Tag: The Bottle Rockets

The specialist carefully manipulated the waldoes linked to the robotic arms in the front of the submersible. The pilot peered out of the top dome, the glare of the spotlights illuminating the complex structure of the oil rig but the visibility of this part of the Gulf of Mexico not allowing much to be seen past the first couple tangles of girders. A single wire tethered the craft to the surface, its sole purpose safely delivering the radio signal carrying its obscure music and coded instructions past fathoms of seawater. The robot arms clasped the watertight bale of Oaxacan tamales tightly. The mission was only half over.

The thin Nebraska ice crackled ominously as one of the occupants of the well-appointed tent leaned back on their recliner. They peered at their line, descending into the near-freezing water and vibrating sympathetically to the sounds of the radio. The other ice-fisher threw a log on the fire, pausing in recognition at the song before smiling and turning it up.

It was a jam-packed evening, and we even got to fit in a request for Mission of Burma for Generoso and Lily, listening over the satcom from their armored zeppelin thrumming over the Iowa cornfields. Also: the world needs more Franklin Bruno.

The usual random process of Lacking Selection has yielded a playlist that will trigger recognition in Nick Lowe fans, without actually playing any Nick Lowe. It also yielded a set in the second hour that went from “Fantastic” to “Impossible”.

Snow was expected, but never showed up. Suits me fine. Surprisingly, this is the third episode of 2019, and I’m warming up to the hectic weekly pace. Thanks to Mark, Generoso, Lily, and Robin for tuning in and triumphing over the depths of midwinter midnight.

Chopping and channeling norteño music and dance beats, the Nortec Collective blows up like a cheap piñata. Have some candy.