[Kzyxtalk] And two hard-boiled eggs.

[Marco McClean]

Subject: And two hard-boiled eggs.

Here's the recording of last night's (Friday 2024-09-06) 8-hour Memo of 
the Air: Good Night Radio show on 107.7fm KNYO-LP Fort Bragg (CA) and 
KNYO.org (and, for the first hour, also 89.3fm KAKX Mendocino):
https://tinyurl.com/KNYO-MOTA-0608

(I made two notable mistakes in that show. 1. I read chapter 14-b of 
Kent Wallace's new book Switcheroo, not noticing that I skipped right 
past 14-a. Sorry, Kent. I'll do better next week. And 2. I didn't even 
/look/ to check over the text of Scott Peterson's story about corruption 
in local nonprofit organizations, that I ripped kind of on autopilot 
from the PDF file, and it ended up scrambled and almost-but-not-quite 
readable, though I tried to read it, mangled it and gave up. Sorry, 
Scott. I'll do better about that next week too.)

Coming shows can feature your story or dream or poem or essay or kvetch 
or announcement or whatever. Just email it to me. Or include it in a 
reply to this post. Or send me a link to your writing project and I'll 
take it from there and read it on the air. That's what I'm here for.

Besides all that, at https://MemoOfTheAir.wordpress.com you'll find a 
fresh batch of dozens of links to worthwhile items I set aside for you 
while gathering the show together, such as:

Oh, that's easy. The secret is to just make the lid first. Nah, kidding. 
I've tried to use a potter's wheel. Before I could get it shaped 
anything like a real pot it just flurped into a folded lump. Try again? 
Flurp. Again? Almost… almost… Flurp. Always flurp, never pot. In an 
ancient-times pot-based society I'd probably do okay as a hut-to-hut pot 
salesman. Or to make a trailside billboard for pots, out of palm leaves. 
Or to dream up pottery innovations, such as a ceramic kazoo or ocarina 
or village-crier megaphone or rat-proof breadbox. Or invent the ceramic 
flush toilet, like a person did on another planet, a religiously 
enforced pre-industrial Hindu planet, in Lord of Light, by Roger 
Zelazny, which I'm reading a little bit of every show, now, near the end 
of the show, and enjoying it all over again, as much as the first time 
when I was ten and every time since. "Twice or not at all!" Then you 
realize he is saying, /Double or nothing!/ And the ten-page lead-up to 
where the narrator can say, "Then the fit hit the Shan." Zelazny wrote 
much of his work, including Lord Of Light, and the sprawling Chronicles 
of Amber, while he was a postal clerk. So many of his books and short 
stories cry out to be made into graphic novels and films and teevee 
series and stage plays, and the only thing they managed was Damnation 
Alley? Tch. Every few years I read that they're about to make the 
Chronicles of Amber for teevee, but they never do. They do other things 
that winkingly borrow from it, but never the real thing. It's a story 
about a nested multiverse, and a family of descendants of the creatures 
that created it out of capital-C Chaos, who live nearly forever and are 
casually at each other's throats for power in the place at the heart of 
it all. It has magic and artificial intelligence and sword fights and 
demons and monsters and romance and role models for good, to emulate, 
and for evil, to not be like. And, like real life, morally puzzling 
problems to urgently address without enough information, and then 
consequences. Anyway, here's a person with impressive pottery skills, 
consequences: pots.
https://misscellania.blogspot.com/2024/09/tweet-of-day.html

Further in the line of women I would like to watch swallow an egg. The 
older I get, the less creepy that feels to say. Therefore the more 
creepy it is. And if something is creepy, a million people will pay for 
it. Except, I read an article last night about how young people have 
brought /consensual sexual asphyxiation/ into the mainstream. Now, that 
is creepy, but nobody would pay for it, because when something goes 
wrong and the person dies, and there was money involved, it's not just 
mortifying, it is, like the entire spectrum of playfulness, impossible 
to explain in a court of law, and that's intuitive, it's baked in, 
almost the only form of forethought you can count on people to show, 
especially in their teens and twenties, when who has to pay for it 
anyway? so that solves itself. You really pay later, though. Not 
necessarily money. I'll stop now.
https://www.vintag.es/2024/09/eugene-vernier.html

Speaking of which, imagine the wild electrical activity in this 
barking-mad preacher's brain. Imagine afterward, when she's just gone 
offstage. She flops into a chair, says softly but emphatically, "Ah 
yeah," like an inflatable guest bed ripping a seam and relaxing flat, or 
like Jack Nicholson said, pleased and exhausted after sex with Angela 
Huston in /Prizzi's Honor/. (via Christian Nightmares)
https://x.com/ChristnNitemare/status/1829738752517796130

And the Shirelles – Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2e8B2CmicQ

Marco McClean, memo at mcn.org, https://MemoOfTheAir.wordpress.com