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I never do anything twice.


     “Always put your best workers on the corners.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2021-11-12) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA), 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.

And thanks to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, which provided almost an hour of the above eight-hour show’s material, as usual, without asking for anything in return.

Email me your writing on any subject and I’ll read it on the radio next week. That’s what I’m here for.

Max Forsetter called about half an hour into the show and talked about and presented some of the music and stories from his musical and storied career, interspersed with my inappropriate and clueless interview style, not from my being out of practice but because I’m just not trying much anymore to be at the top of my or anyone’s game; I’m rather resting on my laurels and, let’s be honest here, it’s a thin bed. Max is great, though, and the rest of the show is, ehhh, pretty good, and pretty good all night long, as usual, so kaplah (say kuh-PLAH). Oh, right, also at 1am (four hours into the show) there’s the half-hour Part 1 of Scott M. Peterson’s mathematical dissertation on the subject of art prices in Mendocino over the years, figuring in the Chinese knockoff factor, which, did you know about that? Because /I/ didn’t. And the latest in the Craig L. Stehr saga. He’s housed, in a real house with a real couch, and once again exuberantly typing in capital letters, which I express on the radio by shouting, so you get the full benefit of the treatment.

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:

Key testimony.

“Just because an expert tells you something is hyperspectral video of an alien mothership dropping off cargo, it does not mean that’s probably what it is.” Four minutes of dry, competent debunkment, and well worth it.

Endangered ice.

Rerun: Honest government ad about climate change.

Siena photo award winners. Click to view the gallery.

Here ya go: Goober the Clown on abortion.

So it’s either the snake or it’s Cuba.

The time traveling sheriff.

The time traveling wood. I like the piano part stuck on a loop of /Buy Buy Sell Sell/ by Cake. (via Everlasting Blort)

Turn-of-the-previous-century’s German Bat Girl.

Rerun: I was Kaiser Bill’s Batman. Those are some moves. They probably were instrumental in winning him captaincy of the Enterprise NX-01. Speaking of which, Dean Stockwell of /Quantum Leap/ died this week. Coincidences up the wazoo. Buy one lottery ticket.

Dean Stockwell is dead.

They can’t all be right, they can all be wrong, which throws a wrench into Pascal’s wager. He was pretty smart about numbers but the human heart is a pretzel of desire and mystical mumbo-jumbo, and there you jolly well are, aren’t you. (To paraphrase Lord Buckley.)

Further of the world of topiary cats.

The amazing Fibonacci elephant. Experiment with changing the parameters, controls at top left. (via Clifford Pickover)

Rock stacking simulator.

Secret underground city. (via Everlasting Blort)

The glory that was Geocities. I had a Geocities site, all of course in painfully contrasting colors– text and 8-bit sconce fires and everything. I don’t remember what it was called– it /might/ have been Memo of the Air.



“You always put your best workers on the corners.”

An illustrated timeline of vaccination in schools.

Sharing and cooperation.

Rerun: 2017 beer ad.

Lighted tires. They didn’t catch on 80 years ago because they were impractical, either so soft they wore out right away or so brittle that a sharp bounce could pop them. They couldn’t get it right. /But we could now, with modern materials./ Except, the other problem was the other drivers on the road, who became fascinated and crashed into people and things. Maybe that would still be a problem, or maybe people would get used to it. People crash into things all the time anyway. Deer, for instance, or a stupid curb that’s there for no reason at all (see the next item).

Ow. Dangit! Ooof! Tch. Etc. (say etz!)

The United States of Freedom. Betty Bowers, America’s Best Christian, of Landover Baptist Church.

Proudest girl in the world.

“Don’t resist! [punch] Don’t resist! [punch] Don’t resist! [punch]” “I’m not!”

Mister Wrong.

$780,000 for the coolest watch ever. Runs 60 hours on a winding. That must be some spring.

“Ones who make a corruption are punished in the hell. They are named as the spirits of the pigs.” (via the Anderson Valley Advertiser)

“Restricting abortion /increases/ abortion rights.” Does it, though?

