February 2019

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141 - Save Dark Owl Records

The prison of your own mind is undergoing budget cuts.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Today I’d like to open the show with a statement from a local business owner, Michelle Nguyen.

Michelle: An insidious presence has invaded our town. That presence is located in the Night Vale mall and is called the Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express. I’ve seen you shopping there, Night Vale, and I want you to know you’re all murderers with the figurative blood of independent record stores dripping from your hands. “No, no” you’ll say, “that isn’t figurative blood, it’s literal barbecue sauce from the Black Angus barbeque bacon burger and it’s delicious!” You’ll keep blathering on how about “Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express keeps thick juicy beef burgers layered in between your albums, so you can flip past them and impulse eat as you shop. It’s so convenient!”
[angrily] Well you know what? Convenience is another words for laziness. When you come to my store, to Dark Owl Records, you have to earn your music! Our extensive underground section is kept literally underground, and you have to dig random holes in the dirt to find it. We don’t provide you with a shovel, you can’t even bring your own. You must use your fingers. Broken knuckles and fingernails peeled back to the quick are the sign of a true music lover. Sometimes, you won’t find music you think you like, but then you realize that the rhythmic grunts and scrapes of bloodied hands into rocky earth is itself music.

Anyway, come to my fundraiser tonight at Dark Owl Records. It’s a party, and parties are the worst, but I don’t have the money to pay my bills anymore and it’s your fault, so just show up and do the right thing, or I’ll go out of business. Ok, thanks!

Cecil: Thank you, Michelle. Our radio station is doing a remote broadcast live today at the Save Dark Owl fundraiser. We’ll do some interviews and there’ll be live bands, and it should be a lot of fun. Hope you see you down here, Night Vale! Come show your support for local small business.

But first, a word from our sponsor. Today’s program is brought to you by the Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express. The popular franchise mashup had its grand opening only three weeks ago and is already a booming success. From their regional frosty treats, like the cactus thorn malt, to their wide selection of best of complication albums. There’s something for everyone at Food Barn Gladtown Records Express. And by popular demand, there’s now extra fry sauce on everything, including the Bluetooth headphones. You don’t even have to ask for it. You have to ask if you don’t want fry sauce, and you have to give a good reason why not, like uh, a signed doctor’s note. Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express. Your community entertainment culture conglomerate.

And now, a public service announcement.

Deb: Hey old friends! Corporeal humans, cor-corporeal humans, former babies, future corpses, this is Deb, a sentient patch of haze, speaking for the department of motor vehicles. We know you haven’t heard from us in a while. But [blows raspberry] we haven’t heard from you either. Relationships are a, [clicks tongue] two-way street, so to speak. But [hiccups], I know there’s been some tension and things have gotten a little weird between us. No need to get into that right now. Or ever again, as far as we’re concerned. But if you wanna come over some time and just talk, just say hi or anything, then the department of motor vehicles will be opening our doors for one hour every weekday between 2 and 3. That’s all we have to give emotionally right now. Self..care. We would like to see you again though just to [emotionally] hear your voice. We hope you’ve been doing well. [hiccups] We’re a little drunk, and it’s late. Man, we just got done watching Carol for the third time in a week. [angrily] And you haven’t really been posting on social media lately, so we just wanna know what’s going on with you. [drinking noises] Again, no pressure, no strings attached, and if it gets crowded you could always take a number as usual. But the DMV wants you to know whether your number 19 or 99, you’re always number 1 to us! [snorts] [cries] We, we miss you. We miss you.

