05/10/2013 20:36:00 ¶ ●

## Live at L.A. Podcast Festival

This transcript is of the Welcome to Night Vale performance at the L.A. Podcast Festival on the 5th of October, 2013. The performance consisted of two previously released episodes: The Shape in Grove Park and The Man in the Tan Jacket. However, there was new material added (and some short sections removed), and James Urbaniak was there as a guest voice, playing the role of Night Vale Community Radio intern. The weather was performed by Sara Watkins.

Video of the performance is available from LA Podfest in two parts: Part 1 Part 2

The Shape in Grove Park

Close your eyes. Let my words wash over you. You are safe now.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Local historians are protesting the removal of the Shape in Grove Park that No One Acknowledges or Speaks About. While their protest has been hampered by the fact that none of them will acknowledge or speak about it, they did — through a system of gestures and grimaces — convey the message that, whatever the Shape is, and whatever its effects on nearby neighborhoods, it is a Night Vale landmark and should be protected.

The Shape itself offered no comment — only a low moaning and gelatinous quiver. The City Council would not provide any reason for the removal, but they did say that any work in Grove Park was making way for a new swing set, picnic area, and bloodstone circle, which we all can agree are good contributions to our community.

The Night Vale Green Market Co-Op announces today that, after 15 years, they will begin selling fruits and vegetables. Green Market Board President Tristan Cortez said that recent customer surveys indicated that shoppers have grown tired of empty pickup trucks and vacant tents lining the City Hall parking lot every Sunday morning in the summer and fall.

Cortez said that research indicates consumers are more likely to buy products if they are available and for sale, and that Green Market and Grocery shoppers tend to purchase food items. Cortez says that the decision to sell food at the Green Market was a controversial one, as many board members and Co-Op shareholders feel fruit and vegetable sales will interfere with their ongoing secretive domestic espionage operations.

When reached for comment, our source within the Secret Police only breathed heavily into the phone while tapping an as-yet uncracked code into the receiver.

Michael Sandero, starting quarterback for the Night Vale Scorpions, has reportedly grown a second head. It is not currently known whether this is a result of the previously reported lightning strike, or just another odd coincidence in this kid’s odd life.

People in the know say that the new head is looking better, smarter than the first one, and even Michael’s mother has issued a statement indicating that she likes it much better than her son. And that she will be changing the rankings on the public “Which of My Children I Like Best” board outside of her house.

Sandero could not be reached for comment.

Probably.

We didn’t really try.

Friends, listeners; there’s a real tarantula problem here in Night Vale. Many residents have called in to report that illiteracy, unwanted pregnancy, and violent crime are on the rise in the tarantula communities. Animal control is addressing these concerns through after school programs called “Teach a Spider to Read — Stop the Madness.”

Those interesting in volunteering should stand in their bathtubs and weep until it is all gone.

Nothing left.

You can let go now.

Let go.

Shhhhh.

Let go.

And now a message from our sponsor.

Uh, Intern Leland, who is our first sponsor for today’s show?

> It is stamps dot com.

> Tired of waiting in line at the Post Office? Scared of the unexplained blood that pours from P.O. boxes? Confused by screams that no one else hears? Try stamps dot com.

> With stamps dot com, you can print your own postage and avoid the long lines and predatory birds so common at the Post Office. You can even have your postal carrier pick up your packages, as long as you’re careful never to look the carrier in the eyes, as this is a sign of aggression and you may scare your postal carrier away.

> Stamps dot com has a special offer for Night Vale Community Radio listeners. Sign up now, and receive a bag full of magic rocks, $50 worth of self loathing, and a free scale, so you can arbitrarily assign numbers to material objects.

> To claim your new member benefits, simply visit stamps dot com, and press your forehead against the radio mic in the upper-right corner of your screen until your entire body falls forwards into the alternate stamps dot com universe.

> Stamps dot com will tell your family you loved them very much. Stamps dot com will tell your family that stamps dot com loves them very much.

> “Come here, family. You are all our family now,” stamps dot com will say, stretching their many boneless arms around your entire family. “Come here. We are all a loving family.”

> Stamps dot com. You live in a dead world. We love you.

