on acid in the desert, in 2006:

Come Together.

A lot to learn.

Better with his toes than most people are with fingers.

No gloves, and even so, no blood, no bruises, no bandages. /That’s/ amazing.


Welcome to Wendy’s beaver.

Sexy robot Pierson’s Puppeteers.

A.I. paintings.

Further A.I. paintings. (Scroll down to post titled /The art of asking nicely/.)

And possibly posable dolls. Creepy? or not creepy? That depends a lot on you.


A map of Fillory (or) Kazak, hound of space.

     “…One day when I was a young boy on holiday in Uberwald I was walking along the bank of a stream when I saw a mother otter with her cubs. A very endearing sight, I’m sure you’ll agree, and even as I watched, the mother otter dived into the water and came up with a plump salmon, which she subdued and dragged onto a log. As she ate it, while of course it was still alive, the body split and I remember to this day the sweet pinkness of its roes as they spilled out, much to the delight of the baby otters, who scrambled over themselves to feed on the delicacy. One of nature’s wonders, gentlemen. Mother and children dining upon mother and children. And that is when I first learned about evil. It is built into the very nature of the universe. Every world spins in pain. If there is any kind of supreme being, I told myself, it is up to all of us to become his moral superior.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-06-25) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


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

Annie Liner wrote:

Many of you have asked how you can help Jose Xanuitzil’s family and his young children. A terrible tragedy happened on June 11th when Jose, a long time beloved employee at Harvest Markets died in a car accident with his girls in the car. Jose’s 11 year old daughter, Samantha was severely injured and was hospitalized and had to undergo surgery to save her life at UC Davis. 15-year old, Nicole, has had to make decisions while her mom has been at UC Davis with Samantha. The family was still grieving the loss of Jose’s sister to COVID and now they have lost him as well. The funeral mass was Friday, June 25 at Our Lady of Good Counsel Church, followed by graveside services.

Donations to help with burial expenses and the girls’ care can be made at all Harvest Market checkout registers. You just ask to donate and the checkout clerk will add it to your items and it’ll show up on your receipt. Any amount is good, however small or large. You can also mail a donation to Mendocino Coast Children’s Fund, PO Box 1616, Mendocino, CA 95460 or donate at

Please note Misfortune Fund on your check or cc donation. Let’s surround these children with generosity and love. The MCCF Misfortune Fund acts on behalf of our coast community to provide aid to children impacted by accidents, illness and/or the loss of a parent.

Our condolences to the family. (signed) Annie Liner of the Mendocino Coast Children’s Fund.

*  *  *

There’s a passel of material in this show. Ecology, science, psychology, a cure for Alzheimers, critical race theory, space news, latest developments in sex robots, poetry, pathos, artificial intelligence, Mendocino County history, Louis C.K. on the comic juxtaposition of a fictitious chain of pet stores and insane wealth. Andrew Scully called to read his new article about world-famous covid-liberty-circus Fiddleheads cafe; the phone device I used to put that call on the air sounded weird, but you can understand every word. This coming Friday and one or two Fridays after that I’ll be back in Fort Bragg for the show, and the phone thing there makes you sound great. The number is 707 962-3022, after 9pm, Friday night.

And I’m keeping my dream journal again. Here’s the latest of it.

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

This man is running against Sarah Huckabee Sanders for the governorship of Arkansas. I’m instantly in love with him and his whole family, who are the polar opposite of the selfish corrupt ignoramus middle-school bullies nearly everywhere anymore in politics. I wouldn’t be surprised if this campaign ad turns out to be a clever hoax, but I hope he and they are real, and I hope he wins. I mean, the Trumps, and people who ally with or merely hope to emulate the Trumps, are Ferengis from fricking Ferenganar, compared to this family.

The Bachelor, whatever that is, but with monkeys.

Rules of play. (via Everlasting Blort)

They use a special plasma wind tunnel to test the blast of reentry into atmosphere on spacecraft materials. (There’s no sound, but you can make that yourself with your mouth. The right sort will find themselves doing it autonomically.)

You’ve seen the Mentos-candy-in-the-soda-pop trick, but you haven’t seen it like this. Slo-mo guy Gavin sets a high-speed programmable industrial robot to move the camera to track the action.

Mento is also a kind of music from the heart of the Space Age that literally sparked a revolution in musician-modded electric instruments. /Electrified/ instruments is a more accurate word in this case, because the strings shocked the musicians’ fingers, resulting in both the staccato technique you hear and the rictus smiles you see.


Murdershow, murdershow, I’m gonna watch a murdershow. This will get stuck in your head and you’ll catch yourself humming it or mouthing it for the rest of the week. (I haven’t seen any of the shows they mention.)

Ozzy Man discourses on the subject of attractive Spanish-language teevee weather presenters, (via b3ta)

And Shok, a short film about wartime in Kosovo. (Warning, true story, not funny. Weeping now; be warned.) (20 min.)

Creative plodding.

Creative pranking. Perfect. Way to make a point.

…This is part of that:

Demonstrating the problem of relying on experience: An example of the deceptive certainty that you heard and saw what you heard and saw. “I know what I saw. I know what I heard.” It reminds me of a true story in the news years ago where a boy was convicted of murder because he shouted, “Let ‘im have it!” when his brother was told by a policeman to give up his gun, meaning /Give the policeman the gun./ (That’s how I chose to understand it.) The jury was influenced by prosecution to believe, though, that, “Let ‘im have it,” meant, “Shoot him.”

Mom’s home!

So energetic! Zoom, /Space Rescue/ (1978). (via Everlasting Blort)

Rerun: vintage hippie party. From the days when you could /stick it to The Man/, as they used to say, by taking off your clothes and skipping around in the park like a fairy. (Fairies predate humankind. That might be the rationale.)

How to be a clown. Full instructions, including how to make a quick poodle out of a noodle balloon.

A simple theremin-sound-alike toy. Playing area is yellow. Controls are at top right and underneath.

Theater percussionist’s head-mounted camera view (and sound) of 14 select minutes of a live production of /West Side Story/.

Rerun: Flight of the Conchords – /Stay Cool, Bret/.

