I have opinions. Pull up a chair for an earful.

A Perfect Storm (Sewer)

Make It Stop

I think I've come down with a case of the MUMPS - "Multiple and Unceasing Message Processing Syndrome."

Merchandising has reached frenzied proportions and advertising messages are showing up in the darndest places. Logos have become fashion and Saturday morning cartoons have metamorphosed into 30-minute, serialized plugs for super hero action figures, dolls, video games and breakfast cereals.

Only years ago, 10-second television commercials were unheard of. Ditto for radio. It's now possible to deliver six times as many messages-per-break to the audience, and even split an ad into "chapters" and spread them throughout a commercial set to increase impact.

Don't get me wrong. Advertisers need vehicles for their messages and consumers need messages to help them compare products and make informed choices.

I do have my fears though, and my worst-case scenario goes something like this:

I wake up one morning and fetch the daily from the front lawn. The rubber band holding the paper together is printed with a tiny slogan that reads, "When You Run Out Of Hands, Buy Brown's Rubber Bands." I spend an hour poring over the pages. There are plenty of bargains and sales to read about, but little news.

I give up on the paper and turn on the radio, which belts out 32 minutes-per-hour of uptempo ads and station jingles. Singing along in the shower, I wear down a bar of soap to discover an embedded card that reads, "50 Cents Off Your Next Purchase Of Oxyfresh."

Digging into a hearty breakfast, I am astonished as my toast pops up to reveal a thermally-activated logo on each slice of bread. I solemnly vow to begin baking my own. Hitting the bottom of the margarine tub, I spy "Time For Another Pound Of Astound" peeking up from beneath the last scrapings of spread.

Riding the subway to work, I note an ad for "Rosy Toes Shoe Inserts" printed on the floor beneath my feet. Walking the last block to the office, I am passed by innumerable buses and taxis emblazoned stem-to-stern with phosphorescent product propaganda.

Work provides little respite from the avalanche of incoming data I am frantically trying to process. My mid-morning pause in the privy uncovers a sneaky pitch for "Cork's Diarrhea Halt" printed on the tube at the end of an empty roll of bathroom tissue. Lunching at a nearby deli, I note that the tomatoes on my salad have been neatly arranged in the shape of the restaurant's logo.

Back at work, I expire a package of facial tissue and peer down at an ad for "Sammy's Sinus Squelcher" printed on the inside of the box. Snacking on a banana later on, I nearly come unglued as I remove the peel to discover a sticker - on the inside! It reads, "Thanks For Shopping At Fezziwig's Fruits."

Picking up my paycheck at day's end, I note ten reasons why I should entrust my money to a local savings and loan, printed on the back of the check.

Finally home and sulking over a TV dinner, I spot "Now That You're Burning, Let Zop Stop The Churning" glaring up at me in four colors from beneath the gravy. And my evening of television is punctuated with no fewer than 22 minutes-per-hour of slogans, sell-lines and slander (it's political hunting season).

I give up and go to bed worrying that somehow, technology has already made possible the delivery of commercials to my dreams.

But wait...

As I begin to drift off, I hear a jingle coming through faintly on the subliminal self-preservation frequency:

"Excess Reception? Try Selective Perception."

Conventional Wisdom

It's been months since your co-workers returned tanned and slightly more rotund from NAB '92, and you're still seething with envy.

Hate to burst that bubble, but the glamour of convention-going ain't all it's cracked up to be. If you're planning on attending our industry's perennial pilgrimage any time in the near future, there are some things you should know.

The Host City:
Situated in a wide desert valley surrounded by mountains, Las Vegas is renowned for mind-blowing neon lights and budget-blowing leisure activities. Interestingly, Nevada's official animal is the leech.

First look:
The As you step off the plane into the bustling modern airport, you'll hear the unmistakable sound of coins gushing out of pockets and into the bank accounts of the locals, who enjoy both a high standard of living and laughing behind your back.

