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Meet me under the giant fiberglass iguana that guards the entrance to the Berlin aquarium. Bring the negatives.


      “I want to give you a piece of advice: wear an eye-patch. Wear an eye-patch, Bret.” -David Bowie in Bret’s dream

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2016-11-04) KNYO (and, three hours in, also KMEC) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show ready to download and enjoy.

Or, thanks to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost, you can get it this other way, which you might like better because it offers an instant-play option and isn’t surrounded by confusing flashing ads.

A vast amount of information, some goofy, some useful, mostly both. Molly dropped off a bag of cheese and apples and grapes, left over from First Friday, thank you very much. Derek came by. Doctor Spencer. On my way in, walking to the door, I made eye contact with the big dog one of the people talking in front of the bar had on a long string, and the dog, maintaining eye contact, lifted his leg and pissed on the radio station. “Really?” I said. The people looked at me past the steadily pissing dog, not noticing at all, because why should they? Dogs look at dogs. People look at people. That’s America.

I read the second part of Scott Peterson’s story /Cowboy School/ starting at 11:45. That’s 165 minutes into the show, in case you want to head straight there. There’s a fine letter to the editor of the AVA by Scott Croghan. Poetry, math, philosophy, science, ancient medical history, tragicomic disaster news. A fine show, even though there’s faint motorboating going on in the recording all the time the main microphone was up. I didn’t notice it until just now. That’s the faint thumping sound you’ll hear throughout. Juanita’s away at her project until Sunday; I have an extra night before I go to her, so I’ll go to the radio station tonight about 10 or 11 to try to duplicate the electrical problem and solve it. It’s probably the little mic pre-amp. Maybe while I’m there I’ll play a set of music.

Speaking of which, there are still some airtime slots open at KNYO. If you’ve ever wanted to do a radio show, contact Bob Young through the station’s website and say so. He’ll show you how to use the equipment and you’ll be on the air before you’re even ready. That’s the right way. Seneca (or Mark Twain, or Richard Feynman, somebody like that) said, “If we wait till we’re ready we’ll /never/ start.” Boldly burst forth. What could happen? /”Wear an eye-patch, Bret.”/

And don’t forget to vote this coming week. Not that it should matter to you, but once again my own preferences are almost identical to the Anderson Valley Advertiser’s voter’s guide. I said, almost.

Anyway,  here are links to a few not necessarily radio-useful but otherwise worthwhile items that I set aside for you while putting the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

Here’s a cute little dog tapdancing with hareem-panted Eleanor Powell in 1953. Everyone was on amphetamines in those days. That’s what killed Carmen Miranda and nearly killed Judy Garland. My mother sent me to tapdancing school when I was five, and it’s stood me in good stead. Posture is key to balance. Imagine holding yourself up with a rubber band attached to the middle of the top of your head.

Radio-controlled helicopter expertly controlled to mimic a gigantic wasp.

The nearest thing to that with a person inside, so far. (Except for that Russian woman I showed you last year– that I can’t find right now, so.

No, wait. There she is.

A very short film about a couple of homeless people.

Best of luck with the wall.

A great idea, an ingenious product, but I’ll bet it costs way more than the full-size 66-key thrift-store Casio keyboard I’ll be hot-gluing to /my/ front door.

Machine-learning computer-generated clickbait.

A hell of a way to run a ferry. No tip for you guys.

A job for Super She-ro.

How NORAD worked.

It’s not just that anger is crazy and crazy is scary, it’s –look how much bigger this dreadful creature is than the little people around it. It’s a giant chest-freckled rage-monster with Trump hair.

Pertectin’ the red white and blue. Gawd bless them Redneck Avinjers.

The return of the thing that ate America’s brain.

My grandmother used to say, “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.” And in 58 years next week, I never have. Oh.

You might recall how last year I told you Donald Trump is a cross between Eric Cartman from South Park and Biff from Back to the Future.

It might so easily have gone another way.

“To fly is everything.”

I found out about Amy Schumer kinda late. This was my introduction to Amy Schumer.–IJe7gFmk5dt75EGVLzJd&index=1

Which tube will you choose? Which tube’s advocate inspires you with more confidence? The man on the right looks like a slightly wider version of novelty/protest singer Roy Zimmerman, so /I’m/ going with the tube on the right.

A 6000-year-old Sumerian star map. You might have seen something like this in /Prometheus/, the prequel to /Alien/.

And how you will die. Scroll down and enjoy. (If it doesn’t churn and flash and produce results, turn off some of your browser’s protection against fun.)


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