208 - Cecil in The Big City

Hey, y'all, it is Jeffrey Kraner speaking to you from the year 2025.

And did you know that Welcome to Night Vale is back out on tour?

We are.

We're gonna be up in the northeast in the Boston, New York City area, going all the way over to the upper Midwest in Minnesota.

That's in July.

You kind of draw a line through there and you'll kind of see the towns we'll be hitting.

We'll also be doing Philly down to Florida in September.

And we'll be going from Austin all the way up through the middle of the country into Toronto, Canada in October.

And then we'll be doing the west coast plus the southwest plus Colorado in January of 2026.

You can find all of the show dates at welcome to nightvale.com/slash live.

Listen, this brand new live show is so much fun.

It is called Murder Night in Blood Forest, and it stars Cecil Baldwin, of course, Symphony Sanders, me, and live original music by Disparition, and who knows what other special guests may come along for the ride.

These tours are always so much fun, and they are for you, the Die Hard fan, and you, the Night Vale new kid alike.

So, feel comfortable bringing your family, your partner, your co-workers, your cat, whatever.

They don't gotta know what a night veil is to like the show.

Tickets to all of these live shows are on sale now at welcometonightvelle.com/slash live.

Don't let time slip away and miss us when we are in your town because otherwise we will all be sad.

Get your tickets to our live US plus Toronto tours right now at welcometonightveld.com/slash live.

And hey, see you soon.

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I scream.

You scream.

We we all scream.

Then a long moment of dawning horror as our mouths remain open, but no sound is left to save us.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, it's been a while, but I'm happy to say that Carlos and I took a little vacation together.

Just the two of us.

We've had some lovely and peaceful trips to the remote desert and the forest, but never to the big city.

Lately, we've been talking about how fun it would be to see a musical, shop at fancy stores, and take in the myriad cultures of urban life.

Living in what feels like the middle of nowhere, we often forget that the big city is only a couple hours in the car away.

A place that close shouldn't seem exotic, but it really is.

We had a fun time and I can't recommend it enough.

It was a little tough to leave home though.

Our son was in good hands with my family, so we didn't worry.

but we certainly missed him.

Plus, I've been hoping my cat, Koshek, will come back to his home here at the radio station.

I mean, what if he returns when I'm gone?

But Carlos said, Cecil, Koshek's been missing for six months.

You have to come to terms with him being gone for good.

And of course, Carlos is right.

He's so scientific.

So we packed our things and drove out of town.

The first thing we did in the big city was visit Middle Park, a huge expanse of nature right in the center of this thriving metropolis.

There were loads of trees and birds, plus people everywhere enjoying a gorgeous spring day.

Some were skateboarding, others were reading on blankets in the shade, and others were camping in tents made out of hot dogs.

We even saw a political demonstration.

A group of protesters was throwing rocks at the sun.

Wow.

There's always excitement in the big city.

Middle Park also has a beautiful lake where some of the last remaining ichthyosaurs live.

People come from all around to feed them breadcrumbs, bits of ham, whole ducks, and mountain dew flaming hot.

Next to the lake is a dog park.

Now I was blown away by the lack of tall electrified fences around this area.

There were people in the dog park.

And dogs!

I should suggest this for our own dog park at the next Nightvale Town Hall.

The big city is packed with surprises.

I even saw one man who had his cat with him on a leash.

And the cat was so chill and accepting, and

it reminded me of Koshek.

I got sad thinking about him, but it, you know, it passed.

It passed.

We came to the big city to get away, to have fun.

And boy, did we.

But first, financial news:

Once there were many gods, far more than we have today.

These gods had specific jobs.

There was Pokra, the god of acorn caps.

There was Namosthenos, the god of washing trousers, but only in river water.

There was Uzet, the god of cinnamon-flavored dental floss.

But over the millennia of human civilization, these gods were made redundant.

Their duties pass on to fewer and fewer gods who made no more money, but had far more responsibilities.

The remaining gods grew angry.

They were unable to unionize because of the oppressive corpocrisy of the stars, and soon the system began to show the flaws of despecialization.

More prophets.

The void demanded of these celestial rulers.

These gods are merely middle managers of the skies, and they've lost the thread.

Now we have fewer than 30 gods remaining and they're struggling to keep track of everything they have to keep track of.

As a result, the Dow is down 10, the NASDAQ is down 8, and NFTs are silly.

This has been Financial News.

So, after the park, we had reservations at Le Fond de Tout.

the only three-star Michelin restaurant in the big city.

It's postmodern French cuisine, so not only is it delicious, they are quite creative with their presentation.

One of my favorites was the beef bourguignon.

