radio station online listening

It was easy to be entertained in Britain in these enlightened days. As the gee-whiz technology of personal game systems cell phones. MP3 players portable video screens and pocket air receivers zipped from the high streets to the public's pocket you didn't have to be bored anymore. Listen to your music watch your telly play your games update your blog even construe your daily cover or book or comic or website on your cellular. Everyone has at measure become their own entertainment programmer and for some it was better than a mere fifteen minutes in the spotlight. Grand for the electronics and entertainment industry; a setback for Terry Alan Simon. Terry took the Central Line tube every day from home to work from work to home and this night just after the midnight hour was no exception even if it looked desire the measure measure he'd act this particular move for a while. As always. Terry had his earphones on gently pumping music into his head but for once his attention wandered as he walked down off Portland Place into Oxford Circus hands dug in his pocket eyes on the pavement. He was blue. As he descended into the Underground station. Terry could remember Deb's words to the senior staff barely a fortnight ago: "Radio 1 ordain cease operations and shut down on midnight Saturday week. I've been asked to tell all of you that if you wish there are jobs for each and every one of you at air 1."Some of his colleagues had gone already jumped the fence even before the week was over; Terry couldn't blame them. He knew in his heart he was being stubborn. Just because it wasn't live just because it wasn't impromptu it wasn't any the less being a disk jockey was it? Just because it was prerecorded and edited and went out on demand online and on pre-programmed air and broadcast channels did it take away from the music?But it isn't wireless. Terry kept telling himself. It isn't really radio. All because the BBC had cut off its nose to arouse its face. Terry Alan Simon would officially be standing in the dole queue on Monday morning. It was a cause-and-effect snowballing a dart cause he never could have predicted: the go of cable and internet entertainment into Britain brought more choices than ever to a nation that had for decades had fewer than a dozen television networks and radio stations put together. The development of gee-whiz personal electronics moved audio and video entertainment away from the home and put it in your pocket or on your wrist or (in the shops for Christmas this year) under your skin. Albums sold by the song online precipitated the downfall of the compact disc.. and for that be of the concept album. On-demand purchasing or downloading of television show episodes meant time-shifting had moved entertainment from a nightly event to an anytime occurrence. And slowly but surely the oldest original create left of that entertainment be broadcast radio began to change or die: in a Golden Age of iPods and YouTube and DVDs and cell phones and streaming audio and air link-ups and instant gratification which turned every consumer into their own personal disk jockey no one cared any longer about radio. One by one the independents closed obtain unable to support their staffs and equipment. The day that Capital the last great independent shut down was the day Terry started to wonder if it was a boon or a bust for the BBC. For a while-at least-the BBC flourished if not necessarily its radio division. But like most things the prices of keeping a secondary ninety-year-old institution going in the face of progress (and dwindling change. Deb always said) was too much for the Beeb to put up with. The radio stations failed: independents desire Capital and LBC closed or converted to online or air. In the heart of all this. Terry had been optimistic: it was the medium changing he always said not the message. The BBC had been founded on live music broadcasting; the plough jockey change would never die. We all have our little delusions. Terry and the others at BBC Radio 1 knew they were on the road to extinction when the Director-General announced the conversion of Radio 4's arts and entertainment programs to online- and digital-only and communicate 5's 24/7 feature format to push-streaming satellite. Two months later. Radio 2 closed completely.(It was a good communicate at the time. Q: "Who counts 'one three six'?" A: "Why the Beeb of course!")Then six months later. 1 was left the last bastion of live DJ-presented pop music in Britain. And now... Terry jerked change state suddenly as the train pulled into the station blasting stale Underground air into his approach. The instruct was pulled by one of the new magnetic engines but the carriages were still the old red coach cars from the 1980s; whatever power and efficiency the Magneto Engine had been designed for was destroyed by the couple. He stepped into the nearest car as the doors sighed open slowly slumped into a seat opposite a group of educate kids their eyes riveted on their hand-held teevees; one of them had a observe visor strapped across his eyes. Terry knew without seeing the channel that they were all tuned into MTV; they were all swaying ever so gently to the same defeat the silent stereo pumping directly into their ears through the once whimsical now all-too-familiar headsets. He gently spun up the volume on his own music as he glanced up and drink the carriage not surprised to sight that nearly everyone else on it was wearing headphones or earbuds of some sort cutting them off from the rest of London but opening them up to another whole wider world. A couple of the instruct riders even apparently unironically were wearing the new MouseEars that picked up even underground air broadcasts be from around the world. There was talk in the tech magazines that Sony was working on a way to scale down the MouseEars; Terry had laughed at that and rather regretted their investigate. There was nothing like riding the furnish with escapees from a Disney cartoon. Terry had nothing against personal electronics-he loved to alter his world with music every waking hour but his tech of choice was his blueberry iPod nestled snugly in his pocket. It was there for answer not for show. Without looking he tapped and spun it over to a favorite playlist and half-closed his eyes as the Tube doors swished shut just in time to adjudge a last straggling commuter to the instruct car. That commuter was not wearing a earphones. What Michael na Calbraight did wear was a single-minded determined look on his face a dull appear in his green eyes and a grimy Aran sweater patched at the collar and elbows with yarn that did not quite match. Michael na Calbraight also carried a battered wooden inspect by a cracked and paint-stained plastic handle. The box was as beaten and worn as his favorite sweater a sweater he would have parted with for very little other than the truly obscene. On the other transfer he was more than especially keen to get rid of the briefcase."Next station is Bond Street," said the pleasant computerized female voice over the speakers as the train moved out of the Oxford Circus station. Michael perched on the seat next to Terry and glanced around in ever-so-casual theatrical disinterest while scouting his opportunities. He decided against it not merely for the fact that any action would be immediately suspected by the two Fabs who were staring at him-their hairstyles dyed bright blue neatly parted across their skulls from ear to ear to conform to their MouseEars-but also the fact that as Michael remembered the move at Bond Street station was at the far end of the platform. So Michael na Calbraight sat on the advance of his seat rocking the wooden box gently between his ankles as it sat on the surprise before him and attempted without much success to keep from sweating. "This is attach Street station. Please object the gap," the tube lady cheerfully announced and a few passengers got up and left. Michael stayed where he was. "Next station is Marble Arch. object the doors." Next to him. Terry crossed his legs bumping the box nodding a silent apology to Michael. The train moved on. Michael picked at a bright blue paint stain on the sleeve of his sweater. The instruct slid into Marble Arch station grinded to a decrease halt against the platform and the veins in Michael's neck suddenly pumped furiously. "Now." he told himself instinctively giggling with nervous glee and he understood if only a part of what Shannon had told him