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KDYL: KSL’s Doug Wright Reflects On His Days At Tooele’s Old Radio Station

This article originally appeared in the 11/12/13 edition of the Tooele Transcript Bulletin.

TOOELE, Any given day in 1968 – A young disc jockey sits in a small radio studio at the corner of Main and Vine, sorting through a stack of vinyl records.  The station’s reel-to-reel automation block has ended and it’s time to go live.  He unscrews the side of the massive belt-driven turntable, adjusts the gear speed and cues a Hank Snow track.  When he drops the needle, Tooele Valley is bathed with the lo-fi sounds of classic country music.

The station is KDYL 990 AM, “The Country Gentleman.”  The fledgling DJ is a high school student from Salt Lake City by the name of Doug Wright.  At age 16, Wright also serves as program director, news reader and janitor for the bare-bones, 1 kilowatt operation.  Being more of a rock and roll guy, he’s not particularly keen on the station’s country format.

But he’s obsessed with radio—and that is all that matters.

45 years later, Doug Wright is a mainstay at KSL Newsradio in Salt Lake City, and one of the best-known radio personalities in the business.  He sat down last month with the Transcript Bulletin to reflect on his radio career and its humble beginnings in Tooele.

“I always loved radio,” Wright said shortly after signing off his daily topical program, The Doug Wright Show, at KSL Studios in downtown Salt Lake.  “I was one of those geeky kids that would listen to those big old tube radios.  The game was to see how far away your mom’s old set could pick something up.  I remember thinking, if I could ever just be able to say that I was on the radio—just once—how cool that would be!”

Wright’s first turn behind a radio microphone, a volunteer gig at the University of Utah’s KUER, came when he was 16 years old.  After only a few months spinning records there, he set out to begin his commercial career.

“At that age you think you own the world and you think you’re a whole lot better and hotter than you are, and I just couldn’t understand why anybody wouldn’t hire me on a commercial basis,” Wright laughed.

After failing to find work in the Salt Lake area, Wright turned his focus westward to Tooele’s KDYL.

Relatively little has been documented about the early history of Tooele’s only long-lived radio station.  In fact, commercial radio amounts to only a side note in Tooele County history.  For most Tooele County residents, clear signals pouring in from stations in the Salt Lake market were local enough.  But that fact didn’t foil a significant run for Tooele’s AM station.

KDYL Tooele began airing in 1955 with the call sign KTUT, originally broadcasting from the Ritz Theater on Main Street.  The station was renamed re-branded KDYL in the mid-1960s and was purchased by Wendell Winegar, who moved it across Main to the building that now houses the LA Hispanic Market at the corner of Vine.  The cascading diamond shaped outlines of the letters K, D, Y, and L are still visible on the south face of the building.  The studio itself was located on the second floor in the southeast corner.  The station’s 200 foot tower still stands in a field at 600 N. 400 W.  The station switched from middle-of-the-road (MOR) programming to country in 1966.

The late 1960s marked a period of transition and mild upheaval for KDYL.  According to Wright, when Wright came calling in 1968, only the General Manager of the station remained.

“His name was Don Hall,” Wright recalled.  “And he was so desperate that, instead of seeing this pathetic little kid who wanted to be on the radio, he saw somebody that maybe could actually help him.  So I was hired pretty much on the spot.”

Together, Hall and Wright operated the small-town station using equipment that seemed ancient to Wright at the time.

“It was a great, great old station and everything was hand-me-down.  We used to just keep that place together with spit and bailing wire,” Wright said.

KDYL was a daytime station broadcasting between sunrise and sunset, with Wright at the helm as often as his schedule allowed.

“High school was kind of a casualty, if you want to know the truth,” Wright said.  “I was so in love with radio that high school, well…”

He commuted each day from Sugarhouse in his mother’s 1960 Plymouth.  Because his pay at KDYL was negligible, he financed the commute by working a part time job at a Salt Lake grocery store.

The station’s Schafer 800 reel-to-reel automation system allowed Hall and Wright to fill in parts of the day.  The format was country music, which Wright said was mainly geared to the adult population.  KDYL hosted weekly live show on Saturday mornings called “Country Jamboree” (or Country Jubilee—neither Wright nor Winegar could remember exactly), which featured local artists.  A block of Spanish language programming ran on Sunday.  For several years, KDYL covered Little League baseball games.  Surplus speakers from the Tooele Army Depot were installed on light posts along Main Street so listeners out and about could hear the coverage.  Wright remembers providing live coverage of a parade on Main Street by stringing a microphone through the roof of the building.