Reb Fountain and Amanda F. Palmer mashup of /Blurred Lines/ and /Rape Me/. Turn the CC on. This is terrific art, squirmingly uncomfortable no matter whether you’re a victim, a perp, merely complicit or you have a working imagination. Especially at the end. They’re looking at you. They can see you. (via b3ta)

Take this quiz to find out if you’ve got OCD. I’ve taken all the five-minute tests like this. Apparently I don’t have even a trace of OCD, nor am I particularly narcissistic or psychopathic, or left-brain or right-brain, or male or female in attitude, or racist or depressed or superstitious or Machiavellian, nor prone to fall for conspiracy theories. It turns out that my Star Trek race is Trill, my Hogwarts house is Gryffindore, my Firefly character is Wash, and so on, pretty much right down the middle. I’m both a dog /and/ a cat. One time years ago I took a test that tells how good you are at recognizing and placing faces and did shockingly well, top of the list. Also spelling ability (as a character trait)… Reading back over this paragraph, I see that perhaps this particular test for OCD is flawed.

The panicky picnic.

One photo of Canadian women’s hockey teams from a hundred years ago is not shown here. Their sweater logo was the American Indian swastika. I used that photo for a cover of my newspaper in the early 1990s and it caused a kerfuffle (say kur-FUH-fuhl). Example: In the post office I was shrieked at by a survivor of /the/ Holocaust, his nose to my chin and his index finger poking my chest, “Thehw is PAIN HEAH, MAHCO! PAIN!” (The accent of Barry Kripke in /The Big Bang Theory/.)

Slow motion rainbow-colored fire tornado. You say tornado, I say tornado.


Rerun: “This is extremely dangerous to our democracy.”

Stephen Fry tells about batteries, greenhouse gases, quantum computing, etc.

English translated Japanese web page list of misunderstood book titles. (via NagOnTheLake)

It’s nice to do this, but the general difficulty of life that makes this so emotional should be addressed. These are only a handful of people. What about everybody else? Look up /Universal Basic Income/.

No. (via Everlasting Blort)


Keep an eye out.

Good call.

Careless love.



A fifty year old R. Crumb poster. I was just thinking of the song /Telegraph Road/, that for some reason always brings this poster to mind, and the next day there it was in Everlasting Blort. Did they hear me say something about it to Juanita and go get it? Weird.

Subway stop names.

Sand Planet.

The Blythe Intaglios.

Monsters, Inc. oldized.

Accordion master of all the world.

A short story.

A good day.


Secret dumb guy.

Good boy, bad boy.

See what people can do?

“It’s like my mom used to say: Tears just make your eyes sparkle brighter.”

The 1-inch 8-track tape deck at about 4:30 in this video is just like the one Philo Hayward provided the Mendocino Community School in the early 1980s. The meters say 3M here, though. In my memory the machine was an Ampex. Hmm.


Art (autoplay slide show). (via Everlasting Blort)

It’s an eye thing.


A trim blonde woman banging out Master of Puppets. Pianoporn.

The 100 best noirs of all time.

And the languorous journey of lovingly restoring an antique clockwork toy bus.




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One Comment
  1. Douglas Coulter permalink

    I finally learned how to do raunchy poetry with public appeal. My early stuff was great for young boys entertained by foul language and fart noises. In the Marines I wrote parodies that could not be shared in public much like “dead baby jokes” offended all but the jaded. Dark humor is one of the best tool when dealing with trauma. Laughing at death and tragedy aid in keeping one from toxic grief. The vulture remains the great grief councilor, digesting death before it ferments. Self pity is the gateway to narcissism, and we all find it an easy path. Writing my song about wanking really helped me put isolation and distress into clear perspective. Kancle Kulture wants to ban dark humor.
    As I heard The Rolling Stones would no longer perform Brown Sugar I’m waiting for the censorship of Santa Claus’s “ho ho ho” as clearly a slur on three working girls.

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