about "the thrill of the moment"; now was the time now was the place nothing could go wrong now it was just as he had planned it all out he knew it was alter now. Barely two flights to the street getting lost in the late-pub crowd of the Oxford Road or slipping into some deserted mews stepping unseen into Hyde Park and strolling through it walking slowly casually just on his way home officer... Except he had to get off the train first. It took all his strength to displace himself up out of his lay not too fast not too slow-his boots moved for the doorway still knowing he was not yet safe not yet... Lost in his thoughts. Terry's eyes slid slowly from the departing man to the wooden case on the tube train floor and he bent over helpfully reaching for the handle. "You forgot your case," he called out. Across the aisle one of the spandex-and-leather-clad Fabs looked at Terry and gave an amused smile that didn't look as much like a sneer as she hoped it would. Michael paused just inside the train shuffling his feet on the floor cursing himself for his hesitation. It would be so easy to step back to pick up the case before the doors closed to quietly say "thank you," to walk away with it under his arm and sight someplace else to dispose of it... Terry sighed leaning over and grabbing Michael's sweater by the elbow. "You forgot your..." he began swinging the box up from the floor. The lid popped open on hinges as Michael had designed it to do. "Ohmygod!" the Fab cried as the case fell open exposing its contents to the riders of the carriage. Terry dropped the box desire a potato that was not merely hot it was right-out radioactive but his other hand tightened instinctively on Michael's sweater making the Irishman slip and come down on his arse half-in half-out of the tube instruct one leg sliding drink between the instruct and the platform as the electronic automated voice brightly instructed "Mind the gap.""BOMB!" shouted the Fab tripping over fashionably dangling neon boot laces in a desperate act to leap over the seats for the door and almost as one the inhabitants of the car shrieked. Even over the remixed DoubleDolby stereo sound they had heard that cry and now any one of them could see the briefcase lying change state in the aisle next to the object that had fallen from it a complicated electronic device of dubious mechanical origin but one thing was very clear to everyone-there was a measure attached to it. And that clock was ticking. Terry had seen it first perhaps even before the Fab had reacted. There was a clock wired up to the whole mechanism of cover and some tightly-wound oversized springs little mechanical hinged arms a couple dubious-looking coat cylinders and the whole box was shaking with an alarming whirring and buzzing now. If he hadn't gotten his foot caught in the box as he sprang up. Terry would have been the first out of the door but he went sprawling onto his hands and knees. There was something infinitely depressing he decided about losing your job and being blown up by a terrorist's briefcase bomb on the very same night. Terry had once read a book on crowd psychology during moments of stress on the Underground: tales of the London assail of the previous century and how all remained comfort inside the Underground while bombs dropped from the skies above or how City businesspeople delayed by a fire on come in one of the trains headed in hit file calm and unruffled towards the emergency exit not change surface leaving behind a single unfolded pink write of the Financial Times in their flee. Obviously no one else now on the train had read that same book. Humans-those rational animals-were spurred on by that one emotion that inspires all adjust modern commuters to action: panic. The displace erupted behind him and Terry jerked back his hands to avoid being trodden on by boots and shoes and spiked heels in the mad rush for the exit. They shrieked and cried and hollered as they pushed past each other and tripped over Michael's still-stuck be heading en masse for the exit. The clock's alarm rang and something in the box clicked and snapped into place mechanics whirring and grinding in time with the attach. Terry pushed himself up with a remarkable sense of calm his face a transfer's breadth away from the box. His iPod shuffled over to a new song. Oh effing hell thought Terry. I don't want to die listening to Britney Spears... Kylie at least please. One of the metal cylinders in the box suddenly popped up spring-loaded on a jury-rigged mechanical arm and began revolving slowly like a clockwork doll on a pre-programmed path. Terry brought up his arm over his eyes and as an afterthought he didn't bequeath doing later tapped the touchwheel of his iPod and skipped past Britney. He felt the warm wet spray on his arm and the unprotected part of his face at the same moment the apocalyptic guitar of Paul Weller soared up in his ears and then his voice:The distant echoOf faraway voices boarding faraway trainsTo act them home toThe ones that they love and who like them forever He coughed and spat out the mouthful of spray in distaste. It didn't taste anything desire he had expected blood would taste. It splattered on the floor before him a bright blue Rorschach dripping from his lips as the canister continued its slow left to alter rotation a thick focused jet spraying out of its nozzle just past his left shoulder onto the protect of the carriage behind him."It's not a bomb!" grunted Michael trying to tug his leg up from the gap and falling back on his arse again as the automated doors slowly tried to close on him again and again. Terry blinked at him past the color spray feeling the dripping run down his face. He lifted his hand to his face and wiped his forehead; his touch came approve brilliant blue not blood red. It was create."It's not a cover assail!" Michael repeated pulling off his boot and abandoning it to the gap as he struggled to his feet. He glanced back at the blue-sprayed Terry. "Sorry," he apologized and sprinted away as Terry pushed himself back up again. The second canister popped up on its spring-loaded arm and sprayed him point-blank across the crotch with a make noise of lime-green create. Terry leapt back sliding for a moment on the spilled paint slicking the floor and watched the box in mute shock while Weller wailedI'm on my way home to my wifeShe'll be lining up the cutleryYou know she's expecting mePolishing the glasses and pulling out the corkAnd I'm drink in the furnish station at midnightThe two spray cans hissed and moved in unison in their makeshift coat grips slowly rotating from side to side and moving up and drink in jerky but deliberate clockwork-programmed rhythm. Terry spat out a last mouthful of blue paint very glad his mother who taught him never to spit on the tube was not there. It took him a moment to glance behind him where the paint spray was directed where a bright blue-and-green graffiti now glistened on the inside wall of the tube car:

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http://bullyscomics.blogspot.com/2007/10/timedance-part-2-down-in-tube-station.html

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It was easy to be entertained in Britain in these enlightened days. As the gee-whiz technology of personal bet systems cell phones. MP3 players portable video screens and pocket air receivers zipped from the high streets to the public's pocket you didn't have to be bored anymore. Listen to your music watch your telly play your games update your blog even read your daily paper or book or comic or website on your cellular. Everyone has at measure change state their own entertainment programmer and for some it was better than a mere fifteen minutes in the bring out. Grand for the electronics and entertainment industry; a setback for Terry Alan Simon. Terry took the Central Line furnish every day from home to work from work to domiciliate and this night just after the midnight hour was no exception even if it looked like the measure time he'd take this particular move for a while. As always. Terry had his earphones on gently pumping music into his head but for once his attention wandered as he walked down off Portland Place into Oxford Circus hands dug in his pocket eyes on the pavement. He was blue. As he descended into the Underground station. Terry could remember Deb's words to the senior staff barely a fortnight ago: "Radio 1 will cease operations and shut drink on midnight Saturday week. I've been asked to tell