Wednesday, December 26, 2007

msb-0240 Boxing Day

msb-0240 Boxing Day


Feedback comes first, so...

Damn but I'm saddened by Oscar Peterson's passing.


This sort of belongs in YOUR Feed Forward section.

I've been going back over my most downloaded episodes, which is a kind of feedback I guess, and, dang if I didn't have some kick-ass music on those shows.

I sounded like crap but the music was great.

Apart for that, Nuttin' yet...

---- "Tin Sardine Box" by: "Jordan Ogg"

Feed Forward comes next, so...

This is "your" segment.

Say "your" piece on this segment.

Share with other MSers whatever "you" want to share.

Drop me an email: "charles at"

And I would apreciate if someone could write a review of this podcast on iTunes [ ] You can just select the link and, eventually, scroll down the iTunes page to "Customer Reviews"

---- "The Boxer" by: "Carbon Leaf"

Feed Me comes third, so...

Do you have a therapy, product, good or service that is of interest to MSers?

Consider advertising on this podcast.

Reminders on this segment only cost $0.03 per reminder per download of an episode. (A $30CPM targeted at MSers.)

It can/should lead to a full ad, in text, audio or video, which costs $3.00 per download.

That sounds expensive until you do the math and realize that if nobody downloads it it costs you nothing, unlike print, where you often can't even get an ad in to the specialized journals, or radio or TV where you'd just be wasting your money with the 0.0833% MSers rate of return. (That's about six times "below" the level of "statistical noise".)

But MSBPodcast is 100% in your market, and you only pay per download of your material.

No play, no pay.

Reach the MSers who would buy your therapy, product, good or service, with-out having to waste your advertising money on anyone who is "not" interested...

Send me an email at: "charles (at)"

---- "chocolate box" by: "Played all the wrong games"


"Boxing day" [ ] is an interesting holiday.

It began in England.
"The term originates in Victorian era Britain, for the day after Christmas, when the rich would box up gifts and bring them to the poor. The Christmas carol Good King Wenceslas sings about giving gifts of flesh, wine, and pine logs to a poor man on St. Stephen's Day.

The term also refers to the fact that children traditionally opened their money-boxes on this day to access the money they had received over the Christmas period."

---- "A Box" by: "Eddie Ramirez"


What started as a Victorian attempt at assuaging the conscience of the rich by making a token gesture towards the rest of the world, which they had firmly under the thumb of an iron glove, must seem old fashioned and quaint, now that the locus and focus of world power has shifted across the Atlantic.

I wonder: Are we better or wiser than they were?

Perhaps, it goes back to Saturnalia, the ancient Roman holidays from December 17-23 which celebrated the festival of Saturn, at the end of the vintage and harvesting, with feasting and unrestrained merrymaking.

They exchanged presents and offered sacrifices. Masters served their slaves as a token of the equality of rank and the lack of class distinctions during the golden age (which was supposedly ruled over by Saturn).

In this season of mirth and merriment, I find my lips strangely unsmiling and my heart unsettled.

---- "Black Box" by: "Nervosa"


Christmas has always been a strange time of year for me and people like me.

You see us at the doors or the windows of stores holding Boxing Day sales, or whatever the US equivalent is, gazing at the throng inside and shaking our heads, partly in disbelief and partly in bemusement at the feverish acts of greed, lust, unselfish pleasure and the host of other motivations being consummated inside.

Christmas leaves me staring at my fellow man in wonder.

---- "i cant do anything with a box" by: "the other chris hardy"


Is my melancholy an aberration, a passing cloud in the azure sky of my mind, a temporary wisp of smoke, a moment in time, or is it a reflection of my soul?

Am I looking up to the night skies from the surface of a lake or am I floating face down staring unblinking at the inky depths?

Does it really matter?

Life goes on ... until it doesn't.

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