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And 999 shall be the number of the show. (230 for KNYO.)


     “I’d like you to join me in welcoming these weird little wonders. Ladies and gentlemen, all the way from Modesto, Harold and Fanny Shitbang’s latest find, the Mini Margarets! …Oh, my God. Oh, terrible. Oh, no. DROP THE CURTAIN! DROP THE CURTAIN!”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2017-05-26) 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 master of disguise who called himself Farther Further stopped by, on his way to either Guardians of the Galaxy or Pirates of the Caribbean, to talk about the bright technical future the Mendocino Coast could have. There’s the prose poetry of Paul Krugman as well as a sad, soft poem by Allie Coleman about depression and its temporary antidote: trees. There’s the latest installment of Jay Frankston’s historical novel El Sereno leading up to and including the Spanish Civil War. Scott Peterson’s /Highway 61/, a true story of elite money vampires sucking on Fort Bragg. Ezekiel Krahlin’s dream-take on Psalm 91. A couple of new ideas about how we think and about what memory is really for. Alex Bosworth called. He’s out of the hospital again, with news of dozens of new stories he had time to write there. Firesign Theater. It’s a pretty good show, if I do say so myself, and why shouldn’t I?

Speaking of which, as the economy craters and sub-craters like a screensaver of cratering craters because of the 1% drinking everyone’s milkshake out from underneath it, the sort of people a little radio station like KNYO relies on for operating money more and more need that money to take care of themselves and keep body and soul together. And KNYO, unlike high-power commercial stations, is not allowed to sell advertising. Nor, unlike high-power so-called noncommercial stations like KZYX, for example, can it get hundreds of thousands of dollars a year in grants to, basically, advertise for giant multinational corporations and keep troublemakers like me off the air. So if you are in a position where you can spare what amounts to coffee-and-tea money, please go to KNYO’s website, click on the big red heart that bravely cries out /donate now/, and help out the Noyo Radio Project on a one-time or recurring basis. Real radio doesn’t need much money, but what it needs it really needs. Please help the wonderful, admirable and recently bereaved Bob Young keep us downtown and on the air. Do it now, while you’re thinking about 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:

Archive dreaming.

A short video essay on apocalyptic fiction.

New old bulbs and how we get them.

Further views of the exquisite Talbot-Lago and, stuck in at random for some reason, a cream-and-blue/black-with-lightning-squiggle Delahaye Competition Court Torpedo. And I repeat for the 400th time: if car manufacturers made cars like these now, they would fly off the lot. Body designers can stop. It’s done. The only way to improve this would be with a silver-winged-green-glass-eyeball hood ornament. And when gravity is conquered by science, in a perfect world flying cars will look just like this, caged headlights, pneumatic fenders, red leather interior and all. Cruelty-free lab-grown leather.

Yet another body-positivity win.

Something you can do with WD-40, ferrofluid, two sheets of glass, Scotch tape and magnets.

A gentleman will never grab at a lady’s hand. Also, no creepy flirting with the pope of Rome. Real men learn this in middle school.

Tree cutting fails, part 3.

Horn OK please.

Hamari Atariya.

Old race cars racing. Better than watching new race cars racing.

“Because I don’t feel like it.” Good enough for me.

The good one is the one on the left. The copy. Also, here’s a neat trick: cross your eyes until the heads overlap and examine the result: Medieval 3D.

And here in 2017, the distant future, are some priests non-ironically blessing vast computer server farms with holy water and little magic brooms.


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