Preface To The Lovely Miss Brown: Have I Ever Known A Miss Brown?

I don't think I have. I knew a few dudes named Brown in high school, but I don't think I knew a girl named Brown.

This is weird, because, according to the wikipedia, "According to the 1990 United States Census, Brown is the fifth most common family name in the United States... essentially identical in frequency to Jones." & I've known a couple of women whose last name was Jones.

I will research famous Miss Browns for the show. In the meantime, if you're a woman I know whose surname is Brown & I've forgotten about you, do let me know. I'll dedicate the show to you.

I'm a little weirded out by this - I just went through my old email - I apparently don't know any women whose last name is Brown.

I am going to go out in the rain right now to meet some!

The Untimely Cat Cartoon Intervention

For this particular animated feature, Gus intended to subvert the whole cat vs. dog paradigm. Not a cat which outsmarted a dog - that had happened thousands of times - but a cat ]who was simply physically stronger than a dog. & not a giant cat versus a tiny dog, no; a normal sized tomcat versus your average cartoon bulldog. It would be unexpected & hilarious.

Gus' son, also named Gus, who often lent his voice to his father's cartoons, disagreed. "I don't understand, papa," he said, "why is the cat strong?"

"He's just strong," said the father.

"Does he eat spinach like Popeye?" asked little Gus.

"No, he's just strong."

The youngster couldn't wrap his brain around it. "Does he exercise? Does he take a pill? Did he find a genie? Is he magic? Is he a cat from another planet? Is he a cat from the future?"

"No, no, no," the older Gus tried to explain. "He just happens to be stronger than the dog. It's just how he's built. Have you ever known someone who, even if he is small, he's still stronger than a bigger guy?"

Young Gus thought about & said, "I guess so."

"This cat is like that! He just happens to be stronger than most other cats!"

"But even stronger than a dog?"

Gus nodded happily. "Yes!" he said. "That's what makes it funny!"

"But," said his son, "it doesn't make any sense!"

Gus thought about that sentence for a long time, & wondered at what age - if it happened at all - children understood absurdity. & then he rewrote the cat versus dog cartoon so the weaker cat outsmarted the beastly dog.

& his son Gus laughed & laughed.

Officious; Meddlesome; Prying

That's my favorite definition of "busy": officious; meddlesome; prying. It really only survives in the phrase "busy body."

My second favorite definition of "busy" is: ornate, disparate, or clashing in design or colors; cluttered with small, unharmonious details; fussy.

Fussy! If there's one thing Self Help Radio is, it's fussy.

Don't believe me? You can't be too busy to listen to last night's Self Help Radio show, which had the theme "busy busy busy!"

Go to selfhelpradio.net & download it. Listen to it when you get a break from your busy day. Or while you're doing busy work. Or if you're just trying to look busy.

A Busy Night Tonight

You know, because I have a radio show to do. Might you take time out of your busy night to listen? It'll happen at midnight here in Huntington on 88.1 fm WMUL. Self Help Radio starts then; Sugar Substitute starts at 1:30. I get busy on both programs.

Too busy? Then please take some time out of your busy week to visit selfhelpradio.net where I will archive the program after it's done, probably tomorrow afternoon. You can then listen to it anywhere! & while you're on-the-go!

Self Help Radio - butting into busy lives since 2002.

Whither Busy Busy Busy?

Eeep! I don't know what to write in this entry! I've been staring at a blank screen for too long! I am writing things like "eeep!" I am also thinking of rhymes for "busy"! There aren't many, actually: dizzy izzy lizzy tizzy. Unless you want to include hip-hop terms, like fo-schnizzy.

Oh, there's also citrusy. Is that a word? It's a delicious word! Maybe it counts as a "close rhyme."

Then there are words that look like they should rhyme with busy but don't: jealousy, lousy, mousy. I mean, they end with "usy" don't they? But they don't rhyme. Not even with each other! Now my brain hurts.

I love close rhymes, by the way. I think they're clever. Some folks, though, hate them & don't think they're rhymes at all. Fuck 'em, I say. If it sounds like it rhymes, it feels like it rhymes, it motherfucking rhymes.

I did have a problem this week, while trying to think of "busy" songs, of accidentally thinking of "dizzy" songs. Like the song "Dizzy" by Throwing Muses. I could have sworn the song went "busy busy busy in my head."

