Bonus - PodCon and the 2nd Imaginary Symphony

Hey hey, Jeffrey Craner from welcome to Night Vale here.

Apart from Night Vale, we make other podcasts.

If you're already a big Night Vale fan, check out Good Morning Night Vale, where cast members Meg Bashwiner, Symphony Sanders, and Hal Lublin break down each and every episode.

Or if you're looking for more weird fiction, there's Within the Wires, an immersive fiction podcast written by me and novelist Janina Mathewson.

Each season is a standalone tale told in the guise of found audio.

Finally, maybe you like horror movies or are scared of horror movies but are horror curious, check out Random Number Generator Horror Podcast Number 9, where me and the voice of Night Vale Cecil Baldwin talk about a randomly drawn horror film.

We have new episodes every single week.

So that's Good Morning Nightvale Within the Wires and Random Horror 9.

Go to nightvalepresents.com for more or get those podcasts wherever you get your podcasts.

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Hey, it's me, this guy, and I'm here with a bonus episode for two reasons.

One is I want to tell you about a new event we're hoping to create, and the other is I want to introduce you to the Orbiting Human Circus's lovely between-season special presentation, The Second Imaginary Symphony.

So we are organizing a brand new podcast convention with Travis McElroy of My Brother, My Brother and Me and the Adventure Zone, and Hank Green and his team of convention makers behind, well, a ton of cool conventions, including VidCon.

This convention will be called PodCon and will be taking place on December 9th and 10th in Seattle.

This will be a podcast convention for fans of podcasts, whether you also happen to make a podcast or not.

We want it to be a celebration of podcasting as an art form by the listeners for the listeners.

We already have confirmed live shows from My Brother, My Brother and Me, Lore, Alice Isn't Dead, Bad With Money, Dear Hank and John, and more.

Plus panels, workshops, and games with the cast and crew of Welcome to Nightfale, Criminal, The Orbiting Human Circus, and more, and that's just our first round of invites.

In order to get a sense of the scope of the event, we are currently running an Indiegogo campaign.

The more we raise now, the bigger we can make the event, and the more podcasts we can invite.

Tickets with the Indiegogo are cheaper than they will be after, and some of the benefits just won't be available after this campaign ends.

Plus, there are options for remote attendance, so even if you can't make it to Seattle in person, you can still make it to Seattle in your computer.

All of the info on that and the Indiegogo are at podcon.com.

Now there's only a few days left on this campaign, so that's podcon.com.

And now, from Seattle, I take you to Paris.

The Orbiting Human Circus is presenting a self-contained between-season special presentation, the Second Imaginary Symphony.

What follows is the first part of this.

If you enjoy it, be sure to subscribe to the Orbiting Human Circus to hear the rest.

And hey, thanks.

This is August Plum.

You are listening to the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation.

Of course, it is holiday time, and across Paris, we begin celebrating the month-long lead-up to our Platypus Eve, a distinctly Parisian holiday now celebrated across the globe, observing the hatching of the great recitating platypus of the North.

The platypus, of course, believed by generations of French schoolchildren to visit them when illness strikes, recite poetry while they sleep, thereby restoring them to health by the time they awake.

And as we do every year, at the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation, we begin at the start of this notable month with our great Parisian Platypus time tradition, the broadcast of the Second Imaginary Symphony.

As you all know, the Second Imaginary Symphony, a program now synonymous with the Platypus Holiday, was discovered 40 years ago by a trash collector in a refuse bin.

The trash collector taking home the cassette-marked Second Imaginary Symphony, expecting music, playing the strange story it contained instead at his own family's platypus Eve gathering.

Loving the story.

Several family members requesting copies of the tape so began the copying and passing on of the symphony from family to family, from street to street, until its listening became as much a part of the platypus of tradition as sending your children to school dressed as a platypus or constructing a gigantic platypus out of household items in front of one's home.

Bringing us to the present day where the broadcast of the second imaginary symphony is now considered the official beginning of the holiday season in Paris.

The symphony will be broadcast in four parts, each one ushering in a new stage in our month-long celebration of the platypus.

And now,

officially beginning our platypus holiday, this is Augustus Plum, and I give you the second Imagine Symphony.

This

is Nye's neighborhood.

Just over that hill, factories, soon to be full of busy grown-ups hard at work.

And this is Nye Street, Telegraph Road.

There's the milkman

every morning.

He delivers a full-day supply of dairy products to all the houses on Nye Street.

And this big white house?

This is Nye's house.

And this is Nye.

He's running down the stairs, though his grandmother has told him not to.

Ordinarily, it would now be time for Nai to go to school.

But since it's vacation time, Nye is free to stay at home with his grandmother and play.

Nye's grandmother is blind and sometimes needs his help with household household chores,

such as sweeping,

doing wash,

taking out the garbage,

and making trips to the supermarket.

Walking home from the supermarket, Nye hears the distant song of the fire siren.

The fire siren sits perched high atop its red brick engine house, luring firemen away from their families and homes.

It is now the dinner hour.

Time for the turning sound of latch keys to echo throughout the land as grown-ups arrive home from work.

Some arrive by automobile.

Some arrive by bicycle.

And others on foot.

This is Mr.

Ackerman, Nye's neighbor and friend.

Mr.

Ackerman works at the big factory just over the hill.

Nye always looks forward to seeing Mr.

Ackerman.

You see, some time ago, Mr.

Ackerman confided in Nye, a matter of great importance.

Nye had begun to wonder just what it was that the big factory over the hill was making.

Having whiled away many a twilight admiring the great factory,

Nye had come to know each of its towering smokestacks and flashing lights.

But as for what it was that the great factory made,

of this even his grandmother was not quite sure.

When asked at first, Mr.

Ackerman did not answer.

He regarded Nye silently.

and after a long pause, said only,

Nothing of interest, Nye.

Nothing of interest,

and continued on his way.

This, however, served only to pique the nine-year-old's curiosity.

And upon arriving home, Mr.

Ackerman found the little boy still following close behind him.

I promise you, Nye, what goes on inside the walls of that factory is of no interest to little boys, or anyone else for that matter.

Now, please, Nye, I've had a long day, and I'm tired.

And with that, Mr.

Ackerman waved goodbye and disappeared into his house, closing the door firmly behind him.

There was nothing for Nye to do but to stare for a moment at the closed door before him and walk silently away.

Mr.

Ackerman had never spoken so coldly to him before, and Nye was unsure of how to react.

He did, however, know one thing for sure.

Mr.

Ackerman was not in the least bit interested in discussing what he did all day at that factory.

Why?

He wondered.

Nye thought about the sorts of things grown-ups do not like to talk about.

Usually, Nye had found that they fell into two categories.

First, things that embarrassed or made the grown-up uncomfortable.

And second,

And this was the good one, things unfit for the ears of a little boy.

He decided that he would have to be patient and show Mr.

Ackerman that, though not entirely fond of most grown-ups, he himself was grown-up enough to be trusted, even with things unfit for the ears of a little boy.

He would have to play it cool and wait until the time was right before asking again.

However, it was upon arriving home from work the very next day that Mr.

Ackerman found the little boy following close behind him once again

hello nye mr ackerman said and with a sigh opened the door and beckoned for nye to come in

once inside mr ackerman remained silent for a time he sat nye down at the kitchen table clearing off from it several tools and a strange two-pronged object that he appeared to have been working on

and put some water up on the kettle to boil.

Pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor, Mr.

Ackerman appeared to be lost in thought until at last the small kettle came to a boil and Mr.

Ackerman began to speak.

Do you know where clouds come from, Nye?

asked Mr.

Ackerman.

Sir, said Nye.

Clouds, Nye, clouds,

said Mr.

Ackerman.

Nye shook his head.

Try as he might, Nye could not remember learning much of anything about clouds in school.

So no one has ever told you?

Well, of course not.

It is a secret.

Mr.

Ackerman cleared his throat in the manner of someone about to give a long speech.

It's been said, Nye, that clouds are made up of fine droplets of water, or tiny ice crystals, which are continually evaporating, while new droplets or crystals appear through the condensation of water vapor.

Wow, said Nye.

This,

said Mr.

Ackerman,

is not true.

Falling again to silence, Mr.

Ackerman looked to Nye as though he were about to say something very important.

I am going to confide in you, Nye, began Mr.

Ackerman,

a great secret.

And the men who bear a great secret such as this, Nye, must never, never breathe a word of it to another.

