Meanwhile, the ghosts of Fred Astaire, King Oliver, Edward Lear and Salvador Dali have congregated over Minnesota, reluctant to disregard the wishes of their respective earth mother, who likens the image of their incorporeal hovering to Yogi Berra sewing his wild oats into vast fields of gabardine. Grudgingly, the seed of an idea takes root, festers, and swoons, much like the bats do. The ghosts relax, play a little golf and laugh it off with an extended bout of didactically eliptical reasoning, sometimes called le flambeau oriange.

Speaking of reasoning, if -- and let's ignore the ramifications of why a reasonably sentient biped would do it in the first place -- if you were to rearrange the letters in Martha Graham's name and combine them with those of Burt Bacharach, Bedrich Smetana, Bob Marley and Fats Domino, you would get "A smart tango march to arachnid home baby hard babble such rimram fate." And I don't think I need to apprise you of its significance.

And then there were two, as in the number of shells not considered vital to tie in a protracted hand of whiskers six-draw, or the amount of meringue comfortably concealed in a stovepipe hat, or even the price of peace at a Federal Communications Commission all- day hearing on financially-impaired public radio stations, such as the one to which you have so willingly in-tuned, and on which you are likely to hear the unsubsidized vocal realizations of Kalvos & Damian today on the 51st episode of the New Music Sesquihour, this portion of which is being brought to you by Kalvos & Damian's New Music Sesquihour, now as always in its pluperfect season.

And, in this radiophonically eclectic world, seasoned is we have become, enabling us to better serve you, our listening audient, with more tunes and fewer bouts of dead air ... most of the time. Also most of the time is, our mothers preserve us, the one who has successfully practiced the art of circular heaving, Kolvas.