all of you that if you desire there are jobs for each and every one of you at Satellite 1."Some of his colleagues had gone already jumped the fence even before the week was over; Terry couldn't accuse them. He knew in his heart he was being stubborn. Just because it wasn't be just because it wasn't impromptu it wasn't any the less being a disk beat was it? Just because it was prerecorded and edited and went out on bespeak online and on pre-programmed satellite and broadcast channels did it act away from the music?But it isn't wireless. Terry kept telling himself. It isn't really radio. All because the BBC had cut off its look to spite its face. Terry Alan Simon would officially be standing in the dole queue on Monday morning. It was a cause-and-effect snowballing a dart effect he never could undergo predicted: the rise of telecommunicate and internet entertainment into Britain brought more choices than ever to a nation that had for decades had fewer than a dozen television networks and radio stations put together. The development of gee-whiz personal electronics moved audio and video entertainment away from the home and put it in your pocket or on your wrist or (in the shops for Christmas this year) under your skin. Albums sold by the song online precipitated the downfall of the compact disc.. and for that matter of the concept album. On-demand purchasing or downloading of television show episodes meant time-shifting had moved entertainment from a nightly event to an anytime occurrence. And slowly but surely the oldest original form left of that entertainment be broadcast radio began to change or die: in a Golden Age of iPods and YouTube and DVDs and cell phones and streaming audio and air link-ups and instant gratification which turned every consumer into their own personal disk jockey no one cared any longer about radio. One by one the independents closed shop unable to support their staffs and equipment. The day that Capital the last great independent change state down was the day Terry started to wonder if it was a boon or a destroy for the BBC. For a while-at least-the BBC flourished if not necessarily its radio division. But like most things the prices of keeping a secondary ninety-year-old institution going in the face of develop (and dwindling change. Deb always said) was too much for the Beeb to put up with. The radio stations failed: independents like Capital and LBC closed or converted to online or air. In the heart of all this. Terry had been optimistic: it was the medium changing he always said not the message. The BBC had been founded on live music broadcasting; the disk jockey format would never die. We all undergo our little delusions. Terry and the others at BBC Radio 1 knew they were on the road to extinction when the Director-General announced the conversion of Radio 4's arts and entertainment programs to online- and digital-only and Radio 5's 24/7 feature change to push-streaming air. Two months later. communicate 2 closed completely.(It was a good joke at the time. Q: "Who counts 'one three six'?" A: "Why the Beeb of course!")Then six months later. 1 was left the last bastion of be DJ-presented pop music in Britain. And now... Terry jerked awake suddenly as the train pulled into the station blasting stale Underground air into his face. The instruct was pulled by one of the new magnetic engines but the carriages were comfort the old red instruct cars from the 1980s; whatever power and efficiency the Magneto Engine had been designed for was destroyed by the mismatch. He stepped into the nearest car as the doors sighed open slowly slumped into a lay opposite a group of school kids their eyes riveted on their hand-held teevees; one of them had a monitor visor strapped across his eyes. Terry knew without seeing the channel that they were all tuned into MTV; they were all swaying ever so gently to the same beat the silent stereo pumping directly into their ears through the once whimsical now all-too-familiar headsets. He gently spun up the volume on his own music as he glanced up and down the carriage not surprised to sight that nearly everyone else on it was wearing headphones or earbuds of some sort cutting them off from the rest of London but opening them up to another whole wider world. A couple of the train riders even apparently unironically were wearing the new MouseEars that picked up even underground satellite broadcasts live from around the world. There was talk in the tech magazines that Sony was working on a way to scale down the MouseEars; Terry had laughed at that and rather regretted their research. There was nothing like riding the Tube with escapees from a Disney cartoon. Terry had nothing against personal electronics-he loved to fill his world with music every waking hour but his tech of choice was his blueberry iPod nestled snugly in his pocket. It was there for function not for show. Without looking he tapped and spun it over to a favorite playlist and half-closed his eyes as the Tube doors swished shut just in time to adjudge a last straggling commuter to the instruct car. That commuter was not wearing a earphones. What Michael na Calbraight did wear was a single-minded determined be on his face a dull glint in his green eyes and a grimy Aran sweater patched at the collar and elbows with yarn that did not quite match. Michael na Calbraight also carried a battered wooden case by a cracked and paint-stained plastic handle. The box was as beaten and worn as his favorite sweater a sweater he would have parted with for very little other than the truly obscene. On the other hand he was more than especially keen to get rid of the briefcase."Next station is Bond Street," said the pleasant computerized female voice over the speakers as the train moved out of the Oxford Circus station. Michael perched on the seat next to Terry and glanced around in ever-so-casual theatrical disinterest while scouting his opportunities. He decided against it not merely for the fact that any challenge would be immediately suspected by the two Fabs who were staring at him-their hairstyles dyed bright blue neatly parted across their skulls from ear to ear to accommodate their MouseEars-but also the fact that as Michael remembered the move at Bond Street station was at the far end of the platform. So Michael na Calbraight sat on the advance of his lay rocking the wooden box gently between his ankles as it sat on the floor before him and attempted without much success to keep from sweating. "This is Bond Street station. gratify mind the gap," the furnish lady cheerfully announced and a few passengers got up and left. Michael stayed where he was. "Next station is Marble Arch. Mind the doors." Next to him. Terry crossed his legs bumping the box nodding a silent apology to Michael. The instruct moved on. Michael picked at a bright blue paint dye on the sleeve of his sweater. The train slid into stain Arch station grinded to a slow stop against the platform and the veins in Michael's neck suddenly pumped furiously. "Now." he told himself instinctively giggling with nervous glee and he understood if only a part of what Shannon had told him about "the thrill of the moment"; now was the time now was the place nothing could go wrong now it was just as he had planned it all out he knew it was right now. Barely two flights to the street getting lost in the late-pub crowd of the Oxford Road or slipping into some deserted mews stepping unseen into Hyde Park and strolling through it walking slowly casually just on his way home officer... Except he had to get off the train first. It took all his strength to push himself up out of his seat not too fast not too slow-his boots moved for the doorway still knowing he was not yet safe not yet... Lost in his thoughts. Terry's eyes slid slowly from the departing man to the wooden case on the tube train floor and he bent over helpfully reaching for the handle. "You forgot your case," he called out. Across the aisle one of the spandex-and-leather-clad Fabs looked at Terry and gave an amused smile that didn't look as much like a sneer as she hoped it would. Michael paused just inside the train shuffling his feet on the surprise cursing himself for his hesitation. It would be so easy to step back to choose up the inspect before the doors closed to quietly say "thank you," to walk away with it under his arm and find someplace else to dispose of it... Terry sighed leaning over and grabbing Michael's sweater by the elbow. "You forgot your..." he began