WA2K Radio is now on the air

ah, Raggedy. When my last dog, Domino died, I decided right then, there would be no more pets for me. They are like children, ya know?

Well, listeners. It's that time of night again. How about this song by Arrowsmith:



I could stay awake just to hear you breathing
Watch you smile while you are sleeping
While you're far away dreaming
I could spend my life in this sweet surrender
I could stay lost in this moment forever
Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure

Don't wanna close my eyes
Don't wanna fall asleep
'Cause I'd miss you baby
And I don't wanna miss a thing
'Cause even when I dream of you
The sweetest dream would never do
I'd still miss you baby
And I don't want to miss a thing

Laying close to you feeling your heart beating
And I'm wondering what you're dreaming
Wondering if it's me you're seeing
Then I kiss your eyes
And thank God we're together
I just wanna stay with you in this moment forever
Forever and ever

Don't wanna close my eyes
I don't wanna fall asleep
'Cause I'd miss you baby
And I don't wanna miss a thing
'Cause even when I dream of you
The sweetest dream will never do
I'd still miss you baby
And I don't want to miss a thing

I don't wanna miss one smile
I don't wanna miss one kiss
I just wanna be with you
Right here with you, and just like this
I just want to hold you close
Feel your heart so close to mine
And just stay here in this moment
For all the rest of time

Don't wanna close my eyes
I don't wanna fall asleep
'Cause I'd miss you baby
And I don't wanna miss a thing
'Cause even when I dream of you
The sweetest dream will never do
I'd still miss you baby
And I don't want to miss a thing

Don't want to close my eyes
I don't want to fall asleep
I don't want to miss a thing.

And I don't!

WA2K, that must be my goodnight song. I'm very tired tonight, but I love you all.

from Letty with that same old love.

Roy Bean

Cowboys, come and hear the story of Roy Bean in all his glory,
"The law west of Pecos," read his sign.
We must let our ponies take us to a town on lower Peeos
Where the high bridge spans the eanyon thin and fine.


He was born one day in Toyah where he learned to be a lawyer
A teacher and a barber and the mayor.
He was cook and old-shoe mender, sometimes preacher and bartender
And it cost two bits to have him eut your hair.


He was right smart of a hustler and eonsiderable a rustler,
And at mixing up an eggnog he was grand;
He was clever, he was merry, he could drink a Tom and Jerry.
On occasion at a round-up took a hand.
Though the story isn't funny, there was once Roy had no money
Which for him was not so very strange or rare;
So he went to help Pop Wyndid, but he got so absent-minded
That he put his RB brand on old Pap's steer.


Old Pap got right smart angry, Roy Bean went down to Langry
Where he opened up an office and a store.
Where he'd sell you drinks or buttons or anothcr rancher's muttons,
Though the latter made the other feller sore.


Once there came from Austin City a young dude reported witty
And out of Bean he sorta guessed he'd take a rise;
So he got unusual frisky as he up and called for whisky
Sayin', "Bean, now hurry up, gol durn your eyes."


Then down he threw ten dollars, which the same Roy quickly collars
And the same Roy holds to nine and hands baek one;
Then the dude he gave a holler, when he saw that single dollar
And right then began the merriment and fun.


The dude, he slammed the table just as hard as he was able,
The price of whisky was too high, he swore.
Said Roy Bean, "For all your fussin' and your most outrageous cussin'
You are fined the other dollar by the law."


"On this place I own a lease. l'm the Justice of the Peace,
And the law west of the Pecos all is here,
And you've acted very badly." Then the dude he went off sadly
While down his lily cheek there rolled a tear.

One fine day they found a dead man who in life had been a red man
Though it's doubtless he was nothing else than bad.
They called Bean to view the body. First he took a drink of toddy,
Then he listed all the things the dead man had.

For a red man he was tony, for he had a pretty pony
And a dandy bit and saddle and a rope;
He'd a very fine Navajo rug and a quart within his jug
And a pony that was dandy an the lope.

So the find it was quite rare-o, for he'd been a cocinero
And his pay day hadn't been so far away.
He'd a brand-new fine white Stetson and a silver Smith and Wesson
While a purse af forty dollars jingled gay.

Said Roy Bean, "You'll learn a lesson, for you have a Smith and Wesson
And to carry implements of war is wrong.
Forty dollars I will fine you, for we couldn't well confine you
As already you've been layin' around too long."

Now, you boys have heard the story of Roy Bean in all his glory
He's the man who was the justice and the law,
He was handy with his hooks, and he was ornery in his looks,
And just now I ain't gonna tell you any more.

heard some of this tonight thought i'd post the whole damn album

Pink Floyd
Animals

Pigs on the Wing (Part One)

If you didn't care what happened to me,
And I didn't care for you,
We would zig zag our way through the boredom and pain
Occasionally glancing up through the rain.
Wondering which of the buggars to blame
And watching for pigs on the wing.


Dogs

You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need.
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street,
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed.
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight,
You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.

And after a while, you can work on points for style.
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake,
A certain look in the eye and an easy smile.
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to,
So that when they turn their backs on you,
You'll get the chance to put the knife in.

You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder.
You know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you
get older.
And in the end you'll pack up and fly down south,
Hide your head in the sand,
Just another sad old man,
All alone and dying of cancer.

And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest you have sown.
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone.
And it's too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw
around.
So have a good drown, as you go down, all alone,
Dragged down by the stone.

I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused.
Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used.
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise.
If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this
maze?

Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend.
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
And everything's done under the sun,
And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.

Who was born in a house full of pain.
Who was trained not to spit in the fan.
Who was told what to do by the man.
Who was broken by trained personnel.
Who was fitted with collar and chain.
Who was given a pat on the back.
Who was breaking away from the pack.
Who was only a stranger at home.
Who was ground down in the end.
Who was found dead on the phone.
Who was dragged down by the stone.


Pigs (Three Different Ones)

Big man, pig man, ha ha charade you are.
You well heeled big wheel, ha ha charade you are.
And when your hand is on your heart,
You're nearly a good laugh,
Almost a joker,
With your head down in the pig bin,
Saying "Keep on digging."
Pig stain on your fat chin.
What do you hope to find.
When you're down in the pig mine.
You're nearly a laugh,
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.

Bus stop rat bag, ha ha charade you are.
You f**ked up old hag, ha ha charade you are.
You radiate cold shafts of broken glass.
You're nearly a good laugh,
Almost worth a quick grin.
You like the feel of steel,
You're hot stuff with a hatpin,
And good fun with a hand gun.
You're nearly a laugh,
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.

Hey you, Whitehouse,
Ha ha charade you are.
You house proud town mouse,
Ha ha charade you are
You're trying to keep our feelings off the street.
You're nearly a real treat,
All tight lips and cold feet
And do you feel abused?
.....! .....! .....! .....!
You gotta stem the evil tide,
And keep it all on the inside.
Mary you're nearly a treat,
Mary you're nearly a treat
But you're really a cry.


Sheep

Harmlessly passing your time in the grassland away;
Only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air.
You better watch out,
There may be dogs about
I've looked over Jordan, and I have seen
Things are not what they seem.

What do you get for pretending the danger's not real.
Meek and obedient you follow the leader
Down well trodden corridors into the valley of steel.
What a surprise!
A look of terminal shock in your eyes.
Now things are really what they seem.
No, this is no bad dream.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
He makes me down to lie
Through pastures green He leadeth me the silent waters by.
With bright knives He releaseth my soul.
He maketh me to hang on hooks in high places.
He converteth me to lamb cutlets,
For lo, He hath great power, and great hunger.
When cometh the day we lowly ones,
Through quiet reflection, and great dedication
Master the art of karate,
Lo, we shall rise up,
And then we'll make the bugger's eyes water.

Bleating and babbling I fell on his neck with a scream.
Wave upon wave of demented avengers
March cheerfully out of obscurity into the dream.

Have you heard the news?
The dogs are dead!
You better stay home
And do as you're told.
Get out of the road if you want to grow old.




