Just in case you were starting to think I’d gotten so wrapped up in other things (boobies!) that I didn’t love this crazy thing called Radio any more: some pictures from The Megapolis Audio Festival which took place in Cambridge, MA last weekend.

Full album from a weekend of break-ins, poetry, 40s and lectures incorporating hamster wheels (wait . . . what is this, college?) here.

They were very sweet. At my going-away party on Tuesday (“what is that,” a friend asked, “Boone’s Farm Black?”), Jake snapped this photo with his phone. There were roses. Roses! And marble cake.

Today was my official last day. My laptop was cleared, my last podcast put up with no fanfare. I walked the mile home, set my purse down, and then opened my computer to see this picture. And I was suddenly overcome with horror.

“My . . . God,” I realized. “This is the kind of picture that is taken before it all went wrong.”

In honor of the Third Coast Audio Festival, and my friend Dennis (front center, beardy) visiting our one-pony town, we held the first annual First Coast Audio Festival: in a basement rare books store, with pizza, nice scotch, and cheap wine. Because that’s just how we roll.

“Uh, that greasy pizza box is sitting on top of a signed book by Adlai Stevenson,” I noted. “Cool?” I was eyeballing the e.e. cummings paintings leaning nearby against the stacks, John Adams’ framed copy of the constitution.

“Eh,” the technically-an-employee shrugged. “Yeah.”

Every now and then I would sneak upstairs to the art gallery, which was brightly lit and completely empty at this late hour, pristine and silent — exactly the way I’ve always wanted art galleries to be when I visit them. I padded along quietly in my rubber-soled shoes and imagined that this was my house.

Update: see more photos here and here.