Checking In:
Upon arrival at the hotel, you'll stand in line and pretend to ignore the aroma of hundreds of other visitors who are just as sweaty and odorous as you are. Eventually, you'll make it to the check-in desk where a large lump sum will be debited from your credit card account and you'll be awarded a room with a window overlooking the trash incinerator. VIP check-in is easier and usually results in a room with a better view - such as one overlooking the lush green growth and babbling waters of the municipal sewage treatment plant.

Breakfast:
It's important to consume copious amounts of bland foods - such as oatmeal - that are capable of absorbing many times their weight in over-distilled coffee, fast food toxins and cheap bar alcohol.

The Convention Facility:
The Las Vegas Convention Center is a marvel of architectural design. It contains few bathrooms, precious few water fountains, and absolutely no seating - a brilliant strategy that helps vendors fill their booths with visitors too tired to resist sales pitches while collapsed in chairs and couches. This year, a large sign was posted near the main entrance. It read, "Do Not Sit On The Stairs" and was, for the most part, ignored. Next year, pit bulls on antihistamines will be posted around all stairwells.

The Show Floor:
The yearly equipment display is unmatched for sheer excitement. In fact, it's so exciting that the sensory overload brought on by flashing lights, multiple HDTV screens and Trillions Of Dollars Worth Of Toys will cause the uninitiated visitor to drool intensely until the signal can be attenuated by his or her brain. Exercise caution around the exhibit hall entryways, as the droolers usually render the floor slick and hazardous.

By the way, the swollen appearance of your returning co-worker was not due to the high-calorie and relatively inexpensive food, but rather was caused by the joint-swelling that results from walking the equivalent of 20 or 30 miles-per-day and swerving to avoid collisions with both droolers and those exhibiting the symptoms of the dreaded "floor-walk knee-lock."

Conventionspeak:
If you're attending the show for the first time, there are a number of phrases that you should master so as to appear a convention veteran. They include: "How much money did you lose last night?" "My brain hurts," "My body hurts," "My wallet hurts," "Where's the water fountain - my mouth tastes like top soil," and "How much do I have to spend to sit here for 5 minutes?"

Freebies:
Because of the troubled economy, freebies were few and far between at this year's show. However, you can always count on the bowls of mints and candy which are provided to restore the salivary activity necessary for visitors to croak out verbal purchase agreements.

Gambling:
Sociological research has proven that broadcasters, by nature of their chosen profession, make exceptional gamblers. It's easy. Feed your money into the slot machines or to the cashier or dealer. Force a smile as it disappears. If you happen to win, etiquette dictates that you cycle your winnings back through until you're broke again. This is called "Having Fun." If you're pressed for time, it may be easier to set the contents of your wallet afire in your room. For a more realistic time-saver, simply hand all of your cash to a stranger.

Entertainment:
There is a wealth of entertainment to enjoy while staying in Las Vegas. Check with any of the local publications or call a major hotel's box office. Perhaps the most spectacular stage show this year was David Copperfield's magic act. Copperfield has gained international recognition for his uncanny ability to remove 75 dollars from the net worth of each audience member.

Fitness (Tanning):
There are tanning booths available in many hotels, as well as other locations in the city. Just 30 minutes in any of these high-tech wonders will turn your dermis the color of glowing charcoal, resulting in that "healthy, active look" - even though your life support system is moments away from crashing and the only reason you're still moving is a well-sustained blood caffeine level.

Messaging:
There are a number of ways to contact your colleagues, including the convention facility's free communications center, FAX, cell phone, pager, and telephone.

After several years of convention attendance, I've determined that two methods enable one to find a colleague with minimum effort: permanent bonding with cyanoacrylate adhesive and the more mobile "kite twine method." In the latter case, be sure to carry a small knife should you need to cut yourself free during the charge for front-row luncheon tables.

Sleep:
Wouldn't put money on it. Even odds at best.

Things To See:
There a number of events you can count on enjoying every year, such as the hourly, synchronous beeping of an entire room full of wristwatch-wearing engineers or the cacophonous cheer that erupts as the convention center staff figures out how to kill the ground-loop buzz blaring from the exhibit hall's public address system.

