01/08/2014 10:41:00 ¶ ●

## Episode 51 - Rumbling

Cecil: Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s a cloud! It’s a moon! Also, some stars! There are so many things in the sky!

Welcome to Night Vale.

New Night Vale mayor, and former intern at this very station, Dana Cardinal announced today that she wants to open the Dog Park for public use. Said Dana – or, I guess I should start saying Mayor Cardinal – “Dog parks should be used for dogs and owners to exercise and play. A dog park should be a fun gathering place for citizens to meet and socialize. Not a secretive patch of municipal darkness full of conspiracy warning signs.”

Only moments into her announcement, the City Council entered the Press Room, walking in synchronous steps, hips together, teeth apart, blocking the view of reporters and photographers, and unplugging the mayor’s microphone. The Council shuffled away to the Council Chambers, taking the mayor with them.

Twenty minutes later Mayor Cardinal reemerged, wearing several large ivory rings and a long cerulean cape. She announced that dogs are not allowed in the Dog Park. People are not allowed in the Dog Park. You may see hooded figures in the Dog Park – but not for long, as there are now plans to reinforce the fence around the Dog Park.

Oh, listeners! Guess who we’ve got on the phone line now? I’ll give you a hint: he saved Night Vale a few weeks ago by shutting out a great terror trying to invade us from another world.

Carlos: It wasn’t just me!

Cecil: Also, he’s my boyfriend. And a scientist. And I miss him.

Carlos: I miss you, too.

Cecil: That’s right! My boyfriend is a hero. Please welcome to our show, Carlos the Scientist.

Carlos: [chuckles] You’re too much!

Cecil: Listeners, Carlos had to stay behind in whatever strange desert Other World, which was very brave of him, even though he’s now very far away from people that love him. Any luck getting back through to Night Vale?

Carlos: Not yet. Oh! But, I’ve been exploring this strange rumbling noise here. It’s the same rumbling noise we heard when that terrible light was coming into Night Vale.

Cecil: Are you safe? Is everything OK?

Carlos: Actually, there it is again. When we shut the doors the rumbling and the unbearably bright light went away. This empty desert, with the mountain and the lighthouse and the large wandering army, all seemed so normal, you know? But last night the rumbling returned.

There it is again. I need to grab my instruments.

Cecil: I…I can’t hear it!

Carlos: I’ll call you back.

Cecil: No! No! Carlos, I…Ugh. Every time. I never know when you’ll call back.

Well, speaking of the town being safe, our neighboring town, Desert Bluffs, ran a full-page ad in the Sunday Extra-Large Imagination Edition of the Night Vale Daily Journal this week that said, I imagined, “Thank you for having us, Night Vale. Best of luck in your future‽”

I can’t tell if that’s an exclamation point or a question mark there. What a weird font! It’s like someone put paint, or some other thick liquid on the tip of a sharp finger and then hand wrote this ad. It’s just like that.

Then, at the bottom, it has a photo of your face, dear listener! And the same finger-painted lettering that reads, “Blessings from a Smiling God.”

Wow! Where did they get that photo of you? Although, honestly, it’s not a bad photo…I mean, you look just adorable when you’re sleeping!

I know this farewell ad may seem like a kind gesture, but…good riddance to those monsters! No one is happier than me to see us run Desert Bluffs out of town.

Meanwhile, there has been a lot of construction noise, like horns, see-saws, parrot shrieking, et cetera, from the old StrexCorp headquarters at the lip of Radon Canyon. Several tall beings with wings, who all introduce themselves as Erika, were seen hanging around outside while a Sheriff’s Secret Police representative ran frantically between onlookers, putting her hand over each person’s eyes and shouting, “You’re not seeing anything real!”

Well I, for one, am excited to learn what these…of course, completely non-existent angels plan to do with the huge malevolent corporation they purchased.