“It was a mishmash of things.  It was an eclectic place,” Wright smiled.

Hall and Wright integrated news into the programming where possible, but since a traditional news wire service proved too expensive, they occasionally lifted stories from newspapers (including the Transcript Bulletin).  Even so, Wright remembers the particularly jarring experience of going to a murder scene near the Tooele Post Office to gather details on the crime, then breaking into programming to provide updates over the air.

Particularly memorable to wright was the need for careful timing—especially when it came to the Tooele Valley Railroad, which used to run down Vine Street.

“You had to be really careful of what you were doing when the [train] came down,” he explained.  If you had a record on, it would just shake the needle right off.  If you heard that whistle blow as it would cross Main Street, you better not have a record on!”

In time, Winegar allowed Wright to break format on Saturday afternoons to play rock and roll.  This, according to Wright, was refreshing to younger listeners who began to visit him in-studio on Saturday nights.  He maintains friendships with many of them to this day.

“The kids just gravitated to it,” Wright recalled.  “I say ‘kids,’ but they were the same age that I was.  They kind of tolerated the country station, but it was so exciting to them to have something [of their own].”

Wright paused to point out that despite his initial aversion to the country genre, he acquired a taste for it while at KDYL.

“I used to joke with my friends, saying all I do out there is play Hank, Hank, Hank, and Hank.  Hank Locklin, Hank Snow, Hank Williams, Hank Jr.  But it got in my blood,” he said.

It was also during his time at KDYL that Wright became fascinated with mining history.  After signing off the air, he would frequently take excursions to local ghost towns and historic sites.  While venturing further south into Juab County with a girlfriend from Tooele, he fell in love with the small town of Eureka and later bought a home there.

After about a year at KDYL, Wright returned to the Salt Lake market, finally landing at KSL in 1978.  Originally working as a fill-in host, he became Program Director and began hosting his own show.  The Doug Wright Show airs from 9:00 to noon on weekdays.  According to KSL Program Director Kevin LaRue, Wright’s show is heard by some 50,000 listeners each day.

Winegar sold the station in 1979 and KDYL continued broadcasting as such until 1982 when it released the call sign to a Salt Lake station, assumed call sign KTLE, and switched its frequency AM 1010.  The station switched ownership and formats several more times until 2009, when it was purchased by IHR Educational Broadcasting.  The station, now KIHU (for Immaculate Heart Utah), broadcasts Catholic religious programming.

The seasoned broadcaster looks back on his KDYL days fondly and said his experience broadcasting from Main and Vine helped shape his career.  He lamented the demise of small-town, community focused media like Tooele’s KDYL:

“When we lose that small town newspaper, that small town radio station, we lose a little bit of our soul.”

But channeling Mark Twain, he posited that the reports of radio’s demise have been greatly exaggerated.  It must adapt and evolve, but the need for local radio will always remain.

“There’s something to tuning in and knowing that person’s right there too, that they’re in the same time frame that you are in, that the weather you’re experiencing, they’re experiencing too,” Wright explained.  “The core of it is that friend on the radio.”

bonnevillemariner@gmail.com

 
 

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The Hams of Radio: Amateur radio operators harness the potential of radio

WDARC was established in 1995 as a local arm of the Utah Amateur Radio Club. Its mission is to provide education and foster a mentoring atmosphere for ham radio. The club boasts nearly 50 members — and each has their own story.

This article originally appeared in the November 10, 2011 edition of the Tooele Transcript Bulletin.

Amateur radio operator Ray Riding twists the tuning dial of the Tooele County Emergency Operations Center’s high frequency radio, catching sporadic strings of human voice as he scans the 20 meter band. The voices phase in and out of the white noise like mini movements in an ethereal symphony. It’s music to the radio lover’s ears.

Sitting next to Riding, fellow amateur operator Richard Shaw keys a repeater code into another radio while another ham, Doug Higley, translates their radio lingo into plain English. The three men are members of the West Desert Amateur Radio Club (WDARC), which promotes amateur — or “ham” — radio in Tooele County.

“CQ, CQ, KC7GMN,” calls Shaw over the air via a repeater on Farnsworth Peak. (KC7GMN is Shaw’s call sign. ‘CQ’ is a general call for contact.) It’s time, as hams say, to “chew the rag.”

