Skip to content

If. Hiroshima flaneur.


     “It was all very well going on about pure logic and how the universe was ruled by reason and the harmony of numbers, but the plain fact of the matter was that the world was manifestly traversing space on the back of a giant turtle and the gods had a habit of going round to atheists’ houses and smashing their windows.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-08-06) KNYO Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show, ready to re-enjoy.


Thanks heaps to Hank Sims of Lost Coast Outpost here’s a page with not only the above MOTA show but also other ones going back quite a way.

I read Kim Stanley Robinson’s story /The Lucky Strike/ starting after a music break at about 5 hours and 10 minutes into the show. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve read that story, I always break down crying at several points, and not just crying but nearly sobbing. It’s one of my favorite stories ever. Maybe you’d like to read that for yourself. Here’s a place:

BESIDES ALL THAT, here’s a fresh batch of not-necessarily-radio-useful but worthwhile items that I set aside for you while gathering the show together, found mostly thanks to the fine websites listed to your right:

The Great Flydini.


Logic gates.

“I think it’s time to appoint a kindergarten teacher to lead communications at the CDC.” -Dr. Lucky Tran

“How are we supposed to trust /anything/ if the rules for a constantly evolving pandemic with dangerous new mutations are not set in stone from the /beginning/?”


Landscapes big and small.

“Wet hands don’t melt steel beams.”

Don’t stop. You stopped. Tch.

“Naw, ya see Ah had a ideer you’d be plumb daycent once you got ’round toowit.” The real pilot for the Andy Griffith show was this episode of /Bringing Up Father/.

Cute li’l tilt-shift German mountains.

Ad for cheese.

A new cat-theme game.

The midnight zone.



“It’s the dance of our people and these are our garbs. She just did a ceremony. Tell him about the ceremony.”

The 9 Kubler-Ross stages of alien invasion.

The official tangled cable appreciation page. (via Cliff Pickover)

Light swizzles. (via BoingBoing)

If you could choose your superpower or super-attribute.

How big are black holes?

The day Fabio took one on the nose for the team. A whole goose. On his nose.

“This is what happens when you climb a ladder in the Alps, Larry!”

Aaaand this is what happens when you knock out a Duckworth in an Applebee’s.

What’s Molyneaux’s problem, anyway? (via NagOnTheLake)

Malkovich. (via Nag on the Lake)

So what am I, chopped liver? Hey! Over here!

Time out of mind, this, but I just saw a reference to it, so went and found it again. It’s pretty cool.

If you see a beach.


The 1966 of prostitutes in Paris. (say peh-RdEE)

Four harmonicas Take Five.

/Everlong/. What’s weird to me is, this man is nothing like Lynda Barry’s cartoon character Romantic Rahoolio the Latin Lovar. He’d never be mistaken for him. And yet that’s who I think of… I think that it’s okay to enjoy the look and mental sound of Rahoolio in private, as a cartoon, but if you were to call someone in real life /Rahoolio the Latin Lovar/ I’d understand how they might be offended by that. (Again, I can’t figure out how to get a photo to stick up here in the body of the post. It just always goes to the end, so that’s where you’ll find it.) (From 1992 or ’93 through ’96 I relied on a child’s printing press program, Instant Artist for DOS –$19.95– to make headlines, titles, display ads, cover art and cartoons such as /That Wacky One-Arm Girl/ and /The Cute Little Dog/ and /Black Leather Teddy/ for my newspaper /Memo/. Right out of the physical cardboard box, and without your having to read any instructions, every part of the operation of Instant Artist was entirely intuitive and did exactly what it was obvious you wanted it to do. Now it’s 2021 and we’ve had nearly thirty years of mind-blowing progress in hardware and software. What the hell happened?)

The truth is up there. (via b3ta)

20-min. airplane flight in to the mountains of Borneo, narrated by competent by-the-book pilot. As he says of the weather, the trip, the landing and the field, “Very nice.”


The Corvair Ernie Kovacs died in. (via AsylumEclectica)

Don’t look. The gruesome view from the other side of Ernie Kovacs’ Corvair.

And the path to the pole he wrapped the Corvair around because he was drunk and he was trying to light a cigar and drive at the same time. There’s a lesson here.

Rerun: Wrong way down a one-way street.

My step-brother Craig had one of these toys. The football was a little cut-out wad of felt. I don’t remember if it was in the rules, but with Craig, you could kick a field goal by flicking the football with your finger. They’re right about the noise it made. It went /NAAAANGGGGNNNGGGAAAANGGGGGGGNGNGNNG/. If you played it on the rug it wasn’t quite so bad, but a table would amplify it.



Cat’s all like /Die! Why won’t you die!/ (punch-punch-punch-punch-punch)

Eh, it’s a living.

Falling down. (via Cliff Pickover)

“That’ll learn ya ta eat yer Raisin Bran!”

“HO-lee CRAP! Right through! Lookit how it deformed the frame!”

Bloob. Pash. Plishhh. Etc.

And scenes of the 1890s around the world. In the film it looks so much nicer than the way things are now, but it really wasn’t. Unless you were rich life was short and hard, shorter and harder than we have it. (It was half as long and ten times as hard.) Clothes were expensive, hot in the summer and cold in the winter and chafed and itched like crazy. Condoms were made of split and stitched farm animal bladders, best used fresh because they tended to dry out and flake, also you could be jailed for even having one, which might be preferable to using it. Child mortality was very high, only partly because of boys and girls as young as eight having to work in brutal conditions in claustrophobic mines and unsafe factories; mostly it was disease. The only way to fix a tooth problem was to yank it out with pliers. But then, as now, if you were white and rich you could eat steak, kiss, fuck, sail around looking at nice views and having baths drawn and grapes peeled for you and lounge in bed till the crack of noon. But in those days if someone murdered your rich ass and stole something fungible, they could go a short stagecoach or train ride in any direction and call themselves some other name and entirely get away with it. That’s harder now, though you’d still be dead, I suppose. They could open a barbershop and slit their customers’ throats and drop them through a trap door into the basement where their wife would make them into meat pies and sell them in the market, and if they didn’t get greedy about it they could make a nice living for awhile and retire at 38 and enjoy themselves until they died of syphilis or gout or consumption or dropsy. That happened all the time. You could go into a bar, have /one drink/ and wake up with a headache on your way to Shanghai, kidnapped into slavery, or wake up blind or prone to convulsions because the liquor had wood alcohol or lead or absinthol in it. But you could knock on Nikola Tesla’s door, or Mark Twain’s door, and they’d open the door and you’d be standing there talking with Nikola Tesla, or Mark Twain. You could switch any German toddler for toddler Adolf Hitler. You could avoid stepping on that butterfly and preserve the original-timeline future spelling of entire dictionaries of words. Even so, we have it better now, thanks to science, liberals, labor unions, and the separation of church and state.


Hard to look away, isn’t it? And hard to stop saying it out loud: “Romantic Rahoolio, the Latin Lovar.”

From → Uncategorized

Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: