Tom UnTerrific

Monticello Media announced the arrival of a new radio format to the Charlottesville area -- Tom.

Sometimes people are so deep into a particular subject that they lose touch with how the general public looks at it. And the development of the single-syllable-male-name-radio-format is a perfect example of that.

According to their press release on VARTV.com:

"Tom is a new radio station at 107.5 FM that is unlike anything available in the Charlottesville market because Tom plays Anything. Anytime.

Traditionally music radio stations have limited themselves to playing one particular genre of music such as country, classic rock, oldies, etc. playing the same songs over, and over, and over… Tom is anything but traditional. Tom may play a U2 song followed by the Bee Gees then Matchbox 20, Lou Rawls, Def Leppard, Madonna, Nickleback then Earth, Wind and Fire."

"Anything, anytime?" How about "Some things -- a lot."

Whether it's called Tom, Bob, Sam, Dave or whatever, the intent is to present a greater variety of music, simulating an iPod on shuffle play. The promise is a wild, crazy, unpredictable listening adventure. The reality falls far short of that, primarily because of the short-sightedness of the programmers.

Imagine someone who ate every single meal at McDonald's. Of course they're excited about the addition of the McRib sandwich to the menu. Pork?!? At McDonald's?!?!! It's wild! It's crazy!

Perhaps to someone who's only been exposed to McDonald's fare. To the average person, a rib sandwich at McDonald's is nice, but not earth-shaking. And many who like barbecue (whether North Carolina style or Kansas City style) consider the McRib to be too bland and characterless to be taken seriously.

And the same is true with Tom/Jack/Sam/Bob/Dave. Radio programmers who never strayed far from their top 40 formats looked at what the kids were doing with their iPods and tried to mimic it. Instead of a list of a few hundred songs, they expanded it to a few thousand. How? By combining the tightly regulated playlists of a few closely related formats. So instead of just top 40, Tom/Jack/Sam/Bob/Dave gives you the approved top 40 songs, the approved adult contemporary songs, the approved 70's and 80's oldies, and so on.

Here's the programming philosophy of the Sam format: [italics mine]

"..the format that delivers hit after hit from different eras and different genres, without getting stale or repetitive. Meticulously researched to pinpoint exactly what Adults 25-54 want to hear and aren't sick and tired of, Sam supplies the highest familiarity with the least amount of burn."

My local station, WOLJ, uses Sam from Westwood One, with the slogan "You never know what we'll play next."

Perhaps not, but I know what they won't play next. No classical music. No jazz. No blues. No folk. No bluegrass. And most importantly, no local music.

I've got it all on my iPod, though, and more.

And what about the artists they do play? Any chance of hearing anything other than the same old tunes over and over? They may play "Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves, but what about their other hit, "Sun Street?" I've got that on my iPod, too. Ditto with other songs by other "one hit wonders," such as the Ides of March, Thomas Dolby, The Jam, and more.

Tom/Bob/Dave/Sam sounds fresh -- when compared to current radio fare. But placed against the incredible variety of music currently available to almost everyone, it's like putting a McRib sandwich side-by-side with the fare at Arthur Bryant's. It's just plain sad.

And saddest of all the large number of people whose musical tastes have been so stunted by a steady diet of commercial radio that they will indeed be thrilled by this "wild and crazy format."

- Ralph

Nanowrimo - Halfway through, and halfway there

Today marks the halfway point for the National November Writing Month challenge. The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. I've done this before, and every year the experience has been a little bit different (I'm hoping that these experiences will collectively make me a better writer).

This year, the words have just flowed. I've been diligently writing every morning, and in an hour and half session manage about 16,000 words -- a little over 500 words a half hour. And halfway through the challenge, I've written 25,188 words. So I'm right on track.

Of course, this is a challenge about quantity, not quality. I suspect when I get finished, I'll have a solid 30,000 word book buried in there somewhere. But that's alright. Because one of the points of this event is to turn off the internal editor that blocks the free flow of ideas and just get them out on  paper (or screen) to work with.

"The Crime Broker" is significantly off track from my outline. Oh, I'll hit the key points -- but characters have blended together, events have shifted around, and one of the recurring characters in this series I wanted to use just doesn't seem to fit in with the story as its moving right now.

To celebrate the halfway point, here's the chapter I just finished. If you check the outline, you'll see it's not there. But it does continue the thread started by the arrival of Ned Callahan. Gosh, I wonder how it will all end....


(Remember: this is a first draft with no edits. Also, this is an homage to the pulp adventure magazines of the 1930's so picture the action taking place in the New York City of the old black-and-white gangster movies.)





The Crime Broker
by Ralph Graves

Chapter 14 – Desperate Race

Raven slipped into the dark alley across the street from Palentino’s apartment. He had waited until the three thugs had departed. He heard a soft footfall behind him. It was Crow.

“I couldn’t signal the last part of the plan,” he said, not turning around. 

Crow came up behind him. “I contacted MacGuffey,” Crow said, “He’s ready and waiting.”

“Not for what’s coming,” replied Raven. “C’mon. I’ll fill you in. We’ve got to stop an ambulance!”

MacGuffey had hand-picked each man who accompanied him that evening. Every one a seasoned veteran of the force. When he captured the man who killed Ned Callahan, he didn’t want any slip-ups – or any more fatalities.

The trucks were to travel a winding route to the garment district. MacGuffey was familiar with the area the hijacking was to take place. It was an industrial area, with blocks of light manufacturing and warehouses. Plenty of places to hide in ambush, and plenty of large, double-door structures that could hide away the stolen trucks.

The truck he was riding jostled him gently as it moved down the street. Mac had to concede that Palentino had a good plan – but he had a better one.

Two black roadsters sped towards Bankroft Memorial Hospital. In the front car was Raven. He had been unable to reach Mac, and with the lead Tom and Butch had, the only option was to intercept them. Crow drove the second. The two didn’t really have a plan – but years of training had attuned the two so that they worked as a team even in the most surprising of circumstances.

Raven glanced at the dashboard’s clock. 7:10. Within five minutes Butch and Tom were scheduled to steal the ambulance, and he and Crow were still seven minutes away! Raven’s foot bore down on the gas pedal. He wove the roadster through the slow-moving traffic with the expert handling of a race  car driver. Crow remained right on his tail.

Soon the small hospital was insight. Jut one block more! As Raven approached the intersection, he saw an ambulance lurch out of the emergency exit and careen into the streets. It zoomed through the intersection, against the light. Tires squealed as surprised motorists slammed on their breaks. The ambulance made a hard right, and rocketed down a side street, its siren clearing the way ahead of it.

“Could it be – ?” Raven asked himself as the ambulance  sped past him. As if to answer, an orange flame sputtered from the right side of the ambulance, and storefront windows collapsed, their shattered glass cascading into the streets.

Raven flashed his lights and turned left in pursuit. Crow caught the signal and sped straight through the intersection and up a block. There he turned left as well, tearing down the parallel street at a breakneck pace.