Randy Rainbow’s latest. It’s about Barbra. It was late in the game –I was in my forties– when I learned that gay people have a special thing for Barbra Streisand, but you don’t have to be gay for that; I have always liked it when a woman’s nose is wide at the top like that. It makes them look like a pretty lion or a tiger. If it’s a man, though, it makes him look like a woodcut of the Golem of Prague. I’m sorry, but it’s what I think. There’s nothing wrong with it. I don’t treat him any differently. I know my crooked Horton-Hears-a-Who nose is no prize. One time in high school in animal husbandry class, before the teacher got there one of the cowboy kids –aggies, they liked to be called– confronted me and drawled slowly and menacingly, “Yer nostrils are large.” I said, “Oh. Hm.” He pondered for a moment, and said, “See these boots? These /shit/-kickin’ boots, and they gon’ kick some /shit/.” I said something like, “Ah, I see.” He looked puzzled, or disgusted, or something. Frustrated, probably, I see now, because I wasn’t reacting properly, so giving him no excuse for violence. The teacher came in, everybody sat down, and that was the last of that. I don’t know if it was all because he saw me looking at a girl he liked, or if it had something to do with graphic arts class that also had a high share of California-cowboy-accent boys, and a bigger boy there wanted me to fight his smaller friend in the fistfight-yard behind the church across the street from the school, which I had disrespectfully laughed off, because, are you kidding? No. Well, no, then. The teacher, Mister Atkinson, a master of letterpress printing on the antique equipment available, saw this confrontation, took me aside later, into his office, and said to me, and I quote: “Whyncha just haul off and deck him.” I remember telling you the story of when I was on the way to school one time in Randy’s ’64 Falcon with Mark Dennis and Mike Bell and Chris Byer –Randy, of course, driving– and Mark Dennis gestured at the high school as we turned into the parking lot, and said, “Isn’t this… weird? I mean, school is… /weird/. You know?” And I understood him exactly. Later I learned that all of life is just more high school and high school situations and unfairnesses and mortifications and confusions and popularity contests and arbitrary power trips and it only gets /more/ weird as you age and your ears and nose get longer and longer. I might be projecting. Whatever it is, when it seems like it’s everyone it’s probably you, or the filter you think you can’t do without, which is the same thing.

Speaking of theater, I’ve known a few impressive kids like these. Even as the event unfolds they’re probably already, in their heads, telling their eventual grandkids the story (and a hundred other stories). Peter’s been swung by a negligent or malicious fly crew to crash upside-down and backward through the window. He rights the ship by force of will. Bleeding from the top and back of his head, and no hesitation, he steps up, sprightly, in character: “Oh, hello, Wendy.” And /only then/ she looks up from her mending, stands, and says, “Oh, Peter, there you are.” Wonderful! It makes me think of a movie called /Those Lips, Those Eyes/ (1980), with Frank Langella, ten years after he was in /The Twelve Chairs/. In TLTE he’s not old but he’s older than the kids in the theater they’re inhabiting; they try to humiliate him by sabotaging him on stage, and he shows them, then and in the aftermath, how a professional handles it when things go wrong and just shines brighter.

Carnival ride from hell. Read the full explanation below it. And click on the image for full resolution.

Hitler and Churchill sing /Video Killed the Radio Star/.


Cairo. Scurry like an Egyptian.

See, KZYX airpeople? they know how to do it in Zambia. This is all you have to do. Just get up on your hind legs and say it: “We have to get paid.” They’re probably going to shoot that guy, but /you/ don’t have anything to worry about. Say it.

/Smells Like Teen Spirit/ in Latin and /Immigrant Song/ in Old Norse.

Palindrome Dylan song.

Stop hitting yourself.

How we get zombies. (You might have to click the sound on.)

How we get knives, spoons and forks.

How we get communists.

How we get historical fireworks.

How we get Japanese shadows (1842). (via Everlasting Blort)

Pictures from old books.

New Rick and Morty! Season 5, Episode 1. (22 min.)

It’s not Flit. It’s meant to represent a drug he can’t quit taking.

Positive metallic affirmations.

Buddhist monk sings /Rock and Roll High School/.

Lonely. An excerpt from a new graphic novel.


Marvel characters eating.

“I won’t need nobody else, no, no, no.”

Blech. Two hours of interesting music.

Pretty, (somewhat) geometrical Italy.

Pastel World. (via NagOnTheLake and Everlasting Blort)

Art. (arrow right) (via b3ta)

Art. “Browse and download high-resolution public domain artworks.”

Film guy talks knowledgeably about his favorite movies. Here he does /The Rocketeer/, a personal favorite of mine, up there in my own top-200 of movies. (30 min.)

Rerun: dream motorbike.

The opening of the 2009 film /Watchmen/, nominated as the best film opening ever. I don’t know about /ever/, but it’s pretty good, and it really sets you up for the story, shows you almost everything you need to know.

Annie Kyle’s art history song. (via Everlasting Blort)

Magnetic gears.


…It was also a movie I liked. I /think/ we played it at Mendo Movies.

…and, of course, a social-science-fiction book:

“Adventure awaits. Huzzah.”

New transition contact lenses.

Smoothie King.

“Life out here is hard.”

One of cartoonist/filmmaker Nina Paley’s shorter but no less lovely projects. (via Everlasting Blort)

Back at the Mendocino Community School I made a dual-spring stereo reverb box in a rack frame. It sounded terrible and boingy, like a guitar amplifier with a spring reverb tank, of course. Philo Hayward dedicated a huge upstairs room in his barn in Comptche to be a reverb chamber for the studio on the ground floor. I have a digital Roland guitar effects box, about the size of a couple of packs of cigarets, that I got for $50 about ten years ago, where one of the many choices is stereo plate reverb. And for a while now anyone can have perfectly realistic plate reverb and hundreds of other effects for free with just about any audio editing software. But here’s a real-life real-world plate echo unit from the old days (early 1980s). The lady takes the top off to show how it works and plays with it with her knuckles and a pencil:

…Speaking of which, William Shatner shouted Shakepeare through a plate reverb unit and here’s the evidence for that:

The family Shasta. (scroll down)

The famous old fart-sound song.

Organism. (20 min.)

A trick to generate a Sierpinski (say sir-PINSK-ee) gasket. In case you ever need one because your Sierpinski is leaking.

The jog strap. For thirsty joggers. (via b3ta)

And how to relax this summer.

A tiny mistake in the sky.

     “Nothing renews your faith in the military like the threat of invasion by life-sucking space aliens.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-06-18) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


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

I keep forgetting to point out that I’m keeping my dream journal again, though on an erratic schedule compared to the way it used to be. Here’s the latest of that.

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

A lovely enticement to consume granite.

Meanwhile, “My Engelsh is just as good as you all’s Engelsh. All you wanta do is /stand out/ and /express/ yourselves. You should just all /shut up/ and quit makin’ a scene,” says the crazy destructive bigot standing out, expressing herself and making a scene here. Thank Christ she doesn’t have a gun. (scroll down to video)

…And speaking of craziness. Mark the effect calm amused politeness has on this creature, like the one above. Again, good thing no gun. (scroll down to video):

Jon Batiste – Freedom.