Amateur radio traces its roots back to the early 20th century when private citizens began experimenting with radio transmission and wireless messaging using Morse code. The pastime continues today as both a hobby and a bastion of volunteer and emergency communication. According to Shaw, WDARC’s current president, there are more than 260 licensed amateur radio operators in Tooele County.

Exactly how the craft became known as “ham radio” is uncertain. “Ham” could be an abbreviation of “amateur,” but most hams agree that the moniker originated as a taunt from military professionals.

“Back when radio was just starting out,” explained Shaw, “the military were the ones that used it. When private individuals started transmitting with crude equipment, the military made fun of them, saying snidely, ‘They’re just a bunch of hams.’ But everybody who was private took that as a badge of honor.”

Beginning with the Radio Act of 1912, ham radio operation was licensed by the Federal Communications Commission. Currently there are three license classes: general, technician, and amateur extra. Ham radio is strictly non-commercial. Aside from emergency communications, ham transmissions consist mostly of short contacts and “rag chewing,” the ham term for casual conversation. Many hams also volunteer to provide communication infrastructure to races and other public events.

WDARC was established in 1995 as a local arm of the Utah Amateur Radio Club. Its mission is to provide education and foster a mentoring atmosphere for ham radio. The club boasts nearly 50 members — and each has their own story.

Shaw fell in love with radio at age 10 when he and his older brother received crystal radio kits for Christmas. A crystal receiver is a simple radio built primarily of wire and a crystalline mineral, powered only by radio waves in the air. Transmissions are heard through a single earbud. Shaw and his brother built their kits that very day and spent many hours listening to KDYL and KSL — the only stations they could pick up reliably from their home in Murray.

“On Sundays we’d kick it on before church and listen to the [Mormon] Tabernacle Choir,” Shaw recalled. “Mother would be listening to it upstairs on an AM radio, but we were downstairs listening to it through our little earbuds. It was a very pure form of radio.”

Riding (call sign AC7RR) has always been fascinated by radio, but his interest in emergency communications stems from a 1978 incident when he was the first responder to an auto-pedestrian accident on SR-89 in Weber County. Radio was the only form of mobile communication back then, and Riding used his Citizens’ Band radio to call for help.

“That’s why I always want to have a radio with me,” he said.

Riding is vice president of WDARC and currently serves as the Amateur Radio Emergency Service (ARES) Emergency Coordinator for Tooele County. In the event that established government emergency communications fail, Riding will spearhead backup amateur network to temporarily bridge the gap.

Ham operators also form the backbone of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints’ emergency communications network. Volunteer ham operators representing each ward and stake are on constant standby to facilitate communications and welfare supply delivery during disasters. During a major 1994 wildfire in Skull Valley, Shaw participated in an LDS Church-led operation to establish a communication network and full-service shelter. Though the shelter was ultimately not used, Shaw considers it a testament to the effectiveness of ham radio.

Beyond emergency communications, ham radio is the model of technical experimentation and do-it-yourself electronics. Hams have made considerable contributions to the fields of science, engineering and aerospace. Numerous innovators in the technology and media industries got their start in ham radio, and most astronauts are licensed. Hams were using satellites to boost their communication as early as 1961. In the 1970s they pioneered packet radio, a precursor to modern computer networks and the Internet. In turn, ham radio incorporates modern Internet technology to extend its range and capabilities. The Internet Radio Linking Project (IRLP) enables the linking of stations worldwide via Voice over IP. Higley (KD7FXS) believes that IRLP is a key to sustained enthusiasm for ham radio.

“Basically that gives you worldwide communication — and you have access to that at entry level,” he said.

Back at the EOC, a ham in Bountiful with call sign KF7MTE responds to Shaw’s CQ call and spends several minutes chatting about equipment and getting started with ham radio. This kind of talk is typical, as are conversations about weather, traffic, news relevant to ham radio and other pleasantries.

Shaw said getting licensed can be quick and relatively inexpensive. WDARC meets monthly at the EOC and sponsors two training courses per year for newcomers. The club encourages anybody interested to contact them about training. Potential amateur radio operators must pass a multiple choice exam to prove their knowledge of radio operation and FCC regulations. There is no age limit. According to Shaw, the youngest ham operator in Tooele County is 14 years old. Equipment costs vary according to need and interest.

Listening to the WDARC guys, it’s difficult to identify a single source of their passion. Many are attracted to the emergency service aspects of ham radio. Others are drawn by a sense of community. Some crave long-distance contact and competition. Riding described ham radio as a hobby with many sub-hobbies, offering the example of building “homebrewed” radios.