The wailing siren of the runaway ambulance attracted the attention of pedestrians – the ugly snout of the machine gun sticking out the cab window sent them scurrying for cover. Tom laughed as he sprayed slugs out over the sidewalk.

Palentino dropped his cigarette to the cement floor of the warehouse and crushed it with his foot. The lookout at the dirt-encrusted window had just given him the high sign.

“OK, you mugs, pile in,” he said. The mobsters clambered into the two panel vans parked inside the warehouse. The lookout opened the warehouse doors, and hopped aboard the second van as it drove out into the street.

The large transports carrying the furs were easy to spot. They lumbered slowly up the block. Their sides bore the markings of a large trucking company, but Palentino had been given the truck numbers – the white numerals above the cabs told him these were the right ones.

The driver of the front transport saw two small panel vans approach on the left. In this area, trucks of all sizes were a common sight, but forewarned of the hijacking, he eyed the approaching vehicles with suspicion.

One pulled in line behind the two fur transports and the other swerved out and roared past the large trucks and slipped back into the lane just ahead of them.  The parade of four trucks continued for another block. At this point, the street narrowed. Once the trailing van had past the intersection, Palentino struck.

The lead van suddenly whipped to the left and stopped, completely blocking the street. The other van did the same. Armed men piled out of both vehicles. All had caps pulled down over their foreheads, with dark bandanas tied across the lower half of their faces.

The drivers of the two transports had no choice but to stop their vehicles. Even if the lead truck had smashed into the van blocking the street, at the slow rate of speed it was traveling, it couldn’t push the smaller truck aside and break free from the trap.

Brandishing their weapons, the robbers swarmed over the stalled convoy. Automatics were thrust through the cab windows. The drivers, with arms raised, were pulled from the trucks while gang members slide into their seats. The transport drivers were each slugged in the back of the head, and abandoned by the gang as they scurried back to their waiting van.

The bodies slumped to the pavement as the trucks were kicked back into gear. With sure command, the driver of the lead van whipped the vehicle back into the street and lead the three other trucks down the block.

At the next block, the van turned left into the waiting open doors of an abandoned warehouse. The two transport trucks roared in after them. The trailing van followed, and when it had cleared the entrance, the doors slid shut.

Within two minutes it was all over. Crime had struck, and a fortune in valuable furs had seemingly disappeared into thin air!

Raven cursed and tromped the accelerator to the floorboard. The roadster leaped forward with a sudden burst of speed. In a nondescript garage near the East Side, Raymond and Carlton maintained a special fleet of vehicles for Raven’s use. The roadsters that Raven and Crow drove in pursuit of the ambulance seemed to be ordinary cars, but inside their hoods were powerful motors designed for terrific speeds.

Within moments Raven was directly behind the ambulance. The white juggernaut hurtled down the avenue with seeming abandon, occasionally whipping into oncoming traffic, forcing cars to vere aside. A few hopped the curb, and one crashed into a street lamp, causing further mayhem.

When the ambulance next moved to the left to panic oncoming traffic, Raven made his move. His roadster surged ahead, to run parallel to the ambulance.

In the cab of the ambulance, Butch drove with intense concentration. Although causing accidents, he had kept the vehicle from being involved with one. But his skillful driving occupied all his attention.

Tom, on the other hand, seemingly enjoyed the wild ride with abandon. He had emptied his tommy gun indiscriminately out the side of the cab, punching holes in parked cars, chipping pavement and smashing windows. He hadn’t wounded a pedestrian yet, but hoped to have better luck with his next round of ammunition.

He laughed crazily as snapped the drum magazine into place on his smoking machine gun.

“Some fun, eh?” Tom shouted to Butch. Butch grunted. He swerved again into oncoming traffic and saw in the rear view mirror a dark roadster move to his right. Tom saw the roadster pull alongside just as he slung his tommy gun up. He aimed the weapon at the driver of the roadster.

His laughter abruptly cut short. As the two vehicles raced down the street, Tom could clearly see the face of the driver. He recognized the peculiar blue-black jacket and the black turtleneck sweater. He recognized the black, bushy hair and walrus mustache of the man. But more, he recognized the cold, steely gaze of Raven.

With a snarl, Tom pulled the trigger of his machine gun. Slugs splayed off the side of the roadster, and he realized in surprise that it was armored! He aimed a second burst straight at the face of Raven, smouldering with fury. The glass of the roadster’s door scratched and starred, but didn’t break.

Through the marred surface of the bullet-proof glass Tom could still see those cold eyes.

He turned to Butch. “It’s Raven! We gotta get outta here.”

Butch nodded and shifted gears. The ambulance started to pull slightly ahead.  Tom watched in horror as Raven calmly matched the vehicle’s speed, then turn slowly to the left. The roadster’s fenders ground against the side of the ambulance, sending off showers of sparks.

Butch fought desperately for control, trying to push the ambulance to the right. Raven gave ground, and the ambulance moved out of oncoming traffic. But the two vehicles remained locked together. Butch pulled the wheel to the right, hoping to force Raven into the curb. The roadster maintained its course.

He tried again, but without success. The two vehicles hurtled down the avenue at top speed, side by side. They neared an intersection. “Take a left here!” Tom said. “We’ve got to shake this guy!”

Butch nodded again, and crossed his arms over each other. When they reached the intersection, he would be prepared to spin the steering wheel, causing the ambulance to veer off suddenly – hopefully too suddenly for Raven to react.

Though the crooks had forgotten the ambulance’s sirens on, the wailing had helped clear the streets. Hearing the klaxon call, drivers had left the intersection open for the oncoming ambulance. As it entered the intersection, Raven stomped on the brakes. The roadster dropped away from ambulance.

Tom shouted a cry of triumph and Butch readied himself to make the turn. As he began to do so, he saw movement on his left. Another dark roadster came barreling down the side street.

There was no time to react. Butch saw the driver’s side door pop open and a figure roll out, then the roadster smashed into the ambulance, just as it turned into the path of the oncoming car.

The impact crumpled the front of the ambulance and sent it spinning clockwise back into the intersection. The roadster stopped cold, its radiator collapsed into the motor. Butch was hurtled across the cab by the impact, smashing into Tom who in turn was crushed against the right door.

The ambulance continued its spin, pivoting on its right rear wheel. As the tire ground against the pavement, it exploded, dropping the rear of the ambulance. The white juggernaut tilted slightly, then fell on its side as it completed the spin.

Raven’s roadster skidded to a halt halfway into the intersection. It had taken all of Crow’s skill to leap from his car and land in the street without injury. As his vehicle had crashed into the ambulance, he had rolled to the curb and onto his feet in one smooth motion. Without pause, he ran into the intersection and past the wreck.

A quick glance confirmed that both Butch and Tom were out cold. The distinct wail of a police siren meant the authorities were on their way. Crow ran to Raven’s car.

Just as the stunned onlookers began to react to the crash, Crow opened the door of the waiting roadster, and climbed in as the car roared off. Crime had been blocked!