Here's a video of Throwing Muses performing that song live: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhlwhorM1uA.

Did that answer the question posed above? Was it supposed to?

Preface To Busy Busy Busy: Too Busy To Write In The Blog

Is it ironic that the week before the busy show is a busy one?

For example, yesterday, Friday, I travelled over four hundred miles, most of them in Ohio. If that's not busy, I don't know what is.

& on Thursday, I emceed a local Earth Day event. I'd like to tell stories about it but I'll wait until I'm a safe distance away.

On Wednesday, I did something I am ashamed of. I think I did it more than once. I also think that it wasn't until I did it more than once that I was ashamed.

On Tuesday, I slept because I was up late Monday doing a radio show. That's also something I am ashamed of.

I was busy on Monday day & Sunday, too, but the theme wasn't officially "busy busy busy" so it doesn't count anymore.

Today? I was too busy even to write in this blog. Until. Wait. I did!

Into The Wilds

I'm going to The Wilds today.

What is The Wilds? "The Wilds is one of the largest & most innovative wildlife conservation centers in the world. Located on nearly 10,000 acres in southeast Ohio, it is home to rare & endangered species from around the world living in natural, open-range habitat, as well as home to hundreds of indigenous species. In addition to innovative, in-depth science & education programs, the Wilds offers guided experiences to the public on selected days May through October."

I have a feeling that the old rhinoceros there will think I'm deliberately mocking him. Just by the way I look. & then he'll charge!

4/19 Is Mushroom Code

(I am reprinting this from the alerts I send to my Facebook fans. Do YOU want to be a fan of Self Help Radio on Facebook? You can do that by clicking here!)

So last night, someone called & said to me, "Oh wow! I can't believe you're doing a MUSHROOM show on 4/20!" I confessed it was entirely coincidental, which disappointed the caller, but the more I think about it, even though my show is on at midnight, which is technically the Tuesday, *I* still think it's Monday. I say "Monday nights at midnight." So I didn't do a mushroom show on 4/20 - I did it on 4/19.

Which, as everyone knows, is police code for "fat naked man talking to himself at bus stop in deserted neighborhood." Which is perfect for Self Help Radio!

The show has sprouted virtually overnight at selfhelpradio.net. The playlist is below. It's up to you to decide which mushroom songs are poisonous & which are safe to listen to. I am not a mycophagist.

Thanks for listening!

I Read That I Recited

Do you remember haikus? I used to read haikus from listeners on Self Help Radio many moons ago. I would also archive them here, on this blog. For example, here are the haikus from my "sleepy" show nearly four years ago. Four years ago! I'm old.

The reason I bring up haikus is that, on tonight's show, which is about mushrooms, John Cage will read a haiku about mushrooms. It's a recording of course. He's long since passed into that avant-garde silence called death. I will not be trying to impersonate John Cage on the radio. I can barely impersonate a literate fellow.

What's that? Tonight's show? Yes! Self Help Radio will be on at its regular time, midnight, here in Huntington, on 88.1 fm WMUL, & of course archived later at selfhelpradio.net.

Only one haiku per toadstool, though.

Whither Mushrooms?

Does it bother you that the toad - the TOAD! - is the only animal in the animal kingdom that gets its own stool? THE TOAD!

Sure, elephants can sit anywhere they damn well please, & most scary carnivores get offered whatever seat is available by virtue of the fact that seats empty when they arrives. Yet it is the lowly toad - THE TOAD! - who, over & above all the fauna, gets a designated place to sit. It is an outrage!

Look at it from the point of view of the fungus as well. The mushroom - the toadstool oh how I hate to use that word - is merely the outward part of the fungus, used to send spores out for reproduction. The real action is happening below the ground. You know as well as I how attention-shy most fungi are, but still - imagine if one part of you were designated a "fly lounger" or a "mouse chair" - when really it was your right temple, or perhaps your left elbow - & that was all people talked about in regards to your anatomy - wouldn't that grate? Would you not feel chagrin?

The modest fungus must burn with embarrassment & resentment when a part of it is called a "toadstool."

Though I confess it must be worse when the toads use the toadstool as a stool.

What is the fungus to do? Who made the decision to partition a part of itself & designate it, not just as a general sitting place for smaller forest creatures, but for the much-despised toad - THE TOAD! - who did this? Who? Who?

The answer is likely lost, like many other injustices, in the haze of time & its shrouded past.