Cecil: Listeners, we’re here live at Dark Owl Records, and the fundraiser is getting off to a great start! People are buying shards of records they dug out of the ground, there’s a cake with thick black frosting and undulating tendrils. Mm, looks delicious! There’s an effigy of the Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express with a lot of long pins sticking out of it. And at the center of all the excitement is Dark Owl owner herself, Michelle Nguyen, and her girlfriend Maureen. What a treat! Hey you two, wanna say hello to all of Night Vale? Ah that’s weird. Uh, Michelle sent me a text right now while simultaneously staring unblinkingly into my eyes from three feet away. Uh, her text says: “We heard the spot you did for Burger Barn Gladtown Rec Ex and we are not speaking to you at this time. Please leave my party, Cecil.” Oh I get it, oh no, this is a, a simple misunderstanding, Michelle. See, in radio journalism, we have a moral responsibility to play ads and make lots of money. I see where you’re confused. Does that help clear things up? Aaand Maureen is pouring ice coffee all over my laptop. I’ll go find a towel, while you go to the weather.

[A Pale Sun Rises Over New York" by Scrawnyman, https://scrawnyman.bandcamp.com]

Michelle: Hey, this is Michelle. Cecil had to go away, but there was a hastily assumed agreement I would take over the show while he’s gone, so here I am, Michelle. Broadcasting live from my own party, which is better than mingling with people and being all social and stuff, right? Uh, no offense to anyone who’s here, but this is the first party I’ve ever agreed to attend and it was only out of desperation. I mean, all parties are born out of some form of desperation. Ugh, parties are the worst! I wish everyone would go home. No, no, don’t go home, it’s so nice that you’re here… I guess. But you know what else is nice? Being alone. Or mostly alone. That’s really what independent record stores stand for, you know? Individuality, independence, isolation. Don’t follow the herd, go home, be alone. It’s the best. 

Oh shoot, I was afraid something like this would happen. I mean, everything’s fine, there’s just a little situation out back. I’m gonna hand the mic over to Maureen while I deal with this.

Maureen: Um, hello? Hey, uh, this is Maureen. Don’t be scared or anything. A-actually be scared, but not about what I’m going to tell you. So what happened is some people were digging in the underground music section and the ground kind of split apart and now there’s a giant, like arthropod thing. Uh, it’s tearing people’s limbs off and whatever. Seems really mad and people are screaming, there’s like a lot of blood, blood is so stupid. But Michelle has it under control now. She’s kicked out everyone but the spider crustacean thing, because it was the only one who wasn’t being fake about its love of music. So yeah um, come on down to the store. Uh remember: we’re here to save Dark Owl! And even though the biggest section is the not for sale rack, there’s still a lot of great things to choose from. I know that some of the best things I’ve ever found have been here. Michelle, for one. Uh, don’t tell her I said that.

Also earlier today, I was crawling around inside the ventilation system, and I thought it would be really narrow and claustrophobic like air closed shafts usually are, but actually it kept growing wider and taller until I could stand up and walk around. I could even run if I wanted to. The ducts and passageways unfolded in front of me and I felt totally lost, but in a good way. I ran and ran and somewhere along the way I lost my flashlight and it didn’t matter. I could see with a sense other than vision, maybe it was taste. Ductways tasted like an everything bagel, and that guided my way. Then I could taste voices outside the vents. A voice I knew well was talking to a customer about a color limited edition single of “Love Will Tear Us Apart” on one side and “Love Will Keep Us Together” on the other. The record’s cover art depicted the eruption of Mount St Helens, but like a year before it actually happened, which makes it super valuable. I followed the taste of their voices, which was like green apples but the artificial candy flavor version, and I ended up in the obsolete media bunker behind the register, where I lay down on a pile of warm Sheena Easton singles and CD-roms filled with corrupted Limewire files. And that’s where I am now. Aand I’m gonna take a nap. Bye! [snoring]

Michelle: Hey Night Vale, I’m back. It’s all under control now. Sorry, I have kind of a contentious relationship with my neighbor Matt. He’s a 15-foot coconut crab that lives underneath the lot behind our store. We usually get along OK, but he really does not like parties, and I should have told him in advance, but I was busy and totally forgot, so my bad. Anyway, I let Matt eat the patrons who were wearing airpods and he was happy, so the party is still going strong. Most of the people are dead or have been kicked out, but I wanna make it clear that the party is still happening. So come on down to Dark Owl Records and save our store! Honestly, things are so much better now that everyone’s gone, so this is really the perfect time to show up. We have some special listening stations where you can browse all your favorite genres, like silence, post-silence, proto-silence, under-silence… I know you guys might not have heard of under-silence yet, but that’s like when the headphones are projecting what’s inside of you back into your own ears and you can hear your internal organs processing blood and fluids, and you’re filled with the awe of how all these seemingly archaic gooey parts can possibly work together to keep you alive and functioning, and you eventually pass out and/or vomit.