Oh! Also, I stopped by the office of station management. Seems like our community radio station was purchased back from StrexCorp by our original owners, whom I have never met – or seen – and who, until recently, had run this radio station for centuries. It’s nice to have all these familiar faces back! Or…not faces, more like muffled screams and chattering echoes and pulsing orange lights surrounding dark stone doors that are never in the same place you remember them being.

Just a quick stroll past the new old boss’ office brought me back to the good old days, as I crumbled to the floor, struck numb and blind with flashes of hideous daydreams, a history’s worth of deaths that were not my own. How great to be back to the way we were!

Ahh, the good old days! The fearful, terrible, deadly, good old days!

Oh, my phone’s buzzing! Carlos? Hello? Carlos, are you back on the line?

Carlos: Yes. So…there’s a lighthouse here in the desert. It’s on top of a tall mountain, and there’s a blinking red light on the top of this lighthouse, and this blinking red light always blinks, OK? That’s what it does. But now that the rumbling has returned…can– can you hear the rumbling from your end, Cecil?

Cecil: No.

Carlos: It’s very loud! But when the rumbling happens, the blinking red light stops blinking. It just stays on.

Cecil: What do you think that means?

Carlos: I don’t know! I’ve talked with some of the army of men and women and others who roam about this desert, and they look frightened. They have never seen the blinking light stop blinking! It is what a blinking light is supposed to do, and fear is what happens when a thing that has always behaved one way does not behave that way at all. They run and hide now when they hear the rumbling and see the static red light up on the mountain. I, too, am starting to feel scared.

Cecil: Carlos? Remember how you got into that desert in the first place. You went through a door in a house that did not seem to exist. Have you found any of those doors yet?

Carlos: Not yet, no.

Cecil: Carlos? Look for those doors. There must be at least one left somewhere!

Carlos: I’ll start looking very soon, OK? But listen, Cecil? I’d really like to figure out this rumbling/red light thing. I’m a scientist. I need to discover/understand things. It’s what I do!

Cecil: But…couldn’t you look for the door while you figure it out?

Carlos: I’ll look for the door some tomorrow. For sure I will.

Cecil: Well, that’s not what I was going to…

Carlos: The rumbling’s gone! Did you hear that?

Carlos: I’ve got to run. I need to find Doug.

Cecil: Who’s Doug? Wait, Carlos, who’s Doug? Carlos?

OK.

Well, I guess let’s just have a look at today’s horoscopes.

Leo: Need a penny, take a penny. Have a penny? Take another penny! Pennies are worthless, but go ahead and take them all. Build a great fortune only to have its great copper weight crush your lifeless pauper body.

Virgo: Don’t shoot the messenger, Virgo! It’s noisy, and will alert others of your crime. Lure the messenger inside. Make sure no one saw him come in. Choose something quieter than a gun. Perhaps suffocation, or an accidental fall. Really plan these things out. Stop being so trigger happy, Virgo!

Libra: Do you believe in ghosts? You don’t? Well, won’t you be surprised when you wake up in the middle of the night tonight! Scream loud enough so the neighbors can hear you.

Scorpio: You are respected by your peers. You are a great thinker and leader. You…wait, what is this? This is definitely not the right reading for a Scorpio, it must be a typo. I bet the stars meant to say: You should hear what they’re saying about you. Very funny things, Scorpio! They’re saying very funny things at your expense, you jerk! Yep, that’s definitely what the stars meant to say.

Sagittarius: The best revenge is living well. The second-best is tasteless slow-acting poison. Maybe it’s more of a tie. Either way, you got wronged, and you need to set things right, Sagittarius!

Capricorn: ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, which is better than to have never loved at all, but also somehow lost a love, thus creating a paradox. Paradoxes are bad, Capricorn. Be careful, or logic will destroy you.

Aquarius: Your boyfriend is trapped in an alternate desert dimension. It is difficult to say when he will return. Perhaps take up drinking while crying in a quiet room.

Wow! That’s a very specific and…painful horoscope. Thanks for nothing, stars!

Pisces: A train leaves a station traveling west at 40 miles per hour. Another train leaves a station traveling east at 60 miles per hour. These two trains left on different days, in different years, in different countries. How long until the passengers acknowledge their own impermanence?

Aries: I think they saw you, Aries. Hold still. They cannot see you if you do not move. Shhhhhh! Don’t move! Don’t move! Don't– Nope, they saw you. So long, Aries!

Taurus: Someone misses you a lot, Taurus. And even though you have nothing but endless time trapped out in a nightmarish desert hellscape, you have a hard time making a phone call longer than ten minutes. Maybe call a bit more than you do, Taurus!

Yep, that’s just some astrological advice from the stars.

Gemini: You know those eight spiders a year you eat in your sleep? Well, they add up. They are all organizing a pretty dramatic escape. Very soon, Gemini! Very soon!

Cancer: “The ocean is vast,” you convince yourself, walking alone between the trees. “The sky is endless,” you mutter repeatedly, trying to finally lull yourself to sleep. “Matter can neither be created nor destroyed,” you contemplate, despite not understanding the first part of the statement. “What’s on the Food Network tonight?” you say aloud to a stranger you have known for years.

This has been today’s horoscopes.

Ah! He’s calling in again! Carlos?

Carlos: Cecil, the rumbling has started again. The mountain is moving up and down, like…breathing. There are creaks and groans in the earth, in the stones, that together sound like a growl, an undulating snarl of something much bigger than anything that should ever be able to snarl.

Cecil, this is a strange place, and considering where I’ve lived for the past couple years, that says a lot. I know Dana used to be trapped here and she has told you about it. I mean, I used to wonder how she could call and text you from this place for an entire year with no cell towers or power outlets, but I’ve been here for weeks and I have three bars (only 4G, but still), and 97% battery, which was the charge I had when I came through the door in the House that Doesn’t Exist.

In a temporary peace between the rumblings, I walked with some of the desert army toward a small patch of discolored sand. We found a swath of damp dirt, just a handful of red mud, and in that mud were several tiny white bones. Looked like long legs and short wings of a creature I can’t even imagine! I look forward to figuring out exactly what this is. I’ll be able to imagine it then!

Cecil: Carlos, I don’t think it’s safe there! Listen, I want you to find a way to–

Carlos: Cecil? Nothing and nowhere is safe. But there are things greater than us. Greater than all of this (so, you can’t see it, but I just made a big sweeping hand gesture to indicate everything in the universe), and there are people who must learn about it all. How it all works, and why. This is what we call science!

Cecil: Yes, I know what science is.

Carlos: And I am a scientist.

Cecil: OK, I understand. Ugh. It’s just…it’s just that I miss you, and–

[rumbling sound in the background]

Cecil: Oh! Oh my! The building is shaking!

Carlos: You can feel it? You can feel the rumbling? Ooh, this is exciting! Wait, this is new! The ground is moving very quickly. There is a large lump churning the sound up and down, I’m leaning out over this ledge to get a better view of this fantastic event, and….ow!

Cecil: Carlos! What happened?

Carlos: I got hit. What is that? Is that a rock? Oww!

Cecil: Carlos!

Carlos: Cecil, the rocks are coming down. They’re coming down the side of this hill. I need to take cover, I need to find a–

Cecil: Carlos. Carlos?

Listeners, while the earth still shakes, take shelter. This does not feel like one of our government-scheduled earthquakes, but if I were you I would still do as the earthquake safety mascot, Duncan the Brown Recluse Spider, always says: “I’m small, and I hide a lot, so it’s easy to be safe.”

And with that, I take you now to the weather.

[“Echo in the Hills” by Carrie Elkin and Danny Schmidt]

Cecil: Carlos, are you there? Carlos?

Carlos: I’m here.

Cecil: Are you OK?

