One graffito, two graffiti.
“In Italian the word graffiti is a plural noun and its singular form is graffito. Traditionally, the same distinction has been maintained in English, so that graffiti, being plural, would require a plural verb, as in: the graffiti were all over the wall. By the same token, the singular would require a singular verb, as in: there was a graffito on the wall. Today, these distinctions survive in some specialist fields such as archaeology but sound odd to most native speakers. The most common modern use is to treat graffiti as if it were a mass noun, similar to a word like writing, and not to use graffito at all. In this case, graffiti takes a singular verb, as in: the graffiti was all over the wall. Such uses are now widely accepted as standard. A similar process is going on with other words such as agenda, data, and media.”
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.
Here’s something so personally outrageous that it’s actually kind of cool: You’ll recall how there’s been a problem with, sometimes, my show not being picked up in progress and going out on KMEC Ukiah from midnight to 3am the way Sid Cooperrider set things up there. KNYO Fort Bragg has been very reliable since the repairs on both KNYO’s end and my end, wherever I am, even when I’m doing the show from Juanita’s apartment. When I put on something recorded and have a moment to check, KNYO is always playing what I’m sending. Okay, just after midnight last night, while Rich Alcott’s /Attention Deficit News/ was on my box and demonstrably squirting out through KNYO’s transmitter, I went to KMEC via TuneIn.com and it was playing not Rich Alcott but instead some kind of hip-hop music. This has happened before. I emailed Sid, asked him to look into it, and went back to doing my show.
Sid wrote back today: “I’ll see what’s up. Last week I tuned in and found someone in the studio, muting your show, playing hiphop. I don’t believe that person would do that again, but ???”
So, see? Sometimes it’s just that simple. This is good. It’s not an intractable technical problem; it’s just a matter of everybody getting the memo, though clearly someone already got the memo and either didn’t read it or didn’t care. People are funny. Sid and Ed will deal with it.
Besides all that, 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:
History shows again and again how nature points up the folly of man. Gojira!
Here comes the sun.
Rerun: Dog of Wisdom. “That is a good wisdom.”
Kimmo Pohjonen and Sami Kuoppamaki. Accordion and drums.
The banana republics.
If you are an electronics tinkerer, get ready to take a picture of your own goofily thrilled face, then watch this. That’ll be the picture to use on a dating app to repel manic pixies who will know automatically that they don’t need to fix you.
How Trump protects Americans.
What they called syphilis in different places. For example, around France, but not in France, they called it the French disease. The French called it the Italian disease. And so on. Remember: “Sailor, beware the easy pickup.”
Council of Elrond.
Understood. (Click on image to embiggify.)
And the rest of those:
“Can it be this is all? How puny, how small!”
City of shacks. 36,000 people per square mile. In twenty years 5,000,000,000 people will be living like this, if the food and water supply can keep up, which it can’t.
Return to the ditch.
Car boys. (It sounds familiar because a carboy was a kind of giant glass bottle for transporting liquid.) In this case it’s boys using a car game creatively/destructively. This is the modern equivalent of Matchbox car demolition derbies involving flammables and firecrackers and a hammer.
They don’t make ’em like that anymore.
Origin story. So she shaves under her arms, but how does she do that? Superman removes his super facial hair by directing his superpowered-eye-ray-du-jour into a mirror and either burning or freezing or time-traveling it off. Maybe she uses the lasso of truth somehow to do it, or the tiara thing. Or –she is part goddess– maybe she just orders her divine body to suck the hairs back inside faster than they can come out. That’s probably it.
Mimas by Saturnlight.
Yo yo maestro.
He will tell you who and what he is.
…And then he will rip out your guts and shove them up your butt till they come out of your stinking coward eyes.
The ancient equation: Sexy plus gross equals creepy.
Zip and zest and pep to cook and clean and dust and be cute.
“Well, you look pretty down… Cool it a sec, and I’ll see what I can dig up.” “CRAZY!”
…And the rest of them:
A woman who used to call and visit KMFB told me she once spent a week in jail with Sugar Pie DeSanto. Here’s Sugar Pie Desanto in 1964.
Sugar Pie DeSanto in 2007. I think it’s fair to assume that she was fully Sugar Pie DeSanto right out of the box, no alterations necessary.
Go away or I will taunt you again.
Holding hands and skipping tracers. (They’re regular ammunition but with a phosphorus compound burning in the bullet to show up its line of flight in a bright red line, and in this case to show why you never shoot at the water, son.)
She can’t really see you, honey. She’s just pretending. When I was a little boy I thought she looked sad about something. Doesn’t she? I wonder what was going on in her life to make her so sad. Maybe it was just the good old days.
And which chair is the mom and which chair is the dad, and why.