[sighs] I really don’t know what I’ll do if I have to leave this place. I’ve spent so much time here, I don’t even remember where my house is. One night after work, I walked down the street I thought it was on, but nothing looked familiar. And I kept walking for hours. I finally saw my house, but when I walked in, the door opened into the kitchen instead of the living room, and there was this family I’d never seen before eating dinner. There were four large serving bowls of mashed root vegetables on the table. The family didn’t notice me at all, they ate their mush and talked about their days. The mom was worried about the new boss at work, and the son forgot to go to his dentist appointment, and the daughter had a chemistry test that went okay. I didn’t want to freak them out, so I et myself out the back door and kept walking until it as morning. And in the cacophonous creak of dawn, I ended up back at Dark Owl just in time to open for the new day. And it didn’t matter, you know, that I couldn’t find my house because –

Wait, what’s this? An empty-eyed courier child just handed me an envelope. There’s a, there’s a check inside, and it’ a coupon for something called the “100 percent fish hot dog”, and a hand written note. It says, “Hello, my name is Jules, and I’m the franchise owner at the new Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express. Here is the rest of the money for your fundraising goal. When you become a franchise owner like me, you’ll think to yourself, ‘oh cool I’m an entrepreneur now, I’m going to be my own boss. I’m finally going to have agency in my life, you know?’ At least that’s what I thought when I filled out he online personality test that told me I had what it takes. I’m a type 23: outgoing but grounded. I’m detail-oriented but I can also see the big picture. I’m competitive, but I follow the rules. Classic type 23.” The note goes on. “But there are so many rules, Michelle. You have to conform when you’re in a franchise. And if you don’t, you’ll go under. Not merely monetarily, but to this place they refer to only as the cavern. If you end up there, you don’t ever come out again. Anyway, one rule is that we need at least one business competitor to remain open at all times. Until our lobbyists overturn the Sherman anti-trust act, we need Dark Owl Records to stay in business. So please take this money. I don’t wanna go to the cavern. Please, Michelle. Sincerely, Jules.”

OK, not sure how to deal with this right now if I’m honest. This person opened up a rival record franchise, and now they wanna give me money from their corporation to stay in business? I dunno. I need to go soul searching. I need to listen to some ambient room tone tracks used under famous movie scenes. I really like the one from the diner in “When Harry Met Sally”. Whatever, I guess. [steps, door closes]

[steps]
Cecil: Night Vale, I’m so sorry I left you. I went to get a towel to clean up the spilled ice coffee, and there was this giant spider lobster thing, he-he cornered me and I couldn’t escape. He just kept talking and talking and god, he was boring! The worst person to run into at a party. I didn’t know how to get out of the conversation without being rude, uh I finally said I’d go grab us both a slice of cake and sidled out of there. I hope everything went OK while I was gone. Let’s see. Oh, there’s no one really left. The radio gear has been abandoned except a sleeping Maureen under my chair. There’s an inordinate amount of blood on the floor, and hey looks like the little cardboard thermometer that shows the fundraising goal has been fully colored in! Wow! We did it Night Vale! I guess that means there’s enough money to keep Dark Owl in business, at least through this month’s bills. That’s the thing about bills, they keep happening.

Well, whatever the future holds, the party was clearly a success. As was this ultra fun remote broadcast. So music lovers, kick back, put on your fry sauce-dosed headphones, listen to your newly purchased album shards, and put some vitamin E cream on those knuckles! Stay tuned next for the cla-cla-clack of CD cases being browsed, like a fluttery little heartbeat in the darkness.