Carlos: I’m fine. A scientist is always fine. Doug was really helpful!

Cecil: Who is Doug?

Carlos: He’s one of the members of this great masked army. He must be a captain of some sort, given his size and the respect he appears to garner. As the rocks and boulders came down, Doug picked up a large, flat stone and held it above us. The rocks bounced off his makeshift shield.

Unfortunately, I dropped my phone. I smashed the phone something good. I thought I lost you for a while there, Cecil. I was despairing that my one way to reach you would be lost for who knows how long. But then, you know what? Something really amazing happened! Something tremendous! The phone healed itself!

Cecil: Oh! That’s…that’s great!

Carlos: It is great! But phones don’t just heal themselves. This is another scientific mystery I can’t wait to get to the bottom of.

Cecil: Where is Doug now?

Carlos: Oh, I don’t know. He’s probably back at the encampment. They’re a nomadic army. Sometimes they are here, sometimes not. I don’t really have time to make new friends. They’re nice people, but there is a lot of work for me to do here. And…the only person I truly care about isn’t in this desert anyway.

I do not know what the rumbling is. I do not know why some doors work and others do not. I do not know why my phone never loses battery power and can heal itself. I do not know how long it will take me to pursue this knowledge.

But I do know two things.

Cecil: What is that?

Carlos: I love you.

Cecil: I love you, too. What’s the other thing?

Carlos: You just said it.

Cecil? I have to go. Be patient with me. We have our phones. We have our voices, and you have the best voice of them all.

Cecil: Thanks for being on the air with me. We did almost the entire show together!

Carlos: We can still do things together, even in absence. I’ll be back again soon.

Cecil: Find that door, Carlos!

Carlos: I will. But first I need to see if the red light is blinking again or not.

Cecil: OK. Bye, Carlos.

Listeners, I wish I could tell you where the rumbling came from, and that we are safe from it. The Sheriff’s Secret Seismology Team announced that today’s rumbling, which caused quite a bit of structural damage and knocked out power for one third of the town, did not register at all on the Richter scale, which is a thing seismologists use to assign two-dimensional numbers to complex multidimensional physical events.

But the upshot is we are all alive for however many two-dimensional numbers we have left.

Stay tuned next for the sound of future becoming the present – becoming the past – in no time at all.

And as always, goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

Today’s proverb: Everything that happens, happens for a reason. Except ostriches. What the hell, man?

15/08/2014 20:20:00 ¶ ●

## Episode 52 - The Retirement of Pamela Winchell

Now is your chance.

Well, that was it. It’s over. Did you do it? Have you achieved what you wanted?

No? Aah, well.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Former mayor Pamela Winchell called an emergency press conference today to announce that she is enjoying her retirement immensely, and she could not be happier to no longer be mayor.

“More happiness is not possible,” she wailed. “Happiness is a fool’s daydream.”

She was then reminded by reporters that she is no longer mayor, and so shouldn’t be calling emergency press conference s, especially when there is none of the usual emergencies happening – like seeing an interesting butterfly, eating a very good sandwich, or being disappointed that it is 2:00 already.

I sought a statement from current mayor Dana Cardinal who is, of course, a former intern and dear friend of mine. I found her at the end of a dark hallway, draped with rotting black cloth and thick with cobwebs, where she was sitting on the Mayoral Throne and contemplating her hands.

“I thought it would be different than this,” she said. “But it’s exactly what it is.”

I asked her specifically her thoughts on former mayor Pamela Winchell continuing to call emergency press conferences.

“Oh!” Mayor Dana said. And then, again, “Oooh.” And then, “She can do that if she wants. I’m too busy these days to do press conferences anyway. Tell you what:”

And then, she did tell me what, which is that she is naming Pamela Winchell the Official Night Vale Director of Emergency Press Conferences.

When informed of this news, Pamela made a swiping, dismissive gesture with her hands, saying “I don’t need her permission. I’ll call them if I want. Anyway, I’m retired.”