“You’ll have extremely low power operations where they’ll build a transmitter out of an Altoids can or a tuna can,” he said.

Underlying all of these interests seems to be a wide-eyed fascination with the radio phenomenon and a desire to harness its potential.

“RF [Radio Frequency] is out there, and radio is a way to capture it,” Shaw explained. “Amateur radio lets you control it.”

 
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Posted by on November 14, 2011 in Radio, Tech

 

Staying connected in the outdoors may require uplugging yourself

The following originally appeared in the September 17 edition of the Tooele Transcript Bulletin.

by Clint Thomsen

From the top of Deseret Peak in the Stansbury Mountains, the communities in Tooele Valley look like tiny collections of etched traces and capacitors on a vast computer circuit board.  That was one of my first impressions of the view when I crested the 11,030 foot peak last summer.

There’s a reason why topographically prominent peaks—called “ultras” in peak bagging circles—are the most sought after summits.    In addition to elevation, ultras have high independent stature.  So they offer the best views and the most tangible sense of isolation.  Deseret Peak is one of just 57 ultras in the lower 48 states.

I had driven 8 miles up a canyon and hiked 3.25 miles, climbing 3,613 feet via switchback and rubble fields to reach this jagged quartzite platform.  If I wasn’t on top of the world, I was sure close.  Exhausted and satisfied, I threw down my pack and sat at the edge of the summit to ponder my feat.

After chugging a bottle of water, I reached for my cell phone, which doubled as my watch.  As I turned it on, I was surprised to see that I had full service—both voice and data.  Instinctively I checked my email.  Then I called my wife, Googled some information about the return trail, checked my work email, and read the latest news.

By this time, my hiking companions had also discovered this miracle of connectivity and were calling spouses and dialing up info too.  Others were busily checking pedometers, shooting video, and programming GPS receivers.  For a little while, Deseret Peak was a regular cyber café.

While the knowledge that I had this technological lifeline in one of the most remote and dangerous places in the county was truly a comfort, I felt like the whole internet part of it was somehow wrong.  Not morally wrong, but out-of-place wrong– like listening to Christmas music in July or drinking milk from a Coke can.  I couldn’t help but feel like I had violated some unwritten outdoor code.

Part of me wished I would have left the phone on my belt.  The other part spent a good chunk of the return hike wondering what other cool gadgets I could employ in the wilderness.

Aside from my wife, Meadow, I have two other loves: the outdoors and technology.  Regular readers of this column are no doubt aware of the first.  And when I’m not outside (or at work or changing diapers), I spend what little free time remains in front of a laptop—shopping online, reading news, and drooling over electronic gadgets I’ll never be able to afford.

Meadow says I’m addicted to computers, to the internet, to my phone.  I assure her I can stop at any time, that I’m in complete control.  She remains unconvinced.

Despite what some may think, technology and the outdoors often complement each other nicely.  I blog, Facebook, and tweet—mostly about the outdoors.   I do most of my research online and I get many outdoors ideas from online forums.

In the field, who can argue against the benefits of GPS and the ability to call for help in emergency situations?  And if you can check email and stream YouTube– all the better, right?

Some outdoor purists consider these assets as cheating.  They argue that wilderness should be experienced solely on its own terms.  The tougher the mental and physical challenge, the greater the reward.

I get the idea,  but I wonder if experiencing nature in full is always practical or even desirable.  The great explorers and pioneers were more in tune with nature than I’ll ever be, yet they probably would have given anything to enjoy modern technological conveniences.

We casual adventurers sometimes forget that while our predecessors enjoyed the wild, more often than not they were there out of necessity, not hobby.  They aimed more to survive nature than to fawn over it.

Still– if only at the subconscious level– their connection with the mountains, trees, and trails must have given them a certain fulfillment that the modern outdoorsman can only attain in fleeting bits and pieces.

I’m not an ideologue when it comes to these matters.  If my goal is to experience nature in the raw, I ditch the gadgetry.  If the kids are along, it’s got a dedicated pocket for it in my pack, with extra batteries.  The point isn’t to abandon technology altogether.  It’s to prevent the entertainment aspects of it from overshadowing the greater outdoor experience.

I’ll admit that balancing the organic experience with the digital isn’t always easy.  It’s difficult for me to check my tech tendencies at the trailhead.  If I’ve got a connection and I start using it, I tend to focus on it until my head is completely in cyberspace (though I of course remain in complete control).

