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Here is a Sup—I mean 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.
I continued on that brilliant bastion of all that's good and kultured, WCLV's syndicated Weekend Radio on many (mainly NPRish) stations traditionally on the first and third weekends of the month, though weekendage varied, till the horror crept ever onward and that too was devoured (in August 2023, a date which will live in infamy or at lease mild irritation)... and only I remain, defiant though wimpering.
Richard Howland-Bolton
There are pop-up pics and links all over the place here. In text they are indicated by a double underline like this:
mouse-overing brings the pop-up up and clicking (usually) goes to the link |
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I was a bit slow walking past the Telly the other day and so I didn't quite avoid seeing a couple of those advert things that everyone is always going on about. The first was for Free Pancakes at some restaurant chain or other: Yes, it more or less claimed (in so many words), you can have as many of the lardaceous things as you can be force fed and all without even taking the responsibility of paying for them. This was, with the sort of inevitability usually found only in the harder sciences, immediately followed by an ad for pills to lose weight (presumably that gained because of the first ad) without, as far as I could see, the responsibility of absolutely anything at all: certainly without the responsibility of finding out what was in the (at least to my jaundiced eye) somewhat dubious or at least magical substances.
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January 25th being that great annual Scottish celebration and, to be honest, whisky-fest of Burns Nicht and I myself, in addition, being an Anglo-Scottish half-breed (or as I like to put it a 'Sesqui-scot'1) I can hardly let the one pass without having the other comment on the event, and, since we here at the studio are so strongly against stereotyping, particularly to comment on that non-alcoholic essential for the celebration. I refer, of course, to the haggis.
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Of course this very weekend, as you'd expect, I'm all set to prepare my New Year's Resolutions. I have two in mind, and, again as you'd expect of me, the first one is my usual promise never ever to make any of those stupid New Year's Resolution things.
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[Simon introduces Erich von Donkey-Kong, who is having difficulty getting to work through the Can of Worms these days.]
Hello every-vone! It is vell known, is it not, how some 30,000 yearhs ago Ancient Egypt vas visited by pyrhamid building teams of extraterhestial mortitians on fat contracts for ze Pharaohs. Vat however is not so vell known is zat ven these, if ve may so call them, “Sky Gods” firhst arrived on zis planet it vas not to the Old Vorld they vere commink but rather to ze New … World. And in New Yorvik they built some of their most mysteryious and terrhifyink artifacts. Artifacts vhich to zis day are the centre of shtrhange voodoo like coolts.
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Few of my friends, and none of my extant enemies, know that I am in fact a card carrying member of the NRA. Actually I must admit, right up front, that I had originally intended to join the ACLU but I sent my money to the wrong address. Of course, as they were quick to assure me, there's very little difference between the two organizations so I let my membership stand.
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Someone, Sir Arnold Bax or a mysterious Scotsman he once met or whatever, once said something to the effect that one should make a point of trying everything once except incest and folk dancing---or was it incense and folk song??
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This modern age of correctness gone all political is a hard age for the creative genius to flourish all untrammelled in. I was roundly and widely and probably justifiably pummelled for my piece on compulsive poetry disorder because it wantonly ignored the contrafactualists.
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Today I'm going to appeal to you on behalf of sufferers from a most ghastly affliction, one that is both a disease and an addiction.
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It has always seemed rather funny to me how even today, with all our science and education, we still use magic to control vast ungovernable and terrifying forces of nature.
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I usually don’t like to comment on things until they have had a chance to age, to lie down and mature a bit like a fine wine. You know the sort of thing, reporting on the battle of Hastings and pointing out what a bastard that William was.
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