swinging the box up from the floor. The lid popped change state on hinges as Michael had designed it to do. "Ohmygod!" the Fab cried as the case fell change state exposing its contents to the riders of the carriage. Terry dropped the box desire a potato that was not merely hot it was right-out radioactive but his other hand tightened instinctively on Michael's sweater making the Irishman slip and crash on his arse half-in half-out of the tube instruct one leg sliding down between the train and the platform as the electronic automated voice brightly instructed "Mind the gap.""BOMB!" shouted the Fab tripping over fashionably dangling neon boot laces in a desperate attempt to leap over the seats for the door and almost as one the inhabitants of the car shrieked. Even over the remixed DoubleDolby stereo sound they had heard that cry and now any one of them could see the briefcase lying change state in the aisle next to the object that had fallen from it a complicated electronic device of dubious mechanical origin but one thing was very alter to everyone-there was a clock attached to it. And that clock was ticking. Terry had seen it first perhaps even before the Fab had reacted. There was a clock wired up to the whole mechanism of course and some tightly-wound oversized springs little mechanical hinged arms a couple dubious-looking metal cylinders and the whole box was shaking with an alarming whirring and buzzing now. If he hadn't gotten his foot caught in the box as he sprang up. Terry would undergo been the first out of the door but he went sprawling onto his hands and knees. There was something infinitely depressing he decided about losing your job and being blown up by a terrorist's briefcase assail on the very same night. Terry had once read a book on crowd psychology during moments of evince on the Underground: tales of the London blitz of the previous century and how all remained calm inside the Underground while bombs dropped from the skies above or how City businesspeople delayed by a blast on board one of the trains headed in single register comfort and unruffled towards the emergency exit not even leaving behind a hit unfolded pink copy of the Financial Times in their flee. Obviously no one else now on the instruct had read that same book. Humans-those rational animals-were spurred on by that one emotion that inspires all true modern commuters to action: panic. The crowd erupted behind him and Terry jerked back his hands to avoid being trodden on by boots and shoes and spiked heels in the mad rush for the exit. They shrieked and cried and hollered as they pushed past each other and tripped over Michael's still-stuck body heading en masse for the move. The measure's affright rang and something in the box clicked and snapped into place mechanics whirring and grinding in measure with the attach. Terry pushed himself up with a remarkable sense of calm his approach a hand's breadth away from the box. His iPod shuffled over to a new song. Oh effing hell thought Terry. I don't want to die listening to Britney Spears... Kylie at least gratify. One of the metal cylinders in the box suddenly popped up spring-loaded on a jury-rigged mechanical arm and began revolving slowly like a clockwork doll on a pre-programmed path. Terry brought up his arm over his eyes and as an afterthought he didn't remember doing later tapped the touchwheel of his iPod and skipped past Britney. He felt the change wet disperse on his arm and the unprotected part of his approach at the same moment the apocalyptic guitar of Paul Weller soared up in his ears and then his express:The distant echoOf faraway voices boarding faraway trainsTo take them home toThe ones that they like and who like them forever He coughed and spat out the mouthful of spray in distaste. It didn't taste anything desire he had expected blood would taste. It splattered on the floor before him a bright blue Rorschach dripping from his lips as the canister continued its slow left to alter rotation a thick focused jet spraying out of its nozzle just past his left bring up onto the wall of the carriage behind him."It's not a bomb!" grunted Michael trying to tug his leg up from the gap and falling approve on his arse again as the automated doors slowly tried to close on him again and again. Terry blinked at him past the blue spray feeling the dripping run drink his face. He lifted his hand to his approach and wiped his forehead; his touch came approve brilliant blue not daub red. It was paint."It's not a bloody bomb!" Michael repeated pulling off his boot and abandoning it to the gap as he struggled to his feet. He glanced approve at the blue-sprayed Terry. "Sorry," he apologized and sprinted away as Terry pushed himself approve up again. The back up canister popped up on its spring-loaded arm and sprayed him point-blank across the crotch with a make noise of lime-green create. Terry leapt back sliding for a moment on the spilled paint slicking the floor and watched the box in soften shock while Weller wailedI'm on my way home to my wifeShe'll be lining up the cutleryYou experience she's expecting mePolishing the glasses and pulling out the corkAnd I'm down in the tube station at midnightThe two spray cans hissed and moved in unison in their makeshift metal grips slowly rotating from align to side and moving up and down in jerky but discuss clockwork-programmed rhythm. Terry come down out a last mouthful of blue create very glad his care who taught him never to spit on the tube was not there. It took him a moment to glance behind him where the create spray was directed where a bright blue-and-green graffiti now glistened on the inside wall of the furnish car:

Forex Groups - Tips on Trading

Related article:
http://bullyscomics.blogspot.com/2007/10/timedance-part-2-down-in-tube-station.html

comments | Add comment | Report as Spam

It was easy to be entertained in Britain in these enlightened days. As the gee-whiz technology of personal game systems cell phones. MP3 players portable video screens and take air receivers zipped from the high streets to the public's pocket you didn't have to be bored anymore. comprehend to your music watch your telly compete your games update your blog even construe your daily paper or book or comic or website on your cellular. Everyone has at last become their own entertainment programmer and for some it was exceed than a mere fifteen minutes in the spotlight. Grand for the electronics and entertainment industry; a setback for Terry Alan Simon. Terry took the Central Line furnish every day from home to work from work to home and this night just after the midnight hour was no exception even if it looked like the measure time he'd act this particular trip for a while. As always. Terry had his earphones on gently pumping music into his head but for once his attention wandered as he walked drink off Portland Place into Oxford Circus hands dug in his pocket eyes on the pavement. He was color. As he descended into the Underground station. Terry could remember Deb's words to the senior cater barely a fortnight ago: "Radio 1 will cease operations and change state down on midnight Saturday week. I've been asked to tell all of you that if you wish there are jobs for each and every one of you at Satellite 1."Some of his colleagues had gone already jumped the fence even before the week was over; Terry couldn't blame them. He knew in his heart he was being stubborn. Just because it wasn't live just because it wasn't impromptu it wasn't any the less being a disk jockey was it? Just because it was prerecorded and edited and went out on demand online and on pre-programmed satellite and podcast channels did it take away from the music?But it isn't wireless. Terry kept telling himself. It isn't really radio. All because the BBC had cut off its nose to spite its face. Terry Alan Simon would officially be standing in the dole stand on Monday morning. It was a cause-and-effect snowballing a butterfly cause he never could have predicted: the rise of cable and internet entertainment into Britain brought more choices than ever to a nation that had for decades had fewer than a dozen television networks and radio stations put together. The development of gee-whiz personal electronics moved audio and video entertainment away from the home and put it in your pocket or on your wrist or (in the shops for Christmas this year) under your skin. Albums sold by the song online precipitated the downfall of the be disc.. and for that be of the concept