Ah, thank you so much, Leland! And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Ladies and gentlemen, the rumor mill is abuzz. We’ve had a celebrity sighting in our little burgh!

Old Woman Josie and one of her Angel friends reportedly saw Rita Hayworth getting gas at the Fuel ‘n Go over by the bowling alley. Rita Hayworth, ladies and gentlemen! Right here in Night Vale. Can you believe it? Old Woman Josie said that Rita was looking a little bit older, moderately obese, and considerably more Hispanic, but the Angel assured her it was indeed Rita. And he is an Angel after all…he would know, right? Wow! Wow! Rita Hayworth! Here in Night Vale! Just imagine!

And now, an update on the Shape Formerly in Grove Park that No One Acknowledges or Speaks About: it seems the City Council, in their superhuman mercy and all-seeing glory, have chosen to move the Shape directly in front of our own radio station, where it is continuing to be what can only be described as indescribable.

The Shape was not available for comment as I could find no one willing to speak to it…or even meet my eye when I mentioned it. It has occurred to me that I may be the only one able to see it.

Now that I think about it, I have also never bothered to actually check whether this mic is attached to any sort of recording or broadcasting device.

And it is possible that I am alone, in an empty universe, speaking to no one, unaware that the world is held aloft merely by my delusions and my smooth, sonorous voice.

“More on this story as it develops,” I say, possibly only to myself.

The Night Vale Community Theater is holding auditions for its fall show, “Once On This Island.” Interested thespians should bring a head shot and resume to the Recreation Center auditorium on Thursday night.

All auditionees must perform a one-minute monologue and sing one song. Bring sheet music along if you would like piano accompaniment. Auditionees will also be required to do a cold reading, and give blood and stool samples along with mandatory radiation testing following the auditions.

Do not sing anything from South Pacific.

People of color are urged to audition, as Night Vale Community Theater is an equal-opportunity employer.

Oh, also, actors with long-range sniper training, FORTRAN computer programming, and top-notch wilderness survival skills are a plus.

Final casting will be announced in secret via dirigible.

No one can ever know.

Update on the Green Market situation from earlier in our broadcast. Everything is exactly the same as when we last reported on it, and there is no new information.

Listeners, do you ever think about the moon? I was sitting outside last night looking at the moon and I thought, does anyone actually know what that thing is? Have there been any studies on it? I went to ask Carlos, but he hasn’t been seen much since that treacherous Telly’s vile haircut.

The moon’s weird though, right? It’s there, and there, and then suddenly it’s not. And it seems to be pretty far up. Is it – is it watching us? If not, what is it watching instead? Is there something more interesting than us? Hey, watch us moon! We may not always be the best show in the universe, but we try.

This has been today’s Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

And now, a word from our sponsor. Leland? Uh, who else do we have supporting our show?

> Well, Cecil, I’d like to take a second now to tell you about hulu dot com.

> Huuuuuuuuuuuuullluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

> Let’s talk about watching things. Let’s talk about watching, rather than actually watching. Let’s think about talking about watching a second-hand experience. Let’s continually abstract ourselves from what we believe is the world.

> Huuuuuulluuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

> The pulsing life of your body is an undeniable fact, but deny it anyway. Looking for the answers to all of life’s problems? We recommend obstinate denial. Accept no substitute. Accept nothing.

> Huuuuuulluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

> Water circles the drain of our planet, always coming back for one more go to see if the cycle will be different. It will not be different. The sky will break open, and water will fall, one more time.

> One more time.

> Huluuu.

> The terror you feel in quiet moments is not misplaced, just mis-timed.

> Hulu. Hulu. Hulu. Hulu. Hulu. Hulu. Hulu! Hulu!!

> Hulu dot com! Sign up now, and get the latest episode of

> [static sounds with a hint of distant horns, perhaps?]

> OK, that’s it for me, see you later!

Thank you, Leland!

The Night Vale School District has announced some changes to the elementary school curriculum. They are as follows:

In response to parent feedback, history classes will focus more heavily on textbook readings and traditional exams, rather than live ammo drills.

Oh, geology is adding a new type of rock on the grounds that it’s been a while since anybody has done that. The new type of rock is “vimbee,” and it is categorized by its pale blue color, and the fact that it is completely edible. Points will be awarded to the first student to discover a real-world example of it.

