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Tales of ribaldry.


     “I never was no bum. If someone was to call me a bum and it was out on the tracks somewhere there’s no tellin’ what’d happen. But if it was in town and someone call me a bum I would say, I ain’t no bum, I am a hobo, and as a matter of fact is there any work I could do for you, sir.”

Here’s the recording of last night’s (2022-01-21) 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 at least an hour of the above eight-hour show’s most locally relevant material, as usual, without asking for anything in return. (Though I do pay $25 annually for full access to all articles and features, and you should too, if you can. As well as, throw a bone once in awhile to KNYO. Why not go there and do it now? (While you’re there, tour the renovated site, rebuilt by webmaster Chris Dunn, with an updated schedule, whole new design and new features, though the mobile version doesn’t seem to agree with my phone. Nice picture of the ocean, though. You can’t see that picture on the desktop site; all the useful stuff is in front of it, such as the essential big red heart.)

Email me your work on any subject and I’ll read it cold on the radio this coming Friday night. That’s a really good way to learn to express yourself in writing and be understood. You hear right away where to put the commas next time so people don’t think you’re saying the exact opposite of what you want to. You learn to vary sentence length. And so on. I won’t stop and fix it for you. When you hear me stop and fix something it’s usually because the person asked me to. Sometimes I’m whimsically critical but that hardly ever happens, and I’m sure everyone knows that I’m just a jerk and you’re the clever one deliberately employing the wrong homophone /on the radio, the medium not just tolerant of but practically built by and for homophones./ Don’t be such a victim.

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 mini cat bus zoetrope.


Stout-hearted men.

Murray from Flight of the Conchords got his own movie, wherein, “A gentleman pirate travels with a band of imeciles. Fascinating.”

Landing in the rain, just landing in the rain.


“Before the revolution everyone was penniless but the Tsar. He was Nicholas.”

Last month’s terrifying tsunami, up close and personal. It made this woman’s dog bark five times, once because /Something!/ and the rest because /Barked once, must bark again!/ Meanwhile the terrible devastation advances, homelessing all the spiders and bugs in the grass for yards and yards upstream.

Clawing at your soul.

Poor fellows. So talented. Such a shame.

Melancholy baby.

Rerun: Help the police.

Rerun: Straight Outta Compton in oompah.

Rerun: The little oompah band. This is thirty years old and still fresh. This is mixed up in my mind with the scene in /Eraserhead/ of the chipmunk-cheeked singer in the little stage in the radiator. That’s probably where they got the idea.

Nobody has ever just knocked this guy down, and that’s what’s wrong with him, as well as with everyone who is like this. Just once is all it would take, and no jury in the world would convict you. Use a tool, don’t hurt your hand. (And he still has his job and the respect of the masses. I don’t understand it. Now, Joss Whedon, to compare, made Firefly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Dollhouse, The Avengers, on and on, one critical and artistic and money success after another, for a lot of people, and once in an unguarded moment he said a pregnant actress looked fat, and occasionally he raised his voice in pique when directing, so everyone in the world hates him now and his career is over, he’ll never direct a teevee show or film again. Gordon Ramsay is a fricking monster all the time, ever. There’s no consistency here.)

Tales of ribaldry.

“Work with me, Annie, let’s get it while the getting is good.”

Yes – Roundabout. Fifty years old. That’s music, by the way, kids. Shouting about bitches in time to a dryer with a tennis shoe in it is not music.

Music box fun. (via Everlasting Blort)

Jumping to warp speed. Let me count the ways.

Pipnic. Two tired. (via Everlasting Blort)

Razor gang stylin’.

Magazines of, apparently, toy-airplane enthusiasts in their bathing suits.

Tina Louise, potato queen of 1953. Yes, /that/ Tina Louise, who later played Ginger in Gilligan’s Island. In the 1960s, surveys showed fans of the show preferred Ginger to Mary Ann three-to-one. Those same fans in a survey done in 2008 had flipped that around: three-to-one for Mary Ann. What do you suppose changed them?

Chip Taylor – I Love You Today.

Ptui! Ptui! I speet!

Elemental haiku.

Fig. 3. This illustrates one big problem Larry Niven explained in his 1969 article /Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex/, about why it would kill Lois Lane if she ever had actual sex with Superman. There was more, though, there. Initially Superman’s super sperm cells would perforate and ruin all the important plumbing and wiring in Lois’ entire body as well as riddle nearby furniture or trees with Mach-speed holes.

The Junkers G-38. They should make these now, to look and feel like this, but with electric motors. They are beautiful airplanes. Maybe redo the tail a little bit.

The Crow, Samantha Fish, and Unknown Hinson.

The cave.

“My LSD-induced love affair with a pigeon.”

The tragedy of Macbeth. (via Everlasting Blort)

Watch how a pro does it.

The Energy Discrimination Elimination Act.

Rerun: Alternative math.

Alternative world.

There was a word we used as lads for things that were superlatively cool; that word is /bitchin/. This is bitchin, right here, also rad, massive, wizard, and gnarly. They say it’s molecules of rotor blade metal incandescing, abraded away by sand in the air, but I think that piezoelectric sparks might also be part of it, from the quartz. Not related except by reminding: let your eyes get adjusted to the dark and chew wintergreen-flavor Life-Saver candy in the mirror. Also not related: foxfire, St. Elmo’s fire, Cherenkov radiation, firefly butts, nor lightstick juice. Many hands make light work.


Lydia, oh, Lydia, that encyclopydia. Lydia, the tattooed lady.

Sean, a 1970 documentary. (15 min.)


“It seems real peaceful, and it is, but you just don’t get much sleep. When one wakes up they all wake up.”

Why Asians don’t get scam calls.

Jello molds.

Nataly Dawn and Pomplamoose – A Very Fast French Song. (via Everlasting Blort)

And fun with tape.

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One Comment
  1. Douglas Coulter permalink

    Diatribe with extra spiced distractions
    Why should a world pay attention to a man who grew up in State Mental Hospotials.
    And yet I move forward illuminated by the light of brightly burning bridges behind.
    If you cannot find peace where you dwell don’t expect a change of real estate will change a failed life. We carry our baggage with us, even as refugees.

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