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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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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.
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| The famous science fiction author, inventor and futurist Arthur C, Clarke famously wrote that “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”. I know how he meant it, but with all due respect to his undoubted brilliance, I think he totally missed the real, and really sad, point of this famous third law. |
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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 ...
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Not that I’m much interested in such things, being as I am totally out of touch with what’s going on in the world, nor indeed particularly interested in real life at all, but I noticed a headline the other weekend on the BBC site, from England, about some woman with excessive masses of hair, which she apparently makes amends for by having a total lack of moral compass, by the name of Rebekah Streams or Something who works or worked for that nice Mr Rapine Morlock’s News InterThingy, or the Naughty News of the Eaves, or possibly both, being arrested, arrested by what were referred to on the site as ‘hacking police’. It wasn’t the exact police species doing the arresting that arrested my attention so much as how the arresting was done that, in the words of the old song ‘really got me going’: as the site said ‘The 43-year-old was arrested by appointment on Sunday’. By appointment?? My mind just can’t handle it.
[fade in harp music] I’m... I’m...
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Ben Nevis, at four thousand, four hundred and six feet, is reputed to be the tallest mountain in the whole of Britain (by the English, the Welsh and probably a small majority of the Northern Irish) and, for some unfathomable reason, merely the tallest mountain in the whole of Scotland by the Scots. I say ‘reputed’ because I cannot vouchsafe to you it’s height from personal experience, save that the foothills are quite altitudinous. They are also quite sheepish. In fact they are knee deep in Scottish sheep with that typically Scottish ‘Let’s get the bastards’ evil gleam in their eyes. Utterly terrifyingly sheep-encrusted, and also really rainy. And somewhat cooler than one would hope.
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When I get older, losing my hair,
Several days from now.
(Boo-bi-doo-be-do)
Will you still be sending me a Valentine;
Birthday greeting; bottle of wine1?
When I’ve been out till a quarter to nine!!
Would you lock the door,
Will you still need me, will you still feed me? ... |
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I haven’t had a good rant for ages...
So!
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| I don't know if it's a sign that the ancient Mayans didn't merely get fed up carving all that bloody hard rock to make their calendars and knock off work early that day, or if it's a much more likely and yet-another-ish sign of the end being nigh through global warming; |
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| 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. |
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Hello! My name is Richard and ...and ...I’m a computer programmer.
I admit I am powerless against the Code and that my recursive class methods have become unmanageable.
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