Jambi is dead. No more rainbows.

Shadows in the sky.

A Thai.

Here’s an image to think about when you feel yourself ramping up to throw a tantrum at someone about something they can’t help but do because they’re mostly stuck being who they are, just as you are. All the trillion stars in this picture, most with planets, many with life, all together are just a little fuzzy dot in the sky, one of billions and billions of such dots, and our nearly-million-mile-wide sun is not even a dot to anybody a ten-thousandth of the way to the galaxy in this photo, and if the entire Milky Way were to somehow go black this instant, which it couldn’t, but if it did, creatures of a planet hidden in the photo couldn’t possibly know about it for /twenty-five million years/, because that’s how long it takes light (or dark) to get there. Our entire stellar group is barely a quantum fluctuation in the noise floor of the cosmic background hum. Maybe the person doesn’t know or care how to pronounce your name or what bathroom to use or which powerful crook to promote and which to vilify or which direction to bang his forehead on the floor to pray on which day, and so on. Maybe everyone is wrong to make an unpleasant fuss out of every petty annoyance. And if so, so what? Make your art. Try to be kind. Enjoy the ride.

“A tiny detail in the sky.”

Perpetual peppers.

Speaking of which, more of Simone Biles in slow motion.

Italian cars. (via Everlasting Blort)

The ultimate dashboard. (via NagOnTheLake)

Clay persons. (via Everlasting Blort)

I remember reading a clever book about a noir-ish private detective in a world populated by disposable proxy people made of flexible intelligent ceramic glop. Let’s see if I can find that… Ahh, here:

Cop approaches man’s house with his creepy hand on his gun. Sees door camera. Breaks camera off so it won’t record whatever he might do –he doesn’t even know what he might do; just from past experience of who he is he’s making sure he won’t get in trouble for it– /then/, that taken care of, he knocks.

The assquatch taxidermy fad. Everybody’s making them.

Joe Manchin’s imaginary friends.

Medieval texting abbreviations.

Rerun: The entire history of the Soviet Union set to the tune of the Tetris song.




Differently-abled comedy.

Tom Cardy – The Future of Humanity. It’s a big responsibility.

Mary Mack, her real name. She’s a tad squeaky, but that’s a performance choice, and it kind of works. I like her. (40 min.)

An Iranian-extract comic fiddler who grew up in France. Nice guy. And generous, considering how valuable his time is.

Fluffy bees cutely crashing into each other.

A comic strip about incel comic strips.

“Up yours, Coleman Sweeney. You’re not an asshole anymore.”

Scrappy baby? Scrappy baby.

French dolphins and a French dog play together on the line between their worlds.




Rerun: Jazzed up broken air conditioner.


I think it’s beautiful.

Shine it with fire. This works by melting a thin layer of the fiberglass resin surface. I’ll bet this would work on plastic headlights, too, but try it on a small spot with a match or something first. On second thought, no; cars are full of gasoline. Never mind. It’s just that replacing an oxidation-clouded modern plastic headlight costs hundreds of dollars. In the old days if you damaged a headlight or it burned out you just got another one for five dollars, removed one screw from the metal ring around it, unplugged the old light, plugged the new one in, and put the screw back. It took three minutes. And it was made of real glass.

Whenever I see the word /warning/ I hear, in my head, Doctor Yueh mutter, “The stains become a warning.” Even if there are no stains anywhere, yet. And then I hear Lady Atreides say, anguished and furious, “A million deaths are not enough for Yueh!” There will be stains soon, though, when the duck plows through a dozen henchmen and walks in on the Russian druglord who killed her egg. The white walls will be drenched in blood. Drenched.

What do you suppose is in there? A penny arcade? A classic Bugatti? A werewolf? (via Fark)

Daredevil recreational glider pilot pole-dances his spindly craft on a ten-million-horsepower tornado tube.

Japanese game show explores the physics of cardboard. (via b3ta)

Art. (thanks to

That. Is. Power.

That is correct.

Aesop Rock song about a frog man.


Back to work.

The last time I saw a game show was so long ago that the ignorance tone wasn’t /doot doot doot/; it was more like /DAAAZZZK/ or /GOVVVVK/.

Technological wonders…

…like the two-billion-year-old natural nuclear power station in Gabon, for example.

What a shrub and a sign get for mouthing off to the wrong fella.

What if every time Captain Picard tugged his shirt down his com badge popped off? (click the sound on) (via MissCellania)

And, “Could you turn the music down a little?” “No, fuck you, your mother was a whore, etc.” “Alrighty then…”

The box sketch.

     “You can always tell it’s gonna rain when they coom this far up-river.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-06-11) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


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

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

Some German guys on a Chinese teevee show do the 8-bit game dance.

Bees in slow motion.

A single Simone Biles jump in slow motion. Imagine what it must feel like to be able to do that. She got married to a man who’s twice as big as she is in all directions and he is also very strong and graceful; he’s a famous football player. They make me think of Jessica Jones and Luke Cage together, except happy. Jessica Jones… remember when the guy asked her if she could fly and she thought about it for a moment and said, “It’s more like jumping and controlled falling.” But Jessica Jones could really fly; her power was crippled by having her spirit broken by guilt over the accident that killed her parents and sister and, later, the ordeal of being mind-controlled by the Purple Man (that’s not love) (in the comics he was actually purple; in the teevee show he’s just David Tennant in his Scottish color).


Advice from a duck. (scroll down for full advice)

How to shave like your grandpa.

How to shave like /his/ grandpa.

Dinosaurs had a very low brain-to-body-mass ratio. This was reflected in their behavior.

Italian meteorite-size chart. (via Everlasting Blort)

This is the way the UFO conspiracy people are.


How to hang an ordinary spoon on your nose.

You don’t wanta end up lined in chalk. Anybody can understand that.

How we get wrenches.

How we get ticks. Or, as Ze Frank pronounces it with his mouth, dicks.

Alfred Hitchcock’s first sound film, plus another film.

One weird trick embalmers don’t want you to know.


China from the air.

“I’m sorry.”

Note the footrest.



“My poor race. What have I done?”

Arkansas officer, impatient with someone hesitant to pull over in a dangerous place, deliberately flips her car, then he explains how it’s all her fault because this is a normal thing he’s been doing for seventeen years. Also she’s pregnant. Oy.


The little girl wanted a Star Wars theme birthday party. Her father built this in the garage.

About Tesla’s turbine.

Whole billiard parlor walls come a-tumblin’ down.