Pigs on the Wing

You know that I care what happens to you,
And I know that you care for me.
So I don't feel alone,
Or the weight of the stone,
Now that I've found somewhere safe
To bury my bone.
And any fool knows a dog needs a home,
A shelter from pigs on the wing.

Hey Edgar and dj, enjoyed all the songs, but especially Roy Bean--what a legend has built up around him!

Now some beauty for beauty's sake.



Aurora over Yellowknife, Canada

That's indeed a beautiful picture Diane, and so inviting.

Here is a song for the evening, actually one of my
favorite songs by Al Jarreau

WE'RE IN THIS LOVE TOGETHER

It's like a diamond ring-
It's a precious thing
And we never want to lose it
It's like a favorite song
That we love to sing
Every time we hear the music

We're in this love together.
We got the kind that lasts forever.
We're in this love together
And like berries on the vine,
It gets sweeter all the time.

Its like a rainy night in candlelight
And,ooh it's so romantic.
We got the whole thing working
out so right
And it's just the way we planned it.

Yes, CJ, another thing of beauty.

By Jimmy Wayne

The kids were in the living room
Watching cartoons
She could here 'em laughing from the kitchen

At that big ol' hunter runnin' round
Trying to chase that rabbit down
She just stood there washin' thinkin'

Chorus
What goes aroung comes around
There's no doubt
We'll have to answer for the things we've done
When the tables turn and they will turn
Mark my words
It ain't gonna be fun when the rabbit gets the gun

The coffee's still sittin' in the pot
His temper's hot
And she knows he's just lookin' for a readon
AS he comes stormin' down the hall
She's wishin' there was a hole to crawl
Into, but there isn't

Chorus

She stood there without a work
Thinkin' maybe I deserve
All that I've got comin' from him
But when he handed down that verdict
And the whole courtroom heard it
Even the judge himself was smiling

Chorus

When the tables turn and they will turn
Mark my words
It ain't gonna be fun when the rabbit gets the gun

What's up now doc?

Good morning, WA2K radio. What a fantastic array of songs.

It seems as though we're revisiting animal farm, folks.

dj, that was a great bunch of Pink Floyd's pigs, dogs, and sheep. Thanks, Canada.

edgar, you always make us look at the animal's side of things, right listeners? and I echo Diane's thoughts on Judge Roy Bean.

Diane, that was the most beautiful picture of the aurora that I have ever witnessed. I do wish our listeners could behold that green creation over the water. It's quite mystic and magic.

Ah, CJ, that song was so "us"--Thanks, honey.

Bob, once again you have intrigued our listeners with a fantastic bio of Beatrix Potter and her famous Peter Rabbit tales. What child hasn't loved those stories complete with delightful illustrations.





Aurora Borealis


A crystallization of color spreads from the upper regions of the dark sky towards the trembling nipples of the waves. The feathering fringes of clouds fade behind pillars of green light. Transparent curtains tremble every-where. In the arctic temple, the hidden Samson of light shakes the moon-green pillars of the night.
Color these crystals with sudden blood; it is dawn, or else the last consumptive saliva of the dying day. Heartless hard light!
In the crisp light of the frozen tinkling stars, no waters flow. The ice-stars are icebergs in this black ocean. When the green glass cathedrals crash, the light and the pillars of light and the green pillars of moon-green crystallized light are reflected through space and finally settle like sharp blades above the trembling nipples of the waves.
Samson moves in the glass cathedrals. Samson and the bull and Samson and the sun and the sun is the bull and Samson is the sun and is the bull.
Let crackling twigs of green-white light weave fantastic tree-patterns on the mirror of the sea. Let the deceptive sky celebrate the fall of its ice-cathedrals and its icebergs and its ice-stars when darkness hardens the black waters into the sullen black ice-pack of night.
Red Samson the arctic red sun is moving in the groves of green pillars. There is the red tinge of consumptive blood flickering behind the moon-green glass pillars of light. Blood of red Samson, red blood of Samson, the red thief is sprinkling blood on the slanting pillars of the falling sanctuary of light that is doomed to succumb soon to the black ice-pack of night. Then there will be night and, suddenly thrust into dark night, the red sex of the Samson-sun must later rise out of eastern whiteness and destroy the night.
Then the pillars of the black shattered temple of night glow with a white light and a red light of consumptive blood, but again later comes night then again the same Samson as the temples crash each time when the red thief scatters blood on the pillars of the light or the pillars of the night. And the thief is Samson and the red sun is Samson and Samson is the thief and Samson is the sun.