The entree was reduced to its chemical nutritional components, dissolved in a saline solution, and then the waiter came by with an eyedropper and placed three drops in each eye.

Did you know your eyeballs can taste beef?

Well, they can't.

And that's kind of the point.

This restaurant really makes you think.

For dessert, we got to the cherry klefuti.

It's a classical French tart that's traditionally served by a blindfolded man on a 300-horsepower Kawasaki motorbike.

But at La Fond de Tout, our Klefuti were served by a woman in a Luchador mask driving a 1995 Chrysler LeBaron convertible with the top down.

It didn't have the homey charm of the moonlight all night, of course, but it was a once-in-a-lifetime dining experience.

There was one odd moment, though.

As Carlos and I were paying the bill, I noticed an interesting couple one table over, a woman wearing a long cloak, her back to me, and a man dressed in a sharp black suit and tie.

He was so handsome, like in a dangerous way.

I wondered if he were mafia or a spy or some foreign oligarch.

He was frightening, but I couldn't turn my gaze.

Something about his eyes, they were kind.

No,

innocent and gentle.

At one point, the woman put her hand to his cheek.

I swear, it sounded like purring.

It was adorable and strange.

But it also reminded me of Koshek, and that cast a small shadow on our otherwise delightful dinner.

Of course, just then the waiters brought the cart over to serve a single raw carrot tableside, before loudly shouting, a murder has been committed, and wheeling the carrot back into the kitchen uneaten.

And I was once again in the classy fun of Michelin-starred dining.

More soon, but now it's time for one of my favorite segments, Hey there, Cecil.

where I offer advice to some of my listeners.

First question comes from Joseph F.

in Nightvale.

Hey there, Cecil.

So I wrote this show.

It's fiction, all of it.

Nightvale, you, everything.

But then about a year ago, I suddenly found myself living in this town, this town that I made up.

And

this is a hard ask, because as the creator of Nightvale, I feel like I should know the answer.

But how do you leave here?

and get back to the real world.

Well, Joseph F., I'll concede that Nightvale is fiction, in that everything is fiction.

Nothing is real, so you can't get back to the real world because none exists.

But I don't know, if writing got you here, maybe try writing your way back home.

Worth a shot.

Next question.

This one is from Sunita R.

Sunita writes, Hey there, Cecil, what's going on?

Um

Nothing much.

Just

doing my show.

Well, that's all the time we have for Hey there, Cecil.

Thank you, everyone, for writing in.

Okay, back to my trip.

Carlos and I went to see a show in the big city.

Listen, we have some great theater in Nightvale, but...

Nothing beats the glitz and glamour of a stage production in the big city.

Carlos got us center orchestra tickets to see Samuel Beckett's musical extravaganza, Craps, Last Tape, featuring some really catchy numbers like, Alone with a tape deck, and just one man talking very slowly, if at all, and Hello Starkness, my old friend.

You would not believe the huge chorus-line dance routines that this single 70-year-old man performed over no music, just the dull hum of a reel-to-reel machine.

I have never been so blown away by sparse, poetic ennui.

You get your money's worth in production values at these big city shows.

But during the climactic scene, where crap pensively retreats into his memories of youth, I caught a glimpse of one of the loge boxes.

There sat the same couple I had seen at dinner.

Her face was obscured by the hood hood of her cloak, but I recognized the dangerously handsome man by his kind eyes.

They looked completely enraptured by the show, and I was enraptured by them.

Why could I not turn my eyes away?

I see lots of attractive people in this world without needing to gawk at them, so it wasn't that.

Was I suspicious of these two?

Did I know them somehow?

Suddenly, they both turned swiftly and together and and they looked right at me.

I gulped and twisted back toward the play, afraid to look at them.

Were they still staring at me?

Do they think me suspicious?

Do they know who I am?

After a few minutes passed, I slowly turned and saw

they were gone.

They were gone, at least from their seats.

I wouldn't see them again.

Not that night, anyway.

And now, local news.

Nightfails director of emergency press conferences, Pamela Winchell, called an emergency press conference today to address wind.

Wind is just the dumbest possible thing, she announced from her podium, which was just a makeshift stack of milk crates.

Wind makes it so hard to walk.

or to keep your hair nice, or to set your napkin down on a picnic table.

Sure, we can fly kites, but kites are dumb too.

Who are these people that absolutely, above all else, have to fly a kite?

She ranted.

At this point, a gust of wind came along and rustled her notes, which flew up into the air.

Winchell then pointed and pleaded, see?

It's so stupid.

Why should this be happening?

A reporter on the scene asked Winchell why she didn't hold her press conferences indoors.