I faced such a temptation last month on a hike in the Deseret Peak Wilderness area.  I was delighted when, after a 3.4 mile hike to South Willow Lake, I pulled out the smartphone and noticed I had full data coverage.

I had made the hike with the Transcript Bulletin’s editor, Jeff Barrus and our sons.  When we reached the lake, the boys happily waded into its shallows.  The view of the 10,685 foot glacial cirque surrounding it was amazing.  I sat down on a large boulder on the lake’s shore.  My first thought: How cool would it be to post a Twitter update from up here!

I fired up my web browser and feverishly navigated to the Twitter home page before finally catching myself, remembering Deseret Peak.  I assured myself that I would thoroughly document the hike online, but later.  Right now it would be, well, just wrong!  I put the phone away and didn’t get it back out that night.  And I didn’t even open my laptop until the next day.  Funny how that worked.

 

High-tech survival device ignites return to outdoor treasure hunting

The following article originally appeared in the March 26, 2009 edition of the Tooele Transcript Bulletin.

An geocache that will remain nameless sits near the vault it was discovered in (photo by Clint Thomsen)

An geocache that will remain nameless sits near the vault it was discovered in (photo by Clint Thomsen)

by Clint Thomsen

“Think about it, honey– we’ll never be lost again.”

This last-ditch selling point may have what finally convinced my wife to let me buy a GPS receiver last weekend. Either that, or she was just fed up with crackpot pitches like “how can I be an outdoors writer and not own a GPS receiver?” and “It’s just the cheap $100 model, not the deluxe version—I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

Of course my promise of never being lost again was a steep one, completely dependent upon the complex little device’s ability to process precise signals from outer space and my ability to master its ins and outs. It meant that even though I’m a man, I might need to at least skim the user manual before I take the kids bushwhacking in the High Uintas Wilderness Area.

Aside from wishing my new toy—err, survival device— didn’t look so much like a Happy Meal prize, my first thought when I opened the box was “The 90’s just called. They’d like their serial cable back.” If I was going to assuage my tech anxiety, I would need to give this baby a test run, ASAP.

Fortunately I’ve had some exposure to geocaching, the outdoor treasure hunting game where players seek out hidden “caches” using GPS technology. The activity is especially popular in Utah, and hundreds of caches are hidden across Tooele County. I used to hunt caches with my friend Tyler, but more often than not, his brother’s old receiver led us on maddening wild goose chases.

Just in case my past frustration was due more to user error than device flaw, I selected a few kid-friendly “drive-by” caches in the Stansbury foothills. The “Pirate Gold”, “Willow516″, and “Little Dam” caches along the Old Mormon Trail would be easily locatable and exciting enough to whet the kids’ appetite for the sport.

Geocaches vary in type and location difficulty, but a traditional cache consists of a watertight container, a log book, and a collection of dollar store type “prizes.” Some contain useful items like batteries or printed maps. Geocachers may take items from a cache if they leave something of similar or greater value. Thoughtful cache hiders clearly label their container a geocache and include a note explaining the game for people who might accidentally stumble upon it.

After secreting the cache, its owner uses a GPS receiver to log a set of coordinates called a waypoint, which marks its physical location on Earth. The owner then publishes the waypoint, along with cache name and description, to one of several geocaching websites. Other geocachers find the cache by plugging the waypoint into their GPS receivers and mapping to it.

The Global Positioning System is a constellation of 27 dedicated satellites that circle the globe at 12,000 mph on six orbital planes. Each satellite broadcasts precise microwave time signals at the speed of light. A GPS receiver uses the combined signals of four satellites to calculate its accurate position on earth, and thus it’s position relative to a waypoint.

GPS was made available for civilian use in 1996, but the use a receiver for precise navigation was hindered by a feature called Selective Availability, which purposely scrambled publicly available signals. SA was turned off on May 2, 2000 by Presidential directive, and enthusiast Dave Ulmer placed the first documented geocache the very next day. Its contents included a can of beans, mapping software, five dollars, and a slingshot.

Since then, an estimated 823,000 caches have been placed worldwide.

As a father-son treasure hunting team, we sought Pirate Gold as our first cache, both because 3 year old Coulter is obsessed with pirates and because previous discoverers left enough online hints to make missing it nearly impossible.

“When Captain Jack Sparrow was wandering around Worlds End,” wrote cache owner Termite49 on one website, “he happened to get a little further east and secreted a treasure chest…”

As Cracker-Jack as it looks on the outside, my new receiver worked like a charm. The boys soon cracked open a wooden chest full of Yu-Gi-Oh cards and plastic booty. 7 year old Bridger took one card and Coulter took a plastic coin. We left some army guys before returning the chest to its metal hinged vault.