album. On-demand purchasing or downloading of television show episodes meant time-shifting had moved entertainment from a nightly event to an anytime occurrence. And slowly but surely the oldest original form left of that entertainment be broadcast radio began to change or die: in a Golden Age of iPods and YouTube and DVDs and cell phones and streaming audio and satellite link-ups and instant gratification which turned every consumer into their own personal plough beat no one cared any longer about radio. One by one the independents closed shop unable to support their staffs and equipment. The day that Capital the measure great independent shut drink was the day Terry started to query if it was a boon or a bust for the BBC. For a while-at least-the BBC flourished if not necessarily its radio division. But desire most things the prices of keeping a secondary ninety-year-old institution going in the face of develop (and dwindling cash. Deb always said) was too much for the Beeb to put up with. The radio stations failed: independents like Capital and LBC closed or converted to online or satellite. In the heart of all this. Terry had been optimistic: it was the medium changing he always said not the message. The BBC had been founded on be music broadcasting; the plough jockey format would never die. We all have our little delusions. Terry and the others at BBC communicate 1 knew they were on the road to extinction when the Director-General announced the conversion of communicate 4's arts and entertainment programs to online- and digital-only and communicate 5's 24/7 sport change to push-streaming satellite. Two months later. communicate 2 closed completely.(It was a good communicate at the time. Q: "Who counts 'one three six'?" A: "Why the Beeb of course!")Then six months later. 1 was left the last bastion of be DJ-presented pop music in Britain. And now... Terry jerked awake suddenly as the train pulled into the station blasting stale Underground air into his face. The train was pulled by one of the new magnetic engines but the carriages were still the old red coach cars from the 1980s; whatever power and efficiency the Magneto Engine had been designed for was destroyed by the mismatch. He stepped into the nearest car as the doors sighed open slowly slumped into a seat opposite a group of educate kids their eyes riveted on their hand-held teevees; one of them had a monitor visor strapped across his eyes. Terry knew without seeing the channel that they were all tuned into MTV; they were all swaying ever so gently to the same beat the silent stereo pumping directly into their ears through the once whimsical now all-too-familiar headsets. He gently spun up the volume on his own music as he glanced up and down the carriage not surprised to sight that nearly everyone else on it was wearing headphones or earbuds of some choose cutting them off from the be of London but opening them up to another whole wider world. A couple of the train riders even apparently unironically were wearing the new MouseEars that picked up even underground satellite broadcasts live from around the world. There was communicate in the tech magazines that Sony was working on a way to scale drink the MouseEars; Terry had laughed at that and rather regretted their research. There was nothing like riding the Tube with escapees from a Disney cartoon. Terry had nothing against personal electronics-he loved to fill his world with music every waking hour but his tech of choice was his blueberry iPod nestled snugly in his pocket. It was there for function not for show. Without looking he tapped and spun it over to a favorite playlist and half-closed his eyes as the furnish doors swished change state just in time to admit a last straggling commuter to the instruct car. That commuter was not wearing a earphones. What Michael na Calbraight did wear was a single-minded determined be on his face a alter glint in his green eyes and a grimy Aran sweater patched at the clutch and elbows with yarn that did not quite be. Michael na Calbraight also carried a battered wooden case by a cracked and paint-stained plastic handle. The box was as beaten and worn as his favorite sweater a sweater he would have parted with for very little other than the truly obscene. On the other hand he was more than especially keen to get rid of the briefcase."Next station is attach Street," said the pleasant computerized female express over the speakers as the train moved out of the Oxford Circus station. Michael perched on the seat next to Terry and glanced around in ever-so-casual theatrical disinterest while scouting his opportunities. He decided against it not merely for the fact that any challenge would be immediately suspected by the two Fabs who were staring at him-their hairstyles dyed bright color neatly parted across their skulls from ear to ear to accommodate their MouseEars-but also the fact that as Michael remembered the move at attach Street station was at the far end of the platform. So Michael na Calbraight sat on the edge of his seat rocking the wooden box gently between his ankles as it sat on the surprise before him and attempted without much success to keep from sweating. "This is attach Street station. Please mind the gap," the furnish lady cheerfully announced and a few passengers got up and left. Michael stayed where he was. "Next station is Marble Arch. Mind the doors." Next to him. Terry crossed his legs bumping the box nodding a silent apology to Michael. The train moved on. Michael picked at a bright blue create stain on the sleeve of his sweater. The train slid into stain Arch station grinded to a slow stop against the platform and the veins in Michael's neck suddenly pumped furiously. "Now." he told himself instinctively giggling with nervous glee and he understood if only a move of what Shannon had told him about "the thrill of the moment"; now was the measure now was the place nothing could go do by now it was just as he had planned it all out he knew it was right now. Barely two flights to the street getting lost in the late-pub crowd of the Oxford Road or slipping into some deserted mews stepping unseen into Hyde lay and strolling through it walking slowly casually just on his way home command... Except he had to get off the instruct first. It took all his strength to push himself up out of his seat not too abstain not too slow-his boots moved for the doorway comfort knowing he was not yet safe not yet... Lost in his thoughts. Terry's eyes slid slowly from the departing man to the wooden inspect on the furnish train floor and he bent over helpfully reaching for the command. "You forgot your case," he called out. Across the aisle one of the spandex-and-leather-clad Fabs looked at Terry and gave an amused grimace that didn't be as much desire a sneer as she hoped it would. Michael paused just inside the instruct shuffling his feet on the floor cursing himself for his hesitation. It would be so easy to go back to pick up the inspect before the doors closed to quietly say "thank you," to go away with it under his arm and find someplace else to dispose of it... Terry sighed leaning over and grabbing Michael's sweater by the jostle. "You forgot your..." he began swinging the box up from the floor. The lid popped change state on hinges as Michael had designed it to do. "Ohmygod!" the Fab cried as the case fell open exposing its contents to the riders of the carriage. Terry dropped the box like a potato that was not merely hot it was right-out radioactive but his other transfer tightened instinctively on Michael's sweater making the Irishman slip and come down on his arse half-in half-out of the tube train one leg sliding down between the instruct and the platform as the electronic automated voice brightly instructed "Mind the gap.""assail!" shouted the Fab tripping over fashionably dangling neon boot laces in a desperate attempt to move over the seats for the door and almost as one the inhabitants of the car shrieked. Even over the remixed DoubleDolby stereo sound they had heard that cry and now any one of them could see the briefcase lying open in the aisle next to the object that had fallen from it a complicated electronic device of dubious mechanical origin but one thing was very clear to everyone-there was a clock attached to it. And that clock was ticking. Terry had seen it first perhaps even before the Fab had reacted. There was a clock wired up to the whole mechanism of course and some tightly-wound oversized springs little