Inside the warehouse, Palentino was giving orders. He had the transports pull alongside two other large trucks already parked in the cavernous structure.

“OK, boys, make it snappy. Get them bolt cutters and let’s get the locks off of those doors. We need to get them furs out of those trucks and into ours pronto. I want to be long gone before the cops start searching the neighborhood.”

Almost at the same moment, the bolt cutters bit through the links and the ruined locks clattered on the concrete floor of the warehouse. The crooks threw open the doors of the hijacked trucks. Palentino beheld the sight with satifaction. Rich, luxurious furs and ermines hung in racks, filling each truck.

His face broke out into a large, satisfied grin. A grin that quickly faded. Emerging from the forest of furs came uniformed policemen, armed with machine guns and riot guns. A grizzled plainclothes detective with unruly red hair stepped out from behind a fur coat, a large revolver gripped in his hand. His face was hard.

“You’re all under arrest,” he said in a quiet, menacing voice. Mac glared at Palentino and leveled his revolver at the crook. “You’d better come along quietly, because I am looking for any excuse to shoot you down the way you did Ned Callahan.”

Palentino blanched, and he slowly raised his hands. Sensing that Mac was deadly serious, the other crooks did the same.

#nanowrimo

Public Radio Blogs, III

I heard from Tom Morgan from WWOZ, New Orlean's jazz and heritage music public radio station. He responded to my post about public radio blogs. WWOZ started a blog to document the Jazz Fest event, and hope to soon have an official station blog.

I've still been unable to find any kind of directory for public radio blogs, so I think I'll start my own. If you know of any public radio station blogs, please post a comment to the Public Radio Blog Directory. As I visit different sites, I'll add any that I find as well.

- Ralph

BTW - If Charlottesville readers find Tom's name familiar, they should. Tom Morgan used to be a volunteer for WTJU, where he hosted the early jazz program "Bartender's Bop," as well as "The Jazz Roots Show," still going strong online and at WWOZ.

Michael Haydn Choral Works hold their own

Let's be clear. Michael Haydn was not a bad composer. He was a very good one. Just not as great as his brother, Franz Joseph. But even Franz Joseph thought Micheal was the better choral composer of the two.

This album helps make that case with a set of unusual works. All three compositions are for upper register voices. In some cases, these may have been boys instead of female singers. For this recording, it's the St. Albans Cathedral Girls Choir. 

I've heard enough female choir pieces by second and third-tier composers to understand the challenge. How do you provide contrast and variety when all the voices are clumped together?

Haydn had the answers. His choruses have a full sound, expanding out to the extremes of the registers. And without male voices, these choruses have an ethereal quality as well. He also uses soprano and mezzo-soprano solo voices effectively. They provide a clear contrast with the choral accompaniment.

The result is an album of engagingly beautiful choral works. Director Tom Winpenny keeps the music moving along. In some cases giving rapid passages a dance-like quality. 

I think brother Franz may have a point. Based on this release, I'm now curious to hear more of Michael Haydn's sacred compositions.    

Michael Haydn: Missa Sancti Nicolai Tabentini
Vesperae Pro Festo Sancti Innocentium, Anima Nostra
Jenni Harper, Emily Owen, sopranos; Helen Charlston, mezzo-soprano
Marko Sever, organ
St. Albans Cathedral Girls Choir; Lawes Baroque Players; Tom Winpenny, conductor
Naxos 8.574163

Dick Tracy Gets Funky

And the Dick Tracy crossovers continue.

In late January, Dick Tracy and Sam Ketchem visited Westview (home of Funky Winkerbean) to oversee an auction of impounded goods. According to Tom Baitiuk's blog, the idea for the crossover story came from Joe Staton, the current artist for Dick Tracy. Baitiuk also published the full sequence for both strips with their parallel stories. Below are a few samples. (click on images to enlarge)

Dick Tracy - note the Starman Jones cover in the center panel.

Funky Winkerbean. John Howard and Crazy Harry meet Dick Tracy.

Dick Tracy - Dick and Sam meet Funky Winkerbean.

Funky Winkerbean - John Howard provides a synopsis.

But to fully appreciate what's going on, there's a lot of back story that needs to be filled in.

In Funky Winkerbean there's a fictional Golden Age comic book series that's been the subject of a few story lines. John Howard, owner of the Komix Korner and comics collector Crazy Harry Klinghorn have referenced Starman Jones. There was reference to a Starman Jones movie being in development when English teacher/writer Les Moore went to Hollywood to write a screenplay for his book. A recent story line followed Holly Winkerbean as she tried to build a complete collection of Starman Jones for her son serving in the Middle East -- a story line that was concluded with this crossover.

Tom Baitiuk asked a few of his colleagues to create Starman Jones comic book covers -- including Joe Staton. And that's probably why Staton suggested extending the collaboration further.

Meanwhile, in Dick Tracy, the villain known as the Jumbler tried to steal a forgotten cache of Golden Age comics. That particular story line also marked a crossover with the Jumbler puzzle! (see: Dick Tracy and the Jumble Crossover). Starman Jones comics can be seen in the pile.

The multiple levels of this crossover are what made this enjoyable for me. And seeing such imaginative creativity at work is also a pleasure. Of course, this means that the world of Funky Winkerbean -- and by extension that of Baitik's other strip Crankshaft, are now part of the Dick Tracy Universe, along with those of Little Orphan Annie, Gasoline Alley, and Terry and the Pirates (among others)!

Funky Winkerbean - Death of Bull Bushka

Death in comics is rare -- but it's less rare in Funky Winkerbean. It's what keeps the comic interesting for me. Anything that could happen to someone in real life could happen to someone in  Tom Batiuk's comic -- like dying of breast cancer or being a victim of gun violence.

The character of Bull Bushka has undergone many changes in Tom Batiuk's Funky Winkerbean. He was part of the original cast of high school students when the strip launched in 1972. He was the star of the Westview High football team and often bullied the nerdy Les Moore.

In 1992, the strip moved from high school to post-college. Les Moore was an English teacher, and Bull Bushka the athletic coach at Westview. They were colleagues, and Batiuk revealed the Bull's bullying was a reaction to his own father's abuse.

Bull retired from coaching, and over the past two years has been dealing with brain damage. Damage incurred from multiple concussions while playing football. Bull's behavior became more erratic, culminating in this sequence from late September to mid-October, 2019.

Note how Batiuk skillfully weaves together three different story arcs -- the highway patrol's discovery of the wreak, why Bull was in the car, and the gradual realization by his wife that something wasn't right. And all with just three panels a day.

  

Nadia Shpachenko - Woman at the New Piano

Pianist Nadia Shpachenko commissioned four composers to write music for her. But they weren't just any four composers, and it wasn't just for any reason.

To usher in the new era (according to the Mayan calendar), Shpachenko asked four close friends to write works that would represent a new look at piano literature.

Although the resulting works aren't quite that revolutionary (at least to my ears), they still are well-crafted works that deserve a listen.

