Here is a repository of the texts of my together with some readings of them.
The essays were broadcast by WXXI 91.5 Classical of Rochester, NY on Salmagundy each Saturday at 9:35am Eastern Time, from the beginning of time (1985) till May 2009 when Entropa (evil Goddess of Change-for-the-Worse-or-Possibly-the-Worst) troubled the minds of the WXXIites and they retired Simon and Salmagundy, and Rochester went into a terminal decline---for ever.
But I do continue on that brilliant bastion of all that's good and kultured, on WCLV's syndicated Weekend Radio on many (mainly NPRish) stations traditionally on the first and third weekends of the month, though your weekendage may vary, (these are archived for a couple of months).
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|I often wonder what I would do of a morning without the vast herd of wandering spam and phishings-with-a-ĎPíand trojans and all that stuff from strange-mailing-lists-that-I-have-absolutely-no-idea-how-I-got-on-to to bulk out my email.|
A Specially Christmassy Christmas SpecialWe are rapidly approaching the time of year when visions of dancing sugar-plums (whatever they are) are driven from children’s heads by more serious concerns of lift, drag, acceleration, weight-to-power ratios, and the physics of Santa and the sleigh and Redolf the Rude Nosed Reindeer1 and all that company.
Sadly I must now disabuse the imaginative little tykes of one of the traditional first principles of their calculations. You see…
|I don't know if you are aware of it, but in real life (which is obviously not what I'm doing at the moment) I am a programmer for a large retail chain not unknown to most of you. As a consequence of this I am exposed daily to young women who have connections to the clothing provision trade.|
|The other day I had another of those damned birthday things. I'm not going to admit in public which one, but it set me thinking (even more than the 65 birthdays that preceded it) about the dark forward and abysm of time (as Shagspag probably wishes he'd said in King Lear rather than wasting the thought the wrong way round in The Tempest).|
In especial it set set me thinking, by way of that dreadfully upbeat though slime-ly mawkish Browning poem Rabbi Ben Ezra : you surely know it 'Grow old along with me! / The best is yet to be, / The last of life, for which...' de dum de dum de de.
|One of the great, absolutely horrid, awful, disconcerting and absolutely poopy curses of modern life is communication. Well at least it can be. Sometimes. Especially over long distances. Not to mention with family.|
Pianos keep falling on my head.
That doesn’t mean that I will soon be squashed flat, dead
With a piano on my head!
Those pianos keep falling on my head, they keep falling
Nothing’s worrying me
’Cause I might get on TV ...
|I donít know if itís a sign that the ancient Mayans didnít merely get fed up carving all that bloody hard rock to make their calendars and knock off work early that day, or if itís a much more likely and yet-another-ish sign of the end being nigh through global warming;|
|I ...um... I suppose I should be worried, really---or perhaps even really worried. I mean perhaps they know something I don’t. Either that or they have a nastily weird sense of humour.|
|One of the downsides of writing these essays (apart from the actual stark-raving terror of actually sitting down in front of a blank computer to write the damn things) or to be more precise the other downside apart from the actual writing, is that I’ve somehow ended up on several mailing lists of people who want to solicit interviews with me.|
|Someone (I think it may have been on the ANSAX-L list: source of so many inspirations for me), someone made the very funny comment that 'Heorot must have been a Geated community'|
[Ha! Ha! Ha... Uh! ... Oh!]