Not even to their grandmothers.

Men have given their lives, he said,

and seeing that Nye was visibly impressed, fell into a dramatic silence that Nye was sure betrayed his enormous respect for the dead.

With an air of great dignity, Mr.

Ackerman poured himself a cup of tea, adding to it a drop of clear liquid from his silver flask, and sat himself down at the table.

But then just as it seemed he was about to speak, something strange happened.

The look on Mr.

Ackerman's face changed.

It was no longer one of dignity, but the look of someone who had suddenly come to his senses to find himself quite ashamed.

And all at once it looked very much to Nye as though Mr.

Ackerman had changed his mind and was about to say nothing at all.

Please, Mr.

Ackerman, please, pleaded Nye,

who in all his wildest dreams had never imagined that the big factory harbored a secret so important and could contain his curiosity no more.

I won't tell anyone, I promise.

Mr.

Ackerman glanced at the little boy, and looking slightly defeated, clasped his work-worn hands.

It was quite clear to him that there was little hope of shaking the boy's interest now.

Okay,

he said, and took in a deep, deep breath.

I am a member of the Secret Society of Cloud Makers.

My father was a cloudmaker.

My father's father was a cloud maker.

And now I, too, am a cloud maker.

Our clouds are distributed across the globe, Nyai.

Made right here,

and sent wherever they are needed to shade people from the angry sun.

This is our secret, Nai.

Our secret and calling.

A solemn duty for which we must never, ever take credit.

How come?

asked Nye.

How come?

repeated Mr.

Ackerman, searchingly.

Well,

you see, Nye, began Mr.

Ackerman, a cloud is a powerful thing.

As long as a cloud is considered a happenstance of nature,

then it's a helpful and friendly thing.

But should this power to create and control clouds be in the hands of all men,

well,

consider nations at war, nye.

Imagine what would happen if one nation were simply to steal all of its enemy's clouds, leaving the other's earth infertile or scorched.

Or worse, fill the other's sky with thousands of cumulus clouds.

perpetuating a torrential downpour that need not ever end.

Why, it would be the end of us all.

That is why the cloudmakers have always been men and women without a country or a faith with no allegiance at all,

but to the clouds themselves.

With that, Mr.

Ackerman looked upwards with a gleam in his eye, as though he could see right through the kitchen ceiling, the clouds in the sky above.

Our secrets are passed down from generation to generation, I.

We pose always as ordinary citizens, our factories, disguised to look no different than any of the others in their midst.

Why, as far as the outside world is concerned, our factory exists solely for the production of the three-pronged one-slot widget.

At this, Mr.

Ackerman chuckled.

Trucks full of the things travel to and from our factory all day.

They arrive full, and so they leave.

Of course, we do keep a good deal of these widgets on hand, in case of a visit from the outside world.

But who wants to visit the widget factory?

Men and women toiling for hours on end with molten ore and soldering irons, riveting rivets until they can no longer even feel their fingertips.

No one.

And if they did, they'd never be allowed to pass the front gate.

Not without an appointment.

Are all widget factories really cloud factories?

asked Nye.

Mr.

Ackerman shook his head.

No, Nye, no.

I suppose most any factory could be a cloud factory.

You never know, and that's the point.

No one does.

That is, except for the cloud makers.

And I've even heard tell of people who worked at cloud factories, who, for security reasons, hadn't even the slightest idea.

How?

asked Nye.

By the same process usually reserved only for unexpected visitors.

Atomic hypnosis.

Atomic hypnosis?

It's just like ordinary hypnosis, only much, much smaller.

These people go to work every day, completely unaware of how entirely irreplaceable and important they are.

All they see is an ordinary factory.

in which they are asked to perform only the most mundane of tasks, never for a moment suspecting the incomprehensibly beautiful process in which they are taking part.

Do they ever find out?

No, I don't believe that most of them ever do.

How come?

Well, you see, Nye, atomic hypnosis is a very powerful thing.

It doesn't seem fair, said the little boy, quite visibly disappointed.

Fair?

said Mr.

Ackerman.

Fair?

I don't know.

I am afraid, though, that it might be necessary.

It's just not easy for people to believe themselves capable of such great things, Nye.

It's simple insecurity.

And as a matter of security, insecurity is simply not to be tolerated.