Math and English are switching names. Their curriculum will stay exactly the same.

Astronomy will now be conducting stargazing sessions only with blindfolds on every participant, in order to protect them from the existential terror of the void.

Oh, also, Pluto has been declared imaginary.

All classrooms will be equipped with at least one teacher physically present for the entire instruction period. Astral projection will no longer be used in any classroom.

And finally, in addition to the current foreign language offerings of Spanish, French, and Modified Sumerian, schools will now be offering Double Spanish, Weird Spanish, Coptic Spanish, Russian, and Unmodified Sumerian.

And now a continuation of our previous investigation into whether I am literally the only person in the world, speaking to myself in a fit of madness caused by my inability to admit the tragedy of my own existence.

Intern Leland recently brought me a cup of coffee. He is no longer in my field of vision, but I do still have the cup of coffee. Which is well made, and is giving me that needed pick-me-up to continue considering this terrifying possibility.

Is it possible that I only imagined Leland, and forgot making myself this cup of coffee? But then, who would have grown this coffee? Where was this cup produced? Hmm.

Oh, Leland is, uh, back in the room, and he’s waving at me — um, hello, Leland — uh, he’s saying…wait, what was that, Leland?

> Cecil, the Shape has turned a molten red, and is causing small whirlwinds in front of our radio station doors. There is the sound of a great many voices chanting, as though it were an army giving out a battle cry before raining down destruction on our arid little hamlet, I…

> Hang on…

Listeners, Leland has stopped speaking, and is now writing furiously on a piece of paper. I have to say, Leland’s existence, as well as his finally speaking about the Shape Which No One Else Would Speak About, has reassured me greatly about my lonely and solipsistic vigil here at this microphone.

He is handing me the note — thank you, Leland — lemme see here…ahh.

It says that the City Council believes the reason for the violent reaction of the Shape Formerly in Grove Park that No One Acknowledges or Speaks About is because I have been acknowledging and speaking about it, which has made it angry. They urge me to stop speaking of it, and never do it again. And in exchange they’ll move it somewhere else so we can get our front loading zone back.

After brief consideration, I have decided to accept the Council’s offer, because they are trustworthy leaders looking out for our better future. And also because Leland just now got vaporized by a strange red light emanating from the station entrance.

To the family of Leland, we thank you for his service to the cause of community radio, and we join you in mourning his loss.

And, without further ado, nor ever again mentioning anything we shouldn’t, let’s go to the weather.

[“You and Me” by Sara Watkins]

Hello listeners.

In breaking news, the sky. The earth. Life.

Existence as an unchanging plane, with horizons of birth and death in the faint distance.

We have nothing to speak about. There never was. Words are an unnecessary trouble. Expression is time wasting away. Any communication is just a yelp in the darkness.

Ladies, gentlemen, listeners, you.

I am speaking now but I am saying nothing. I am just making noises and, as it happens, they are organized in words but you should not draw any meaning from this.

The service for Leland was lovely. We threw flowers and wept. He was buried in the break room, as is our custom. His family came, and mooned around the office, as though we had answers.

But we do not have answers. I am not certain that we even have questions. I have chosen to not be certain of anything at all.

This is Cecil, generally, speaking to you, metaphorically, for Night Vale Community Radio.

And I would like to say in the most nebulous terms possible, and with no real-world implications or insinuations of objective meaning:

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

————————

Sara & Sean Watkins returns for music set. Song list:

- “Lock & Key” by Sara Watkins
- “21st of May” by Sean Watkins
- “Jefferson” by Sara Watkins

————————

The Man in the Tan Jacket

Ladies and gentlemen, surely you have noticed…there’s a Man in a Tan Jacket. Countless residents have seen him, but no one can seem to remember exactly what he looks like; just that he has a tan jacket and a deerskin suitcase. And he has been spotted all over town. But no one can quite recall specifically where they saw him, or what time of day it was – just that they saw him.

Frances Donaldson — the tall woman with the green eyes who manages the antiques mall — thinks maybe the Man in the Tan Jacket is simply a shared dream. But I know that I saw him, Night Vale. I know what I saw. This man can’t possibly be a dream. He was so vivid. His eyes were…well, his nose and his chin…oh— oh, I can just see it! I just can’t remember! The man was as clear as day! He had a tan jacket, and a deerskin suitcase.

