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The wheel of schmegegge.


Here’s the recording of last night’s (2020-12-11) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA).


Besides all that, here’s a fresh batch of links to worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right. (They changed how WordPress works, so I’ve been experimenting with not bothering to painstakingly make all the links open in separate tabs. So if you go anywhere you’ll have to press the back button to come back here. If you don’t like it this way,  please let me know so I can smile with one corner of my mouth and consider, for an instant, then reject going back to doing it the hard way that’s taken an extra twenty-five minutes of foofing around with it every week for twenty years. But for you? Sure. Of course.)

Explaining the aurora.

You can feel these titles and photographs massaging and improving your brain.

“Let’s put Christ back in Christmas.” The aspect ratio is not right. It makes the guns look like cigaret-lighter guns. You kids are too young, you don’t remember, but they used to be all over the place. It was a smooshed-looking little gun that you’d point at your own face and shoot fire at the cigaret in your mouth. You could refill it with regular lighter fluid, and when it stopped sparking you could buy a little cellophane envelope of flints from the store to fix it with. You had to use tweezers, and even then it was iffy; they gave you five tiny flints and you always lost four of them in the rug. But back then everything only cost a nickel anyway. A loaf of bread. A harmonica. A radio tube. Everything was a nickel. If you were a millionaire in those days you could buy a whole town. Also music was /music/, it wasn’t just a bunch of punks hanging around the gas station banging on pots and pans.


Holiday-time rerun: The Dundee Sisters.

Happy Pearl Harbor day after day after day anymore.

Maps of election results if electoral votes were apportioned by other forms of gerrymandering besides congressional districts. (Scroll down.)

Summon the pointer and the point.

Sachal Studios Orchestra – Take Five.

Luca Stricagnoli’s latest.

Worst responder.

“Bitch, this is your life now.” That’s the part where I really burst out laughing. I mean, it’s all funny, but I just always get a kick out it when kids swear. It improves any joke. (In related news, Scotland just announced menstrual products are provided for free to young women there. A good idea.)

I skipped you ahead to the launch. Early on in the flight problems develop. See if you can spot them. Ah, there it is, see? And things really begin to go south at about 1:49:50 (2 min. into the flight). At 1:54:44 (6 min. 32 sec. into the flight) an attempt is made to right the ship and slow to a stop, but it’s too late, on lower than adequate thrust and too great weight of unburned fuel which, upon the ship’s striking the earth at forty feet per second instead of zero feet per second and bursting open, ignites all at once. So much data is gathered that every test, even this one, is successful in that a great deal was learned, so this particular sequence of problems is much less likely now to occur when there are people riding in one of these things. That’s why they test.

What could go wrong? Besides blinding you and spraying hot green chemicals all over the kitchen, Dave, dang it. (via b3ta)

An ad for stunt school.

Film crew in quarantine.

This was a few years ago. Scroll down to the video. Everybody in and dangling from that helicopter had to risk their lives to rescue this fellow.

And this was just a few days ago. Same place. Apparently the world is just a teevee show to people, where anywhere it occurs to them to go must be safe to go, despite waves exploding entirely over the entire fricking jetty. I don’t know if there’s a sign, but should there need to be a sign? Like those amusement park rides that spin you around and shake you up and down and throw you in the air, ya know? What mother with a brain in her head would let their kids ride on that, much less ride on it if herself, pregant or not? (That’s an actual sign I saw at the county fair a few years ago, for pregnant women to maybe not ride in a giant cuisinart on a hydraulic ram.) Anyway, a walk on the jetty:

Real places. What a beautiful world.

/Americans stand ready for sacrifice to defeat new threat./

“Don Quixote gives freedom to many wretches.” I like the pronunciation of Don Quixote where you say /kee-SHOT/, which is not only acceptable but comically superior, as is /kee-SHOT-ee/ and even /kee-KHOT-ee/. I also like to pronounce trebuchet /treh-boo-SHET/, gala /ga-LAH/, Renaissance /ree-NAY-sunss/, Caribbean /keh-REE-bee-un/, and civil /sih-vil/ (not SIH-vuhl). I like shwas okay but the question is, who is to be master? Words are our tools, not the other way around. I like to draw my name on my tools with a Sharpie.

/Tooka-chooka PHBBLT!, yo./

I showed that to Juanita and she said, “Did you ever see the one where the parrot sings /Let The Bodies Hit The Floor/?”

Corruption coddlers.

Pervert hunters.

All! Especially the cap gun, because I’ve grown allergic to that smell now and hate it, it makes my throat tickle and then hurt just to smell it, where when I was a kid cap gun caps were third in great non-food smells, behind a diesel bus and fresh steaming asphalt.

A beautiful car made out of an only very slightly modified VW bug. Not good in the wet. Just drive it on nice days.

I can’t find the car, to show you, the above VW makes me think of –it was another one-off, made by an aircraft designer in the early 1960s– but here are some others that are cool though probably a lot more expensive than the VW, and they mostly all have tops, though they’re probably just as impractical in mud:

Call me when it can /tunnel in the earth and fly/ too.


Woman senator genderistically mansplains mansplaining to man senator who, in return, enjoys flicking her nose from side to side with his metaphorical index fingernail. I love it how you can see on /his/ face the puckish satisfaction of exactly the moment when /she/ realizes she’s stepped into the shit but she can’t stop.

Encounter at Farpoint.


Art of colored sand on a vibrating plate.

Bats flying, including X-ray video of a bat flying, using its fingers, because that’s what its wings are: fingers spread out into a fan.

In 1990 I actually traveled to the Museum of Jurassic Technology in Culver City to see their exhibit of the Deprong Mori, a bat that can fly through solid matter by emitting x-ray pulses, trapped in a block of lead. Here’s an article about it. I’ll talk about this and the MJT at length next week on the show.


Chuck Yeager breaking the sound barrier in the Bell X-1.

An amusing apartment back door.

Why is it always snakes?


“I was ready /three hours ago/. When will she be ready? When will she be ready?”

This guy.

What makes da Hottentot so hot.

Um-hm. Why do you suppose that is?

Which are real, which are not? The two of them that look like Vulcan script I thought /were/ Vulcan script and so not real, but they are real written Earth languages. (via BoingBoing)

And he’s like, *eye roll, sigh, oy.*

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