Valet Service:
This convenience is provided by many hotels. Call the front desk by the time specified in the hotel guide, and the cheerful staff will see that your attire is sent out-of-house for a quick and thorough shrinking. You'll be proud to know that great advances have been made in clothes shrinking technology - thanks to the pioneering digital compression research work spearheaded by the broadcasting industry.

Parting shots:
Be sure to pack at least half your body weight in aspirin. And for heaven's sakes, budget for valet service. The el-cheapo "steam-in-the-bathroom" trick will not get rid of the wrinkles or "freshen" your shirts. It will simply make them smell like boiled armpit sweat.

Look What They've Done To My Song Ma

You worked hard to record your latest prospective hit. You toggled through hundreds of synthesizer screen pages to design perfect voices, tweaked your gear endlessly to assure the best possible sonic quality, stayed up nights to carefully sequence every note for a perfect arrangement, chewed your fingernails to stubs while assembling the tracks and even boned up on the elements of graphic design to put together an eye-catching package.

If you were lucky enough to end up with a final product that found a tiny slot in the song rotation of a radio station brave enough to stray from the playlist safety zone, you may have been alarmed at the difference between what poured out of your nearfield monitors during mastering and what finally aired on the radio.

We're not talking the difference between speakers, or even radio's inherently narrow bandwidth. We're talking about Humpty Dumpty being reassembled to look like a bagel instead of an egg.

Just two words can neatly sum up radio's willingness to apply "creative license" (the butcher's knife) to the fruits of your labor:

Bottom Line.

They're nasty words to any artist and perhaps especially frustrating to the musician who, for the most part, depends on broadcast radio's dissemination of his or her work to arouse interest and sell product.

If you've been a consumer of radio for the past decade or two, you probably have noticed a steady decline of titles, an increase in cookie-cutter formats, a barrage of sound-alike and banal positioning statements and a growing unwillingness to explore the medium's true entertainment potential. There's a reason for that too.

Yep. Bottom Line.

In better days, radio attempted to cater to different tastes via "block programming." One might have heard Classical music in the mornings, pop music during the afternoons and jazz at night. Over the years though, there's been a shift toward narrowcasting - programming for tightly defined groups of consumers. The practice is now evident in almost every area of mass communications. Magazines are aimed at ever-tightening demographic and psychographic groups.

This publication is a good example. From the universe of musicians, this magazine focuses on those who aspire or do make a living with music and then, aims itself at those who use heavily electronic devices. Likewise, cable television provides growing numbers of channels devoted to increasingly tiny interest groups.

Perhaps the last bastion of "broadcasting" (in the truest sense of the word) is network television, and many pundits argue that the networks' unwillingness to specialize is what drove the success of cable and has eroded broadcast television's viewership. People just don't have time to sit around and wait for subject matter that appeals to their interests. They want "what they want, right now."

Broadcast radio not only has drifted toward narrowcasting, but has run aground on a sandbar of debt and decreasing profits. During the go-go eighties, the industry was a hotbed of station sales and re-sales, almost a gigantic Ponzi scheme. One could purchase a station, do whatever it took to get good numbers for one or two ratings periods, turn the station for a huge profit and retire.

Greed and over-optimistic speculation drove an endless cycle of deals until the last buyers were left holding the bag - overpriced stations whose debt service were so high that just paying the monthly interest installment required selling - and airing - 61 minutes of commercials-per-hour. Add to that a weakening economy and one or two bad ratings reports (or "books") and you have a recipe for bankruptcy.

Owners and General Managers were suddenly faced with potential disaster. Many stations canned entire on-air staffs and hooked up with generic satellite services. And almost every station that could support an on-air staff, decided to play it safe by eliminating all possible risks.

Unfortunately, risk is what good programming is all about.

Subsequently, music playlists began to shrink, on-air announcer banter was minimized and we began hearing slogans like "more music, less talk."

That's where we are now. Travel to any city in the country, you'll hear the same basic formats and almost identical and banal "handles" like "Magic," "Power," "Mix," "Classic" and "Real." You'll hear stations screaming about how they play "the most music per hour" or "the best mix of music" or "no repeat workdays." If you're attentive, you'll no doubt hear a growing number of satellite stations - easily identified by the lack of specific references to location of time and plenty of "bits" culled from the pages of USA Today.

Because of the withering business climate I've just described, stations now more than ever are willing to dicker with a song to make it "fit" time or image-wise.

More songs per hour means more shorter songs and, my friend, if yours is playable but too lengthy, it will be shortened. Also, satellite radio networks are faced with windows of specific length during which local affiliates can "cut away" to air commercials. These windows may range in length from 2 1/2 to 3/12 minutes and, because there are a finite number of selections which are both safe and of applicable length, appropriate measures will be taken to render them suitable.

Methods I've both witnessed and very grudgingly participated in include preliminary fades, removing entire versus or bridges, shrinking or stretching songs with variable speed control and even running music through a time compression program to shorten or lengthen as needed, without affecting pitch.

I've seen intros that are "too long" shortened to accommodate a jock's 10 to 15 second weather updates. I've seen intros that are too short looped to accommodate announcers' contest details. I've seen intros, bridges, versus and choruses that were too "rap" or "metal" completely stripped away in pre-production.

On the processing end, I have witnessed the application of unmentionable amounts of EQ to "sweeten" songs. I've seen levels jockeyed to "smooth out" the dynamics. I've seen board outputs compressed beyond belief so the station would sound "louder on the dial," then clipped by limiters so the station would not exceed federally mandated specs.

I have seen just about enough.

It's a shame that any artist would have to suffer such blatant mishandling of his or her efforts. Most of all, it's a shame that listeners everywhere are being conditioned to expect so little out of a medium that can do so much in the way of imaginative and entertaining programming.

Perhaps the only positive aspects of such creative license an artist's song will get on the air and that the need for "radio edits" has provided extra work for remixing people and extra income for compact disc pressing plants.

I'd love to go on, but I've got to get back to that contemporary jazz number we're working on. We need to bring up all the softer passages to a minimum of -2 dB, limit all the hot passages to +3 dB, cut out that obnoxious EWI solo, loop the first four bars of intro, brighten with some EQ, and then squeeze the whole thing into 2:59.

Trust me, you'll love it.

Bob's Big Brother

Last week, my friend Bob became the victim of an abusive brother. Big Brother, that is.

Bob works for a company that manufactures rubber baby buggy bumpers. Its products are endorsed by well-known personalities, were rated favorably by a leading consumer publication, and have been used and trusted by millions of American mothers for almost five decades.

When he arrived at work last Monday, Bob was called to an all-staff meeting with the company's president, Mr. Big. Big began the meeting with the obligatory corporate flag-waving about the company's glorious mission to produce the highest quality buggy bumpers.

Then he dropped the bombshell. The company's insurer had developed an extraordinarily accurate drug screen and demanded that the company use it or face higher premiums for injury liability coverage. Testing would begin immediately.

Several of Bob's younger co-workers turned green and slipped quietly from the meeting and several muttered about their lawyers, but most filed into the John and obliged a shady looking technician's request for 100 cc's of nature's finest before shuffling off toward the assembly line.

Two days later, Bob was summoned to Mr. Big's cavernous office. He was petrified. Jobs were scarce, and his second child was on the way.

"Bob," Big began grimly, "I'm afraid we've come up with positive results on your drug test."

The frog that lodged itself in Bob's throat would have made Calaveras County proud. He sort of barked something about "not since '72" and collapsed into a chair.

"You do understand why drug testing is so important here, don't you?" Big began.

Bob nodded so hard his teeth chattered.

"In a way," continued Big, "we're responsible for the safety of countless infants. Our buggy bumpers have never failed and it would nothing short of a disaster if someone impaired by drugs were to let a dud slip by. Think of the consequences!"

Bob's head rocked up and down.

"We must also remain a competitive force in the marketplace, and employing the chemically impaired is not the solution."

Bob was getting dizzy, so he stopped nodding and tried desperately to focus on Big, who peered at a lengthy printout.

"Tip back a few during the weekends, don't we?" Big queried.

Bob smiled sheepishly and confessed to some misguided behavior while watching decisive sporting events.

"Bob," said Big, "research indicates that alcohol consumption causes delayed gastrointestinal chaos. We just can't use people who are always trotting to the bathroom."