He can’t be a dream, can he? Please, call in, listeners, and let us know if you can remember anything else.

This Monday through Friday is the annual Night Vale Career Fair at the Downtown Convention Center. There will be dozens of booths, representing phony local businesses that will take your resumes and photos (via hidden surveillance cameras) and conduct sample interviews designed to badger you into implicating yourself in nefarious activities.

First-generation Night Vale residents — particularly those whose parents were originally born in Maine, Massachusetts, Canada, Micronesia, and Suriname — are strongly encouraged to attend.

This year’s keynote speaker is an audio tape of droning moans leaden with subliminal tips about achieving personal prosperity and how to come clean about the terrible things you have done, you cretin.

Last year’s fair featured several very high-profile arrests – and some nice door prizes. Tickets are $25, or $15 if you still have working retinas to scan.

Over the weekend, Teddy Williams — owner of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex — sent us some security camera footage of what he believes to be the first-ever glimpse of citizens of the Underground City deep below Lane Five.

Early Saturday morning, Fun Complex cameras picked up blurry motion near the soda machine. The footage is quite fuzzy and difficult to discern. Perhaps it is merely rats or raccoons, digging through an uncovered supply of junk food. But it is, of course, much more likely that a lost nation of people, living in the bowels of a small-town bowling alley, are finally revealing themselves – taking our food supplies, and preparing for war.

Teddy told us that he believes this city to be thousands strong and ready to move into Night Vale. Ready to take arms against the “Upper World” (as they probably call us). Ready to conquer this heaven and become the righteous owners of our sun-soaked precious land…we assume.

It takes very little extrapolation to believe that they worship a god named Huntokhar, who demands sacrifice to keep their Underground City thriving in the absence of nourishing sunlight.

And a fair assumption is they are ruled by a Child King, recently coronated, who is too weak to rein back the generals intent on marching upon us in war.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you care for your community, your town, your Night Vale like I do, please know that you will arm yourselves. You will rally your neighbors to militia. You will point fingers at those who do not wish to fight and have them rounded up into pens. This is no time for the weak. We are at a presumptive war with a projected enemy whom we cannot yet see, or even be certain of, but who are probably bloodthirsty giants.

If you would like to learn more about starting a militia, simply learn to be a true American. And that is how you will know. And remember, Night Vale is at war. Your careless talk costs lives. They know we are here, and it seems somebody has talked.

Who was it, Night Vale?

Was it Steve Carlsberg? Did Steve Carlsberg talk?

Maybe a group of good citizens should go have a “chat” with Steve and find out what he’s been saying, and to whom.

Stay by your radios, listeners. We will report further as events warrant.

And now, a word from our sponsor.

Intern Rob? Uh, who do we have sponsoring this segment of our show?

> That would be Squarespace!

Um, I’m very sorry about your cousin Leland, Rob.

> Thank you.

He was a very good intern. Tell us about Squarespace.

> Sure.

> It’s not easy starting a small business. There are a lot of things to worry about, like building a customer base, developing a strong product, wrestling with self-doubt, crying a lot, bleeding a little, looking up in the small hours at the sagging ceiling of your too-small bed thinking “why, why?”, being overrun by rats and worms, and discovering that you’re just matter – just rotting, organic matter, fated to feed the earth and trees.

> Yes, there are so many concerns facing small businesses. Web design shouldn’t be one of them.

> Want a simple, low-cost, and beautifully-designed web solution for your small business?

> Well, do you?

> Doesn’t sound like you do, actually.

> I’m looking at your web page right now, and it’s lovely. It’s really smooth, real easy to navigate…looks like you put a lot of work into this.

> You don’t need our help. We won’t even tell you who we are because we don’t want to pressure you into changing what you’ve already done with your website.

> It’s perfect!

> Wow!

> Good job!

> We just– wow! Just– I’m sorry to have interrupted.

> [starting to cry] I just want to say, you’re really good at web design. [sniffles] You’re much better than us. [gasping breath] Carry on. I– I guess.

Thank you, Rob.