Edouard Roditi

Wishing all a pleasant day and evening, too.

July 28 Birthdays: (Oh, I see Rudy Vallee celebrates two birthdays. Good for Rudy. )

1659 - Charles Ancillon, French Huguenot pastor (d. 1715)
1804 - Ludwig Feuerbach, German philosopher (d. 1872)
1844 - Gerard Manley Hopkins, English poet (d. 1889)
1866 - Beatrix Potter, English author (d. 1943)
1867 - Charles Dillon Perrine, astronomer (d. 1951)
1874 - Ernst Cassirer, philosopher (d. 1945)
1887 - Marcel Duchamp, French painter (d. 1968)
1901 - Rudy Vallee, American singer, actor, bandleader, and entertainer (d. 1986)
1902 - Karl Popper, philosopher of science (d. 1994)
1904 - Pavel Alekseyevich Cherenkov, Russian physicist, Nobel Prize laureate (d. 1990)
1907 - Dolf Sternberger, publicist (d. 1989)
1907 - Earl Tupper, American inventor (d. 1983)
1909 - Malcolm Lowry, novelist (d. 1957)
1914 - Carmen Dragon, composer (d. 1984)
1915 - Charles Townes, Americn physicist, Nobel Prize laureate
1915 - Frankie Yankovic, musician (d. 1998)
1916 - David Brown, American film producer
1922 - Jacques Piccard, French undersea explorer
1927 - John Ashbery, poet
1929 - Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, American wife of John F. Kennedy (d. 1994)
1934 - Jacques d'Amboise, dancer and choreographer
1936 - Garfield Sobers, cricketer
1937 - Peter Duchin, pianist and bandleader
1940 - Philip Proctor, comedian
1941 - Riccardo Muti, Italian conductor
1943 - Bill Bradley, basketball player and U.S. Senator
1945 - Jim Davis, American cartoonist
1945 - Richard Wright keyboard player with Pink Floyd
1948 - Sally Struthers, American actress
1949 - Steve Peregrin Took, singer and songwriter (d. 1980)
1952 - Yoshitaka Amano, Japanese artist
1954 - Steve Morse, American guitarist
1958 - Terry Fox, cancer activist (d. 1981)
1962 - Rachel Sweet, singer
1964 - Ian Livingston, British businessman
1965 - Lori Loughlin, actress
1972 - Elizabeth Berkley, actress
1976 - Jacoby Shaddix, singer, Papa Roach
1977 - Emanuel Ginóbili, Argentine basketball player
1979 - Birgitta Haukdal, Icelandic singer
1988 - Daniel Huynh, U-18 Champion

Good morning, Raggedy, and thank you so much for the celeb updates.

Unfortunately, listeners, I only recognize a few of our famous folks. I did get to hear Peter Duchin and his combo play once at a fancy dress ball. I hate to say it, but that was the most boring affair that I have ever attended.

Here's an interesting item about our all American guys:


By DOUGLAS BROWN
THE DENVER POST

The hug, long reserved for women, celebrating sports victories, and men from other countries, is muscling its way into everyday American Guydom.

Stoic machismo still thrives, but at its heels yaps a touchier, Dr. Phil version of virility. Boundaries are eroding. Defenses are being scaled.

The male hug is complicating everything. Men accustomed to the automatic hand clasp accompanied with a brisk up-and-down pump at dinner parties and college reunions, now must preface their greetings or goodbyes with intricate and split-second calculations based on body language, length of friendship and other factors.

Do I shake or do I hug? Making the right choice matters. If one guy goes for the hug, but the other decides upon a handshake, they might collide. An excruciating dance will follow, as the poor lads work feverishly to determine what to do with their hands, their arms, their bodies.

Memories of the previous disaster will haunt all following encounters. It's possible the fellows will even dread socializing, for fear of the paralyzing hug decision.