Winchell stared for an uncomfortably long time at the reporter.

She then pressed a button on her lapel which ignited her jetpack and she flew away, never breaking eye contact with the impertinent journalist.

On our last day in the city, Carlos and I went shopping at a luxury boutique.

Carlos got himself a Salvatore Verigamo lab coat, some Tom Ford safety goggles, and a pair of Louis Vuitton hazmat gloves.

I bought a a maroon beau fur tunic by Dior and matching Dolce and Gavana hunting cap.

I also went to a touristy shop to get some tchotchkis to give as gifts.

I got my sister a snow globe that features the big city's famous statue of eternal fear.

And for my brother-in-law, I got a t-shirt that has the classic big city slogan, If I can make it here, I'm lying to myself.

And I got my niece an official basketball jersey for the Big City Trouser Pants, which is her favorite NBA team.

I love shopping, but I may have overbought.

I had to carry these huge shopping bags around the Big City Museum of Art afterwards.

We wanted to see the new exhibit featuring some of the most prominent names in modern art.

Van Gogh, Cézanne, Monet, Kincaid, all the greats.

Our friend Larry had told us that this was one of the best exhibits going, and he wasn't lying.

We got to see Manet's Autumn Leaves on a Soccer Ball, Gauguin's Broken Bikehorn, and even O'Keefe's Definitely Just a Flower.

Those were all masterpieces, but I was especially taken by one work in particular.

It was a small, maybe 14 by 10-inch painting by George Seurat called Magic Eye Dinosaurs.

It was the first ever work of pointillism, which is a style of 19th century Impressionism that requires the viewer to cross their eyes in just the right order to see a three-dimensional image.

It was stunning.

I got so caught up in staring at this painting, I didn't notice the fire alarm had gone off.

Carlos had to pull me away.

The crowd filed out of the museum, mostly without incident, but one person actually knocked me over.

I didn't see who it was.

I just grumbled, got back up, and walked outside.

My bags felt heavier, but I was in a foul mood and nothing felt right.

I was bummed that our museum trip got cut short.

But then outside, I saw that woman in the cloak.

The one I'd seen at the musical and the restaurant.

I finally saw her face clearly.

And I knew her.

It was Mino.

Carlos and I had gone to see an art exhibit of hers in Nightvale last year.

We both waved and said, Mino, hi, how have you been?

She smiled and waved uncomfortably.

I said,

were you at the musical last night?

I thought I saw you, and who was that handsome fellow?

I was chatting her ear off, but before she could reply, the shifting crowd filled the space between us and her.

When the crowd thinned again, she was gone.

It turned out to be a false alarm at the museum, but Carlos and I were ready to go.

We had a tired, quiet drive home.

Carlos listened to his new favorite podcast, My Brother, Your Brother, and A Cursed Amulet.

We were too exhausted to unpack fully, but I did want to get my gifts wrapped and my new clothes ready for work the next day.

But when I reached into my shopping bag, I felt something

unfamiliar.

It was wooden, rectangular, maybe about 14 by 10 inches.

And I froze.

I didn't want to look.

I didn't want to know what I had inadvertently taken home with me.

Then, a knock

at our door.

Again.

And again.

Finally, my guts quivering in fear, I answered it.

More on that soon, but now, the weather.

Remember the summer when everyone stayed at home.

Ships in a bottle, stacked up with our lives on hold.

If we could

really

see

the warnings that were written before

If we could

really

feel

our hearts would smash all over the floor

Hear me

now,

I can feel the thunder march

me

out

with the fallen number wheel.

There

be

black car waiting

for me.

Keep your loved ones close.

This is surviving, but we're having a goddamn year.

Tired of climbing, but the universe left us here.

And on my worst of days,

I want to keep wanting to be kind.

But everywhere I see,

machines are taking over our minds.

Hear me

now,

I can feel the thunder march

out

with the photon number with

be

blood come waiting

for

me.

Keep your loved ones close.

Even on calm waters, waves will rise

as my heart explodes.

Loving echoes dancing singing in my eyes.

Keep your loved ones close.

Keep your loved ones close.

Keep your loved ones close.

Hear me

now,

I can feel the thunder march

me

out

with the fallen on her wheel.

Baby is there a black I'm waiting

now,

I feel you kind of brush me

out.

The porn's on your way.

There

is there a bad car waiting

for me.

Keep your loved ones close.

You chose to hit play on this podcast today.

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At our door is the dangerously handsome man with kind eyes.

The one from the restaurant and the musical.

He introduces himself as Silas.

Silas, I repeat.

I've heard that name recently.

Silas is holding one of the lost cat posters I had hung around town.