She was crying. She smiled, and she cried.

“I’m retired,” she continued, “but that’s very, very nice of her. What a wonderful woman. I’m going to call an emergency press conference to let people know what a wonderful woman the new mayor is,” she concluded.

And now, a word from our sponsors:

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This has been a word from our sponsors.

Pamela Winchell called an emergency press conference to announce that, while she thanks the current mayor for her generous offer, after some thought and discussion with a couple of helpful advisers, she simply is too busy being retired to accept.

“I’m just too busy fishing,” she said, wildly waving a fishing rod around, slapping it on her podium, and narrowly avoiding catching several reporters with the absurdly oversized hook, as they ducked and scrambled out of reach. “See?” she continued. “I’m fishing right now! This is what fishing looks like, I’m pretty sure,” she continued, cracking the thick, leather fishing line like in that popular and heartwarming series of adventure movies about a wisecracking archaeologist who comically destroys countless important artifacts under the hilarious misapprehension that they belong in his museum rather than in the religious sites of the cultures that made them.

As the reporters ran from her dangerous, flailing fishing line, she shouted, “This concludes my emergency press conference about my complete retirement from emergency press conferences. Please assemble again in three hours for an emergency press conference that will update you on my retirement status.”

She then took hold of a rope, dangling from the hastily-painted blue backdrop that we all assume is the sky, and was lifted up through a door, shaking the flimsy particle board known as “the sky” as she went.

In other news, StrexCorp Synernists, Inc., a company which, until recently, had something of an outsized effect on our town, is now under the control of beings who call themselves angels…and who do not, legally, exist. The existence of the company itself is therefore something of a moral/ethical question, the kind that philosophers consider in their secret black market philosophy meetings.

Despite all the difficulties in discussing its very concept, Strex and its new owners have gone about making what they say are constructive repairs to a town damaged by its recent battle with a force that seemed – but was not – greater than our own.

For instance, they gave Teddy Williams, of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, the funds to hire contractors to renovate his building, and cover over Lane 5 with asphalt, thus trapping the tiny civilization beneath it that is still declaring war on us.

A so-called angel said in a statement, “I have donated a coffee table made of human bones to charity, and will use the money I save on taxes to invest in the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex because angels, if we were real, would certainly love to bowl. Or whatever,” the creature added.

Meanwhile, I’ve been getting regular calls and snapchats from Carlos – you know, my hero scientist boyfriend – from the desert otherworld he is very temporarily trapped in. He’ll be back super soon. He says that he found a cactus, only it’s not a cactus, only it is. He says it’s difficult to explain, and that he really wants to explain it. That is what he is for, he said, to explain a world that defies explanation.

He sent me a photo of the cactus, but it only appeared on my phone as an error box that said, “Even if you could, you would wish you hadn’t.”

Well, it sounds like he’s having fun out there! That’s…that’s good.

Pamela Winchell called another emergency press conference to show just how well she’s doing without the need to call emergency press conferences.

“Retirement is great!” she said. “I’ve taken up bird watching.”

She then showed off this new hobby…in the process, demonstrating a deep misunderstanding of both the concept of birds, and the concept of watching. The resulting fire wiped out the podium and, indeed, the entire Press Conference Gazebo, sending both Pamela and the attending reporters fleeing in every direction.

“See how wonderful being retired is?” she shouted behind her as she sprinted away, smoke-fueled tears streaming from her sunken eyes. “I love being retired! It’s the best!” she concluded, as the fire spread to several nearby structures despite the earnest lectures and head-shaking from Night Vale’s brigade of brave Fire Disapprovers.

Ohhh! Listeners! I finally got a chance to eat at Tourniquet, Night Vale’s hottest new culinary night spot. I mean, I didn’t get to eat their food, or sit at any of their tables…reservations are still just too hard to get. But I did make a PB&J at home, and eat it quickly in their front waiting area, as the maître d’ glared at me implacably – as he does to everyone, due to the fact that he is a large idol carved from volcanic rock.