Self Help Radio seeks vindication for the poor fungus whose mushrooms got labelled toadstools.

I mean, really, THE TOAD!?!

Preface To Mushrooms: Pizza?

Am I showing my old age when, at the mention of "mushrooms," the first thing I think about is pizza & not psychedelic drugs?

But it's true, nowadays eating good food trumps heady hallucinatory experiences. Good food is also what's in the forefront of my mind when vacations loom. I have to go to my nephew's wedding reception in a month &, while I'm happy for the little doofus, I will be happier to be in Dallas to eat at my favorite Ethiopian restaurant. Interestingly, I don't think they use mushrooms in Ethiopian food.

In fact, the wife & I are traveling to Columbus next week to go to delicious vegan restaurants there, & especially to this place, which is an amazing vegan bakery.

Well! All this talk about food is reminding me to eat lunch. Ciao for now!

P.S. Like melons last weeks, mushrooms are another food I don't much like. What the hell is wrong with me?

That One Friday Moment

"Did you drop this banjo?" the not-well girl said to the sleep-deprived man, pointing at a paper airplane on the pavement.

The sleep-deprived man did not hear her, but he did see her. He was convinced he was walking down a street in a dream. As a rule, he was sure he heard no sound in his dreams, believing instead that everyone in his dreams communicated telepathically, & because of his sleep-deprived state, his brain shut off his sonic comprehension when it perceived the not-well girl in front of him was moving her lips. Speaking! In a dream! It didn't happen.

The not-well girl seemed to be having trouble staying upright, but despite her swaying, she managed to stay vertical. While she wasn't exactly having hallucinations, it was true that her vision was impaired, & in addition to that, circuits misfiring in her brain were confusing words. She held up a hand to the sleep-deprived man & said, "I promise, no one has ever repainted the salt & pepper shakers!"

The sleep-deprived man has recently suffered some sort of major loss - a job, perhaps, or a fond relative - & found himself unable to close his eyes. Like drink, lack of sleep kept him intoxicated & forgetful. The not-well girl did not look like she was doing very well, & despite her pitiful silence, she seemed emphatic in her miming. He moved closer to her just as she began a collapse.

He fell with her.

"It's like watching paint peel!" she screamed as they fell to the sidewalk. The sleep-deprived man hit his head on a rusty bolt securing a public trash receptacle to the concrete, & it cut into his skull so that a trickle of blood began to roll down the right side of his head & onto his ear.

Three bystanders had gathered around the sprawled pair, the sleep-deprived man under the not-well girl, the one stone-still with eyes wide open, the other frail & twitching, pale as morning light. Cell phones were out & the passers-by who didn't want to get involved still managed to slow their pace & have a look.

The sleep-deprived man thought he saw the entire sky about to come down on him, but he felt, at that moment, that he perhaps deserved it, & with the pressure on his chest he thought was his body full of righteous adrenalin, he silently bade it come.

The not-well girl, who had no idea what was happening to her, still managed to understand that a kindness had been done to her, & she turned her thin face to stare directly at the sleep-deprived man's bloody ear. "I have done fruitful things," she said gratefully.

Ripe Melons On The Vine

It's too bad the word "melon" has naughty connotations. Every time I say it I feel my inner Benny Hill coming out.

(Benny Hill died a lonely death, in a chair, in front of a television. I need to read a biography of him, because I am a little obsessed with how lonesome his life was.)

But I managed not to mention "melons" in the sense of "women's breasts" at all on last night's Self Help Radio. Which means it is therefore fun for the whole family. Hey! & if you want to make your family listen to it, it's on the vine at selfhelpradio.net!

Just watch where you spit those seeds!

Sleepiest Of Sleepies

I've been eating nothing but melons for an entire week & boy are my teeth tired. Do you know the saying "Too many melons makes Mark a cranky case?" No? That's weird, I hear it all the time amongst my melonheaded friends. In any event, I am not sure there's enough to sustain us, even on all these melons, but I have learned to spit watermelon seeds very, very far.