In a way, these works bridge the gap between the extreme avant-garde and the post-modern traditional. Although stylistically different, they all were written for a friend -- Shpachenko -- and because they share the same inspiration, collectively present a cohesive program.

Tom Flaherty's Airdancing for toy piano, piano, and electronics, uses the toy piano both as a tinny melodic instrument and as a metallic non-tonal percussion instrument. The exotic timbres reminded me strongly of Harry Partch's music. Flaherty's second work, Part Suite-a, uses thick tone clusters throughout, but with more major seconds than minor second groupings, softening the dissonance in an appealing way.

The Picture Etudes of Adam Schoenberg is a suite of four short vignettes that seemed to have echoes of Martinu in some sections. And the addition of the bass drum and gong work (played by the pianist) are both understated and quite effective in their use. His work Bounce concludes the recital, a work for two pianos that sounds like it was a lot of fun to play (it certainly was to listen to).

Cretic Variations by James Matheson is the longest work on the disc (14 minutes), and is a jazzy, percussive and thoroughly modern delight.

Nadia Shpachenko collaborated in the creation of these works, giving her an emotional investment and empathy with them. She conveys that empathy with sure, insightful delivery.

Woman at the New Piano: American Music of 2013
Nadia Shpachenko, piano; Geneive Feiwen Lee, toy piano and electronics
Tom Flaherty: Airdancing for toy piano, piano, and electronics, Part Suit-a; James Matheson: Cretic 
Variations: Adam Schoenberg: Picture Etudes, Bounce for two pianos; Peter Yates: Finger Songs
Reference Recordings FR-711

#ClassicsaDay #WeWriteSymphonies Week 1

Last month the Classics a Day team made #BlackLivesMatter the theme. Systemic racism in classical music has limited exposure to composers of color. So for August, the team opened up the focus even further. 

#WeWriteSymphonies is a hashtag used by composers of color, and it seems like a logical extension of #BlackLivesMatter.

For my contributions to the feed, I found examples throughout music history. The problem isn't new. There are talented composers of color underrepresented in every era -- not just in contemporary music.  Here are my #ClassicsaDay posts for the first week of #WeWriteSymphonies

08/03/20 Clarence Cameron White (1880-1960) - Lament, Op 12, No 2 "I am troubled in mind"

White was considered one of the most talented violinists of his day. And he headed the Hampton Institute's music department in the 1930s.

08/04/20 Chinary Ung (1942 - ) - Water Rings Overture

Cambodian composer Chinery Ung uses both traditional and Western elements in his music. He currently teaches both compositions and Southeast Asian music studies at UCSD.

08/05/20 Cacilda Borges Barbosa (1914-2010) - Estudo brasileiro No. 1

Barbosa was a Brazilian pianist and composer. She worked with Heitor Villa-Lobos in the 1930s. Many of her works have strong folk elements in them.

08/06/20 Blind Tom (1849-1908) - Battle of Manassas

Thomas Wiggins was blind and an autistic savant. Born in slavery, Blind Tom spent most of his career making money for the family that owned him. After the Civil War, the exploitation continued as Wiggins' legal status changed from slave to "ward."

08/07/20 Silvestre Reveultas (1899-1940) - Sensemayá

"Sensemayá" by Cuban poet Nicolás Guillén describes an Afro-Caribbean ritual. Mexican composer used the poem as the basis for his composition of the same name. This 1937 work became Revueltas' most-performed composition.

Public Radio Blogs

MaSvo raised some good questions in her recent comment on my post "Blogging Explained."

Although I largely agree with your assessment of the WETA blog, I think it is a mistake to think that the defining (or necessary) element in a weblog is the interactivity.

After all, can't a blog be anything you want it to be? Who's to say whether WETA's blog is or isn't a blog?

While that's certainly true in the most general terms, I think we can make some distinctions between personal and corporate blogs.

IMHO, a personal blog is simply an individual expression. Some personal blogs primarily chronical the poster's everyday life, such as Constance Crabstick's "Fatuous Observations". Others are built around a particular topic that interests the poster, such as the "Comics Curmudgeon." And there's everything in between.

The personal blog most fits the model Common Craft described in their video. Post about what you're interested in, and eventually others join in the conversation and you've become part of a community.

The corporate blog has a slightly different function. Rather than being a gateway into an individual's personality, it's part of the public face of the company. It has to be consistent with what the company is about, and should reflect its corporate culture.

While an individual blog can be about whatever interests the writer, the corporate blog must be related to the company and what it does. But a corporate blog isn't just another place to park press releases. It's a real opportunity to let customers "get inside" the company a little bit, and for the blogging company to develop conversations -- and a community -- with its readers and customers. This helps builds brand identification and loyalty.

So what about radio? See the previous paragraph. Especially in public radio, which asks its listeners to fund the stadion directly, this kind of communication can be invaluable.

According to an Edison Media Research post about this very thing, Tom Webster wrote:

The blog is an equally important and increasingly more relevant outlet for consumer opinions, feedback and suggestions for improvement.

How important is it?

The web puts your station and your brand smack dab into the middle of the largest public marketplace in the world--vast and intimate at the same time. Because the distance between consumers and corporations is effectively reduced to zero, any conversation occurring on the web about your station is a conversation going on right outside your booth and right under your nose.

You have a choice--you can ignore the crowd congregating in front of your little stand in cyberspace, or you can welcome them, greet them, and give them an outlet to converse with you and with other listeners about your brand.

So while WETA's blog may fill the broadest definition of a blog, how well is it at doing any of the above?

Here's the point I was trying to make. WETA did have that kind of informational blog that invited comments, and then it changed to a record review column that said nothing about the station -- and let the readers say nothing at all.

I think they changed because they didn't like the comments they got. Webster had something to say about that, too:

If you are genuinely worried that you will be flooded with exclusively negative comments, maybe it's not the listeners who have the problem. One thing about taking the plunge into business blogging--you better have a good product, or you will hear about it.

So which public radio stations have good blogs? Researching for this post, I did find a few. Unfortunately, there's not a list (that I'm aware of) for public radio station blogs. Iowa Public Radio and Minnesota Public Radio both do blogs that fit the Tom Webster outline. They talk about things going on at their stations, relevant news -- and both allow comments.

But for the best examples of stations that "get it," I recommend KCRW and WFMU.

KCRW has a battery of blogs, (all with comments enabled) about the announcers, the engineers, and music news. Collectively they present the character of the station, and further the conversation between listeners and staff. KCRW has a huge Internet presence, and these blogs just strengthen their profile.

WFMU does the same thing in a different way (also with comments enabled). "Beware the Blog" is as eclectic and freewheeling as the station's programming. WFMU also has a massive Internet presence and gets a significant amount of contributions from listeners outside their coverage area (sometimes halfway around the world).

But what makes WFMU's blog unique is that it doesn't talk about the station per se, but about the kind of things the station airs. I've seen posts on this blog show up in many other pop culture blogs (like BoingBoing), and WFMU's posts are often the only ones from any non-commercial radio stations that appear on these more general-interest sites.