"My lips are sealed sir," Bob blurted out.

"Do you drink coffee?" asked Big, pinning Bob to his chair with a steely gaze.

Y-yes sir," Bob stammered.

"With continued use," rumbled Big," caffeine can cause insomnia and agitation. We wouldn't want you working in a fatigued state and we wouldn't want you working in an agitated state. No more coffee."

"Never again!" Bob almost hollered."

What about cigarettes?" Big prodded. "Smoke...?"

"Lights," Bob squeaked, swallowing hard, "just one or two a day."

Big boomed back, "Nicotine use has been linked to premature death and dead people don't produce!"

Bob reached into his shirt pocket and crushed a half-empty pack with a sweaty palm. Big almost smiled with approval and returned his gaze to the printout.

"One more thing...," Big said slowly.

Bob's heart did a double barrel roll. Big had left the cruncher 'till last.

"Do you drink milk?"

Bob almost laughed out loud. The old fossil was concerned about his nutritional habits.

"Great stuff," Bob offered. "Have it every morning on my cereal! Helps increase production capability, right?"

"No," growled Big, "the high calcium content has been proven to help induce relaxation, even sleep. You could lose an arm to the bumper buffer if you were to nod off. Employee Wellness suggests the more time-efficient breakfast of orange juice over breakfast flakes."

As he slunk out of Big's office, Bob thanked his lucky stars he still had a job and, on the way back to the line, struck up the new verse to the company song he'd learned at Monday's meeting.

Civil rights' is just a phrase
Be glad you have a job that pays.
When working here from 8 to 4,
Please leave your rights checked at the door.

Sound Body, Sound Mind

The summer games are almost upon us and, in the spirit of those noble events designed to capture the grace and dignity of human struggle through sport, I thought it might be nice to come up with a way in which we could measure our prowess against Murphy's punctual visits to the workplace.

The Olympics were first founded by the ancient Greeks as a way to honor the Gods, and also as a way to celebrate the "artistically educated human" - one who actively pursued physical, intellectual, artistic and moral excellence.

Consider then that the average station engineer will, in the dead of any given night, find it necessary to call upon skills in all of these areas - perhaps while simultaneously holding with one hand a heavy piece of rack-mounted gear (physical), calculating the value of a needed resistor (intellectual), brainstorming a creative tactic with which to convince management to replace an antiquated and constantly failing piece of hardware (artistic), and fending off the advances of the overnight jock's persistent 14-year-old groupie (moral).

The idea for a "Broadcaster's Olympiad" came to me one day long ago as I vaulted a listener in the lobby (there to claim a prize), sprinted down a hallway while trailing molten coffee all over a recently shampooed beige carpet, and ricocheted off the control room doorknob to correct a skipping Charley Pride singing "...tell me why-pop-why-pop-why..."

Here are some possible events for a contest designed to ferret out the "creme de la creme" - or, in broadcast radio terms, the "packet of non-dairy creamer that's been in the break room the fewest number of years."

"Boxing"
This event measures the time each contestant takes to repack - as per a major delivery company's guidelines - a failing piece of gear for overnight shipment to the manufacturer. Fastest time wins, with points deducted for each appendage accidentally taped to the container.

"Fencing"
Supposing that the transmitter is beginning to smolder, the contestant must climb a 14-foot chain link fence before dashing 50 meters to the front door of the transmitter building. Winner determined by fastest time and fewest number of rips in his or her clothing.

"Gymnastics - All Around"
Contestant must squeeze "all" of him or herself "around" the console of an on-air studio in which equipment has been installed with insufficient wall clearance. Fastest time and fewest visible dermal abrasions wins.

"Gymnastics - Floor Exercise"
On a simulated NAB convention equipment exhibition floor, each contestant must dash from "booth" to "booth," stopping at each just long enough to scribble a stock name and company address on a sales lead form. Fastest time wins, with points deducted for broken pencils or fingers.