More now on the Man in the Tan Jacket.

Old Woman Josie called to tell us that her Angel friends are saying that the deerskin suitcase is full of flies. The Angels would not tell her more, explaining that knowing more would jeopardize her Eternal Soul, as well as their own statuses as Angels. They did not want to mess with that!

Old Woman Josie added that she thinks the Man in the Tan Jacket is just a salesman of some sort. A fly salesman, she bets, wandering from town to town with polished shoes and a suitcase full of flies.

“Oh, I just can’t stand those fly salesmen,” she said. “Ringing my doorbell at 3:00 AM, wanting to show me samples, asking for glasses of orange milk!”

The Night Vale Daily Journal has announced that, despite its recent cost-cutting measures and mandatory subscription laws, it is facing a huge budget shortfall this year.

"We cannot pay back our printers, or our delivery crews,” said editor Leann Hart, in a prepared statement whispered through my mail slot late last night. “And we have already had to banish much of our staff into the Sand Wastes of the desert.”

She went on to explain that this “budget shortfall” has nothing to do with the reported lavish birthday party she threw for herself in the Night Vale Stadium – featuring a lazy river made entirely of champagne and a birthday cake topped with very thin slices of moon rock.

In an addendum she tapped in Morse code on my bathroom window, she said that the Journal is considering all new sources of income — including creating additional advertising space and mugging Night Vale citizens. And that I shouldn’t mention the whole birthday party thing after all, because she was never even born, so how could she have had a birthday party?

She spent the rest of the night tapping out the phrase “birthdays are a fake idea,” which actually was a pretty relaxing sound to fall asleep to.

Hey, kids and parents! Time once again for our Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner! Today, we are exploring common birds and their meanings.

An eagle indicates that an important phone call is impending. A sparrow says that you should beware the sea, and sell any stocks invested in food-based companies. A pigeon means that your mother has died — or that all is well. It’s a bit uncertain.

A hummingbird tells us that the physical constants of the universe are slowly degrading, and may someday shift, invalidating the laws of physics and instantly wiping out the universe as we know it while simultaneously creating an entirely new universe in a single transcendent moment of genocide and genesis.

As for hawks, well…no one knows what hawks mean, really. Or if they are real. Have you ever seen a hawk? No, of course not. Nobody has!

This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

And now another word from our sponsors.

Today’s program has been sponsored by the physical act of gulping. For thousands of years, gulping has been there for human beings when they needed an expressive gesture of the throat. Whether you want to indicate nervousness about an upcoming test or appointment, fear of the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home, or you just want to ingest milk faster than with regular swallowing, gulping is the way to go! Forget sweating, never mind shivering! Sneezing? Ugh! When you think physical actions, think gulping! Gulp now and receive a complimentary prize package, which will be conveniently buried in an unmarked spot somewhere in the Scrublands. Find it, and it’s yours!

Gulp!

This just in:

The Sheriff’s Secret Police has just issued an important request related to our earlier story. They ask that all Night Vale citizens be on the lookout for a Man in a Tan Jacket, carrying a deerskin suitcase. He is about five or six foot…something, probably with hair, and normal human features.

He was last seen early this morning on the unlit, gravel-paved stretch of Oak Trail, near Larry Leroy’s house out on the edge of town. The Man in the Tan Jacket was reportedly seen in the moonless black, standing next to a refrigerator engulfed in flames.

And he was smoking a cigarette.

Witnesses claimed he stared at them as they slowly drove by on the darkened country road, but despite the prolonged eye contact, the witnesses still could not describe his face to police.

Two days prior, the Man in the Tan Jacket was seen standing in a park. No one can remember which park, but they’re fairly certain it was a park. Or maybe it was in the Old Navy Outlet Store. Or near the invisible clock tower…it wasn’t quite clear.

Either way, the man was definitely standing with his deerskin suitcase, and staring up at the sun for hours. He followed the bizarre glowing orb, which is somehow the source of all light and life, and —

“Oh god, the sun, are you kidding us with this? We don’t even have time for that mystery!” the Secret Police then interjected.

Secret Police officials added that if you see a Man in a Tan Jacket carrying a deerskin suitcase, write down what you see immediately.