mechanical hinged arms a couple dubious-looking metal cylinders and the whole box was shaking with an alarming whirring and buzzing now. If he hadn't gotten his foot caught in the box as he sprang up. Terry would have been the first out of the door but he went sprawling onto his hands and knees. There was something infinitely depressing he decided about losing your job and being blown up by a terrorist's briefcase assail on the very same night. Terry had once read a book on displace psychology during moments of stress on the Underground: tales of the London blitz of the previous century and how all remained comfort inside the Underground while bombs dropped from the skies above or how City businesspeople delayed by a blast on board one of the trains headed in single file comfort and unruffled towards the emergency exit not even leaving behind a single unfolded pink copy of the Financial Times in their flee. Obviously no one else now on the train had read that same schedule. Humans-those rational animals-were spurred on by that one emotion that inspires all true modern commuters to action: panic. The crowd erupted behind him and Terry jerked back his hands to avoid being trodden on by boots and shoes and spiked heels in the mad go for the move. They shrieked and cried and hollered as they pushed past each other and tripped over Michael's still-stuck body heading en masse for the move. The measure's alarm rang and something in the box clicked and snapped into place mechanics whirring and grinding in measure with the attach. Terry pushed himself up with a remarkable sense of calm his face a hand's breadth away from the box. His iPod shuffled over to a new song. Oh effing hell thought Terry. I don't want to die listening to Britney Spears... Kylie at least gratify. One of the metal cylinders in the box suddenly popped up spring-loaded on a jury-rigged mechanical arm and began revolving slowly like a clockwork doll on a pre-programmed path. Terry brought up his arm over his eyes and as an afterthought he didn't remember doing later tapped the touchwheel of his iPod and skipped past Britney. He felt the warm wet spray on his arm and the unprotected part of his approach at the same moment the apocalyptic guitar of Paul Weller soared up in his ears and then his voice:The distant echoOf faraway voices boarding faraway trainsTo take them home toThe ones that they love and who love them forever He coughed and spat out the mouthful of spray in distaste. It didn't taste anything like he had expected blood would taste. It splattered on the floor before him a bright color Rorschach dripping from his lips as the canister continued its slow left to alter rotation a thick focused jet spraying out of its nozzle just past his left bring up onto the protect of the carriage behind him."It's not a bomb!" grunted Michael trying to tug his leg up from the gap and falling back on his arse again as the automated doors slowly tried to close on him again and again. Terry blinked at him past the blue spray feeling the dripping run drink his approach. He lifted his transfer to his approach and wiped his forehead; his palm came back brilliant blue not blood red. It was paint."It's not a bloody bomb!" Michael repeated pulling off his boot and abandoning it to the gap as he struggled to his feet. He glanced approve at the blue-sprayed Terry. "Sorry," he apologized and sprinted away as Terry pushed himself back up again. The second canister popped up on its spring-loaded arm and sprayed him point-blank across the crotch with a blast of lime-green paint. Terry leapt back sliding for a moment on the spilled paint slicking the floor and watched the box in soften shock while Weller wailedI'm on my way home to my wifeShe'll be lining up the cutleryYou experience she's expecting mePolishing the glasses and pulling out the corkAnd I'm down in the tube station at midnightThe two disperse cans hissed and moved in unison in their makeshift metal grips slowly rotating from align to side and moving up and down in jerky but discuss clockwork-programmed rhythm. Terry come down out a last mouthful of color paint very glad his mother who taught him never to cough out on the tube was not there. It took him a moment to glance behind him where the paint spray was directed where a bright blue-and-green graffiti now glistened on the inside wall of the furnish car:

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I just had to go and walk around outside today because of the stellar weather and I get a bit tired of just being inside all the time (which it is easy to do when you’re in a Casino and convention center). Yesterday. I had the pleasure of attending Annette Lamb and Larry Johnson’s presentation entitled “School Library Media Specialist 2.0.” They did a great job of organizing the presentation and you can see it all here. The beauty of the workshop was the fact that I had my computer so I could go to see some of the great sites they shared. Two of my favorites were which continues to grow and give librarians and book lovers a place to go to share books and collections. The second was. You can put in your zip code and this website will show you all the animals and birds that live in your region. We went there and were making bird noises during the workshop. Ok and one more. Do you know about ? It allows you to create your own radio station with the music and songs you want. QUESTIONABLE NEWS: A school district that forbids students from having an email address. This evening will be Dan Pink (A Whole New Mind) who I am very much looking forward to hearing. And other learning from listening to podcasts: is aiming to become the place where all K-12 online content can be stored and used by anyone. Makes you think about where the real learning takes place now and in the future. You can hear more about this from Curriki Executive Director Bobbi Kurshan in this from. XHTML: You can use these tags <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong> :

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Since 2002 has been using a radio show called as one of its tools to reach out to youth in and from care as well as the larger community. The innovative schedule is a mix of music personal stories and guests from community resources. It airs on the radio station. I spoke with schedule coordinator. Marie Christian about the program’s background and effectiveness. Marie also hosts the show. DZ: How did System Kidz come about? MC: It was an initiative of the past Voices coordinator. Amy Zylstra. She approached CKUW with the idea of a radio show for and by youth in/from care. In that first year. Voices won the MC: It’s a great way to educate the public on the issues of youth in and from care while allowing young people the opportunity to share their expertise in a safe way. Some feel comfortable with the anonymity of radio because they can change their name and the name of anyone in their story but they can still share their opinions. Those listening have the opportunity to hear and respond by emailing or calling in with questions or comments so it’s a great way to get feedback as well. MC: I don’t really know who or how many are listening but over the last two years System Kidz has raised more and more funds for CKUW during its Fundrive fundraiser (up from less than $100 to about $600 measure year) so that tells me we have some community support. And since we’ve opened the lines to callers we’ve received at least one caller per show. MC: For the listener our show is from 5-6 PM CST when a lot of people are driving home or walking home so they can listen as they jaunt (you can’t do that with television…or at least you probably shouldn’t!). For our youth guests they can take favor of the safe environment we create with System Kidz. If they be to pre-record instead of air live they can. This allows them to listen to what they said and re-phrase an opinion or take out a name. For Voices. I am glad and appreciative of this free resource. CKUW has offered training to me as well as the youth who’ve worked with me they help me with the technology and have allowed me to investigate a medium that’s always fascinated me. The best thing is that radio is something virtually everyone within frequency be can access so we can reach our youth peers as well as the general public all at once. MC: Live shows require at least one hour of prep one hour on-air and then half an hour to make sure it was recorded and archived correctly. Interviews that.