"110 Meter Hurdles"
Carrying in one hand a box filled with 110 VU meters and in the other hand a beaker filled with hot coffee, each contestant must navigate an obstacle course leading to a workbench where we will assume a catastrophe is in progress. The course is littered with everyday objects like a mail-laden secretary, a chair from the newsroom, several aimlessly wandering announcers and a small group of visiting VIPs. Fastest time, fewest VU meters and least coffee spilled takes the event.

"Marathon"
After being kept awake at least 24 consecutive hours, each contestant must perform mental mathematical calculations of increasing complexity. Contestants eliminated as they either make errors or lapse into unconsciousness.

"20 Kilometer Sprint"
Supposing that the station van has broken down en route to a remotely located and rapidly failing transmitter, each contestant must sprint 10 kilometers to a "gas station," fill a gas can with a gallon of fuel (3.78 kg), and haul the container another 10 kilometers back to the van. Fastest time wins, with points deducted for spilled fuel and ruptured blisters.

"Hammer Throw"
Supposing that a very expensive tower climber has just begun an ascent and realizes a crucial tool is still on the ground, the contestant must heave to him or her a 16-pound ball-peen hammer. Winner judged on both height and accuracy, with points deducted for knocking the "target" off the tower.

"Shot Put" The contestant must launch toward a dumpster, in Olympic style, a "shot" cart machine whose constant mechanical troubles are costing the station excessive makegoods in a constantly sold out schedule. Winner judged by both distance of throw and peak SPL of accompanying verbal tirade.

We could go on and on, into the ridiculous or the bizarre, such as greatest number of tools held in the mouth (assuming both hands are full) or fastest use of the restroom, but we all share a little pride in the skills we've developed for those day-to-day challenges.

Perhaps someday we will get together for just such a contest keeping in mind that, according to scholars, the ancient games were used to keep the troops in top physical and mental preparedness for battle.

As broadcast radio is the closest thing to war in peacetime, we'll be primed for the pressure the next book will bring and, hell, we'll have a good chuckle too.

The Task Of Amontillado

The first indication that Amontillado's period "between positions" was going to last longer than he expected was the sheer number of people in the headhunter's lobby; that, and the fact that all of them were nearly identical in age to himself.

Monty, as he was known to everyone but his mother, was hardly "old. " But just being able to name all four musicians on The White Album placed him across a generational chasm from most of the pimply-faced, Jolt Cola-swilling kids in his line of work.

Monty wasn't bitter. His career as a corporate creative director had been long and sufficiently rewarding. And, even though even though he'd just been unceremoniously canned from a "safe" management position, he felt confident that his multitude of talents would enable him to quickly move on.

The air the lobby was uncomfortably still and thick. Monty killed some time eyeballing the other candidates; most of them looked considerably more nervous than Monty felt.

Monty was finally ushered to a cramped office whose only light came from the glow of a numerous monitors. He quickly ID'd a couple of desktop workstations and an aging data server.

Tucked uncomfortably behind a desk piled high with paperwork and manuals was a rotund, balding man who was sweating profusely.

"Name's Walt," he mumbled as he stood up and extended his hand. "Exactly what kind of work are you looking for?"

Walt sat back down and the vinyl of his chair squealed softly as he settled in. Walt reminded Monty Monty of a basset hound who lived several doors down the street from his childhood home, but sadder looking. He wore the look of someone weary of serving large helpings of bad news. Monty slid toward him a microdisk that contained his resume and began to open his portfolio.

"Well," Monty replied. "I have a wealth of experience in many different areas."

"Uh-huh..." Walt muttered as he brought Monty's resume up on the screen.

Hoping to lead the direction of the interview, Monty began his self-sell. "Well sir, I think my strongest ability is graphic art and layout. I've done work for prestigious clients in a variety of mediums."

"Little need for real artists these days son," Walt whispered back sadly. "Everyone's moving to software. Markers and hot-wax machines are out and anyone who can drag a mouse can assemble clip-art and format a page. Got 200 kids on file right now and they're willing to work for minimum. They think this stuff is better than video games."

He eyed Monty squarely to make sure he was getting through, then returned his gaze to the screen.

Monty swallowed uncomfortably and pushed on. "I'm also a very proficient copywriter."