So what does that mean? It means that WFMU is reaching beyond the insular world of public radio listeners. Folks trace back the stories and discover the station. Then they become listeners -- and supporters.

Yes, WETA has every right to post professionally written record reviews and call it a corporate blog. But is it really serving that function?

Where's the conversation?

- Ralph

BTW:
1) My criticism of WETA's blog is in no way one of Jen Laursen's writing in any way. He's a solid reviewer and essayist.
2) If anyone has other examples of public radio blogs they enjoy reading, please leave a comment! Short of visiting every station's website in the public radio system, I can't think of any other way to discover these elusive beasts.

The Value of Twitter, Part 1: The Personal

The Value of Twitter Series:
Part 1: The Personal
Part 2: The Professional
Part 3: The Informational
Part 4: Join the Conversation
Part 5: An Annotated Conversation

Several people have asked me what value I find in Twitter. They all signed up for the service, and after a few desultory posts pretty much gave up on it.

Well, as I recently wrote, Twitter is what you make it. And it works pretty much like a cocktail party. If you're a wallflower and don't talk to anyone, you're not going to get much out of it. Personally, I find three areas where Twitter's valuable to me; the personal, the professional, and the informational.

Let's talk about the personal.

If you're not familiar with Twitter, you might ask how is it different than Facebook or any other social media site?

Part of it has to do with the length of the posts, and the nature of the service. With only 140 characters, you have to be brief. Facebook, et al, allows for more lengthy conversations, along with embedded pictures, videos, etc. With Twitter, it’s all text. You can provide a link to further illustrate your point, but even that URL must remain within the 140-character limit.

People often dismiss Twitter as a time-waster. And if you're perception of the service is an endless series of tweets about what one had for breakfast, or when they went to the bathroom, then that would be true. But it’s not.

Go back to the cocktail party analogy for a moment. Plenty of people just make small talk in social gatherings. "How's the weather?" "How about them [favorite sports team]?" There's not much value in those conversations. And I think few of us would be interested in talking with someone who could only make small talk.

But suppose you were a fan of said sports team. That opening question might get you to respond with your opinion of the star quarterback. Which could lead to a discussion of the current season, and then favorite plays from past games, and so on. Now you and the other person are conversing in depth about a topic of mutual interest.

That's how I use Twitter for the personal. I sometimes throw out informational tidbits about what I'm doing, to give folks a better idea of who I am. But they’re also designed to be conversation starters, too, if anyone’s interested. Here are some real tweets I’ve done:

One thing I like about fall. When it's chilly, the morning sky is clear and I can really see the stars (even the Milky Way this morning).

"Food will not bring us close to God." (1Cor.8:8) Hmmm. So I guess I better put down that Lil' Debbie snack cake.

Bird feeder's knocked out of the window, and there’s feathers on the windowsill. I think we've inadvertently fed the hawk again.

Sometimes it works. In the following real-life example, I happen to know a goodly number of my followers are interested in classical music. So when I talk about what I listen to, I expect to get a comment or two -- like this:

Me: Listening to Bruckner's Missa Solemnis in B flat. (thanks, iTunes DJ) This choral work seems to flow better than his symphonies. IMHO

Tom: Bruckner's Symphonies flow majestically if the conductor knows what the f*ck he's doing (i.e. Furtwangler).

Me: Not saying I don't like Bruckner symphonies. I do. Now Furtwangler's symphonies are another story entirely...

Tom: Furtwangler's symphonies are awful. He did write a decent Te Deum, though. It's not as good as Bruckner's however.

Me: I actually have all 3 symphonies, his piano concerto, and violin sonata on CD. So I think I've given Furtwangler a fair shot!

Not earthshaking, but a pleasant conversation, nonetheless. And I learned a little in the process, too (now I have to track down that Furtwangler Te Deum).

Just as I would at a cocktail party, I only disclose so much on Twitter. I seldom talk specifics about work (boring), and politics (too polarizing). Since other family members aren't on Twitter, I don't talk about them to respect their privacy.

But still, I find the personal content of my Twitter feed to be an engaging read when I check it. If you pay attention, you can get to know a person better just chatting with them informally. And I've found that to be true, even through a 140-character filter.

Are my followers BFFs? No. But, just like a good cocktail party, it’s an interesting mix of personalities. And one that I brought together by taking part in the conversation and not being a wallflower.

- Ralph

Day 182 of the WJMA Podwatch.

#twitter
#twitterset

The Comics Playoffs - Round Three

The past few posts I've been comparing and contrasting two comics: Gil Thorp and Funky Winkerbean. Both recently featured story arcs about girls basketball teams and the differences in execution have been remarkable.

In case there's any doubt, I'm not trying to say one artist is inherently better than the other. Tom Batiuk (Funky Winkerbean) has a very cartoony style. His characters tend to have very simple and stylized faces, economically drawn with dots for eyes, and a single oval (or line) for the mouth.

Frank Bolle (Gil Thorp) draws much more realistic figures. He uses a thinner line which allows for more detail in his faces. His character's eyes usually consist of two or more lines to depict the outline of the eyelids as well as the pupils. Mouths usually have lower lips, and other facial features (such as cheekbones) are drawn in more often in Bolle's work than they are in Batiuk's.

The purpose of these playoffs is to look at how each artist uses the conventions of the comic strip to tell a story -- and in the process bring those conventions to the fore so that you, dear reader, can better appreciate this artform so many take for granted.

In today's example, each panel depicts a basketball team in the throes of victory (click on the image to enlarge). Which one does a better job?

Bolle shows four girls, pairing off to give each other hugs. Two are looking at each other, and the other two are looking.... um (This Week in Milford has an interesting theory). Well, one's looking right at us, the other a little off to the right.

There are some strange motion lines present that give one pause. Is the girl in the back bobbing up and down? And what's happening with the two in the front? The girl on the right is wobbling her head while the one on the left appears stationary (save for her hand which also seems to be going up and down).

I'm not seeing a victory celebration here -- I'm seeing some bobbleheads hugging.

Batiuk, on the other hand, shows us all five girls of the squad. There's a flow to the positioning of them, too. There's a group of three, and then two -- every girl is connected to another, suggesting the connection of a team. If you look at the faces, your eye is pulled along in a straight line and then rises at the end of the panel.

The game announcer's word balloon begins "Moore gets the three!!!" Is there any doubt which player is Summer Moore? Right. She's the one jumping up, her hand signifying "we're number one." If you look at the faces, your eye is pulled along in a straight line and then rises at the end of the panel for Moore. That eye motion reinforces Moore's leap. We not only see it, we feel it.

Bolle uses motion lines to create action. Batiuk uses the reader's eyes to provide it.

Which artist is the better storyteller? After three rounds, IMHO, Tom Batiuk is the new conference champ.

- Ralph

Blondie's Halloween Party

On Sunday, October 25, 2015, Blondie ran an unusual sequence. The Bumpsteads hosted a Halloween party, and a remarkable assortment of guests showed up (click on image to enlarge).