Good night,
Night Vale,
Good night.

Today’s proverb: A good way to tell if an artistic idea is worthwhile is to remember that the most successful video game of all time is “a plumber steps on turtles”, so who knows?

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142 - Ufo Sighting Reports


As abpve, so below.
As for the middle,
Well, who knows.

Welcome to Night Vale.

We start today, as we often do, with the latest UFO sighting reports in the community.

Friday, 5:20 AM. The staff of the Desert Spring Tuberculosis Research center and Medication Retreat reported a luminous object out over the neighborhood across the highway. The object resembled a straw hat and had an apparent speed of 150 miles per hour, and apparent altitude of 2,000 feet. The staff recalled that the object illuminated the ground brightly, as they could see Leah Shapiro at the window of her house, receiving a phone call and then collapsing to her living room floor with a hand over her mouth. This was perfectly visible despite the sun not having yet risen.

Friday, 5:28 AM. Leann Hart, editor of the Night Vale Daily Journal, was preparing for a day of hard-hitting journalism. She does this using a dummy that she has set up in the back yard and labeled with a sign saying “Pivot to video”. She was just about to launch into her usual routine of hacking at this dummy for two and a half hours with a pair of hatchets made from pure silver, while screaming in fury, when she was stopped by a sight in the sky. An object the size and shape of a bus, and also having all other characteristic of a bus, was soaring over her. It flew at an apparent altitude of 500 feet, making no sound at all, and Leann tracked it for several minutes before losing sight of it. She said that she reacted like anyone would: by flinging a hatchet at it and shouting: “You’re not welcome here.”

Friday, 5:34 AM. My niece Janice was up early, because it was finally time to take the pre-SAT, and she didn’t want to feel hurried. She had been with herself long enough to know that feeling hurried kills any sense of momentum or order for the rest of the day, and makes her feel like she’s trying and failing to catch up with herself. Better to force herself out of bed into the cold of a winter desert morning than to feel behind herself later on. She had gone out into the front yard to get a bit of fresh air, and had waved to Leah Shapiro who was rushing out of her house and did not seem to notice the greeting, when Janice saw the craft. A red ellipsoidal object rose from behind the line of houses. At first, Janice thought it might just be a particularly quick sunrise, but soon realized the object was only the size of a small table and was right above her. Remembering what Tamika had taught her during team militia camp, Janice grabbed a heavy stone from the yard, but the object was already withdrawing. Janice yelled to ask if Leah had seen it too, but Leah was driving away. So Janice went back inside and made herself a smoothie. She feels she did pretty good on the pre-SAT.

Friday, 5:41 AM. Dana Cardinal, no longer mayor, who carries with her what she has done, but now also carries the possibility of what she could do next, was driving around the city. She does this sometimes, an aimless circle of a town that once had been her responsibility, but now is not and never will be again. The town wihout a mayor. This is a problem, but it is not her problem. She had just been passed by Leah Shapiro, who was going some 20 miles over the speed limit, when Dana spotted three sparkling objects in an equilateral formation, approximately 20 feet from each other at an apparent altitude of 100 feet. She shrugged and turned back to her aimless driving. This was no longer her problem.

Friday, 5:53 AM. Sarah Sultan, who is the president of the Night Vale Community College and also a smooth, fist-sized river rock, was driving to work. She had to get in early because of an all-department meeting to address the lingering effects of the rabbit infestation the college suffered five years ago. And she was still fuming from yesterday when the DMV had threatened to take away her license on the ground that no one understood how a smooth, fist-sized river rock was even capable of operating a car. She had had to take the driving test all over again, and while she got a perfect score and retained her license, that had been time robbed from her that she would never get back. Leah Shapiro, ahead of her in the lane, slowed down to turn into the Night Vale Community Hospital parking lot, and Sarah swerved around her, unwilling to wait for the turn to complete. As she did that, she saw a spherical body in the sky at an elevation of about 1,000 feet. It was a dozen centimeters across in apparent size and whirled around in a small circle of 30 feet in apparent diameter before rising up into the clouds.