A secret such as this can be put at risk for no one.

You told me, said Nye,

causing the flicker of shame to return to Mr.

Ackerman's face once more.

I...

I live alone here, Nye.

I haven't any children with whom to share my secrets.

Mr.

Ackerman poured himself another cup of tea, emptying into it more of the clear liquid from the silver flask in his front pocket.

The life of a cloud maker, Nye,

it's a lonely thing.

To the outside world, we must purposely appear as unremarkable as possible.

We lead lives designed to attract very little attention.

And sometimes, Nye,

sometimes

we attract no attention at all.

Mr.

Ackerman's gaze turned down upon the kitchen table.

When you grow up someday, Nye, you'll come to understand that there are some things in life that,

if you don't share them,

well, they can fade.

Grown men have been known to disappear into thin air.

Though still in the room with him, Mr.

Ackerman looked to Nye to be far, far away.

You're a good boy, Nye, said Mr.

Ackerman, and I believe I can trust you.

With that, Mr.

Ackerman excused himself and withdrew to the bathroom.

Nye, who had been sitting quietly and attentively, for much longer than would normally be expected of a boy his age on vacation, began to wander about the house in Mr.

Ackerman's absence.

After all, thought Nye,

I have never been in the house of a cloud maker before.

In the living room, a little to the left of the front door, Nye noticed a large yellow raincoat hanging from a wooden coat rack.

Whereas normally A large yellow raincoat hanging from a wooden coat rack would be of little interest to a boy like Nye,

this large yellow raincoat appeared to be covered from top to bottom in no less than a full inch of undisturbed dust.

This struck Nye to be rather odd.

As Nye reached out to touch the dusty coat with an outstretched finger, Mr.

Ackerman stepped into the room and with a booming voice that scared and startled Nye cried, Don't touch that!

Now I told you!

Never, ever, ever!

Ever under any circumstance may you ever so much as touch that raincoat.

you understand?

Nye backed away from the raincoat and nodded his head vigorously.

This raincoat is for use only in the most severe of drought emergencies.

Nye had never heard of a raincoat that was only to be used in the most severe of drought emergencies before, and was quite visibly shaken by the severity of Mr.

Ackerman's tone.

You didn't didn't?

stammered Nye.

I didn't what?

Tell me about the raincoat.

I didn't.

Oh god, I...

I didn't.

And there the two of them stood, neither boy nor man knowing quite what to say.

Mr.

Ackerman sighed a sigh of such sadness that it made Nye shiver.

I...

I'm sorry, Nye.

I...

I shouldn't have yelled at you like that.

I had no right.

I was afraid you were about to...

Mr.

Ackerman trailed off, and with a look of embarrassment upon his face,

knelt down to the height of the little boy

I'm afraid I'm just not feeling very well right now Nye

you've been a very good boy today you know that don't you

Nye shook his head yes because the way Mr.

Ackerman was looking at him he thought he ought to

I think old Mr.

Ackerman needs a little rest now he said to Nye.

You won't forget what I told you here today, will you, Nye?

Nye shook his head no.

Okay, Nye.

You go run along and play now.

This is August Plum, and you have been listening to part one of the Second Imaginary Symphony.

On behalf of all of us here at the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation, we wish you a happy holiday season.

We will return with part two in just a few nights, ladies and gentlemen.

Until then, try not to eat too many plateau shaped cookies.

Good night, everyone.

You go run along and play now.

This is August Plum, and you have been listening to part one of the Second Imaginary Symphony.

On behalf of all of us here at the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation, we wish you a happy holiday season.

We will return with part two in just a few nights, ladies and gentlemen.

Until then, try not to eat too many platypus-shaped cookies.

Good night, everyone.

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, I'm here to tell you about Good Morning Night Vale.

Welcome to Night Vale's official recap show and unofficial best friend food podcast.

Join me, Meg Bashwiner and fellow tri-hosts, Hal Lublin and Symphony Sanders, as we dissect all of the cool, squishy, and slimy bits of every episode of Welcome to Nightvale.

Come for the insightful and hilarious commentary, and stay for all of the weird and wild behind-the-scenes stories.

Good morning, Nightvale, with new episodes every other Thursday.

Get it wherever you get your podcasts.

Yes, even there.