I’d like to say I’ll make this up to you tomorrow, but that’s going to be even worse. Hey: Holiday Week. Thanksgiving expands to the entire week nowadays, fore and aft - deadlines get compressed and rearranged, which is why I’m clacking like a meth-addled monkey here on the column for Friday. Or will, once I finish this.

Note: there will be a Thanksgiving Diner tomorrow, along with something else for your listening pleasure. I understand that the code may not have worked for some last time; here is a link to the previous Diner. It’s on iTunes, too. In fact:

Hey there, hooray for me; New and Noteworthy again. I feel like Kirk looking at the Genesis planet.

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Okay, I’ve finished the column, and it’s a doozy, of sorts. Whatever a doozy is. “Something impressive that’s not entirely pleasurable, but whose negative elements are, in the end, not only inconsequential but somehow relevant to the experience.” Let’s check what comes up when I google the word:

Something outstanding or unique of its kind."it's gonna be a doozy of a black eye”

The example of usage would seem to conform with my definition. There’s something unwanted in a doozy, a steel splinter in the ice cream. Oh, speaking of which: Random item from the grocery store: Pacific Atoll Atom-bomb Test Ice Cream.


Even daughter got that, and she knows nothing about the dank dread of watching nuclear test footage.

She has no school on Wednesday. For the last hour and a half of class today they had Recreational Options: a movie in the theater, “hand-held games” in a smaller room where children could employ thumbs and fingers at the expense of peer interaction, and the Dreaded Dance, where only the 6th graders went. Why? Because they had no idea how lame it would be. I imagined a teacher pressured into service as a DJ, hoping at least one student would recognize how SICK that drop was, and seeing only wallflowers standing in the twinkling penumbra of the disco ball, talking to their friends, not even casting a look to the line of boys on the other side of the room. But of course there were no boys. They were all down in the Hand-Held Games room. Daughter chose the theater, where an uplifting tale of totalitarian games and intra-generational deathsport played out.

Me, I blogged, wrote, fixed, revamped, napped, cooked. Short walk for the dog - it was, after all, 5 above, and it took a few minutes for him to rearrange his legs in the proper order. But we set off down the hill in the twilight as is our wont.

He chose the return route: up the hill. Up. Hard work but there’s wet supper and a warm mat at the end, and really, what more can you ask of a day?

 


   

This week:


As they were setting up the Whitney Mirror, named perhaps for the New Yorker cartoonist of the 50s, they are unaware that Dr. Tobor has informed Vultura of their plans to set up a device that can see what they are doing on the planet Atoma!

This will interfere with his plans to invade and defeat Captain Video! So he sends a rocket:

Which, of course, makes people who use "begging the question" improperly ask "doesn't this beg the question of why Vultura just DOESN'T USE MISSLES EVERYWHERE instead of fiddle-farting around with these interminable "plans" that accomplish nothing? Who cares? It's a rocket!

Boom! Captain Video shoots it out of the sky with his isotopic muzzle-smoker, or whatever, and the powerful explostion of the dreaded missile knocks the lens over. That's the extent of the damage. Oh, it may have to be "readjusted," but that presumes we will hear about the device ever again.

Tobor hooks up with the crack fearsome Criminals of the Future, hanging around the Crime Wagon of Tomorrow . . .

. . . and uses invisibility to get away. Not that Vultura ever says "get invisible and shoot several world leaders. Here's a list. Nah. He's sitting around his HQ eating pork rinds and drinking Falstaff. Captain Video decides that Tobor cannot be captured; he must come to them. Makes sense. If someone is attempting to evade capture, well, you'll have to figure out a way to make him walk through your door. It's called psychology!

So Captain Video has all the major media of the world - meaning, radio and newspapers - to announce an olie-olie-in-free for Dr. Tobor:

I forgot he was a meteorologist. Also that Vutura was the Red Dictator. Because, you know, reds. Anyway, Tobor buys it completely! Or . . . does he?

Yeah, he does. Meanwhile, Captain Video, who also has the power of invisibility since he lifted Tobor's cloak, goes for the transparent look, which is accompanied by the trademark musical cue for "become invisible."

We also get a taste of what Tobor's objectives are. Remember, this is a guy who's miffed every single job he's been given.

You might want to keep that to yourself when the bossman seems to have an open line into your lair.

Captain Video overhears Tobor talking to Vultura, and now that he has all the information he needs - well, he heard it, he didn't record it - he drops his cloak and asks him to write, by hand, a full confession. Right there. In his lab. As opposed to clouting him on the head and dragging him to the trunk of the jetmobile. Meanwhile Tobor's henchmen are on the way: hurry boys, there's a cliffhanger to get to! Then the action really heats up: Skelton Kraggs pulls a heater on Captain Video, the Ranger shoots him in the back, CapVid takes Tobor to the Jetmobile, the henchmen arrive and knock him out and KILL HIM! ON THE SPOT! No, of course not; they put him in the Crime Van of Tomorrow. But good ol' Gallagher back at the lab uses the Sonic Isolator to cripple the van.

Unfortunately, I think he might be using too rich a mixture:

Unfortunately, I think he might be using too rich a mixture:

If it seems like Captain Video was blown up last week as well, I know. I now.

I skipped a week. Could you tell? No. That's the beauty of these things.

Man, I hope the last one plays. It would be amusing to come this far and not known how it ends up, eh?

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
 

 
   
 
 
   
 
 
     
 
 
   
     
 
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