Battle of the Somme.
“We’re all just walking each other home.” –Ram Dass
Here’s the recording of last night’s (2016-07-01) KNYO (and, three hours in, also KMEC) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show ready to download and keep, and skip around in, and frolic and play like a child again.
To paraphrase Wikipedia: It’s the 100-year anniversary of the Great War’s Battle of the Somme, fought by the armies of the British and French empires against the German Empire. It took place between July 1 and November 18, 1916 on both sides of the upper River Somme in France. It was the largest battle of the First World War on the Western Front. More than one million men were wounded or killed, making it the bloodiest battle in human history. A literal river of blood.
Remember, that was just one battle in the War To End All Wars. There could never be another war after that war. And thank God for that, because war is terrible. It’s so great that humanity has outgrown it, and instead of spending millions of lives and trillions in treasure on fighting over trifles –a line on a map here, a mineral or religion or insult there– humanity has had 100 years of unprecedented prosperity and scientific and social advancement, and we’re carbon-neutral, and electricity and fresh sweet water are too cheap to meter, and no-one is depressed nor hungry nor huddling for warmth on a sewer grate in the snow, and we have cities twinkling in space, and thriving paradisiacal colonies on and inside all the rocky and ice planets, and we’re on track to finish the third and fourth in a series of giant generation ships to other star systems. It’s a glorious world because of how we finally wised up, a hundred years ago, and decided no more rivers of blood. Because we are just that smart.
And here are links to a few not necessarily radio-useful but otherwise worthwhile items that I happened upon while putting the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right.
“If the girl is not a virgin when you sell her, they will call us whores, sluts, and disgraceful women.” It’s about the Bulgarian Roma bride market. (20 min.)
“Rhamphorhynchus, a long-tailed pterosaur, hypothetically feeding on squid.”
How we get delicious octopus dishes. Did you know that an octopus is intelligent? And capable of affection, and of recognizing itself in a mirror, and of remembering a good turn done it ages ago and returning the favor?
Psychological abuse. Right, that’s not love.
“Don’t make me shoot you! BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG! Shots fired! Shots fired! He tried to hit me with the vehicle!” Video shows bangs = true. Tried to hit cop with vehicle = not so much.
A dance to scream.
Stolen and lost art recreated using stock photos.
Art? Or not art? I say, art.
Art squared. “Is it /American Gothic/ by Grant Wood?” [DING!] “You are correct, sir!”
Music video made using Snapchat filters.
Aurora on Jupiter.
Improvisational political performance art. (I want to say: this is how I feel when dealing with the people who run KZYX. I’m identifying with Ms. Heath
Harmonica vacuum. Tadahhh!
Are you a fan of controlled explosive demolition? Here is what we use to call in the Old Country a /soothing hypnotic shitload/ of those.
Prepare to be rickrolled by a high school physics student.
“I’m gunna just tetch you on the tail and see whut you do.” “YAAAAAGH! He bit it! He bit mah phone!”
“Happy 4eth! Rember Perl Horber!” Morans.
Like a dog and and a leaf blower.
Or a 3D-printed zoetropic dancer.
How old is your body, really?
It needs a motor and brakes. Other than that, neat.
Escher y el efecto Droste.
1200 undeveloped rolls of film. A roll of film was like a kind of, uh, film, er, rolled up in a little roll.
…Which reminds me. I want to recommend a wonderful British teevee miniseries called /Shooting the Past/. It’s a kind of Scheherazade story, where the custodians of an immense historical photograph library are faced with having the collection dispersed and sold off by an American businessman, and they put it off by trying to engage him in valuing something, anything, beyond money. (They won’t tell him where in the mountain of photos the very few million-dollar ones are until he listens for a little while.) Here’s just one scene from that.