There have been character cameos in Blondie before -- and cameos in other comics as well. But there were some interesting features about this particular collection assembled by Blondie's creative team, Dean Young and John Marshall. First, most of the characters are from King Features Syndicate strips, the syndicate that also distributes "Blondie." (I've noted the exceptions in the character key below)

Second, all the strips are currently in production, releasing new material on a daily basis (albeit not necessarily from the founding creators).

Note panel B -- it's filled with kids. And note that all the teenage and young adult characters -- Dustin, Luanne, and Jeremy (from Zits) are all using their smartphones. Some characters appear more than once, and some King Features characters don't appear at all.

An interesting sequence, and -- for a comics nerd like me -- one that was great fun.

Character key:

Panel A
1. Prince Valiant from "Prince Valiant" by Mark Schultz and Thomas Yeates
2. Snuffy Smith from "Barney Google and Snuffy Smith" by John Rose
3. An unnamed character from "Rhymes with Orange" by Hilary Price
4. Hi and Lois Flagston from "Hi and Lois" by Brian Walker, Greg Walker, and Chance Browne
5. Darryl and Wanda from "Baby Blues" by Rick Kirkman and Jerry Scott

Panel B
1. Dustin Kudlick from "Dustin" by Steve Kelley and Jeff Parker
2. Marvin Miller from "Marvin" by Tom Armstrong
3. Dennis and Alice Mitchell from "Dennis the Menace" by Hal Ketchem, M Hamilton and R Ferdinand
4. Trixie Flagston from "Hi and Lois"
5. Tillman Tinkerson from "Take it from the Tinkersons" b y Bill Bettwy

Panel C
1. Leroy and Loretta from "The Lockhorns" by Bunny Hoest and John Reiner
2. Luanne DeGroot from "Luanne" by Greg Evans*
3. Mooch and Earl from "Mutts" by Patrick McDonnell
4. Mother Goose and Grimmy from "Mother Goose and Grimm" by Mike Peters
5. Curtis from "Curtis" by Ray Billingsley

Panel D
1. B.C.  from "BC" by Mason Mastroianni**
2. Marvin (again)
3. Jeremy, Walt, and Connie Duncan from "Zits" by Jerry Scott and Jim Borgman
4. Marmaduke from "Marmaduke" by Paul Anderson
5.Joe and Marcy Cobb from "Jump Start" by Robb Armstrong

Panel E
1. Beetle Bailey and Sarge from "Beetle Bailey" by Mort Walker
2. Buckles from "Buckles" by David Gilbert
3. Dilbert from "Dilbert" by Scott Adams*
4. Arlo from "Arlo and Janis" by Jimmy Johnson*
5. Oscar, Gordo, and Ed from "Arctic Circle" by Alex Hallatt
6. Rose Gumbo from "Rose is Rose" by Don Wimmer*

Panel F
Blondie, Dagwood and Daisy from "Blondie" (duh) by Dean Young and John Marshall

G
1. Hagar the Horrible and Crazy Eddie from "Hagar the Horrible" by Chris Browne
2. Garfield from "Garfield" by Jim Davis*
3. Mooch and Earl from "Mutts" (again)
4. P. Martin Shoemaker and Professor Cosmo Fishhawk from "Shoe" by Gary Brookins and Susie MacNelly
5. Lio from "Lio by Mark Tatulli*
6. Billy, Jeff and Dolly Keane from "Family Circus" by Jeff Keane
7. Earl and Opal Pickles from "Pickles" by Brian Crane++
8. Darryl from "Baby Blues" (again)
9. Goat, Pig, and Rat from "Pearls before Swine" by Stehan Pastis*
10. Crankshaft from "Crankshaft" by Tom Batiuk and Chuck Ayers
11. Elly Patterson from "For Better or Worse" by Lynn Anderson*
12. Mother Goose and Grimmy from "Mother Goose and Grimm" (again)

*Syndicated by Universal Uclick
**Syndicated by Creators Syndicate
+Syndicated by United Media
++Washington Post Writers Group

Virtually Repeating Myself

Something curious is happening with increasing frequency. I find myself saying "it's in my blog."

No, its not vain self-aggrandizement or a pathetic attempt to build readership one person at a time. Rather, its because I've shared thoughts and opinions about various topics in this public forum -- and prefer not to repeat myself.

In a radio listserv discussion recently, someone asked about Tom, the new Charlottesville station. Instead of writing out my opinion about it and all the supporting arguements again, I simply referred to my post about it.

http://the-unmutual.blogspot.com/search?q=tom

Two weeks ago, someone who travels infrequently to Washington, DC remarked that WETA had returned to a classical format. He asked if I knew about it. Oh yes, I said, and rather than run through the whole story again, referenced my posts:

http://the-unmutual.blogspot.com/search?=weta

From time to time things that I've been familiar with for a while bubble up into the awareness of the general public. Claiming I've known about something for months when the subject comes up always seemed to me a bit pretentious -- especially if it was unsubstantiated.

Blog entries, though, provide clear documentation of exactly what I thought (or knew, or thought I knew) and when.

While perhaps not always evident, I do put time and effort into these posts, and try to provide as much documentation as possible. And that's really why I prefer to refer. Because all the links are here, and the reader can check my sources and judge for themselves whether or not my conclusions are sound.

As Omar Kayyam wrote:

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

Well, I'm not so sure about the last part (although I generally don't revise blog posts once they're out), but now that my thoughts about various subjects are publicly available, this finger's free to move on.

- Ralph

NaNoWriMo - A change for the.... better

So I was only one day into the National November Writing Month challenge when my novel jumped the tracks. As I outlined the problem in a previous post, a character popped up in the very first chapter who was not in the outline. I had no idea where he came from or why he was there.

But I do now.

By the end of Chapter Two, Ned Callahan was gone -- but he served his purpose.

Here's both chapters so you can see what happened.. Remember -- the goal is to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days, not to edit it. So what you're reading is the first (and at the moment only) draft. And remember, this is an homage to the pulp adventure novels of the 1930's -- so read accordingly.


The Crime Broker

Chapter One – A City Besieged

Three police cars cut a swathe through late afternoon traffic in lower Manhattan, their blaring sirens creating a cacophony that echoed through the streets. Lieutenant Mike MacGuffey, riding in the lead car, leaned over to the driver. “Faster,” he said. The officer nodded and pushed the accelerator further into the floorboard.

The radio car surged forward, and the other two did likewise. MacGuffey chewed on an unlit cigar, his grizzled features scrunched together in worry. For the past two months, the city had been in the grip of crime. A series of robberies, each one more audacious than the last, had swept through New York.

MacGuffey absently scratched his head of coarse, rust-red hair. He and the officers of the three radio cars were responding to a silent alarm at Bennington’s, one of the city’s ritziest jewelers. If they could catch the thieves in the act, the police just might have a lead to the mastermind behind this crime wave.