But, despite the less-than-ideal visit to the restaurant, it did give me a chance to say hello again to Earl Harland. Now, it was a big surprise for me. My childhood best friend, Earl Harland, working at this restaurant, after being dragged away by mute inter-dimensional children, not to be heard from again for a year and a half. It was a big surprise for me, obviously, because I had no idea he had any interest in cooking, let alone the skills to be a sous chef.

Well, I invited him to come on the show sometime, and give all of us a few cooking tips. I don’t know if he’ll take me up on it, but we might be lucky enough to get a peek into the mystical nearly-forgotten art that is cooking. Won’t that be dangerous! And probably illegal.

Despite pleas from local, regional, national, international, and interstellar authorities, Pamela Winchell has continued to give emergency press conferences to publicize her deep enjoyment of retirement. And to decline the new mayor’s standing job offer to give emergency press conferences.

Her press conference about tropical fish care resulted in a deadly flash flood that swept through old town Night Vale, washing away everyone’s piles of cool stones they had found.

Her demonstration of coin collecting crashed several world economies…in the process, breaking a ten year peace treaty that had ended the previous Blood Space War.

And her demonstration of mass poisoning, unfortunately, went without a hitch.

Even as her press conferences have become much more fatal than usual, she has increased their frequency considerably, sometimes having two press conferences so close together that they actually occur simultaneously, Pamela speaking in a rapid back and forth to two different groups of reporters, as she shows two different cataclysmic methods of retirement she has recently been taught by her mysterious team of advisers.

More on this story as Pamela continues to create it.

And now, some life hacks that will allow you to parse and reprogram the code of life – thus changing the very fabric of your being in a clumsy and likely horrifying fashion. Also, a handy way of organizing your entire existence through a complex system of binder clips and toilet paper rolls. Let’s get started!

Life hack one is…oh! Umm, listeners, Intern Maureen is waving to me frantically from the control room – well, more frantically than she does at all times about the general terrifying nature of life – and she’s mouthing something…flannel fisher? Animals whiz beer? Oh! Oh! No. She’s mouthing “Pamela is here!”

Listeners, it seems that Pamela Winchell, her Press Conference Gazebo burned down, has chosen the steps of the community radio station as the site of her next retirement demonstration. Given the affect of her previous demonstrations, this could spell doom for our little station and our little lives. I must…I must try to talk to her. I will, listeners, I will make her listen.

And while I make her listen, I will also make you listen to the weather.

Now, Pamela? Pamela! Stop!

[“Here I Land” by Nicholas Stevenson]

Well, we have returned, as we always do! All of us. Unless we don’t, as we sometimes don’t. All of us.

Many people who have had Night Vale Community Radio mean something in their lives rushed to the front steps of the building to save this vital part of our little town. The crowd held most of the population of our beloved burg. In this modern age of media there is, of course, no medium so close to the common heart as community radio.

Leading the crowd was Mayor Dana, who pressed Ms. Winchell further to accept her offer of the official position. But Pamela was unswayed. She, in fact, was standing rigidly, her eyes rolled to the whites, her fingers splayed, booming “RETIREMENT! RETIREMENT!” in a voice that was not her own.

A great wind gusted up from around her body, whirling through the crowd and sweeping Intern Maureen away into the distance.

To the family and friends of Intern Maureen, et cetera.

Anyway.

“Pamela!” we cried, unified under threat, just as we are often at odds through peace, “Pamela! Do not retire! We need you!” we cried. “Specifically, we need you to stop demonstrating your retirement! Stop doing that right away!” we said in unison and in fear.

But Pamela would not hear us. We had given up all hope, and were casting about for other things to give up:dreams, aspirations, and then, digging further, anticipated muscle pains – pre-grief for loss that hadn’t happened yet, post-grief for losses long ago – and further still, until we were ready to give up that shifting, shivery spark that is our human heart itself.