The next cache had been placed by a Grantsville Boy Scout troop. My receiver led us to a juniper grove where Bridger spotted the converted ammo can. “Aren’t you glad you’re a pirate?” I asked him, referring to the time a Jack Sparrow face actor at Disney World made him an “official” member of his crew. Bridger had taken the ordeal seriously and has tried to renounce his piracy ever since.

“I never wanted to become a pirate. I just wanted to sword fight with him. Let Coulter be the pirate.”

“Ah, but you’re the one who took the oath,” 5 year old Weston piled on. “Besides, see how good that makes you at finding treasure?”

Bridger furrowed his brow, torn between his moral opposition to piracy and the advanced treasure hunting skills it had apparently endowed him with. Weston traded some army guys for a plastic fish from the cache before hiding it again.

After locating the last cache, we drove to Grantsville Reservoir to build and hide our own. The boys had meticulously chosen items at the Family Dollar in Grantsville—a plastic gun set, silly putty, and some pens. I prepared the log book and added the remaining the army guys (because what’s a cache without army guys?). Then we sealed it up and hid it in a spot the boys had chosen. They called the cache “Beach Reach” after watching the windsurfers on the lake.

“Dad, can we do this every day?” asked Weston as we drove back home. “Whenever we want,” I responded contentedly, my little GPS receiver still in hand– still tracking speed and distance from the Beach Reach waypoint just because. Never getting lost again is going to be a whole lot of fun.

——-

In case you were wondering, the “cheap” GPS receiver I bought was the Garmin eTrex H.  Looks like a toy, works like a charm. 1990′s serial port included, $40 1990′s serial cable not.

 

Weekly Run-Down: The fusion of tech and nature, and imminent U2

Gmail is down- whatever will we do?
As of this writing, the globe has ceased to rotate.  Why?  Because Gmail, Google’s Web-based email service, is down.  I know what you’re thinking– what happened to the days when Internet hiccups were a common and expected phenomenon?   I remember when certain sites or services– erstwhile staples of the Web– would go down for hours, even days, without announcement or explanation.

The fact that the Gmail crash made Drudge is evidence of how far we’ve come and how dependent many of us are on technology.  As fond as I am of days gone by, my umbilical cord to World Wide Web, and Gmail in particular, is strong.  I keep a dedicated browser tab open for Gmail all day long at work, and I’ve got a direct, constant connection to it on my phone.

If I weren’t a skeptic, I’d swear I have some sort of weird psychic connection to Gmail as well.  Like people who wake up moments before their alarm clock goes off, sometimes I’ll unholster my phone and look at it just seconds before that magical buzz and blinking LED.    If you email me and I don’t get back to you within minutes, you can rest assured that I’m either dead or wandering in the wilderness (or at home with the family, which is a strictly enforced “tech-free” zone).

According to the UK’s Telegraph, Gmail’s crash left Internet users “baffled by the problems and at a loss as to what to do.”  I love it.  Completely bewildered.  I totally get it.  Good thing my brain is rooted well enough in real world that I can chuckle at this worldwide catastrophe.  But for now, for the Web-tethered masses, Earth’s rotation might as well be on indefinite hold.

OBS on Twitter
Speaking of tech, the Outdoor Bloggers Summit, of which I am a proud supporter, is now on Twitter.  Our founder, Kristine Shreve, has put a lot of work into building the community’s online infrastructure, and it’s come a long way.  If you’re an outdoors blogger or you follow the great outdoors online movement and you read the blog, check out our Twitter feed as well.

Imminent U2
The time is almost at hand for the release of new U2 album.  No Line on the Horizon is set for release in the U.S. on March 3.  I had mixed feelings about the album’s first single, “Get On Your Boots,” which is reminiscent of the band’s 1997 album PopPop is almost universally considered a colossal misstep in the band’s otherwise uber-successful career.

So I’m kinda hoping “Boots” isn’t representative of the entire album.  Luckily, I’m hearing it’s not.  This may be bad news for my friend Tyler, who ranks Pop among his personal favorites.  If you’re a fellow U2 fanatic, MusicRadar.com has posted a track-by-track description and review of the album.  Their take?  Not the band’s best offering by far, but a nice mix of experimentation and classic U2.

 
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Posted by on February 24, 2009 in Music, Tech, U2, Weekly Run-Down

 
 
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