“We’re four blocks away, Lieutenant,” said the driver. MacGuffey nodded and grabbed the radio microphone. “Attention Cars 7 and 23. Attention, Cars 7 and 23. This is Lieutenant MacGuffey. Turn off your sirens. I repeat. Turn off your sirens. We don’t want tip off those birds knocking over Bennington’s.”

The sound coming through the open car windows diminished somewhat. MacGuffey turned to glare at the driver. “You, too, knucklehead. Turn off that siren!”

The driver gulped nervously and complied. “Sorry, lieutenant, guess I wasn’t thinking.”

MacGuffey harrumphed, and the two policemen riding in the back grinned in anticipation. They had seen MacGuffey chew out patrolmen before, and knew he could make an art of it. Instead, the grizzled detective looked reflectively at the driver.

“New to the force?” he asked.

“Yes sir. I’ve been with the force three months, today.” The driver flashed a small smile, but did not take his eyes from the road as he continued to thread his way through lines of slower-moving vehicles.

“What’s your name, son?” asked MacGuffey.

“Ned Callahan,” he replied.

“Well, Callahan, a word of advice,” said MacGuffey. “We’re going into a very dangerous situation. Just keep your head about you, remember your training, and you’ll be fine.”

“Yes sir.”

“And one other thing,” added MacGuffey. “Follow my orders immediately.”

Callahan nodded.

The two other officers were a little disappointed, but not surprised at the exchange. In addition to being one of New York’s foremost detectives, MacGuffey had the distinction of being one of the best mentors on the force. Jim Rowland, the current police commissioner had trained under MacGuffey, and the two remained close. In fact, it was Rowland who had personally sent the red-headed detective out with the radio squad.

“Do what you can to bring them in alive, Mac,” the young commissioner had said. “We’ve got to stop this crime wave and fast.”

*  *  *
As the cars journeyed through Manhattan, Mac had outlined his plan via radio. Arriving at the block Bennington’s was on, the radio cars moved into position. Mac’s car, in the lead, drove to the end of the block and turned left to block traffic. The trailing car did the same, effectively sealing off the street. The middle car rolled up close to the curb in front of the store.

Mac and his men rolled out of their car. One of the officers walked forward into traffic to direct traffic away from the scene. Mac, Callahan, and the other policeman started up the block to the middle patrol car in a crouching run. The grizzled detective glanced up the block and noted with satisfaction that the men in the tail car had duplicated his actions. One remained behind, the other three made their way to the middle car.

The officers in that vehicle had exited through the left side, keeping the doors facing the jewelry store shut. They now huddled behind the patrol car with guns drawn, stealing an occasional glance over the hood or around the trunk.

Berrington’s storefront sported a modern, streamlined look. Rather than large plateglass windows, the store had inset polished black panels. Small windows in the panels displayed a few items of great value. The door had ornate chrome decoration and large, rounded bars for handles. The decoration served to obscure most of the view through the tinted glass door.

Nevertheless, it was possible to make out movement inside the store. Mac and his men arrived at the same time as the other three policemen. He peered over the still-warm car hood. Through the door he could see shadowy shapes in motion. Their outlines made it clear they were armed. One seemed to be patrolling the store, walking up and down, whirling unexpectedly from time to time as if startled. The other was making his way methodically down the row of display cases.

Filling a sack as he goes, no doubt, thought Mac. He looked more intently through the glass, taking a chance and rising up to get a better view. He quickly ducked down, and motioned the other officers close to him.

“Okay, I think I got the lay,” he said. “Two robbers; one’s grabbing the ice, the other’s guarding the customers and staff. It looks like they’re laying down on the floor.”

Callahan gulped nervously. “Are they dead?” he asked.

“Nah,” replied Mac. “If they were, that second jasper wouldn’t be looking around all the time – he’d be helping his partner load the loot. Our job is to keep them that way.”

“How we going to do that?”

Mac grinned. “Wait till they both come out, then grab ‘em. Remember,” he cautioned the men, “Rowland wants them alive, so easy with the rods, OK?”

The policemen reluctantly nodded their consent.

Suddenly the car radio came to life. “Calling all cars, calling all cars, hold-up in progress at Regent Jewelers, 34th and Park, Repeat, hold-up at Regent Jewelers, 34th and Park. All units respond.”

Callahan looked at MacGuffey with surprise. “That’s just two blocks away! We’ve got to respond.”

MacGuffey glared at the young officer, but he knew Callahan was right. Being the closest unit, they had to respond. But how could they prevent two crimes at once?

Chapter 2 – The law divided

One of the officers keeping tabs on the events inside Barrington’s nudged MacGuffey. “Looks like they’re about through,” he said.

The grizzled detective nodded decisively. “OK, here’s what we do.” He pointed to five of the police gathered around him. “You mugs take the lead patrol car and beat it over to Regents. But no sirens! Sergent Murphy, you’re in charge. Stop the robbery, but capture them alive if you can”

The police sergeant saluted curtly. “Right. Alright, men, let’s go.” He ran down the street with the four other policemen trailing behind him, all keeping low profiles as they hastened towards the patrol car.

“Look sharp, here they come,” called out one of the remaining officers. The silhouettes of the two men filled the door of Bennington’s. MacGuffey grabbed Callahan’s arm.

“Nervous, son?”

“A little,” the rookie admitted.

“Just follow my lead, and keep your head down,” Mac said.

The two crooks emerged from the store. Their features were hidden behind bandanas tied across their faces and caps pulled low over their eyes. One man wore a light brown overcoat over a pinstriped suit. The other had coarse black woolen sweater. Each had a bulging valese in one hand and a deadly-looking tommy gun in the other. They stopped short when they spotted the patrol car in the street. With a curse, they swung their weapons up.

“Give up,” shouted MacGuffey, “you haven’t got a chance.”

The crooks opened fire in unison, riddling the side of the patrol car with a hail of lead.

“Open fire,” said Mac, “but shoot to wound. I want those babies alive!”

The policemen’s revolvers spat tentative shots at the crooks. In the polished panels of Bennington’s bulletholes suddenly appeared with spiderweb patterns of cracks radiating out from them. Small shards of black glass sprinkled the street.

The crook with the overcoat dove for cover behind a mailbox on the curb. “Get to the car, Tom!” he barked, as he fired off another burst in the direction of the patrol car.

The man in the pullover jumped to the left and collapsed as a bullet piereced his left leg. Without losing his grip on either his machine gun or his valese, he pulled himself across the sidewalk to a low-slung coupe.

Seeing the wounded gangster move towards the car, Mac’s men redoubled their efforts. An officer leaned over the trunk of the car to get a better shot, and was immediately forced back by a barrage from the overcoated gunman. The sound of the slugs puncturing the metal sides of the patrol car was deafing.

Tom made it to the couple. He dropped his weapon and grabbed the door handle, using it as a grip to pull himself up as the door swung open.

Callahan started pumping shells into the coupe, completely emptying his gun’s chamber. Several of the shots went wild, clipping pieces of masonry off the building behind the vehicle. A few hit home, though. The right headlight disintegrated and sparks flew as two bullets richoted off the radiator grille.