The City Council has temporarily lifted their ban on pens and pencils, so that citizens can help law enforcement on this matter. Once you write down your encounter, call 911 immediately. Or simply say, “Hey, police!” out loud. We’re all being monitored almost 24/7, so they’ll probably hear you just fine.

Let’s go now to the traffic.

There is a car.

It’s not in Night Vale, or even in the desert that cradles our little town. It’s out, somewhere beyond that. There are many cars there, but I’m speaking only about one. Blue, square-ish, with tires, and windows, and an engine that works…most of the time.

A woman is driving it, and she is also glancing whenever she can at the child in the passenger seat. He is a child, but he is 15.

You understand.

She is glancing at him, but she is not saying anything. And he is not saying anything either.

She wants to cry…

…or, she wants to push him out of the car…

…or, she wants to go back in time and insist on using a condom…

…only she would never do that.

She wouldn’t change any of this reality. Not for all the money — piles of money, some of it defunct money from defunct and absent governments — she wouldn’t give any of that back.

And so she drives her car. Blue. Square-ish. With tires. And windows. And an engine that works…most of the time. And she glances at the 15 year-old child. And neither of them speaks.

This has been traffic.

Um, hey Rob? Can you come here for a second?

> Yeah.

Rob? You’re bleeding.

> I know.

From the eyes.

> Right.

Should you go see a doctor?

> No, I’m fine. I actually can’t see much right now, because of the blood.

Right, right.

[awkward silence]

…Rob?

> Yeah.

There are spiders crawling from out of your shirt.

> No, yeah. Those are– they’re coming from my chest, actually. My heart. I have a heart murmur.

You have a heart murmur?

> Well, had. I picked at it and now the spiders got out.

You should never pick at a heart murmur!

> I know. Habits!

And now the spiders have gotten out. Whoa– whoa! Rob! You are losing a lot of blood! Why don’t you go get an ice pack and lay down?

> OK, I’ll just lay down on the floor here. Uh! I laid down quite quickly, I think I hit my head. The ice pack fell on me, though, so I’m set. [*cough*]

Rob?

> [*cough*] Yes?

Have you ever seen this Man in the Tan Jacket? He has a deerskin suitcase. Many people have reported–

Rob.

Rob?

Oh dear.

To the family of friends of Rob the Intern, let me be the first to say that he was an excellent intern, and a beautiful person. Sure, his last moments were filled with spiders pouring from his heart, and blood streaming from his eyes, but beauty should have nothing to do with our physical differences. Beauty is what you do! What you mean, what you say, and what you are before the world devours you. Beauty is not in the arthropods spilling from one’s breast, but in the heart that once contained them. If Rob has taught us anything, let it be that.

And also, never pick at a heart murmur!

And now, without further ado, let us go to the weather.

[“You’re the One I Love” by Sara Watkins]

Ladies and gentlemen, during the break, I received a call from someone claiming to be an Angel.

Now, I don’t know if this was a prank or not, as no one has actually proven that they’ve talked to an Angel. Even Old Woman Josie’s word is just that, her word.

But listeners, I think this had to be an Angel, because my face became hot, and the voice filled every part of my body, and tears were flowing down my face the instant I touched the phone receiver, and the whole room was lit up in — well, how can I describe this? — a bright black beam illuminating every atomic detail!

And the Angel — if that is indeed who called — the Angel said that the Man in the Tan Jacket with the deerskin suitcase was from a place underneath the earth.

Underneath our knowledge.

A vast world, right below our feet.

I asked for more, but the Angel — if that is indeed who called — whispered only, "A flower in the desert.”

And it filled me with ecstasy and dread.

Then, as the call ended, and the black ray of truth was gone, and I was breathlessly…and alone. And listeners, dear listeners, the silence…well, it was unlike any silence you have ever not heard.

So our mystery man remains un-found, and I’m still not sure why an Angel would have to use a telephone, but for now, we can only know what we know. And that is that we don’t know.

Thank you again for listening, listeners. I look forward to another fine year. A new year, well-spent with all of you, out there.

Please stay tuned next for the popular radio game show, “Wait, Wait, Don’t! No, Don’t! Please, Don’t!”

Night Vale, be alert, and write down everything you cannot comprehend.

Until next time, goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.