Did you know that the watermelon was cultivated in China over a thousand years ago? But the Vietnamese claim they had the watermelon before the Chinese. Indeed, they have a legend about Prince Mai An Tiêm, who was an adopted son of one of the Hùng Kings (as opposed, you know, to the Wel Hùng Kings). Says the Wikipedia, "When the prince was exiled unjustly to an island, he was told that if he could survive for six months, he would be allowed to return. When he prayed for guidance, a bird flew past & dropped a seed. He cultivated the seed & called its fruit western melon, because the birds who ate it flew from the west." But wait! Doesn't that mean the bird (is "dropped a seed" a metaphor for pooping?) got the seed from somewhere? Like Africa, where it is thought watermelons originated?

That's neither here nor there, of course, as I am not a prince nor am I related to the Hùng Kings, & I think my skin is turning orange from all the melon I've consumed. Do listen to me regurgitate all the melons have taught me this week tonight on Self Help Radio, which will air at midnight on 88.1 fm WMUL & then later it'll be archived at selfhelpradio.net. & from tiny seeds shall fat melons grow!

Whither Melons?

You: Yeah, what's up with that? You don't even like melons!

Me: How... How did you know that?

You: You're very vehement in your dislike of melons. I'm sure you've mentioned it many times before.

Me: I have?

You: Doesn't that sound like something you'd do?

Me: I don't have to like the subject I pick for the show. I did a show about butchers...

You: Just to make people sick about eating meat.

Me: That's not true!

You: Are you saying you don't have an agenda?

Me: Oh, I'm sure that there are things I feel strongly about which I...

You: I bet you don't even like watermelon gum.

Me: Actually, the "melon" taste of candy is different from the taste of the fruit which...

You: I once saw you spit out a Jolly Rancher.

Me: That's a weird thing to say.

You: I think you're trying to curry some kind of favor with your wife or something.

Me: What?

You: She's always eating some kind of melon.

Me: But she doesn't even listen to the show!

You: You are a hypocrite.

Me: Me?

You: Eat this melon.

Me: No! No! I won't!

You: It's sweet & juicy & very, very ripe.

Me: No! I don't like melons!

You: You must eat this melon!

Me: Can't I just play a song about it instead?

Preface To Melons: No, Not That Kind Of Melon

If one wants one's mind cleared up about difficult definitions, one could do worse than to visit the Urban Dictionary. Here, for example, are five of its entries for the word "melon."

1. n. cranium, skull, brain case, brain box
I slipped my hat onto my melon today in hopes of keeping my scalp from getting sunburned.

2. n. A single breast. See melons.
One melon was larger than the other.

3. n. someone stupid or someone performing an activity with seemingly no intelligence; shortened form of "melonhead"
He just ran into that fence. He's a melon!

4. n. A round & juicy fruit that is usually about the size of a football. It is commonly sliced up & de-seeded before serving. There are quite a few variants of the fruit including the popular watermelon.
Might there be some watermelon in your fridge?

5. v. The act of smacking another's forehead as a sign & act of derision.
That wicker fool done gone swiped my pewter so I gone & laid a melon on him.

Definition number 4, of course, is the one Self Help Radio will be focussing on & of course the most common use. But wow! I totally forgot about calling one's head a melon! Bugs Bunny would be mad at me.

& definition number 2 is inappropriate for the radio.

Courtesy Call

When Mr. Phobe got his courtesy call at six o'clock in the morning, he let his eyes slowly adjust to the blue darkness in his room before edging off the bed & trying to remember where the bathroom was. Every hotel had a slightly different arrangement, & he was always in a different hotel. He had forty-minutes for a shower & all his other morning ablutions, & then he would have to go outside, determine what city he had found himself in, & begin his day.

As he was shaving, he remembered something strange about the courtesy call. His mind was always foggy up until he shaved; he believed it came into focus so he wouldn't slash his throat or something similar, since he used a straight razor. Always had, just like his father always had. & the use of the straight razor did focus his mind, woke him up actually, much as folks who needed a cup of coffee used the caffeine to sharpen their thoughts. He actually sharpened his thoughts with a steel blade. He said that aloud to himself & chuckled.

Was it something the woman said in the courtesy call? Usually it's a short sentence, something like, "Mr. Phobe, this is your courtesy call, it's six o'clock in the morning." The bigger chains had automated the process, which is why he tended to favor smaller hotels, or bed & breakfasts if he could find one. This morning, it had been a peculiar female voice - therefore it wasn't a recording - but she hadn't stuck to the script, she had said something unusual. What had it been?