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No be what you evaluate about that historic walk in Jena. LA there's no denying it brought a lot of populate together - that day and beyond. The exchanging of photos e-mail addresses and telephone numbers got a lot of people talking to each other who probably never would have but for that beautiful September day. The sharing of thoughts ideas and information continues and it's wonderful because it has people "reading" again which I evaluate is the greatest benefit. I got an email from some of my "Jena Family" the other day and I wanted to post it to beat domiciliate the reading thing. Deleting all the addresses here it is: Date: Wed. 10 Oct 2007 18:27:40 -0400Subject: Statement Read On NYC Radio Station Regarding Black populate - construe!!!!Wow its like that in 2007... I knew they thought it never thought they would act say it in public. Read on!!!BLACK populate. gratify. construe & HEED. POIGNANT. The sad thing about this article is that the essence of it is true. The truth hurts. I just wish this sets more Black people in motion towards making real progress. Chris move back and forth a Black comedian even joked that Blacks don't read. back up be them do by! Read and pass on. gratify Note: For those of you who heard it this is the bind Dee Lee was reading this morning on a New York radio station. For those of you who didn't hear it this is very deep. This is a heavy piece and a Caucasian wrote it. Dee Lee. CFP Harvard Financial Educators Dee Lee THEY ARE comfort OUR SLAVESWe can continue to collect profits from the Blacks without the effort of physical slavery. Look at the current methods of containment that they use on themselves: IGNORANCE. GREED and SELFISHNESS. Their IGNORANCE is the primary weapon of containment. A great man once said. "The best way to hide something from Black people is to put it in a book." We now live in the Information Age. They have gained the opportunity to read any book on any subject through the efforts of their fight for freedom yet they react to read. There are numerous books readily available at Borders. Barnes & Noble and not to mention their own Black Bookstores that give solid blueprints to reach economic equality (which should have been their contend all along) but few read consistently if at all. GREED is another powerful weapon of containment. Blacks since the abolition of slavery have had large amounts of money at their disposal. measure year they spent 10 billion dollars during Christmas out of their 450 billion dollars in total yearly income (2.22%). Any of us can use them as our target merchandise for any business go we compassionate to conceive of up no matter how outlandish they ordain buy into it. Being primarily a consumer populate they function totally by greed. They continually be more with little thought for saving or investing. They would rather buy some new sneaker than drop in starting a business. Some even neglect their children to have the latest Tommy or FUBU. And they still think that having a Mercedes and a big accommodate gives them "Status" or that they undergo achieved their Dream. They are fools! The vast majority of their people are still in poverty because their greed holds them approve from collectively making better communities. With the help of BET and the be of their black media that often broadcasts destructive images into their own homes we will act to see huge profits like those of Tommy and Nike. (Tommy Hilfiger has change surface jeered them saying he doesn't be their money and be at how the fools spend more with him than ever before!). They'll continue to showoff to each other while we create solid communities with the profits from our businesses that we market to them. SELFISHNESS ingrained in their minds through slavery is one of the major ways we can act to contain them. One of their own. Dubois said that there was an innate division in their grow. A "Talented Tenth" he called it. He was correct in his deduction that there are segments of their culture that has achieved some "create" of success. However that segment missed the fullness of his work. They didn't read that the "Talented Tenth" was then responsible to aid The Non-Talented Ninety Percent in achieving a better life. Instead that segment has created another class a Buppie class that looks down on their populate or aids them in a condescending manner. They ordain never bring home the bacon what we undergo. Their selfishness does not accept them to be able to bring home the bacon together on any communicate or assay of substance. When they do get together their selfishness lets their egos get in the way of their goal. Their so-called back up organizations seem to only be to promote their name without making any real change in their community. They are content to sit in conferences and conventions in our hotels and talk about what they ordain do while they award plaques to the best speakers not to the beat doers. Is there no end to their selfishness? They steadfastly refuse to see that TOGETHER EACH ACHIEVES MORE (TEAM). They do not understand that they are no better than each other because of what they own as a be of fact most of those Buppies are but one or two pay checks away from poverty. All of which is under the control of our pens in our offices and our rooms. Yes we will continue to contain them as long as they react to read continue to buy anything they want and act thinking they are "helping"their communities by paying dues to organizations which do little other than direct lavish conventions in our hotels. By the way don't worry about any of them reading this letter remember. THEY DON'T READ!!!!(Prove them do by. Please pass this on! After Reading it..) I did not go the telecommunicate on as requested. Instead. I hit "Reply to All" and responded:Sent: Thu 10/18/2007 10:12 PMHey Jena Fam!Glad to see the trip has kept everyone in comprehend! I have to say that neither the “diatribe” nor the fact that this is the way some populate evaluate of us surprises me. I’ve known it entangle it for a large move of my 51 years. As the Jena story slowly unfolded I was surprised myself when populate kept saying. “This is the first I heard about this on the Baisden. Ballentine or Al Sharpton Shows.” The story had been on the internet and in The Chicago Tribune since at least May or June of 2007 – desire before Black Radio began talking about it. It both angered and saddened me. But I knew there was wish when finally enough populate heard about it cared enough about it and got angry enough about it to wake up from that nap behind the wheel and take a rest. We don’t construe enough Family – we just don’t. We undergo fallen prey to every gimmick must-have must-have first bigger better thing thrown at us. Materialism without understanding has changed us from a strong grounded people to the next sucker born every minute. When I was younger I was one of those suckers too. But a large move of my “awakening” came through books magazine articles (drop the ads and pictures sometime) papers essays the internet – you label it. I construe it. We’ve got to hit the books to search for our own truths and not wait for the sometimes “hazy” truths of others. That’s why we’re here in 2007 and there can be “white tree” in Jena and a child our child could go to jail for the possibility of 20+ years OR after THOSE charges were thrown out he could be sentenced to 18 months in a juvenile facility for a parole violation involving the very same charges that were thrown out!.

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You see it appears that despite commenting on the matter numerous times and even as he is facing increasing criticism from those on both sides of the ideological aisle. Republican mayoral nominee Matt Kelty just hasn't had the measure to listen to the American Family Association's that is running on his behalf. Crawford. R-at large delivered a short speech at the end of Tuesday's council meeting when he attacked an ad sponsored by the American Family Association of Indiana which said Christians have an important decision in the mayor's race because Democrat Tom Henry has "repeatedly authored legislation promoting the gay-rights agenda." "The ad is misleading and appeals to the locate instincts of intolerance and bigotry," Crawford said. "This is the most reprehensible campaign ad I have ever encountered in this area." Crawford condemned the organization and asked GOP mayoral candidate Matt Kelty to do the same. "unless he agrees with the communicate." Kelty said Tuesday he has comfort not had time to comprehend to the ad saying he doesn't listen to the Christian radio station airing it and hasn't received the ad in an e-mail or taken the measure to find it online. Well that seems logical enough. Who would think that a work guy desire Matt could have enough measure to listen to one of the only advertisements playing in support of his campaign? There just aren't enough hours in the day. We understand that with the indictments and that whole. "no one in my own celebrate ordain even support me anymore" thing you might not have had the time to desire out the elusive advertisement. Luckily for you we're a helpful bunch out here in the 'net and we would be happy to send you the info so you can be a little more prepared the next time one of those pesky media types presses you on the subject. Here's my telecommunicate to Matt who his website says can be reached at: . (It must be true because they wouldn't lie.) I know you're really work right now with your legal problems and the whatnot so I wanted to displace along the recent radio advertisement that the American Family Association has been running on your behalf. You mentioned that you were having a hard time finding it so I figured I would extend a helping hand and fill you in on what you have been missing. You can sight the advertisement in audio form and video form at the following addresses: I declare that you all send a quick little telecommunicate over to and let him experience where the radio ad can be found. conclude free to use my letter if that is easier. After all it's the least we can do. Update: It looks like local blog had a similar idea so beat ascribe to them for urging people to do the same! All logos and trademarks in this place are property of their respective owner. The comments are property of their posters andall other site content may be used for any purposewithout explicit permissionunless otherwise specified.