Watch ice-cream melt. Some of it isn’t ice-cream, though.

The Bisga Fluid man.

How to lie on the internet like a rug.

How to drive people crazy about a nonexistent danger.

The devil you say.

“Come on, ladies, come on, ladies. One pound feesh.” I’m smiling so hard from this that it hurts a little just in front of my ears. That hardly ever happens.

Smiling and crying about these glorious ice skaters.

Uneven distribution in first million digits of pi. (via Cliff Pickover’s Reality Carnival)

When I worked at Brannons’ I often made a potatohenge out of old French fries on a dish atop the heatlamp shelf. You can pile things up out of almost any solid food; you don’t really need a special machine to make playtime building materials, but I like this. When I win the lottery I’ll get one.

Wear your helmet. But if he didn’t have the helmet on at the end, he probably would have seen the gate lintel coming. It’s a tradeoff, like the problem of drivers involuntarily driving much closer past bicyclists who have a helmet on, and protective gloves contributing to hand injuries of spinning and jerking machinery because people feel their hands are protected so they can put them where they don’t belong, and so on.

Speaking of which, some WW1 inventions: punch-knife-glove, knifeproof hat and knifeproof goggles. There was a Doctor Who episode about aliens brainwashing and infecting people with nanotech that made them grow swords from their fists, just like this. This is probably where the teevee people got the idea.

Xmastime forfeit game. Try it.

Q: What’s a presocratic? A: Tree-fitty, wit’ a side of grotchkes.

Life in pre-WW2 China. (12 min.)

This is from one of Juanita’s friends. “Run in two different directions and see who your dog loves more.” That’s the theory, but you can break a dog this way.

A new real-life electric personal flight device just as good as a jetpack but electric and relatively quiet, and clearly easier, safer and more intuitive to fly.

And a kind of belly dancing I’ve never seen before. Fascinating. Attractive and repulsive at the same time. More attractive than repulsive, but… I don’t know; I don’t know how to describe the feeling. Here, see for yourself:

Trouble in Limboland.

     “See, the hardest thing for me was leaving the life. I still love the life. And we were treated like movie stars with muscle. We had it all, just for the asking. Our wives, mothers, kids, everybody rode along. I had paper bags filled with jewelry stashed in the kitchen. I had a sugar bowl full of coke next to the bed. Anything I wanted was a phone call away. Free cars. The keys to a dozen hideout flats all over the city. I’d bet twenty, thirty grand over a weekend and then I’d either blow the winnings in a week or go to the sharks to pay back the bookies. Didn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything. When I was broke I would go out and rob some more. We ran everything. We paid off cops. We paid off lawyers. We paid off judges. Everybody had their hands out. Everything was for the taking. And now it’s all over. And that’s the hardest part. Today, everything is different. There’s no action. I have to wait around like everyone else. Can’t even get decent food. Right after I got here I ordered some spaghetti with marinara sauce and I got egg noodles and ketchup. I’m an average nobody. I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook.” -Henry Hill, in Goodfellas

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-06-04) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


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

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

Eyes in movies.

People amaze me.

I hate lipstick. I hate it on people. I hate it just standing there in sight being a repulsive, uh, substance, its texture, the smell, the feel of it when someone, even your adorable sweetheart, kisses you with lipstick on; everything about lipstick is awful… But– I don’t mind crayons at all. Crayons are fine, though I clearly remember as a small child being frustrated by how fragile they were. They could break in your fingers just by picking them up, before you even touched anything with them, and they wore down so fast. I preferred ballpoint pens and regular pencils; I really enjoyed sharpening pencils with a real crank-type pencil sharpener. The big fat pencils they gave you in school were insulting somehow. Anyway, here’s Stacy Greene’s creepily magnified visual paean to lipsticks which, oddly, I enjoy looking at, the way a person who hates spiders might enjoy cringing at magnified pictures of spiders: (via Everlasting Blort)

As much as I hate lipstick (and cigarets), I have always loved cigaret lighters. My uncle Pat used to take his lighters apart, to the tiniest part, on the kitchen table and clean them and reassemble them with fresh flints from the drug store and fresh cotton packing, and fill them with fluid. He kept and cherished every lighter he ever had, from even before the war against the Japanese in the Pacific.


It was a different world.

A neat project. Also the narrator pronounces the word kibosh the way /I/ do and not the way they tell you you’re supposed to, so extra points. And I appreciate that he recognizes his physical limitations and hires professionals to safely demonstrate the eventual product; he gets professional roller derby women. I used to watch roller derby on teevee after school. How tough the players were. They’d elbow each other off their skates sometimes and barrel completely over the rails. That was a goddamn /sport/; not like all this boring baseball and football and basketball and volleyball and golf and fricking /swimming races/. Now I want you to imagine roller derby, the way it was in the early 1970s, but with jetpacks. The idea of it makes me think of the rollerskating ball game the kids play in their ground level slum in /Alita: Battle Angel/; Alita is basically a teenage girl /Astro Boy/. We could have that now in real life, here in what we got instead of the future we were promised. Jetpack Roller Derby.

A compilation of Thurl Ravenscroft’s low notes.




Well, I think they’re wrong about it being bad. It reminds me of Henry Cow.

Two videos. “Gender reveal goes wrong when confetti cannon fires into father’s crotch.” (And) “Ya just can’t put a price on the look on your child’s face when they see a black person for the first time.” (The history, though brief, is narrated agonizingly slowly. Turn the speed up to 2X and it becomes much better.)

Prettiest drone-flies-into-volcano video so far.


A collection of photographs of Japanese industrial fairyland pipe sculptures at night. (via Everlasting Blort)

The story of Aloha Wanderwell, an example of nominative determinism.

No chute. He just has to not miss the special net. (via NagOnTheLake)

No chute. And no net.