But then…but then…

Well, I don’t remember what happened next. There seems to be just a gap in my memory, much longer and deeper than the usual gaps that we all develop in our memories to protect us from forbidden information we might have heard, or Hooded Figures we might have accidentally brushed against in the dark of our rooms just before we turn on the lights.

But fortunately, being a reporter, I had my Little Reporter’s Book of Big-Boy Note Taking, just like I’ve had since I was five years old, and the prophecies were first revealed that I was destined to be the voice of our little community. I always make notes in this book, even if I’m not aware of it. See? Just now I wrote down, “Said: always makes notes in this book, even if I’m not aware of it.”

Wow! Very accurate, and I’m not even holding a pen!

Anyway, I can just consult my notes and see how this situation was solved. Umm, OK. It appears here that a Man in a Tan Jacket holding a deerskin suitcase approached Pamela’s podium.

“Fear not!” he said, perhaps a tad melodramatically. “I can relate to what she’s going through,” he continued. “I think I can talk her through this.”

“You look very familiar,” we all shouted back, still in unison. “But I don’t believe we’ve ever met you before. Who are you?”

But the Man in the Tan Jacket was already skittering, spider-like, up to Pamela, and whispering into her ear. No one could hear what he said, according to my notes, but Pamela seemed to immediately respond to his voice, stopping the mass destruction of her retirement activities and listening intently, occasionally nodding and saying “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Ah-hah!”

And then, miracle of miracles, she stepped away from the podium.

“Mayor Cardinal,” she said, “I would be happy to accept the role of Director of Emergency Press Conferences. Thank you, and I am no longer retired.”

She then asked everyone to meet her tomorrow at 7:00am sharp in the newly-rebuilt Press Conference Gazebo, for her first official emergency press conference in that role.

As for the mysterious man, he of the tan jacket and deerskin suitcase, he turned to the audience, and started a lecture about the place he is from, frequently naming it, and even pointing to it on a map. But any time the name of the place should appear in my notes, the writing has been violently scratched out to the point of tearing through the paper. And then, just blank pages, until a few minutes ago when my notes resume.

So…that’s what happened. Or, at least, according to my notes. It’s entirely possible that during that memory gap, I decided to use my notebook to try out a first foray into realistic fiction, and that something else entirely happened. Who knows which fictional version of the fictional past is true?

And so, listeners, now that we are safe, let us take a moment of deep sympathy for Pamela Winchell. One of the great fears among a life of great fears, perhaps the last great fear is the fear of being no longer useful. We find a role in life, and we do that role to the best of our ability for as long as that ability is there. But all of us – even me, dear listeners – will someday hit a point where we no longer are able to do that thing that we define ourselves by doing. And more than the fear of injury, more than the fear of death, this is the fear that looms. The loss of self. The self that is self we imagined we were our whole lives. But we were never that self, not really. We were only a series of selves, living one role and then leaving it for another. And all the time convincing ourselves that there was no change. That we were always the same person, living the same life. One arc to a finish, not the stutter-stop improvisation that is our actual lives.

Worry less about the person you once were. Or the person you dream you someday will be. Worry about the person you are now. Or don’t even worry! Just be that person. Be the best version of that person you can be. Be a better version than any of the other versions in any of the many parallel universes. Check regularly online to see the rankings.

Pamela Winchell was mayor. And now, she is not. But that does not mean she is not anything. She is still Pamela. She is still a human being. And now, she is also the Director of Emergency Press Conferences. We look forward to the Pamela that is, and whatever Pamela will come after.

Stay tuned next for a world so possible that its very possibility feels constricting.

And of course, goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

Today’s proverb: Most people think pit bulls are dangerous dogs, but – biologically speaking – most pit bulls are just three shih tzus wearing a trenchcoat.