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Japanese sandman.


     “My name is Kara Zor-El. I’m from Krypton. I’m a refugee on this planet. I was sent to Earth to protect my cousin, but my pod got knocked off course, and by the time I got here my cousin had already grown up and become Superman. I hid who I really was, until one day when an accident forced me to reveal myself to the world. To most people I’m a reporter at Catco Worldwide Media. But in secret I work with my adopted sister at the DEO to protect this planet I call my home from whoever means to cause it harm. I am Supergirl!”

Marco here, bringing you the recording of last night’s (2022-08-12) Memo of the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA), ready to re-enjoy:


Thanks 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 or at least alerted me to almost an hour of the above eight-hour show’s most locally relevant material without asking for anything in return. And KNYO-LP Fort Bragg, CA, which would be unironically jazzed to accept your help in the form of some money, but understands that times are tough.

Douglas Wayne Coulter showed up on his bike and alternated between playing his old and new songs and chatting about his life and concerns, for the whole first chunk of the show. He writes his own material and parodies famous music and does it all sincerely and rather well. His quirky opinions about what makes the world tick will challenge your deeply held beliefs and/or entertain you for other reasons, I’m sure.

FURTHERMORE, 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 Japanese sandman then.

The Japanese sandman now.

Text-tones as dance moves. (via Everlasting Blort)

Living rooms.

I still love this. I was just thinking about it, and I found it again by searching for /man tortures dog by talking about maple bacon/. It was right at the top of the results.

War dogs in gas masks.

“Every day Doggo would parade the high-walled streets with Quivven the Golden Flame perched on his back.” “All about her the skulls shrieked madly.” “Even though they throw me into the Mamertine dungeon yet will I not put my legs in those absurd things thou callest trousers, Flaccus declared stoutly.” “You signed certain papers today, Lioski, accused the liquid horror.” 3,000 pages of this terrific stuff. (via Everlasting Blort)

Flying the jet watermelon. (via TackyRaccoons)

Star Wars: Larry – Episode 3. Continued from Episode 2.

People of the book, booked.

It’s a fact.

Rerun: a compilation of all the It’s A Fact Girl bits from Kids In The Hall. “You have such lovely hair, especially for a demon! Do you like to swim?” This was three decades ago.

A car that looks like a woman weightlifter’s arm. Cars are all angry wedges and facets now. Why can’t they be smooth and rounded anymore, like the baldheaded driver’s head in the picture, sleek and aerodynamic?

Here’s just about the only reason there should ever be a crowd for anything.

The joy of corn.

/Toxic/ on toothbrushes and printers.

For like 20 years there I didn’t see any television. MTV was during that time. This makes it look like I missed something cool.

Old photos 3D-gif-ized.

A nascent encyclopedia of the unknown. Get in on the ground floor. (via PerfectForRocquefortCheese)

As you scroll down, make the sound you associate with each one, or say the word you imagine each one might be saying inside her head, based on pose and expression.

Smiling my head off here. It’s not just the tongue technique. They’re all so precisely mechanically funny doing this. What a great group.

And this. Now I want to see the whole film.


A jungle trebuchet.

From the days before the insurance companies ruined the fun for everybody. I immediately see a way to win, but you’d have to do teamwork with at least one other person, and that might have been against the rules. Fighting for the center would surely be against the rules. But there weren’t rules. They didn’t need them. If anybody was an asshole everyone else would let them know and they’d learn. That’s the fantasy about the past, though, I know.

Fresh volcano juice.

Climate change, a timeline. (via Everlasting Blort)

The longest river in France dried up completely yesterday.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure you all have heard of me through the Jewish-controlled press…” (via Everlasting Blort)

The tragedy of Mothman.

Dolores Del Rio.


It’s harder than it looks, but he kept trying, and he did it. And then he threw down his hat– twice. It used to be, you’d throw down your hat in disgust when everything went /wrong/, not right. The future is becoming incomprehensible. Remember what Grandpa Simpson had to say about this concept.


One of my dream journal posts from last week, and some earlier ones below it. I’ve started my dream journal up again.

It’s like Santana at Woodstock, but they’re dressed like an OIngo Boingo album cover and they made most of their own instruments.

This music makes me think of a bunch of kittens randomly darting around and falling over and crashing into each other, being frantic and cute, tagging in and tagging out like wrestlers, and falling asleep for a few seconds here and there.

A further advance in MIDI controlled solenoid-operated instruments.

Mug shots, Arkansas State Prison, 1915-1935.

The happy voice of the phone worker.

How we get a beautiful Damascus katana. “A weapon from a more civilized age.” (When they’d have to look you in the eye and kill you, or at least sneak up on you or drop down on you from a bamboo tree, not lazily shoot you from all the way across the street.)

How we get matches. And how match factory men lose fingers. Most of these men have most of their fingers, because they have learned to pay attention.

Tough crowd. They know they’re out there, they can hear them breathing.

Mmmm. (via Clifford Pickover)




Photographs. (via TackyRaccoons)

And the canvas of Babel.

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One Comment
  1. And here I was expecting some rang tang ding dong.

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