“Men love pterodactyls.” (This young lady is right about that. In 1981 I made a pterodactyl skeleton out of plywood (orange Black & Decker jigsaw on sale from Doug’s Hardware) and hung it in the old Fort Bragg (CA) library that real estate gangsters burned down in 1987 along with a dozen other buildings in and near town, including the historic Piedmont bar and restaurant, which I still miss. Men loved it. Librarian Sylvia Kozak Budd (R.I.P.) also thought pterodactyls were pretty cool. She knew all about how to swear at people in Italian by silent gestures of the hands and arms. She could speak fluent Italian with her mouth too. When she was young she was married to a rich Italian hotelier, an actual Count, who owned his own Italian island (like the Adriatic Sea island hotel and bar frequented by seaplane-flying pirates in the Studio Ghibli film /Porco Rosso/), but she left him over a private point of difference and chose to live in Northern Califonia and be a librarian. Decades after their split the Count came to visit Sylvia and I met him. (I had thought she was kidding about her entire life story.) He was a birdlike, sharp-faced, alternately intense and twinkly man in his fifties, in very expensive-looking shoes. He was interested in my hand-swearing and he graciously made suggestions and corrected my technique. He had a big voice for such a small man; he sounded exactly like Ricardo Montalban, and I could easily see why Sylvia, or any woman, would fall for him in the first place, Count or no. (via NagOnTheLake)

This driver doesn’t sound upset to me, though. I think he just got some great news on the phone, or won the lottery or something, and he just happily decided /I quit/, and turned around to take the truck back and give notice. I think everyone’s jumping to conclusions that he’s angry about something, and that might be because of all the stories lately about how badly Amazon treats its employees. He might be saying, /Shit! Shit! Shiiiiiiiiiiit,/ or he might be saying, /Yes! Yes! Yeeeeeees!/

Scroll down to the chilling Calvin and Hobbes cartoon.

The distant future.

The distant future. The year 2000.

Clouds on Mars. I didn’t know an atmosphere as thin as the one on Mars could have clouds, but there they are. Is it possible they’re space-weather, a faintly fluorescing aurora phenomenon that the camera enhances, like the way Juanita’s phone camera pickup makes some ordinary flowers’ colors look like dayglo poster paint? On Earth, you have to go up to 120,000 feet before the air is as thin as it is near the ground on Mars, and… Oh, I see in Wikipedia there are clouds on Earth that are twice that high, they’re called noctilucent clouds, they’re /not/ aurora phenomena but made of microscopic ice crystals, and they’re only seen at twilight, lit from the side when the sky below them is dim enough. So.

And “Mary, A Ship Won’t Sink; the Day the Soup Factory Closed in Amarillo.”


     “Vhere is money, Julie? Money for Toorkey house? he says. And then they end it with a bunch of superfluous emojis: pony, pony, pony, cricketbat, sad-face, tablecloth.” –Bill Bailey

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-05-28) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


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

This is a show with a nice small-town feel. Very early in the show Steve Gomes called to, among other things, rebut the Mendocino Village sewer district board’s weird letter to the editor of the AVA where they lied that Steve had frivolously sued them and that they won, and he talked a little about a solution to Mendocino’s major water problems, that he claims they rejected not because they think it wouldn’t work but because if it worked then more people would move here because there’d be water for them, and the board doesn’t want that; what they want is to keep charging people money and putting a cap on use of their own well water whose source is nowhere near Mendocino Village, because they can– or could, rather, before they lost the lawsuit they say they won… Y’know, I may be a little confused about the details. Ask Steve, he’ll tell you:

Calpella Cowboy set up a three-way call with a retired woman in Southern California named Bunny, mother of six, who to take her at her word is an Eskimo, which I didn’t think was even okay to say anymore, but apparently I was confused about that too. Cowboy read his story about Willits (CA) calories and talked about the stark misery of Arizona. Bunny also talked about Arizona: she went there on a church mission once, to an Indian orphanage to deliver a truckload of crocheted spiritually medicinal bears and meet, as she put it, the Chief. She also was personal friends with tough-guy actor Charles Bronson who used to stay at her father’s house when out on a movie shoot in her area (and who we learn elsewhere in the show, from an interview with an impossibly young and patiently incredulous John Belushi, was gay, as was Lee Marvin, and as were many other stellar purported machos in the L.A. of the 1970s, certainly not that there’s anything wrong with that).

There’s a mini-tribute to activist and truly helping/caring person Ed Murrell, who died last week. And an even mini-er but no less heartfelt note or two about musician/composer Jay Sydeman, also dead now. He missed rehearsal and the bass player went to get him; Jay died peacefully in his bed. He had a great visit with his grandkids and family just a little while before, and that was nice for him.

Sakina Bush sent an anthropomorphic story about the social sexy relations of DNA and RNA molecules. Scott M. Peterson provided the third installment of his epic work about genocide in Mendocino County. It got to be 1:30am before I reached that, though, so if he wants me to I’ll recap it earlier in next show. Paul Modic continued his Date With An Angel series of October-May-relationship erotica in a story titled /The Perfect Date/. There’s John Sakowicz’ poetic apology to the 17-year cicadas, and his brief condemnation of the Israeli apartheit situation, which is dire and outrageous, as usual; there’s some useful related information after that, including someone calling him a disgusting blot on humanity, or something like that, because of criticizing Israel for murdering children. And plenty more; there’s just so much. Comical sweary country music of John R. Butler. Some yodeling. Some lamentational war music, for Memorial Day. And it all ends with the first Firesign Theater album I ever bought, playing in all its glory of pops and scratches and soothing rhythmic Motorola puck-driven record player rumble: pur-roorm pur-roorm pur-roorm pur-roorm…

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

Dire Straits – Brothers In Arms (live, with a string section, and tympani). (This is both the sleepiest and the most moving version you’ll hear. It helps to be able to see it.)

Bees up close and in your face. They’re not all the same. Some look like a chipmunk. Some look like a rabbit, or a foxbat. Some look like a schnauzer-dog in puffy headphones. I like the kind that looks like an old Russian woman about to cast a spell on you for trampling her hedge.

Real-life Elastigirl, for bendyness, not stretching out to any length, but that’s a cartoon; this is a person.

How-to: VFX in Flight of the Navigator. (42 min.) (Just skip around in it; it’s all cool.)

Art. (via Everlasting Blort)

Ride, Gunhilde, ride!

Predator and pray walking home after a tough day of acting for National Geographic films. (via Everlasting Blort)

This nutjob is Michael Flynn, the former national security advisor to President Trump.

Stick with it till the end. (via Everlasting Blort)

Japanese mascot characters stuck in places too small for them. One is held against the wall by the point of a table. One can’t get into (or out of) an elevator. They’re big. (via Everlasting Blort)

As if it was only yesterday: The Sands of Modesto.

A capella (say ah-kuh-PEL-uh) Star Wars.

For fans of /Watchmen/.

Bees with a brain smaller than a grain of sand can open a bottle…

…Whereas: “You’re in no condition to drive a golf cart. Don’t do it, man. Don’t /do/ it… He did it.”

A whole new level.

Can Malaria come out and plague?

The way they run on the water with their flappy feet to help take off.

Styles of ziggurat.

I love these buildings.

It was a different world back then.

I bought /Blood On The Tracks/ on cassette in 1976 and literally wore the tape out, so I appreciate this and can hear it properly inside my head. I think you can too.