"So are the programs," countered Walt. "Spew out some raw verbiage and the computer will handle style, grammar, and word-usage."

Monty's insides were beginning to squirm. He'd just heard about a program that could generate a titanic list of allusions, metaphors, similes, puns, and anagrams after being fed just the key words of a client's product or service.

"What about electronic media production?" Monty stuttered. "I'm experienced in videotape editing, audio production, and I'm a multi-instrumentalist with quite a bit of musical scoring experience...."

"Computers are taking care of that too" Walt replied as he eyed Monty. "With timecode-assisted editing, digital sampling, MIDI sequencing, and direct-to-disk recording, anyone can be a top gun. Worker pool is huge and growing, and salaries are way down."

Walt tapped a few keys and glanced at another screen. "And from what I can see here, I don't think you'd be willing to settle for the going rate."

Monty had never imagined that talent would take the same path of obsolescence as the floppy disk, but there was no denying that creative flair and man-years of experience were being rewritten as lines of code.

About the same time the wave of panic swept through him, one of Walt's machines began to groan and shimmy. Monty was amazed to see his rather sedentary-looking figure cover the span of the room in one arm-flailing leap.

"&%$#$#@" Walt hollered. "Didn't have a chance to back up, what with all of today's interviews, and this damn server has had a foot in the grave for more than a month."

He collapsed into a task chair and stared at the box as a wispy trail of gray smoke spiraled out of the fan housing.

The hardware manual was right in front of Monty so he grabbed it and began flipping through the pages. The solution wasn't under "Problems," "Troubleshooting," "Failure," "Lockups," or even "Acts Of God" but grudgingly concealed under "Device Emancipation Options." Monty just knew where to look.

When the undamaged files came back up, Walt hoisted his mashed potatoes figure out of the chair and smiled broadly. Then he hired Monty at 50% more than the last, slightly inflated salary on his resume.

"Deciphering software manuals takes talent, kid" he said, "...real talent."

Getting Real

Considering that video has become more real than real life for an increasingly large percentage of the population, the emerging technology of Virtual Reality promises to have the same impact on video game enthusiasts as did video games on pinball players decades ago.

Currently under development, Virtual Reality promises to enable us to insert ourselves into and interact with - via headphones, goggles, and other gear - a world of synthetic sights, sounds, and tactile sensations.

Those of us who are now hesitant to attempt such activities as snowboarding or bungee jumping may well be able to test our mettle in a stunningly realistic way without risking life, limb or public humiliation, much the same way as I fly ..er, crash aircraft on my PC.

The technology may also increase the global supply of polished standup comedians, as fledgling funnypeople may someday be able to hone their lines in front of digitized hecklers without having to worry about dodging fusillades of overripe vegetables.

The Big Squeeze

At the recent Western Cable trade show in Anaheim, California, John Malone, president of the nations largest cable operator, Tele-Communications Inc., predicted that video compression may be realized sooner than expected.

Compression does just what its name implies; it squeezes a video signal into less space, allowing more channels to be carried to the subscriber's home by the coaxial or fiber optic transmission pipeline.

Several 150-channel systems have been launched and nervous cable programmers are chewing their nails trying to determine how they'll come up with enough new content to fill the void. If cable television continues to follow the trend of abandoning broad and general interest audiences for very narrow niche groups, we'll probably see programming services expand the practice of multiplexing - spinning off sub-categories of currently successful channels.

A home shopping service might launch an "All Gold Plated Jewelry Channel," or an "All Figurine Channel" - perhaps even an "All Capodimonte Channel."

A weather network might splinter into "The Blizzard Channel" (targeted toward sunbaked Southerners) and "Beach TV" (aimed at snowed-in Northerners).

A network carrying live court proceedings could launch "Divorce Court TV," "Bankruptcy Court TV," and even "Traffic Court TV."

As nice as the increased number of choices may be, I'm a little worried about whether my remote will be able to handle the extra workload.

Tone Deaf

What do you do when you hear the piercing tone that indicates an Emergency Broadcast System test on your local radio station? Like most other people, you probably dive for the dial and tune in to something else.

