WE HAD the busiest Saturday we had had in a very long time, and if I had not come to believe that every new guest was more money lost, I would have thought that we were making progress, but I had come around to that point of view. . . .

WHILE THE RECORDING was playing at Small’s, Albertine and I were touring “Summerset,” which the owners called a bed-and-breakfast, employing the obvious irony of deliberate understatement. We tried to keep our mouths from hanging open, but it wasn’t easy. . . .

NATURALLY, the people who ate their clam fritters within the low-anxiety zone surrounding the flying-saucer detector at Kap’n Klam, secure in the knowledge that there were no saucers in the immediate vicinity, wanted detectors of their own for home use. . . .

I TRIED TO RECORD my reading of episode thirty-two of Dead Air, “Beyond the Firelight Lies Endless Darkness,” but I failed. I owned four tape recorders of various degrees of sophistication, but I couldn’t get one of them to make a decent recording. . . .

WHILE CIRCUMAMBULATING the island in the morning, I came upon Ray Pedrera. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at the wavelets lapping at his feet. To my eye, he looked uninspired. “Morning,” I said, as I approached. . . .

BALDY THE DUMMY said, “Let’s try this, boys and girls: sit up in bed for a minute, okay?” “Yeah,” said Bob. “Not you, Bob. I’m talking to my vast unseen listening audience, out there in the dark. Are you sitting up, boys and girls?” . . .

FOR MY READING of “Up the On-Ramp to the Road to Riches,” episode thirty-one of Dead Air, Manuel — that is, Ray — sat virtually at my elbow, and he took notes.

THIS WAS A BUSY DAY for all of us. After writing, I spent most of the day at the dock, repairing and patching and reinforcing, and chatting with Tony T, who was working on the launch, trying to find the source of a gas leak . . .

AFTER I’D HAD A BALDY and slipped into a confessional mood, I said, “I have to admit that I have never understood what Baldy meant when he said that I got the joke. In fact, to be completely honest about it, I don’t think I even know what the joke is. . . .

MY READING of “Butts of the Joke,” the thirtieth episode of Dead Air, was interrupted after the first paragraph, as you will see. . . .