Whether to hug or hit sounds straightforward, but it's tricky, says Jason Tesauro, the author of "The Modern Gentleman," a guide to the protocols of maleness.

Absent any formal rules about the matter, Tesauro says that "if you are in a casual scenario and you are greeting someone, I don't think a hug is out of place. It says you are an extroverted, demonstrative person."

He hugs most of his male friends, he says, although he usually does not hug men upon meeting them for the first time. After that initial handshake, though, the hug could happen any time.

"Saying goodbye is always safer," he says. "You've built up fellowship. It's the difference between a hello kiss on a first date and a good-night kiss."



There's more to the hug decision, however, than an embrace. The next question is: which hug?

A popular option is the ubiquitous handshake that has grown a back pat. Other men opt for the embrace, with one arm around the waist, and the other draped over a shoulder: back-clapping tends to accompany this hug.

Whether, and how, to hug or not falls along cultural lines. One of them involves a handshake, a mutual tug inward, and a shoulder-bump.

When Duke University professor of black popular culture Mark Anthony Neal is with men, he'll go right in for a certain kind of hug -- as long as the other guy also is African American. "If I was greeting a white guy, I would probably never go for the hug, it would always immediately be the handshake," says Neal, the author of the just-released book "New Black Man," about black masculinity in the 21st century. "In the case of black males, particularly around my age, 40, it's the hip-hop hug: a handshake, you pull yourselves together, and you bump."

The alternating approach -- a handshake for a white guy, a hug for a black guy -- is cultural, he says.

"There are shared assumptions when I am greeting an African American man ... there is a shared experience that connects us," he says.

Hugging between African American men, though common now, wasn't always so, Neal says.

"For older African American men, I would be more apt to handshake," he says. "I cannot imagine hugging my father."

At least two professors -- Kory Floyd at Arizona State University and Mark Merman at Baylor University in Waco, Texas -- have dedicated part of their careers to studying the male hug. The two often collaborate on research.

Floyd, for example, has studied the forms and duration of hugs between men. Rarely do they last much longer than one second. As hugs extend to two seconds or more, men watching the huggers quickly begin assuming the embraces are romantic, instead of just friendly.

Only men engage in the combination handshake-hug, says Floyd.

"It follows what we call an 'A-frame' configuration; the only body contact is the shoulders," he says. "Men often do it with their handshake in between them, so there is a physical barrier. The third thing is the aggressive patting on the back that comes along with it, which is a very combative gesture. It's a way for men to say, 'I have positive feelings for you, but let's show them in a way that is masculine and gender validating.' All of those things -- distance, a barrier, the combative movement -- are all stereotypically masculine ways of behaving."

Merman says male fear of hugging other men revolves around homophobia and family.

Some straight guys worry that if they are seen hugging other men, they will be viewed as gay, he says.

And for most men, he says, "fathers are the first role models we have for how to be men, and if Dad isn't hugging and kissing, chances are we aren't either."

While Merman agrees that hugging among American men is spreading, he says it always has occurred in certain contexts. The more "emotionally charged" the environment, he says, the more freedom men feel to hug one another.

"If you are in the office, generally there is not a lot of emotion there," he says, and hugging remains taboo. But at a wedding or a funeral, or on a battlefield or basketball court, men for a long time have hugged without much hesitation.

Watch ESPN for a few hours, and there's a fair chance you'll encounter lots of big men embracing, especially after a big play or a victory.

Hugging is OK in sports, Floyd says, because a sporting event is "a very gender-validating environment."

America qualifies as a "medium-touch" culture, Floyd says, with some northern European and Asian cultures -- in Japan, for example, where people bow to one another instead of touching -- registering as "low touch." In some places, everybody hugs, or everybody bows. In America, it's mixed. The handshake remains the standard greeting, but some guys hug with relish. Others recoil from outstretched male arms. Most men probably sit somewhere in between. If guys are OK with male hugging but still tentative, for fear of embarrassment, they should bury their worries, writes Michael Flecker, author of "The Metrosexual Guide to Style," in an ae-mail.

