The little man waving his arms is a Secret Service agent at Dallas' Love Field on this day in 1963. He's just been pulled off the President's car as it drives into downtown Dallas, leaving no protection.
Talk about hiding things in plain sight. All those photos, we never noticed there wasn't an agent within 20 feet of the President when he was shot. Not a one.
I wonder how Oswald ordered this guy to get off the limo.
The 5,000 Fingers of Dr T was a 1953 musical written by Dr Seuss. The production does a great job realizing his cockeyed vision; I grew up on Cat in the Hat and all those books, and it pretty well captures that world, from the malleable poetry describing "Doh-Me-Doh duds" to the smug self-assurance of T's henchmen.
There's a trio of composers credited for the film, so I'm not sure who's responsible for this little pastiche. It's a set piece for a dungeon full of non-piano-playing musicians, and sounds several familiar styles of mid-20th century showbiz composers, from the Bernsteins (Lennie & Elmer) to Spike Jones. The swooning strings at the end, all insouciance and melancholy grace, is like a lost Gershwin.
On the air, 24/7,
now and the foreseeable future, thanks to AutoDJ! (beep, beepity boop)
Ok. Probably going to keep it like this for a while. I figure that a 15 hour playlist, changed every 5 days, will let you listen at the same time for 3 hours, and hear something different every day. If the model's correct. So I'll try to upload 15 fresh hours every 5 days and we'll see if this thing can work. Keeping it fed should be interesting.
I use Audacity for editing audio, but after 15 years still know very little beyond the basics. Apparently, there's this thing where you can lock it in continuous "play", and play back forward and reverse by scooting the cursor around. Not even sure it's supposed to happen.
The line feed, that is. 93 hours, repeating every 3 days and 21 hours, with new material trickling through it. This concludes phase 1 of Cut-up Radio's launch. In honor of the event, here's a little something.
There will continue to be tech work done while Cut-up Radio gets going. I'll try to keep a stream up (as is my sacred duty). Of some kind of audio. 24/7. We're still in a testing and training period, though, for the foreseeable future. Couple months.
Full-time stream going now. Been on the air a week. But it's still only a little baby internet radio station. And its sleepy old parent is content to have it grow up in its own way, amidst all the sonic rubble.
Aiming for 162 hours in the program base; there's 168 hours in a week, so this cycle would repeat 6 hours earlier every week. In other words, you could tune in every day at the same time for a month and listen for 6 hours before it repeated.
If I can replenish all 162 hours in that month, you'll never hear something played within 6 hours of its last play. And no more than 4 plays per item.
A lofty goal. About 5.75 new hours of programming every day. Ok, that's probably not going to happen. Unless I can do this for a living. (Hmm. Shouldn't that be, replacing a week of programming every week? Not taking a week to replace a month. Or a month to...dang it. We need to model this one.)
Anyway, the next step is to find 123 more hours of programming. Listen on, if you like it. Going to be a lot of the same stuff for a while, until the library attains critical mass.
This is a photo from today's South Texas News story about the first President Bush. His son (this guy) isn't mentioned in the story; there's no reason for his picture to be used. It's not even captioned, like "former President's son". We're clearly supposed to assume this is the Bush in the story.
Either they don't remember him in Texas anymore, or it means they gave up trying to tell everyone he kept us safe, and now they're hoping for simple oblivion for the man. May it be so.
Watching Perry Mason yesterday, paused it and got this.
Don't know where that oddly-placed speck came from-- digital blank or analog blot (I didn't make it, or even intentionally pause the machine at the right place)-- but it seems to be the episode where Raymond Burr was accidentally shot in the back of the head by a clumsy cast member.
The show went on hiatus for retooling-- there was some talk of "Hamilton Burger, District Attorney" coming to the airwaves-- but a little bullet through the noggin wasn't about to stop Raymond Burr, and he returned unharmed the next fall. The summer replacement was "Agent 13, Man of Mystery", starring Dave Ketchum.
I do have some odd Mason screen caps around here somewhere...
The Guardian has an article about how fashions are evolving to stump facial recognition software by overloading it with data-- which we audio types know as "noise", specifically, irrelevant signal. Try a shirt made out of this stuff!
** I don't know if this piece was ever transcribed; I searched the Internet for quotes and nothing came up. It originally appeared in Aspen magazine as a recording only. The breaks and punctuation are mine, and hopefully reflect the author's intent.**
Mr Bradley Mr Martin hear us through the hole in thin air. Thing police, all boardroom reports now are ended. Fading out in _onolulu, _ew York, _aris, _ome, _oston. The great wind, evolving turrets, towers, palaces. Sound and image flakes fall. His dogs that were his eyes, shut off, Mr Bradley, mister-- gone away. Pulled the reverse switch. Place no good, no bueno. Turned off the Swedish river of Gothenburg, Saturday, March 17th, 1962, past time. These colorless sheets are empty. You never existed at all.
I smoke is all boy. Goodbye to William. Al hab. Last twinges of a coffin posting this book where the awning flaps a distant thank you. Explosion splits the boat. SOS. Five times SOS. Hear this little time, five scars leapt the dawn. Goodbye to Mr Martin, who never had courage to let go.
He heard your summons. Time hiccups. Last cigarette loud and clear. Last flag fading. Rings of Saturn in the morning sky, whatever remains could give no human contacts. Front for the hot reward business. Chinese youths sent the resistance vision to you tilting through pinball machine. Remember, I was the ship gives no flesh identity. Lips fading. Silence to say goodbye.
If you wanted a cup of tea with whatever remains, breadknife in the heart. Fade quivering excuse for being. Shadow American, look anyplace, empty new. Our actors proffer the account. Sheets are empty.
Many years ago, that breadknife in the war. Inessential word from the past. For I have known through faulty human equipment the vacant courage to let all messages in and out, to the mountain wind, loud and clear now. Through faulty human equipment hustling myself; your stale overcoat not taking any dirty pictures. Twisting hole in everybody, spilling out limestone john hamburger mary jackie bluenote. Had enough movies. No good, no bueno.
Yas, adios, meester. I go home, having lost. In sun I held the vacant courage to proffer the mountain wind. And I can see the flesh words answer your summons, no more falling on all flesh. Sheets are empty, the recordings remain.
Last human contact used as model for a bad move. Other identities are a rubbish heap to life form A, better than shouts, no good no bueno. Crime child, it's five times. Had enough flak of absent world?
Child of Nova, the story over. I fold distant fingers. The Doctor on stage, hand falling. Slow metal fires tap on the bloody sky. I think now I go home. Goodbye to William. You and I fading. Silence to say, you are yourself, Mr Bradley, Mr Martin, who never existed at all. Silence to say goodbye.