This is what we in the industry call a shitload of mice.

When he asks, “Which one’s your favorite?” you’ll say through your smile, “They’re all pretty good!”

Whatcha doin’?


     “Great holy armies shall be gathered and trained to fight all who embrace evil. In the name of the Gods ships shall be built to carry our warriors out amongst the stars, and we will spread Origin to all the unbelievers. The power of the Ori will be felt far and wide, and the wicked shall be vanquished. Hallowed are the Ori.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-05-21) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


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

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

Rabbit’s Blood. (5 min.)

For the Fort Bragg (CA) Bee City people: Free the Bee! (via b3ta)

Le Piano Vivant.

Fitzcardboardaldo: The Corrugation of Dreams. It reminds me of the cardboard animation in /The Science of Sleep/. (via b3ta)

Two worlds.

SNL – Welcome to Hell.

How to make neon signs. (This is a U.S. shop, not the Japanese shop I showed you last year.)

Art. (via Fark)


Fully stocked general store in B.C. abandoned in 1963, when the people just locked the doors and walked away. The store and all its contents have been untouched ever since.


Movie GIFs that go together.

The terms and conditions game.

She sells seashells down by the seashore.

Fun with goats.

From the air.

Frozen to death and then microwave-reanimated 1950s hamsters.

“Mister President, on the occasion of your birthday this lovely lady is not only pulchritudinous but punctual.” No-one ever called me /any/ of those things, though I am in fact frequently punctual.

The K Sisters – Java Jive.

Daisy Nafisa.

Gyrostabilized surface monorail patented in 1903. Photos are at the bottom of the article.

Cheese it! The train!

Or stand your ground.

And there you have it.

And further there you have it.

Stuck, A happy French prank. I think they must be sisters.

Hot dog.

Turtles all the way down.

Rerun: Kite-surfer flies over entire island.

Yes, wouldn’t it be nice if there were some way to do that.

Mount Ranier. (say MOUNT-ruh-neer)

Waves. (via BoingBoing)

“Wow, look at him go!” “He’s such a dream!” “Where does he come from? Where does he live?” “I don’t know, but I’m gonna find out!”

How we got music.

Loopist Kevin Olusola.

These terrific kids. All the /School of Rock Students Perform/ series recordings remind me of the old Mendocino Community School.

Tintin by Marabout. (right arrow, top right)

I love John Oliver more than Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov loves Turkmenistani Akhal-Teke horses, but not in quite that creepy way. And there’s cake at the end, a magnificent cake, and the cake is not a lie.

I didn’t realize before, but Led Zeppelin’s /Immigrant Song/ is just /The Jitterbug Song/ from the stage play /Wizard of Oz/.

Soren Madsen: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly on Spanish guitar.

The Champion the Wonder Horse Song.

Technically that’s true: a sleeping bag is a sandwich.

Or it can be a treatment, or a quasi-sexual massage service.

Anti-predator vest for prey pets.

K&P – I said bitch.

Cat came back.

“Don’t get me started.”

Two comments: 1. Any weapon you haven’t mastered belongs to the enemy. 2. One slip or mistake or miscount in choreographed moves and everyone will regret the day for the rest of their lives, and the sport will be ruined by helmets and face screens and bulky body armor.

What. We’re insured for collateral cannon damage.


He ain’t got rhythm. What an incredible stage set!

Further Ritz Bros.


About the Ritz Brothers’ unsung effect on the world.

The voices of Rocky, Bullwinkle, Boris and Natasha, Dudley Do-Right and Little Nell, Sherman and Peabody, etc.

How we get bottles.

Lovely music for this.

Art. (via Everlasting Blort)

It’s like just before the /bumbada-bum bumbada-bum/ part, of the early-style Doctor Who theme, but it comes naturally out of the creature’s face. It knows it’s funny. It’s not a fart.


What do you suppose this thing is for? What does it do?

Man climbs rocks without using his hands. And he does it safely, too, with someone helping by holding a rope, which is nice.

Magician in space. (via NagOnTheLake)

Zoom out for all the lighthouses in the world. (via NagOnTheLake)

Pixabay royalty-free images (photos, vector graphics, illustrations, videos) for use in your projects; results for /sad/:

More exciting and wonderful than so-called real sports.

You say cicada, I say cicada.

     “The transition responsible for the pale blue color of liquid oxygen is the simultaneous excitation of two molecules from triplet sigma to singlet delta. The double excitation avoids spin forbiddeness.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-05-14) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


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

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

Wouldn’t it be nice if it would rain in California, before the whole place goes up like a three-month-old Xmas tree in the fireplace.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we had real health care in the U.S.

The whale was exhausted and drowning tangled in hundreds of pounds of crab traps and ropes, and these people saved it. It’s like the old Jews used to say: The whole /world/ isn’t crazy.

Our outer limits.

Rerun: John Hyatt /Smashing a Perfectly Good Guitar/ (live on stage, 1993). In the late 1970s I had an amplifier that made my guitar sound very like this; it was extreme crunch/squeal vacuum tube distortion, like a furious little robot breaking its own hand squeezing the sound out of a stainless steel toothpaste tube. I had cut the amplifier circuit and power supply out of a then-old thrift-shop vacuum tube tape recorder and mounted it inside a speaker cabinet, and at first, before I got an electric guitar, I used a pair of heavy headphones clamped on the bell of my acoustic guitar for a pickup. Somewhere in all the moves I lost that amplifier. Tch. It might be time to make another one.

A page of illusion pages. (via NagOnTheLake)

SuperPixelQuest. (Wait till it loads, then click the right arrow in the cartoon, then again and again.)

This information doesn’t change my plans for myself (I don’t care what they do once I die: bury me in a trash bag, render me for chemicals, make a theater Yorick out of my skull; do as you please), but for people who have a traditional $20K viewing funeral in mind, there’s a lot you can learn from this pleasant expert on the subject. For example, there are different colors of embalming fluid, including a special red kind to replace your blood with (if they get to you fast enough and can still force it through) so you don’t look quite so ghastly, and they have little plastic things for your eyeballs with hooks on the outside of them to close your eyelids over so they stay closed and don’t spring open at the wrong time when the flesh dries out; they’re like the fasteners for Ace bandages but inside-out. Also, if you’re too bulky or stiff to dress they cut off the back of the clothes and just drape them over you and tuck the edges under because what difference does it make now? You won’t be getting up to answer the door and talk to the Jehovah’s Witnesses anymore. You can just lie there under your tent of clothes and be dead. (via

French flying.

Rerun: French pattycake cats.

How we get Uluru.

