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The .gif of the magi. (Jackboots of Xmas.)


     “I am the ghost of Christmas future perfect conditional subjunctive [said the spirit]. I will show you what might be to have happened were you not to have changed your ways.”

Here’s the recording* of last night’s (2017-12-22) KNYO and 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, from this other place, which you might like better because it offers an instant-play option and isn’t surrounded by confusing flashing ads.

The show ran 6.8 hours but this recording, beginning to end, is only 6.5 hours long. Eighteen missing minutes somewhere in there. Evidence of alien abduction? A flaw in the fabric of space and time? A loyal becurlered secretary’s obstruction of justice? No, no and no.

You know how I’m always saying how wrong it is for the so-called manager of Mendocino County Public Broadcasting Corp. (KZYX) to pay the local airpeople nothing at all for working at what every radio station is there for in the first place, and at the same time pay himself $60,000 a year for merely being the corporation’s hood ornament? And how I keep pointing out that there’s a program director to direct the programs, and an operations manager to manage the operations, and a bookkeeper to keep the books, and a business underwriting coordinator to coordinate the business underwriting, and a barefoot doofus to answer the phone in the office, and so on, and automation runs without anyone needed to watch it blink, and airpeople do their prep work and show up and do their shows, and a transmitter is more reliable than a refrigerator and requires even less attention nor maintenance, and the only thing all that leaves the pathetic fraud of a manager to do to “keep KZYX on the air”, as they say, is to somehow, I don’t know how, that’s up to him, but /somehow/ arrange barriers in his life so he never sleepwalks into the transmitter shack and kicks the plug out.

Well, at an hour-and-thirteen into last night’s Memo of the Air show (at KNYO) I stretched my long ballet-dancer’s legs out under the table and bumped the heavy end-box of the microphone snake, which silently tipped over onto a power strip switch, switching it off, which stopped my audio stream going out from what’s also the recording computer /and/ stopped my backup recorder (a video camera), and I only noticed because the laptop I play music from, also plugged into that same power strip, screen-blanks on a very short schedule to save power when on battery; it kept blanking, off to the right of the reading easel, and while I read whatever I was reading to no-one I kept autonomically flicking the trackball to light the computer screen again. Then, of course, problem noticed, problem solved, and three good things about all this: That thatch of wiring will be simplified, safe-ified and moved. The streaming/recording computer, which requires its own screen-blank-setting and other setup attention when reset, will be fixed so it doesn’t and put on a backup power unit. And this was a good real-life test of the system Sid Cooperider and Govinda recently upgraded at KMEC, which faithfully continued with Memo of the Air instantly it re-became available.

So I’m not gonna stop saying that true thing and other true things that need to be known about KZYX, which breaks down as often as KNYO does but costs /$600,000 a year/ more to do it (fifty fucking times more, and much of that taxpayers’ money, and still not paying the airpeople for their work), but I’ll be smiling with not only both sides of my mouth now but with the original side that was always going up and down a little continuing to do that when I say it because the story has a new facet to what makes it if not darkly then dimly funny. There, see how it always makes a joke better when you explain it, especially when you do it in a self-deprecating, wry manner?

Last night was a pretty good show, by the way. Lots of valuable information, local writing, callers from distant lands, irony, pathos, polyphony, epiphony, synecdoche , hubris, polyphony. That’s two polyphonies, that’s enough. And you’ll find I cleverly spliced the recording so you don’t even notice the Nixonian/Saganian missing eighteen minutes. See what I do for you?

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

2017, the year in review, from the position of a man greeting his friend who has been out of touch because in the sea for a year. Not out to sea, in the sea.

Rerun: Bad lip reading of The Empire Strikes Back.

Pendula swing like the pendula do.

Hourglasses of sheep. Time is ticking, sheeple.

“Margaret, I swear to God…”

116 Soviet Xmas cards.

Godless Russkies’ war on Xmas.

And how the Nacirema do it.

A Lux Interior Christmas Tape Compilation: “/Jesus fuck! It’s Christmas!/” (With downloadable Side 1 and Side 2.

Photos of Xmas past.

Why are you out of uniform, soldier?

The Wizard of Oz.

For when you actually want to smell and taste like an ashtray. (Remember ashtrays? They used to be everywhere. Every public building, every waiting room. Next to the door in the grocery store. In dashboard /and/ door armrests of cars. And remember how they had those mechanical chrome ones on a stand, that were exactly as tall as you were,  with a button on top that you’d push down and the inside would spin, right next to your eye?) (That’s what I don’t understand about these fidget spinner toys. Why don’t they spin when you squeeze them? There’s your million dollar idea. Children like to push on things and squeeze things.) (Though the videos of using a jet of compressed air to make them go 22,000 rpm and explode are interesting.) Right, smell like a sexy ashtray, sorry, here’s what to buy:

Water as smoke. Rivers in Iceland.

The gayest cake ever, please. Gay cake. Laugh and be gay, and have your cake and eat it too.

Branson Reese comix.

And because of all the sandwiches there. This is an example of human labor of crushing boredom holding its own in comparison with robots doing everything so people are free to transcend the mundane and learn to play a musical instrument or ride a skateboard or whatever you choose to do. Or abuse opioids. They’re saying that’s all the robots’ fault, but I don’t think it is. And a merry Xmas to you, son. Get a job. I hear there are jobs in sandwiches.


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