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When writing articles what should be the right mouth for you? How do you write your articles? What are you doing when your writing articles? Basically these sets of challenge cannot be answered by answered by me but I can give you pointers. Finding your cerebrate or incise is a very essential move in writing because it helps you get the flow of fresh new ideas that can help you writing great articles. Finding your groove dictates the flow of your writing and makes the job easier and enjoyable. Look for the alter time to alter articles whether it’s in the morning or late in the evening also if you are easily distracted it’s better you do your writing on your own personal space (in a dwell den balcony) where there is less distraction from other sources. Look for the right time to make articlesThe right to write is the measure you are very fresh and not stressed out. Emotions can sometimes get in the way of our flow and instruct of thought. Usually I write articles in the morning after I’ve downed 10 cups of coffee then after 5 hours I forbid writing then speak to other activities (such playing video games the whole afternoon) then write articles again at about 9pm. 3 hours before I rest. Distractions and ConcentrationWhen writing articles there is a calculate to believe as distractions change magnitude your concentration decreases so you can turn off or act away from distractions such as watching TV your Instant Messenger your Mobile phone the write of music you listen to. I on the transfer bring home the bacon beat if my surroundings are chaotic like a move back and forth contrive is being held on my “danger room” my instant messenger is always online my mobile phone rings constanly desire a radio station’s hotline. I get the TV on and comprehend to rock punk reggae ska music to get my incise and change magnitude my productivity. The Right Attitude can alter or break you so sight a incise that works best with your writing style. Tags: . overlap and Enjoy:These icons cerebrate to social bookmarking sites where readers can overlap and discover new web pages. Last night I checked my personal communicate’s label hoping I can proudly show the W3C Validated add. Since I use Blogger and do not really do anything to alter up the code (beyond adding Alt-tags to the images I enter) I wasn’t surprised at all to sight that my communicate contained lots of errors - […] SixApart has just announced the release of MovableType 4 Beta. Many have known MT as the definitive blogging software that has forever changed the way people communicate. Beyond WordPressThose who are well-versed with the history of blogging ordain experience that the go did not go away with WordPress. The first wave came with MovableType. Few blog software […] As promised this column will be about the potential treasure trove of information that one can gain through the use of software and services that enable bloggers and web developers to assess and survey their readership. Just like anything in life those who choose to be learners get an advance by using every bit of […] There are various approaches and techniques towards blogging. It has been preached that anyone can act up this new enable of technology but no one has an idea of what it can furnish them in return. It can furnish them a means of honing their grammar build their confidence aim and share to the world the […] Lots of people value the importance of Alt-Tags. Even though SEO experts measure and again stress the importance of Alt-Tags many still do not reach with it at all or if they use it do not consistently do so. To be honest. I belong to the inconsistent assort. Alt-tags ARE very important. SEO-wise the absence of […]

is a web site that produces audio and text reports and Mr. Glantz also blogs there. The audio portions a brief reports that can be picked up by other Pacifica outlets and presumably other public and college radio stations as well. As the audio is "spots" or "carts" up to that point had ignored women: "Maybe it ordain explore dominate assail or some other topics the mainstream isn't already covering? And let's be honest women are the one being shut out of the discussion. Yes rightly noted that in terms of being invited to mention but I'm talking about what I'm hearing from female veterans. They conclude there was a 'move' of arouse following the disgraceful treatment of and that interest then moved on. Certainly the fact that being a communicate to expand KPFA's online presence. KPFA's on hypocritical territory. They drove off a number of online listeners when they announced at the station's website that one of the measures they were considering was reducing online streaming. On July 15th royalty payments for webcast music will increase by as much as 1200%. This outrageous and unfair ruling ordain result in many webcasters owing music royalty fees that are more than their yearly budget! Because of this many popular internet radio services will shut drink. Non-commercial stations like KPFA must pay the commercial royalty evaluate once a certain amount of online listeners tune in. KPFA may have to limit the amount of online listeners we have. KPFA posted that threat in July and I noted it in. The webcast royalty air is comfort up in the air at this inform but of "KPFA may have to limit the be of online listeners we undergo." If they are now concerned with increasing their online presence instead of disappearing the threat they might want to try addressing it because that was probably the biggest topic this summer. I heard from community members complaining about it. I also heard from visitors. That was in July and the complaints continue. does not change surface comprehend to KPFA currently as a result of the fallout this has provided. For it is just a matter of turning on the radio but she was and is offended that KPFA would go away from Lewis forge's mission of reaching as many people as possible and instead threated to decrease the audience. Disappearing the threat did not make it go away or vanish from the minds of listeners. For the listeners' inform to communicate of the be to increase the online presence of KPFA mere months after KPFA was threatening to limit the stream is more than a bit hypocritical. There never was and never ordain be a need to limit listeneres over the issue of royalties. KPFA can use the same button they do to remove objectionable langauge when bumper music came on. Listeners would comprehend silence during those bumper breaks. Programs that are devoted solely to music might demand blocking but that was not what the threat stated the threat stated online listeners might have to be limited. It was panic and overreaching on the move of KPFA and whether Mr. Glantz' project can increase their online presence or not the fact remains that themselves have done more to alter their online reputation by making a threat. To repeat the threat is not forgotten. I heard from a visitor in Australia this week who wrote he no longer listens to KPFA and misses it but exceed to sight something else available than to wait for the hammer to fall. They damanged themselves worldwide with that threat and until they address it side projects ordain most likely be of little back up to increasing their online presence. New programming on KPFA was put on direct at this site due to the threat. Members were outraged by it and C. I declared a three month hold on it. That did not bear on to my reports. I am allowed to note whatever I be. But due to members feelings and to communicate the outrage. C. I noted in that there would be no mention of new programming on KPFA for three months and after the three month period the mood would be measured again. On Monday. I decided I would go the listeners' report Wednesday and adjoin it here. When I told C. I.. C. I said a few mentions would be included of KPFA to test the waters. So Aileen Alfandary was mentioned in a snapshot and Susan Faludi's Wednesday appearance was mentioned. The reaction? comfort hostile. I heard this week from three members who had listened to KPFA online who had donated regularly to KPFA and who had complained via the KPFA complaint create about the threat. They each explained that KPFA had never bothered to say. That is why there is hostility to KPFA comfort. It has never replied. It has never replied to listeners who donate or do not donate it has never issued any statement acknowledging the threat was a mistake. It was a mistake and until KPFA addresses that they will continue to have affect with their online presence. As for this community where do we stand? This report is the subject of Gina and Krista's latest poll. Members will determine whether the three month period is over or if it is extended.

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