He knew a thought like this would torture him for the rest of the day if he allowed it to. After he had dressed, he went downstairs to the small breakfast nook in this small hotel & got hot water for his tea. He saw an idle hotel worker & asked him pleasantly who made the courtesy calls in the morning. But the worker was unhelpful, even a little insolent, so Mr. Phobe left unsatisfied, even a little embarrassed to have asked. Yet he knew the unclear recollection would gnaw on him for the rest of the day, & he went to the front desk.

"Good morning, sir," said the young lady there.

"Good morning, young lady," said Mr. Phobe. "I have what might be an odd question. Who makes the courtesy calls in the morning?"

"Courtesy calls?" she asked with a smile.

"Yes," he said, "the courtesy call, to wake me up in the morning."

"Oh," she said, shaking off the confusion, "we don't call those courtesy calls. We call them 'wake-up calls.'"

Mr. Phobe didn't know how to respond.

"A courtesy call," the young lady at the front desk went on, "is what telemarketers commonly call their solicitations, to sugar-coat or otherwise obscure their intrusions. There's also a diplomatic courtesy call, which is probably where telemarketers & other salespeople got the term. But of course the 'courtesy call' in the telemarketer sense is the exact opposite of courtesy. It is, in fact, incredibly discourteous, often made at hours when one wants most to be with family or to relax. The calls made for the purpose of getting the consumer's money, not to help them in any way."

Mr. Phobe could not think of any sort of reply. He said, "Thank you," & turned away.

But now he had a bigger problem. He had been calling his wake-up calls "courtesy calls" nearly his entire life. What exactly, then, were his wake-up calls?

When LIKE Turns To DISLIKE!

That doesn't sound too threatening, does it? Not like when LOVE turns to HATE! That sounds awful!

If you like Self Help Radio, I hope that this week's show, called "What I Like," doesn't make you dislike it. However, if you dislike Self Help Radio - & seriously, who could blame you? - maybe this show will make you like it. Probably not, but hobos spring eternal.

It's in its usual place (the show, not the hobo) (didn't Emily Dickinson say that hobos are the things with feathers? maybe she meant after being run out of town with tar & stuff) which is selfhelpradio.net. I would like it if you listened to it. I would like it more if you liked it.

However - it may soon turn to DISLIKE - so listen fast!

(How does one listen fast?)

The Difference Between 'I Like' & 'I Love'

Is there one?

Perhaps 'I Like' is meant to mean that you spend a great deal of time & attention on the object of your liking, but 'I Love' means you have something like an obsession. For example, "I like cheese & I like potatoes, but I love cheese fries!"

Not to imply that there needs to be a correlation between the likes & loves. Another example could be, "I like traveling to Ohio but I love getting Swedish massages!"

In any event, strong feelings or no, there will be many things listed that are liked on tonight's Self Help Radio. It will air at midnight in Huntington, West Virginia, on 88.1 fm WMUL, & then will be placed on a dusty shelf for you to stare at on the Self Help Radio website.

Perhaps many secrets will be revealed! Or perhaps further confirmation of my utter dorkiness will be provided. Either way, I hope you listen.

Whither What I Like?

Daniel Falsename of Winner Lakes, West Oregonia writes,

Dear Self Help Radio,
I see that your upcoming show is entitled "what I like." This disturbs me. I'll tell you why.
I and my grandmother Sam, who doesn't like your show because she can't understand what a radio is, we always assumed that whatever you played on the show was what you liked. I understand that other deejays at commercial radio stations have to play things that they don't like, but never Self Help Radio!
But if you now are presenting a show called "what I like," what am I and my grandmother Sam to think except that everything previously had been not at all what you like, and now you are finally, after forty years on the air, playing what you like.
Can that be? If so, what am I and my grandmother Sam to do?
Yours etc.
Daniel Falsename

Thanks for the letter, Daniel. I understand your concern but unfortunately, you're partially correct. As you might have read in The Wall Street Journal or perhaps Auto Trader, Self Help Radio, formerly a cooperative entity owned by all its employee, has been acquired by a wealthy multinational based on Easter Island (or rather a houseboat floating somewhere nearby - apparently the multinational is really creeped out by the big head statues) & the former host, Gary, has been replaced by a new host, Gary (me). To distinguish myself from the previous Gary, I am beginning my tenure on the series by stating obviously what I like. After that, I will be forced to play what the multinational likes.

Remember! The old Self Help Radio answered your letters! The new one, well, maybe not so much.