Following several gaffes in which radio stations employed pre-recorded and ineffective tones and ran tones within on-air parodies, The Federal Communications Commission has been working on ways to give the system a higher profile among participating radio facilities and thus encourage a more serious attitude toward a system which some industry and government experts feel is approaching technical antiquity.

Methinks they should also consider revamping the alert signal to something that will better attract the attention of listeners who have, over the years, grown unresponsive to those worn out tones.

Considering the currently most popular entertainment subjects and the state of the national economy, an announcement such as "Sex! Violence! Jobs Are Now Available!" would work rather well.

So That's Where The Money Is

Respected futurist Faith Popcorn - yep, the moniker's for real - has identified and defined a number of new demographic types that are sure to become household words during the coming years. "Yuppies" have given way to "Whoopies" (Well Heeled Older People), "MOBYS" (Mother Older, Baby Younger) "DOBYS" (Daddy Older, Baby Younger) and, perhaps the most annoying concept to those of us who are graying and mortgaged up to our widow's peaks, "Skippies" (School Kids with Income and Purchasing Power).

"Skippies," says Popcorn, "go to the supermarket with fists full of money and make big brand decisions."

The existence of "Skippies" might explain why so many ads seem to cater to the intelligence of eleven-year-olds.

I'd love to continue, but I have to find a Skippy who'll lend me a fist full of money so I can have the tires on my '73 Beetle re-treaded.

Inside Your Head

The December issue of Direct, a marketing trade publication, reports that Montgomery Ward's marketing division has begun employing some high tech wizardry to determine exactly what we consumers think about the words used in direct mail and telemarketing.

A $20,000 machine called the Preference Analyzer allows consumer guinea pigs to indicate on a scale of 1 to 10 (10 being more favorable) their reaction to text as they read it. The responses are then superimposed over the text to provide researchers with an accurate correlation between specific verbiage and audience response.

Sure would be nice if we could employ such technology within the political system, as four years is a long time to wait before we can send our electees the only message they seem to understand - The Boot.

Failure Rate

The king of radio audience measurement companies, Arbitron, got some news recently - some good and some bad. The good news was that competing service Birch Radio finally went belly up as financial pressures facing radio stations led to drastically lower subscriptions to that company's ratings service. The bad news was that Arbitron's own subscribers have voiced increasing dissatisfaction and have accused the organization of allowing its methodology to become antiquated in the face of rapid changes in listening habits.

Arbitron measures radio listening through a system of diaries sent to randomly selected listeners in each market. Participants are usually sent a small token payment and asked to record carefully which stations they listen to, in 15 minute increments, for one week - quite a task considering the average listener's daily button-punching.

In an article in Marketing News, consultant Todd Doren (whose company, Diary Experts, helps stations decipher ratings data) says, "Some listeners just vote for their favorite stations. Some researchers will tell you people know more what mayonnaise is in their refrigerators than what station they listened to...people just don't know what they're doing."

Considering the fact that a single ratings point can mean the difference between thousands upon thousands of dollars in advertising time, it's not surprising that so many radio Sales Managers dream of a system that will follow us around and record every twiddle of the dial, whether or not we're actually listening.

Bullet(in)

Multichannel News reports that Continental Cablevision Corporation's St. Paul, Minn. cable system has employed its own version of an "electronic bullet" to help finger signal pirates. St. Paul newspapers report that, unlike "bullets" employed by other cable companies (which used computerized instructions fed through the cable system to shut down chips inside illegally altered converters), Continental's version either sends a message only to tampered boxes or shuts down the basic service of premium channel thieves. If customers respond to the message or continue to pay the bill, they electronically "admit" to theft of services and face a $1,500 fine. It's still cheaper to pay up.

You Can Run But You Can't Hide

Gonzo video channel MTV will be launching, via laserdisc, a "New Music Report" in selected record stores across the country. Part of the growing trend of "place-based media," the "video capsule" will present two hours of original video programming (including video samples, retailer and sponsor identifications) to MTV audience members while they shop.

It looks as though the kids may now be able to get their MTV at the M-A-L-L, and we old folk can get some R & R at H-O-M-E.

The End(s) Of An Art Form?