Friday, 8:09 AM. Nilanjana Sikdar stood just outside of the hospital. She was there for a minor procedure, but it didn’t feel minor to her. She didn’t like hospitals, didn’t like the implications of what might happen there, didn’t like the doctors that appear and disappear randomly from room to room, and didn’t like thinking about all that can misfire and misalign in her own body. She sighed, looked up at the building, and saw through the window Leah Shapiro with tears rolling down her face. She was holding the hand of someone in a hospital bed, and she was telling the patient a story, it seemed. Perhaps reminiscing about some shared event from much earlier in both of their lives. More importantly, Nilanjana saw two flying objects in the reflection of the glass. She turned to see them fly west by north to north by east, radiant blue in the center and red around the edges. Then, knowing that not even UFOs could save her from necessary medical treatment, she turned to the building and trudged inside.

Friday, 11:15 AM. High school senior Josh Crayton was in the Ralphs parking lot showing off to his friends by turning himself into any tree they named.
“Oak,” they shouted and he was an oak. “Spruce,” another shouted.
“Too easy,” he told them. “Reginald,” one said and Josh took the form of Reginald from the nearby Whispering Forest.
When he was in that tree form, he could see all the way over the roof of the Ralphs, and he saw a luminous flying object that’s upper half was covered in a curling mist or smoke. It was 40 degrees in elevation above the horizon and approximately the brightness of a new moon on a cloudless night. “Whoa,” said Josh. “Man,” said one of his friends. “It’s so weird to see a tree talk like that.”

Friday, 12:02 PM. Lorelei Alvarez had been called into work. It was never good news when she was called into work. No one ever rang her phone and said, “Hello, is this Lorelei Alvarez, Night Vale coroner? We’re super happy to need your help!”
No. It is always the same hushed tones and hushed pain, tight and business like. She was thinking all of this as she had her coffee and steeled herself for what she would have to go do, when she saw an object in the midday sky. It left a multicolored trail as it moved, going to the west slowly and finally disappearing. “That doesn’t help me at all,” she said and poured the rest of her coffee down the sink.

Friday, 12:10 PM. Tamika Flynn was on her way to the hospital to check in on 14-year-old Gerald Sanders who had been injured at teen militia camp while practicing evasive maneuvers, which is what they call dodgeball. He had badly twisted his ankle and even though Tamika knew it wasn’t her fault, she felt guilt all the same, and then felt guilt over her guilt, as she knew she should not feel guilt over things that were not her fault. As she entered the hospital, she looked across the lot back where Leah Shapiro was standing, tears covering her face. Leah was standing at the parking payment machine, her lips moving soundlessly, her eyes staring blankly at the screen in front of her, and her hands frozen at her side. More importantly, behind Leah, a silver star shining conspicuously in the day-lit sky, moving from east to west, passing in and out of clouds, and changing altitude constantly.

Friday, 1:20 PM. Deb, the sentient patch of haze, was on her way out of a meeting with her representation. She was unhappy with the advertising gjobs they had been securing for her, finding that nothing they were sending her out on caused enough harm to humanity.
“Get me out there selling the really toxic and dangerous stuff, something with side effects or at least some carcinogens,” she told them as she pounded the table with her fists and stormed out. An action that was difficult due to her ethereal and fistless nature.
As she left, she saw a cylindrical UFO, a greenish bronze with a three to one ratio of length to thickness.
“Oh buzz off, buster,” she told it.