Tom slid into the driver’s seat, his eyes almost level with the dashboard. The windshield sprouted three bullet holes in rapid succession before the glass shatted, spilling into the car. The coupe’s engine roared to life and the vehicle charged forward with an ear-splitting squeal as the rapidly spinning tires grabbed for purchase on the pavement.

The car stopped briefly in front of the mailbox, shielding it – and the gunman behind it – from the vengeful barrage of the police. The man abandoned his ad hoc fort and dove into the car.

Callahan was franticly reloading as Mac and the others fired at the coupe. With the lead patrol car no longer blocking the street, the way was open for the crooks to escape into the city.

“Aim for the tires!” commanded Mac. The officers, no longer pinned down by gunfire, stood and took aim. Most of them only had a shot or two left, and they wanted to make them count.

Then a motion caught Mac’s eye. Looking through the rear window of the coupe into the darkened interior, he saw the second crook swing his machine gun over the back of the set.

“Get down!” screamed Mac, dropping to his heels. At the same moment, Callahan slammed the now fully loaded chamber on his gun shut and jumped up on the running board with a shout of triumph.

The shout was cut short by machine gun fire. The coupe’s rear window exploded outwards and aa deadly rain of lead that cut through the top half of the patrol car like a scythe.

Callahan fell backwards into the street, his arms splayed outwards, his face frozen in a look of surprise. Mac rushed to him, ignoring the coupe that roared off into the late afternoon traffic. He barely heard the desultory shots fired by the policemen at the back of the retreating vehicle as he cradled the young rookie in his arms.

But there was nothing to be done. Callahan had died instantly.

“ Listen, and keep your head down,” whispered Mac, “that’s all you had to do.”

*  *  *
Murphy and the patrolmen in the lead car sped onto 34th Street. It had been just over a minute since they had left Bennington’s. The driver had kept the accelerator pushed to the floorboard. Murphy glanced around the interior of the car. All the men were alert and ready for action, their guns drawn and ready.

The patrol car took the corner on two wheels. In front of Regency Jewelers, a late model sedan sat idling, its driver scanning the streets as if waiting for something. When the police car appeared, the driver popped the clutch into gear and tromped on the accelerator.

He steered the sedan directly towards the approaching police car. Murphy’s eyes widened with horror as he saw the sedan speed towards them.

“Look out!” he gasped. The patrolman at the wheel desperately hit the brakes, but the police car had too much momentum to stop. The driver of the sedan dove out of the doomed vehicle just in the nick of time and hit the asphalt with a solid smack!

The two cars hurtled together with a terrific crash! Fenders crumpled and metal ground against metal with the impact. The chassis of the patrol car bend upwards, pitching Murphy and his men forward, then up. The car body crumpled in the middle, popping the doors open while pushing the seats together, pinning the men inside.

In a second it was all over. Murphy, dazed from the impact, feebly tried to push himself out of the wrecked patrol car, but to no avail. His chest was held between the dashboard and the back of the front seat like a vice. He could hear moaning behind him, but couldn’t turn his head to see who was making the sound. The police driver was pinned like Murphy. His head was pushed into the steering wheel, and a thin trickle of blood ran down his forehead and past his closed eyes.

Murphy groggily turned his head to look at Regents. The store was only ten feet away – yet for Murphy, helplessly trapped in the wreck of the patrol car, it might as well have been on the moon.

He could only watch helplessly as a gang of five crooks ran out of the store, each of them carrying some swag. A car parked at the end of the block turned over its engine and drove up to the group. Three got in, and two went to help the driver of the sedan. They half carried-half drug him into the car, which then pulled away at a stately pace.

Murphy cursed silently as he watched it travel two blocks, turn left, and disappear behind a row of buildings.

Two robberies within minutes of each other, and each successful! The law had failed to stop this wave of crime.


#nanowrimo

For Better or Worse -- the aging process

My post reacting to Lynn Johnston's announcement prompted some interesting discussion, both online and off. Most of the folks I talked with only read the humor strips, where the characters never age, and situations never change. Beetle Bailey has been a gold-bricking 20-something army private since 1950. Dilbert will always work in the same office for the same pointy-haired boss (whose hair will never gray). The kids in the Family Circus remain the ages they were when introduced in 1960. And so on.

One of the innovations of "For Better or Worse" is the aging of characters in real time. The last post I offered up some others that also aged their characters. Aging isn't unique, but real time aging is pretty rare.

"Funky Winkerbean" currently has characters aging at a normal rate, but it wasn't always so. The strip started out with the cast as perpetual high school students, a la "Archie." Tom Batiuk jump-started his strip by having the characters graduate from high school, then begin with a panel with the words "five years later." From then on, the now older characters grew and matured.

Many strips have some kind of aging going on, albeit at a very slow rate. When you consider that a daily strip has about two or three panels to move a story forward, the glacial passage of time within the comic can be forgiven.

"Judge Parker," started in 1952, has seen the title character move to the background while his law partner Sam Driver take over the lead. Driver eventually married, and young Randy Parker (the judge's son) has been the focus of some stories -- as have Neddy and Sophie. First introduced to the strip as young children in 1993, Neddy's now in college and Sophie's in high school.

"Rex Morgan, M.D" involved a long-running romance between Dr. Morgan and his nurse, June. In the 1990's this static relationship moved forward. They married, they had a daughter, and who's growing up at a normal rate.

The strip with the longest backstory has to be "The Phantom." Started in 1936, it tells the tale of the current incarnation of the Phantom, a direct descendant of the previous one in an unending line dating back over 400 years. His son Kit, born in the 1970's has grown up in the strip.

"Blondie" is currently ageless, but there have been changes. The 1933 strip started out with the courtship of young Dagwood Bumstead and Blondie. After a few years of married life, Baby Dumpling was born. Baby Dumpling remained frozen in time throughout the 1930's and 1940's and would sudden mature offstage to become the teenaged Alexander Bumstead.

"Dick Tracy" introduced a 10-year-old Junior in 1933. By 1949, he was a teenager and eventually married in his twenties to the Moon Maid in 1970's. Tracy joined the police force as a young man in 1931, and by the time of Chester Gould's retirement in 1977 had been considered as a candidate for chief, due to his seniority (he turned it down -- the position went to Pat Patton, his former partner).

"Gil Thorp" has made an interesting compromise with time. The high school athletic coach who came to Milford High in 1958 has married and raised children -- but 49 years after his arrival he's still on the job with not a gray hair in sight (nor even any male pattern baldness). Nevertheless, the kids that show up on his teams as freshmen only stay in the strip for four years, before they graduate as seniors. So the supporting cast ages normally, while the main characters grow in slo-mo.

Gil Thorp: from 1958 to 2006

There are many more examples, I'm sure. Use the comment field to remind me of some of the ones I've missed! Every sequential storyteller that addresses aging handles it a little differently. It's one of the things that keep me coming back to the comics pages every day.

- Ralph