He tells me, I know where your cat is.

Where?

I ask.

He's close by, the man says, and then adds the caveat.

But first, I bumped into you quite by accident in the museum today, and I think one of my belongings ended up in your shopping bag.

Um,

I struggle to respond.

I know I have been played.

I was an easy mark, a wide-eyed, naive tourist in the big city.

First,

he interrupts my feelings of shame and anger, first, I am afraid I ran into you quite hard, and for that, I am sorry.

But I would like my item returned to me.

His kind eyes do not blink.

I cannot ignore his charm, nor his vaguely threatening aura.

I bring him the item still in the shopping bag.

I taken everything out of the bag except his stolen

nope.

I do not assume it is a stolen anything.

Painting or otherwise.

I have not seen the item in question.

I merely hand it over, unseen, in a bag, to this dangerously handsome man with kind eyes, and I say,

here you go.

He nods his thank you rather than saying it, and walks away.

I call out, but what about Koshek?

What about my cat?

The man pauses and without turning around says, he'll be back soon, Cecil.

Maybe not often, but soon.

How do you know my name?

I ask.

I do not see him smile, but I sense it.

He leaves without answering.

That was last night.

This morning, I came back to work and listeners, you'll never believe what I found.

Whom I found.

My cat Koshek returned to the radio station bathroom.

He's not floating four four feet off the ground anymore.

He was standing on the floor.

Above him were his grown kittens, Larry, mixtape, and potato.

Koshik purred and rubbed against my leg, which was so sweet, but also painful because of his sharp caudal spine.

He ruined my brand new designer tunic, but I didn't care.

He'd returned to me.

It was as if the man named Silas told told the cat named Koshik he should visit Cecil again, Cecil who misses him.

Cecil who had always cared for him.

Cecil who had been searching for him for months.

And so

Koshik came back to check on me and his children.

Sadly, he didn't stay long,

but it filled my heart to see him.

And there he was walking around, freed from his fixed point in space.

Cats can't smile, so I couldn't see his happiness, but I could sense it.

He's gone again, but I feel so much better knowing he's okay.

Such is the life of a cat owner.

You can't train them or confine them.

I'm learning this now.

But with his newfound freedom, I hope Koshek is staying out of trouble.

wherever he goes.

Stay tuned next for your own birth.

The simulation had to be reset.

We apologize for the inconvenience.

Good night, Nightvale.

Good night.

Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Night Vale Presents.

It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Kraner and produced by Disparition.

The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin.

Original music by Disparition.

All of it can be found at disparition.bandcamp.com.

This episode's weather was Black Car by Penfriend.

Find out more at penfriend.rocks.

Comments, questions, email us at info at welcometonightvale.com or follow us on Twitter at Nightvale Radio.

Or tell a tree that it's doing quote, a pretty good job, all told.

Check out welcometonightvale.com for info about our live tour of the Northeast and the Midwest that is happening very soon.

Get those tickets.

Today's proverb, put your money where your mouth is.

Right there, near the bottom of your face.

Put your money in there.

Eat it.

Eat your money.

I'm Amy Nicholson, the film critic for the LA Times.

And I'm Paul Scheer, an actor, writer, and director.

You might know me from the League Veep or my non-eligible for Academy Award role in Twisters.

We love movies, and we come at them from different perspectives.

Yeah, like Amy thinks that, you know, Joe Pesci was miscast in Goodfellas, and I don't.

He's too old.

Let's not forget that Paul thinks that Dune 2 is overrated.

It is.

Anyway, despite this, we come together to host Unspooled, a podcast where we talk about good movies, critical hits, fan favorites, must-sees, and in case you missed them.

We're talking Parasite the Home Alone, From Greece to the Dark Knight.

We've done deep dives on popcorn flicks.

We've talked about why Independence Day deserves a second look.

And we've talked about horror movies, some that you've never even heard of, like Kanja and Hess.

So if you love movies like we do, come along on our cinematic adventure.

Listen to Unspooled wherever you get your podcasts.

And don't forget to hit the follow button.

Hi, we're Meg Bashmaner.

And Joseph Fink of Welcome to Night Vale.

And on our new show, The Best Worst, we explore the golden age of television.

To do that, we're watching the IMDb viewer-rated best and worst episodes of classic TV shows.

The episode of Star Trek, where Beverly Crusher has sex with a ghost.

The episode of the X-Files, where Scully gets attacked by a vicious house cat.

And also, the really good episodes, too.

What can we learn from the best and worst of great television?

Like, for example, is it really a bad episode, or do people just hate women?

The best, worst, available wherever you get your podcasts.