Friday, 2:27 PM. Amber Akinye was taking a break from her job at the Diego and Diego and Diego and Diego and Diego funeral home. The one that was opened recently on Araburus Road by those very nice quintuplets. Amber was exhausted after talking Leah Shapiro through all the options. The funeral would happen in just two days, and there was so much to do and to decide. Amber thought that Leah was holding on pretty well, but still, it was a lot for both of them. Maybe Amber was too empathetic to work a job like this. She hated to think of empathy as weakness, but she only had so much energy to give. As she was thinking this, she saw a golden colored oblong at a high altitude in the sky above, moving at a steady speed in a five-degree upward climb.
“I just got this job,” Amber thought, “I should give it more. I’ll give it more time.”

Fridya, 5:15 PM. Lieutenant Regis of Unit 7 of the Local National Guard Station and KFC Combo Store was standing guard as usual, and witnessed an (anchor) shaped ring of light to the southwest, and at apparent altitude of 200 feet. He waved. “Enjoy the weekend!” he shouted. “See ya on Monday!”

Friday, 8:09 PM. Janice Rio from down the street was having dinner at the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. She had ordered a Greek salad with chicken on it and was feeling comfortably superior to Leah Shapiro in the next booth over, who was on her second plate of fries. As she sat with this great sense of self, Janice glanced outside and saw a yellow ball of light with a diameter of more than 20 inches hanging in the sky. It hung silently for two minutes and then disappeared. “Good riddance,” Janice muttered and returned to her salad.

We pause briefly from our UFO sighting reports to take in something far stranger:
The weather report.

[“Color TV” by Answering Machine, https://answeringmachine.bandcamp.com/]

Saturday, 12:01 AM. Leah Shapiro parked in front of her house, but she didn’t find the will to go in. What was there for her but the echo of a daily routine that would see no more days? So instead she drove out to the scrublands. It was chilly, but that felt good to her. It felt like she had been uncomfortably warm for a long while, and this was the first time that the temperature had been right. (-) bit at her ankles, she didn’t have the right shoes for this kind of walk, but here she was, walking. The night was completely clear. The moon was a careful situation. As she walked, Leah tried her best to sort through her feelings. It was obvious to her which feeling she should have in this moment. Mourning, a wild grief, a sadness that would never be cured by however many decades of slow forgetting she had left. This was what others had assumed she was feeling and so those were the emotions they managed.
“This must be quite difficult,” the doctor had said professionally.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sure you loved her very much,” the woman at the funeral home had said empathetically.
“Oh my god, you poor thing, you must be bereft!” said Laura at the Moonlite All-Nite Diner with a deep sincerity, and then she had taken Leah’s order of us many French fries as can fit on a plate. Laura had brought two plates.


But the truth is that Leah did not feel mourning, grief, or sadness. She supposed that those feelings would not come, she hoped they did, because she didn’t know what it would mean for herself if they did not. However, emotions are not domestic creatures that can be summoned with a whistle. They are wild and they move as they please. So try as she might to access her sadness, Leah couldn’t. What she could find, to her horror and shame, was relief. She felt so relieved, and she felt free. She felt absolutely free and completely relieved, and she felt that she must be the worst person in the world for feeling those things.
“What is wrong with me?” she said, and nothing that heard her answered except a lone coyote, who started and fled to a warm groove in the earth, where he felt safe from predators.
There was nothing wrong with Leah. She was free, and she felt relieved. Later she would feel sadness, sadness that’s vast shape would hardly be conveyed by such a simple word, but not now. Now she walked until she couldn’t see her car, until the lights of Night Vale disappeared behind the hill, until it seemed possible that no other person lived on the Earth. As she stood there, a silver craft descended from the sky. It rotated above her, brilliant, multicolored lights coming from windows on all sides. She watched it hover, and then watched as it rose back up into the sky, until it was indistinguishable from all the other wandering stars.
“Huh,” she said, and began the long walk back to her car.

This has been UFO sighting reports.

Good night,
Night Vale,
Good night.

Today’s proverb: In Europe, instead of cell phone, they say mobile. Instead of arugula, they say rocket. Instead of letting you die because of lack of health insurance, they take care of you when you’re sick. It’s a weird place.