Like A Cold-Cocked Swami On The Road To Satori

Busy is my middle name. Busy busy busy. Busy busy busy are my three middle names. I like to write in this blog at least four times a week, weather permitting, but I was too busy to write yesterday. I know that made the entire state of Delaware unhappy, but, in my defense, they're not all that cheery to begin with. They only have three counties! It's like being Luxembourg!

Sanitation issues aside, I will continue my tradition of doing radio shows on Friday today as well as the eminently boring tradition of discussing what must be to you highly uninteresting dreams. To wit. I woke up less than an hour ago in which I had a dream wherein:

- I was on a plane & was conscripted to hand food out to the passengers;
- I ended up in New York with a crazy woman trapped in a giant, newly made "Hobbit Park";
- & I visited another community radio station & it was like a compound, with the people there not wanting to discuss "business" with me & what appeared to be entire families sleeping in the halls.

I could go into more details, & I will, only I won't write them down. I could also talk more about the show I will do today in about seven hours, & I will, but only on the telephone with my optometrist. What? So he cares about such things. You should be so lucky to have an eye doctor who takes an interest in something other than your eyes!

But I will say this, as I am constantly saying & as you pretend you don't hear: Self Help Radio, the "Go" show, five years on the air oh wow!, at 4:30 pm CST, live on koop.org, archived this weekend at selfhelpradio.net. Tune in. I am asking sweetly.

Whither Go?

I started doing Self Help Radio five years ago this month. My playlists from 2002 show that I did my first Wednesday show as "Self Help Radio" on October 9. But I really had a show for a few weeks before that. I just wasn't posting playlists.

Because I am a sentimental fluff, I have decided that, every October, I'll "re-do" a show as an anniversary tribute to the show. I buy myself a nice dinner, pay a prostitute to make fun of me, & pour gasoline on myself in a room made of plastic. & if I live through it, I revisit an old theme.

Last year it was "Weekends." There's no playlist for it on my playlists from 2002 page (although mp3s of the show & the playlist are on my playlists from 2006 page) because I did it on a Friday. So too did I do this week's theme, which is an exploration of songs with the word "go" in them, on a Friday. So unless you were listening - & I know you weren't - you won't know what I played then & what I'll play now. Nyah.

Happy anniversary to me! Five years is a long time to be doing the same thing. Ah, who am I kidding. I've been doing the same thing for years. Still, happy anniversary to me!

Preface To "Go!": Floss In The Pocket, Page Nine

(This is an excerpt from a novel I will write in the future when I am strapped to a chair during the Star Trek/Star Wars Wars of 2032. I will have placed it into a time capsule which I dug up in my backyard thirteen years ago. To the sound of cats sneezing.)

"Ah, the sound of cats sneezing!"

"Why do you say such things?" said I to the aetherized sky.

"Why do you require such explanations?" said the sky. Or did it?

Surely a talking sky was the least of my concerns. On a dying planet, a sky does not talk, but cries.

& on the fourth day, it rained buns.

"Is this the way you cry, my friend the talking sky?" said I to the bun-filled heavens.

"Jesus," replied the sky, "were you dropped on an obvious tree & hit every branch on the way down?"

"Let's us not argue let's," said I. "Instead, let's us listen to the music in the air let's."

But there was no more music to be heard. Instead, the avant guards made noises with the clipped samples from old, old informercials. What else could we do? We danced.

& on the seventh day, the world began its decades-long death rattle.

"Oh shit," said the sky.

But I was not sad. Not in the leastest.

"Ah," said the sky. "You fuckers with short lifespans get all the breaks."

"Tee hee," said I.

(Page ten may or may not appear some time in the past. You might want to wait, however, until it will be published nearly a quarter century from now.)

That Line That People Didn't Hear The First Time

I like to come & write in my blog on Mondays because no one really fears the monkeys like I do on a Monday. Let me rephrase that. Normally the monkeys are not "scary," yet we fear them. Isn't that what they tell you when you take your first Signs & Omens class? That fear is not at all about being scared of scary things? No? The kids these days. I tell you.

Anyway, the monkeys being at bay (wherever bay may be) (may be bay be?), I am usually, of a Monday, able to come around to your domicile or workstall & say, in my bloggish way, I know you didn't listen to my show on Friday because I saw you getting arrested on "Cops" on Saturday, but since I know you got out on bail on Sunday, I'll write to you here on Monday & tell you you can listen to the show you missed all the rest of this week, because it's available on selfhelpradio.net...

But I can't say that today. & it's not just because of the monkeys. Although they probably were involved with you getting arrested on Friday.

I can't say that not because there wasn't a show on Friday - there was, even though the monkeys tried to stop it, as usual - but I can't put it out there for you to listen to because it was programmed by my apprentices, & they have yet to send me their playlist. The nerve! After all I've done for them! Raising them from whelps into whippersnappers! I feel so neglected!

What I can share with you is this: I subbed Mojo Time yesterday & played lots of scratchy country blues for ninety minutes, & that show is available over at selfhelpradio.net. Does that make you happy? Is there anything else I can do for you?

Let me know. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Ack! Monkeys!