“Like Mrs. Winslow –she comes with a bible covered in smallpox.”

“My company is called Total Raptor Experience.”

Birds doing things.

People hoarding gasoline, not only causing the shortage but endangering themselves and everyone else.

It’s the insurrection, Charlie Brown.

Randy Rainbow’s latest.

“Dristan’s like sending your sinuses to Arizona.” They’re called sinuses because of their shape. Sinus is Latin for bay, pocket, curve, or bosom.

From the air. (via NagOnTheLake)

Hitting a moving target. It isn’t merely leading it, like leading a duck. You’re moving too.

Via Everlasting Blort.

Art. (via Everlasting Blort)

Detroit, Michigan, 1921. “Where there’s smoke, there’s work.”

Chicago from the air, 1914. Imagine what this was like for the people waving down and pointing at this and that, in that time: magical dreamlike flying. (via NagOnTheLake)

Cute little tilt-shift L.A.

Not just in Ireland.

Antique dinosaurs.

Chem dubstep.

The 1934 Crosley XERVAC (say EX-er-vak). “Don’t be bald.” ($179.50 in 1934 is like $3,542 in 2021. Basically it’s a vacuum cleaner attached to a football helmet with a puffy rubber seal around your head. The theory was that it would suck the hairs out to make them grow faster.) (Here in the future there are many equally quackish products to cure baldness: a $270 hairbrush that has fifty cents’ worth of tiny colored lights in it, a hat with a coil of copper or silver wire inside, pills or tea or marshmallows made from the hair of very hairy animals (or, conversely, very bald fish), etc.×546.png

How famous painters might have designed a home. (via NagOnTheLake)

Victorian knitting.

Copper wire, solder and a marble.

Exciting day at the aluminum smelter’s. Flay rod’s gone out askew on treadle. (via b3ta)



Mayhem. I like the calm amused natural competence of the videographer calling the event.


All pop music is rearranged Sparks. (via b3ta)

Every one of these machines takes away another child’s job –a child like my grandfather in the early 19-teens. But it was dangerous work. One of the several conflicting stories I was told about how he got his crown feature, his one all-white Odin-eye, involved his being struck in the face on a daily basis with bowling pins, some ejected like missiles from the lanes, some wielded in fights with other jauntily be-hatted pinsetter boys.

Baby Got Bach. The highlight is at 1:06, when the tympanist loses control of his whanger (the heavy drum beating stick) which knocks the xylophonist behind him off her feet.

I collect the different versions of Baby Got Back. There’s a ska version, and a barbershop quartet version, and of course there’s the original, but my favorite is when Jonathan Coulton did it. Here he is live in a little club with just his guitar:

In 1926, Nikola Tesla predicted a future when /machines/ would set bowling pins, assemble appliances, unite and pacify the world by using walls of electrical force to defend whole nations. A future of beehive-like communist efficiency and matriarchal harmony, where mankind will trade wheels for wings… Hmm, when I was six or seven –six, I think– I traded my prize possession, a wind-up plastic rocket-car, for a rattly-noisy old-style skateboard and then flew off the skateboard into a shrub; that’s kind of the same thing.

No helmets or protection for hands or elbows or knees. No brakes. No spotters for cars on cross streets. Happy, carefree white kids only occasionally knocking off somebody’s land-yacht’s side mirror. All fun and games until somebody kills a bicyclist, but then, after a suitable period of mourning, let’s go again, why not?

I wonder, have this ridiculous big baby and her guest-book-scribbling camera goons been tested for those exercise drugs that make you act exactly this way? She’s in congress now, still acting like this, now lifting weights in the /Congressional/ gym. (I went looking for photographs of the Congressional gym, but it turns out to be against the law to take a picture in there.)

It is easier for a thread to pass through the eye of a needle.

41 micrometeorites in 2 minutes.

Luca Stricagnoli plays a little classical nachtmusik on a six-string banjo. He’s dressed up for it. He even has a toothpick in his mouth.


What. (via Fark)


Dangitall, nobody wants to work anymore.

I like the guy who does the car motor sounds with his mouth. Also the mouth-sounds girl with the eyebrows. And the mouth-sounds girl who makes a brass horn sound. But the people who pop their belly button out like an oogie squeeze toy and bend their elbows the wrong way and pop all the knuckles in their entire body (including their neck knuckles) just make me flinch back from the screen.

The Southern fart of destiny. Compare to vuvuzela or sports airhorn.

Way to sell the sizzle, marble-run ad. This reminds me of tennis shoe ads when I was little, for P.F. Flyers and Red Ball Jets, where the shoes in the ads would make a flash and a /boing/ sound and the kid would jump like a rocket. But in the real world they were just shoes made of canvas and rubber with no magical powers at all. This was an education for a lot of kids about media and commerce.

At least with P.F. Flyers you got the cool four-function ring (hidden compartment, signal mirror, magnifying glass, secret code circle).

Here’s another one. “Captured by spies. Follow dog!” Tommy runs like the wind, thanks to his P.F. Flyers and their patented space-age heel wedge.

Japanese gymnastic routine.

Forklift racers. (via b3ta)

Going literally like sixty in 1899 in an electric car. “As for the driver, the muscles of his body and neck become rigid in resisting the pressure of the air; his gaze is steadfastly fixed about two hundred yards ahead…”

It isn’t necessarily laziness. Maybe her back is bad and she can’t pull it by hand.

Motion Picture Magazine, 1911-1916 (with gaps).


An A.I.-generated house and real estate listing. (Be sure to scroll down through the interior images.)

And /A Remembrance of Aerial Forms/.


Traish LaRue and the Lemniscate of Gerono.

     “At first I didn’t believe it, that this woman who looked as fertile as the Tennessee Valley could not bear children. But the doctor explained that her insides were a rocky place where my seed could find no purchase.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-05-07) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


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

This show has poetry by Paul Modic, Notty Bumbo, John Sakowicz and even Robert Herrick (1591 – 1674), among others. Stories by Sebastian of RelatoCorto, Mark Scaramella (and others) of the AVA, Alex Bosworth, and more. A couple of extended music breaks are all about food and proper (and improper) food-related behavior, some of that related to your choice of food’s effect upon colon health, including truncated pitches for variousproject bik quack products to supposedly clean out that important often overlooked organ, by nature self-cleaning as the ear, the nose and the vagina, for example.  Here I refer you to Paul Theroux’s swell book Millroy the Magician, whose message can be oversimplified to the spiritual urgency to “minimize colon transit time”. And [I refer you to] the film Death to Smoochy, which I associate in my mind with the book Millroy the Magician in the same way as the films /The Prestige/ and /The Illusionist/ call to each other, and the films /Lucky/ and /The Man Who Killed Hitler and Then the Bigfoot/ call to each other, and so on.