"If, however, you do get caught going in for the hug and have second thoughts, don't panic," he says. "Just follow through, go for a quick pat on the back, and move on."

Ah, our aggression inhibitors have been modified

Beatrix Potter?

I have been in Sawrey, Lancashire (?) where she lived and died. It is a lovely place, near Windermere and Hawkshead, in the Lake District.
(I doubt if Lancashire stretches that far north)

p.s. I checked it, of course it's in Cumbria

http://www.cix.co.uk/~geoffk/sawrey.htm

I went to Sawrey with my buddy, Paul, for a weekend's fishing. I didn't go into the Potter museum (not macho enough, and no fish in there) but there is a very nice little country pub in the village (more a hamlet, really) where they serve good food and real ale.

Paul caught two trout and one pike, and I, nothing.

Well, McTag, sounds very hamlety. At least you don't tell fish stories about the big one and the one that got away.

Well, for the moment, here's a song about wild ponies, and then, listeners, I will return with a fish song of my own.



Indigo Girls - Wild Horses Lyrics
Childhood living
Is easy to do
The things you wanted
Well I bought them for you
And graceless lady
You know who I am
You know I can't let you
Ah slide through my hands

Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses
Couldn't drag me away

I watched you suffer
A dull aching pain
Now you've decided
To show me the same
No sweeping exits
Or offstage lines
Can make me feel bitter
Or treat you unkind

Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses
Couldn't drag me away

I know I dreamed you
A sin and a lie
I have my freedom
But I don't have much time
Faith has been broken
Tears must be cried
Come on let's do some living
After we die

Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses
We'll ride them someday

Well, it's awfully quiet in our studio. I guess McTag went fishing in the moonlight to redeem himself.

Anyway, here's a little fish song:

A little fish in a big pond,
Has plenty of room to swim,
But swimmin' around are big fish
All ready to pounce on him.

Back to his little pond he doesn't go,
The little fish spreads his fins and begins
To grow, grow,grow.

That's you a little fish,
In a big pond all right,
Me, too, a little fish,
But we gotta stand up and fight.

A little man in a big town gets butterflys
Is his dome,

Quick takin' it on the chin and begin
To feel at home,

In the bigger pond,
Where the bigger fish,
And the bigger man belong.

Hmmm, folks, those are not exactly the right lyrics, but not bad for a song I sang as a kid.

Nice song Miss Letty. I used to go fishing quite a bit
out in the ocean. We have these "twilight" fishing trips that go from 6 pm to 10 pm at night.

Usually there are only a few people on the boat - mostly guys. One time, we (around 10 girls) decided to go fishing
at night. We took several bottles of wine with us and had
a grand time, too much fun actually, since we got quite
sick after a while. Nevertheless, one of the girls caught
the biggest fish (yellow tail) and won the jack pot, while the
guys shook their heads in dismay.

Man meets trout, and trout loses, in Schubert's classic song from 1817.
(lyrics by Schubart [sic!])

The Trout (Schubart)



In a bright little stream,

Briskly and gaily

Sped the wily trout,

Like an arrow past me.

I stood on the bank

And carelessly watched

The cheerful fish swimming

In the clear little stream.



A ficherman with his rod,

Stood there on the brink,

And cold-bloodedly

Watched the fish writhing.

As long as the clear water is undisturbed,

I thought he won't catch

The trout with his angle.





But at last, the rascal found that time

Was too long.

He made the water muddy, by a trick,

And before I realized it,

His rod quivered,

The fish dangled on it,

And I, with blood boiling,

Beheld the cheated catch.

(Trans. CLAUDE D'ESPLAS)

Ah, there's Jane and telling fish stories.

You know, Jane, I used to really tick off the surf fishermen, because I broke all the rules of when was the best time to fish, etc. and as one man said, " Betty boop just hits the sand any old time and catches all the fish."

But, my dear, I promise I would never go out in a boat and drink so much as a beer unless I knew there were a safe driver on board. Right across from where I live is the Intercostal waterway, and I have been on a jaunt or two in a cabin cruiser. .

Of course, Jane, if one is going to get really sick I can't think of a better place to give it up than in the water.