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

A trick. Where real life mirrors the trick.

Because it’s a funny deliberate choice to spell damn /damb/ I appreciate this. But it’s a nonfunny deliberate choice when cartoonists write /damnit/, as occurs sometimes in otherwise superlative comic strips (like Existential Comics, whose archive is a vast and deep college course in philosophy presented in a witty and fun whirl). It should be damn it or dammit. When you read damnit you hear, in your head, dam nit. I’m not trying to tell people how to do their jobs –it’s their art after all, not mine– but I’m sure I’m not alone in this. Again, damb! is funny and adds points. Damnit is annoying and subtracts points. It’s just my opinion; do what you want to do.

Utilize your leaves.

How Space-X builds their rockets so fast.

Skip ahead to about six minutes into the video for the launch.

As long as the chiropractor and the mechanic don’t break anything, this is a great deal. Compare it to any wedding costing hundreds of times more and involving more stress than anything in your life besides moving house, or a loved one dying, or getting fired.

Ted Cruz, the booger on the lip of democracy.

You know who’s creepier than that? This fella. (1950s nutritional advice from a clown.)

Project bike. You have nothing to ride but your chains.



Stormy Weather in color– The Nicholas Bros. and Cab Calloway. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen this; when they leapfrog over each other to land in the splits down the giant staircase, I cry out in alarm and my hands fly up into the air to, I dunno, stop them. /GAAA!/ or /NO!/ or simply /NNN!/ Not /YEECH/; that would be reserved for if they were to actually split open in a bloody mess like a trashbag full of soup, which they are not and do not.

And these are not self-driving cars. When you see a rare story of a self-driving car making a mistake and bumping over a mailbox, and it’s presented as though that means self-driving cars are a bad idea, think of what a massively stupid idea it is for millions of people just like you and me, with all our maladies and tirednesses and preoccupations and internal distractions and quick little passions at something that just flitted across our monkey mind, not to mention glancing down to turn the heater up or change the channel on the radio or /looking away from the road entirely, to the person on the seat next to us, or even in the back seat, to see how they like what we’re saying/, all in the blender of traffic together, and four in ten of us on drugs and/or fiddling with the phone. There’s no comparison. And we’re never getting smarter or better at it; the A.I. are, and they’re looking in all directions at once, they can see in the dark and communicate with nearby vehicles and recite poetry at the same time– poetry in ultrasonic frequencies that repel deer from your path and even clean your teeth.

Electric chest weights.

Fly! Be free!

Trailer for a new movie about nuns with breasts.

“The universe is equal to the earth. I have heard this from elders.” Tribal people react to being shown the real scale of things. (I like it that the Hindi word for /good/ sounds like my Uncle Pat saying /OH boy/. It’s like Biff Rose telling that the Chinese word for /I love you/ sounds like /why me?/ You know, like the first thought is, She’s so wonderful, why does she love /me/? I love her so much. Or, God, this is awful, she’s a demon in sheep’s clothing, /why me?/

It’s an ad for a bicycle parts company, but it’s a nice little film about dogs. Don’t worry, nobody in this ever squashes the dog with a bike. (via Everlasting Blort)

Fascinating slow motion shots of starlings bird-bathing. Before industrialization the sky was often gray-black with these creatures. And they aren’t the only birds who murmurate, but they’re famous for it. Look up starlings murmurating… Okay, wow, I was so wrong. New York was infected with starlings as late as 1890 by Shakespeare fans who intended to introduce to North America all the birds the (U.K.) Bard mentioned in his plays. From an initial 80 birds, their population spread out and burgeoned to hundreds of millions in the early 1900s before eventually being cut back to manageable numbers by pesticides, climate change, shifts in food webs, the decline of horse shit everywhere, but mostly pet cats. True fact. People who complain that windmills kill birds conveniently don’t mention that thousands of times more birds are killed by crashing into glass windows and being predated upon by pussies.

Cool presence of mind. Though the slightest spark and you’ve had it, yourself.

Post-modern villainy.

Ray Bolger tapdancing three years before the cast him as Scarecrow, and probably why they did.

Aeroplanes accompanied by piano.

Snowboarding accompanied by piano.


T-Bone Walker.

Alphabet Rap 2.

rraaaaaAAAAAaaa. rrrAAAAAAAaaaaaaa.

I don’t think he (or she) is a fool. How were the kids supposed to know it would suddenly open?



/He/ knows who he is and what he’s got.

The female version of Mel Gibson calling a traffic officer /Sugar Tits/ but without the alcohol excuse and with conscious racism not whatever you call the other thing– sexism? or just drunk. Maybe she’s drunk, too.

Black and white.

Some talent. Taurin Circus. Fullscreen the cool promo reel.

Craig Stehr sent me the link to this. I knew a girl with ears like the lead singer’s. She had long straight blonde hair and the ears just poked straight out the sides through the curtains like truck rearview mirrors in a carwash. I always thought that was so cute. And for evolution purposes it’s probably a better design for a sound-centric predator creature or just for focusing on what you’re aimed at in general.

Here they are again.

Here they are again, again:

Queen o’ the May.

The human-for-scale reddit. (via TYWKIWDBI)

The sound of the cracking ice is my favorite element here. All the vignettes turn out okay for the subjects; you don’t have to be on the edge of your seat worrying for them. There’s a surprising number of interruptive ads, but that’s okay too. I never minded commercials at all when they’re clever. When I was small, and I’m thinking maybe four-to-six, here, and watching teevee in my grandmother’s house while the grownups were all across the alley working in the restaurant, I’d memorize the ads to perform for them when they came home. The cigaret ad songs, the situations; the Mr. Bubble ad in particular delighted me. And my attention was riveted to the series of Hertz rent-a-car ads where at the end a man and woman /fly down out of the sky/ to sit in a convertible car that’s speeding down the highway, driverless, expecting them. By now, to me, convertibles are horrible, almost as bad as a motorcycle, with the wind and noise, and belongings and bugs and grit whipping around and getting in your eyes and mouth, but if you could fly down into the car it would be worth all that, and the top of the car would have to be open, so… Of course, if you can fly, why do you need a car; and you’d need goggles and other protective clothing and maybe earplugs anyway, and a squirtgun against angry birds. But that’s now. I’m thinking about then. And it reminds me of when Jessica Jones is asked, “Can you fly?” and she thinks about it a moment and says, “It’s more like jumping and controlled falling.” Speaking of which: