Welcome to the 20th Annual Wriphe.com Batman and Football Month!

Twenty years is a long time. Not so long for Batman, though. He's a spry 87 years old and still fighting crime!

Not that you'd know he's an octogenarian from reading comic books. Comics have a way of sliding time so that "the past" is always no more than twenty years ago. For example, when Batman has a flashback to his college football days in 1978, it somehow looks like the facemask-free 1950s.

Batman Vol. 39, No. 304, Oct 1978

Some people will go to any length to stay young.

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While following a link to the recently announced song that will be the theme for Peacemaker Season 2 ("Oh Lord" by Foxy Shazam), I noticed that YouTube has helpfully created a Mix, which they describe as "a nonstop playlist tailored to you." I always say I'm not really a music guy, so it's very kind of YouTube to decide for me what music I like.

This is the first 50 songs (eliminating duplicate artists) in my current Mix. Let's see how the algorithm did.

1. "One Night in Bangkok," Murray Head (1984)
2. "Original Sin," Taylor Dayne (1994)
3. "Maps," Yeah Yeah Yeahs (2003)
4. "Chaise Lounge," Wet Leg (2022)
5. "Owner of a Lonely Heart," Yes (1983)
6. "Mr. Blue Sky," Electric Light Orchestra (1977)
7. "It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)," R.E.M. (1987)
8. "Breakfast at Tiffany's," Deep Blue Something (1994)
9. "Only Happy When It Rains," Garbage (1996)
10. "Teenage Dirtbag," Wheatus (2000)
11. "All the Things She Said," t.A.T.u. (2002)
12. "That’s Not My Name," The Ting Tings (2008)
13. "Got My Mind Set On You," George Harrison (1987)
14. "Video Killed the Radio Star," The Buggles (1980)
15. "Dancing Queen," ABBA (1976)
16. "You're the Best Around," Joe Espisito (1984)
17. "Do Ya Wanna Taste It," Wig Wam (2005)
18. "Loser," Beck (1994)
19. "Buddy Holly," Weezer (1994)
20. "Here It Goes Again," OK Go (2005)
21. "I Love It," Icona Pop (2013)
22. "You should be sad," Halsey (2020)
23. "I Ran (So Far Away)," Flock of Seagulls (1982)
24. "Head Over Heals," Tears for Fears (1985)
25. "Burning Down the House," Talking Heads (1983)
26. "You Can Call Me Al," Paul Simon (1986)
27. "Message in a Bottle," The Police (1979)
28. "Love Will Tear Us Apart," Joy Division (1980)
29. "Steppin' Out," Joe Jackson (1982)
30. "Mr. Roboto," Styx (1983)
31. "Daydream Believer," The Monkees (1967)
32. "End of the Line," The Traveling Wilburys (1988)
33. "Miami Dolphins Number One," Lee Ofman (1972)
34. "Paint It, Black," The Rolling Stones (1966)
35. "The Passenger," Iggy Pop (1977)
36. "Coming Up," Paul McCartney (1980)
37. "Steal My Sunshine," Len (1999)
38. "Groove Is In The Heart," Deee-Light (1990)
39. "Don't You Want Me," The Human League (1981)
40. "Blue Monday," New Order (1983)
41. "Take On Me," a-ha (1985)
42. "Come On Eileen," Dexys Midnight Runners (1982)
43. "In a Big Country," Big Country (1983)
44. "Cars," Gary Numan (1979)
45. "C'mon, Let's Do It," Gerhard Heinz (1977)
46. "Turn It On Again," Genesis (2004)
47. "Life In a Northern Town," Dream Academy (1985)
48. "Flash's Theme," Queen (1980)
49. "Roam," B-52s (1985)
50. "Breakout," Swing Out Sister (1986)

Wow. If I was picking songs for myself, that's not the list I would have made. I mean, if I only get one Genesis song, I'd prefer it was "Land of Confusion" with its overt Superman reference and kick-ass electronic drums. But I cannot deny that yes, that is all Walter Music. I have a real emotional connection to some of those.

I see where your head is, YouTube programmers: audio honeypots! Nostalgia captures eyeballs, even mine.

The one song on that list that stands out to me is "Love Will Tear Us Apart," which is fine; it's just not a song I ever seek out. (I don't recall ever even Googling it. Is it there because of "Blue Monday," the Joy Division/New Order connection?) I also find it interesting that despite including Roy Orbison, Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, and two Beatles, only three of the above performances are older than I am. Fun fact: As I type this in 2025, there are more surviving Stones (3) than Monkees (1).

In case you're curious, as I was: the average year is 1989, the median 1985, the mode 1983 (5). That sounds about right, as '83 was the year of Thriller. I still remember where I was when I watched the debut of the video on MTV (on a cabinet-sized, wood-paneled television with knobs!). We watched a lot of MTV in '83. We also watched a lot of Night Tracks on the TBS Superstation in the wee hours of Friday nights. That's what we had to do before YouTube, kids: stay up real late in the hopes that they would play our favorite songs.

And yes, I just listened to every song on that list again. Don't stop to ask. And now you've found a break to make at last. You've got to find a way. Say what you want to say. Breakout.

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The bitterly cold 13° temperatures we experienced last week did not leave us unscathed.

Believe it or not, this flooded cellar was the result of an exterior spigot freezing and cracking. We thought we had the spigot well covered with an insulated sleeve, but it was just too damn cold for too damn long.

The spigot froze and snapped entirely off. Instead of flooding the yard, the water rushing out of the pipe shot straight into the still-secured sleeve where it hit a dead end and rebounded into the cellar ventilation. The resulting underground swimming pool did a whole lot of damage to the water heater and furnace.

Thanks to a lot of help from restoration professionals, plumbers, HVAC technicians, and electricians, we're getting close to the other side of it now that the temperature is back to an unseasonable 70°, warm for January even by Georgia standards.

The entire experience has taught me two lessons. One, we should tie the insulation sleeve on much more loosely (a frozen yard is better than a flooded basement). And two, winter sucks.

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I've really fallen off the movie watching pace this year. It looks like I'll only see maybe 140 new-to-me films in 2023, my lowest total since 2016. Let that be a lesson: When you work too hard, there's not enough time to sit on your ass and watch movies. Time to reinvestigate my priorities.

112/2278. Man Hunt (1941)
Walter Pigeon is hunted across England by Nazis because he thought about assassinating Hitler. It gets pretty brutal; the Nazis do not play fair. And to think: This movie was made in America in 1941! Director Fritz Lang had escaped Nazi Germany, so he had some first-hand experience and an axe to grind, and grind it he did. The call to action at the end is a bit much, but thumbs up otherwise.

113/2279. Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023)
I've played in my share of Dungeons and Dragons campaigns, and I can attest that this movie gets it all right: wisecracking, well-intentioned but marginally competent (and greedy) heroes make for a crackling good time. It made me want to get together with friends and start a new campaign.

114/2280. The Flash (2023)
I covered the key aspects of this piece of trash back in September. To reiterate: it's bad; don't watch it. (On my first attempt, I made it to the 8 minute mark before I couldn't take it anymore and had to bail. A friend convinced me to try again, starting at 1 hour, when Michael Keaton arrives. I did as he said, and I was left with bile in my mouth as I watched Keaton parody himself for a big paycheck. Poor guy. Maybe Birdman was more autobiographical than I would have previously believed. The real sin here: never remind your audience they could be watching other, better movies.)

115/2281. Summer of '42 (1971)
What I didn't like about this enjoyably bittersweet coming-of-age story was the dialogue between the three friends. I was that age once, and I'm sure my friends and A) had a much better grasp of sex B) didn't sound like egghead playwrights. Very distracting in what was otherwise a very naturalistic setting.

"In '42, we were thirsty... for love."

116/2282. A Zest for Death: A Hannah Swensen Mystery (2023)
I'm glad that Hallmark has resumed their Hannah "The Baker" Swensen mystery series. I enjoy them in large part because I enjoy using their established formulas to resolve which of the newly introduced characters has to be the murderer, no matter how improbable the story would want you to think it is. In other words: dumb puzzle movie make Walter feel smart. Hooray!

More to come.

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From the Old Soldiers Never Die Department:

Peacemaker Tries Hard #4, October 2023

Now that he's palling around with General Immortus, Johnny Blackhawk, and The Red Bee, Peacemaker just might be the youngest person in his own title. He's no spring chicken himself; his father was a Nazi concentration camp commandant. Or at least he used to be. Comic books have a tendency to play fast and loose with established character biographies.

Speaking of which, flashbacks in this issue definitively detail the Red Bee's time as a special agent American Mystery Man actively fighting the Axis powers (and their terrible "War Wheel") in the European theater of World War II.

But wait! Everyone knows Red Bee died on February 23, 1942, on Earth-X (as graphically revealed in 1984's All-Star Squadron #35). What this story presupposes is... maybe he didn't?

Comic books being what they are, it would seem that Red Bee recovered from being dead — maybe health care was better back in the day — and continued his fight for Truth, Justice, and the American Way.

Which is how he ends up with Peacemaker in the Amazon jungle held hostage by the villainous gourmand Snowflame. Good thing Red Bee has another Greatest Generation trope: a sidekick!

A friend in need is a friend, indeed!

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[The Internet ate my original post here, which was a very long complaint about the movie The Flash. I'm not going to try to recreate it. The important takeaways were that that A) it has Batman in it, and B) it sucks.]

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Back in February, an image was posted to Facebook along with the news that high winds had blown the head off the Superman statue in downtown Metropolis, Illinois.

In fact, the Photoshopped image and accompanying story had originally been the April Fools' Day prank for SupermanHomepage.com... in 2017.

But that didn't stop a lot of people thinking it was true. The Metropolis Super Museum had to publicly refute the claim being repeated by "news" sites far and wide. What hope do we have against Deep Fake AIs when people can't even spot amateur use of Photoshop's clone tool?

In any event, we can all rest safe knowing that the statue will still be standing complete when the annual Superman Celebration kicks off this weekend. Better than ever, actually. The big guy just got a new coat of (lighter blue) paint in time for a rededication ceremony at 9AM on Friday.

Take that, high winds!

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In late December, the power in my neighborhood was out for days. In late March and April, it was out for a few hours. As I type this by candlelight, we're on hour 5 of the latest outage.

I don't understand why this keeps happening. If it's trees falling on power lines, why are we allowing any trees to remain near the lines? If it's old transformers, can't we predict failure and start replacing them?

Or maybe the problem is more insidious.

You know who loves it when the neighborhood is dark? Deer!

I'm on to you, you bastards.

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Did everyone have a Merry Christmas? I guess I did, all things considered. I mean, so long as I ignore the fact that the Miami Dolphins collapsed in the second half and lost their 4th straight game, going 0-4 in December and demonstrating that despite some earlier success they are definitively not ready to be a playoff team for the 22nd year in a row. (Annual reminder: their last playoff win was in 2000.)

Yeah, ignoring that and the fact that I badly cut my thumb on the large carving knife while doing the dishes, the rest of the day went pretty well. It was in the wee hours of this morning that I ran into trouble. Or maybe I should say that it was Louis who ran into trouble for us all.

After watching Sunday Night Football go to overtime and spending an hour trying and failing to play online games with Friend James (the trouble seemed to be with his ISP), I noticed at about 1:30 in the morning that something smelled wrong in my room: the faint smell of burning plastic. That's never good.

I began sniffing my way around the darkened house for the cause, starting with the basement. It wasn't coming from my room. It wasn't the furnace which has been running all out for days to combat the 30-year historic cold. It wasn't in my studio where I had been painting finishing veneers earlier in the day. So I moved upstairs where the smell was indeed stronger. I thought maybe it was the Christmas tree lights, but no, they seemed fine. And It wasn't any appliance in the kitchen or anything electronic in Mom's office. I even grabbed a flashlight and checked outside to no avail. What *was* the source of that smell?

When I came back inside, I noticed that the flashlight wasn't a spotlight like it was outside but an illuminated beam, a fuzzy lightsaber. As a former Boy Scout, I quickly recognized this as a Very Bad Sign. The good news is that I could follow the flashlight beam to find the areas of thickening smoke.

The source, as it turns out, was behind the curtains separating the den from the sunroom that Mom uses for crafting. As is usual in the winter, the "sun" room was the coldest in the house, and she has been running an older model portable oil space heater day and night to keep the chill out. At this point, you've probably figured out where this is headed.

Context clues indicate that sometime while I was preoccupied with football or video games, my mischievous puppy, Louis, had taken a break from chewing up my new shoelaces and pajama bottoms to sneak behind the curtain — where he knew he wasn't allowed alone — and knocked over the heater. The sideways heater did not have an automatic shutoff, and worse, on its side it started leaking oil, oil that fortunately smoked before it flamed.

I uncovered the problem in time to prevent any further damage to life, limb, or property. (Sure, the house *smells* like burnt plastic and oil, but at least there's a house to smell.) I think from now on I'm going to have to keep Louis tied to me. And I'm going to recommend that Mom mounts her new space heater (with automatic shutoff!) to the floor!

Post-Christmas crisis averted!

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EPISODE THREE: THE SABOTAGE, PART THREE

Quig tapped the shoulder of the Wolf Pack thug standing in the aisle beside him in the stands. "Excuse me, but I've got to get by you."

"What? Now? Why? Bronson's in the arena, and they trapped that murdering bitch between the floor tiles. The fight's just starting."

"Yes. It's very exciting. Even my bladder is excited."

"What?"

Quig sighed. "I've got to take a piss."

"Why didn't you say so?" The thug finally moved out of his way, and Quig hustled out of the arena into the corridor. It was just as Haze had said; with everyone watching the fight, no one was watching the corridor. Even the thugs who usually stood guard outside the arena control room were gone.

Quig had almost finished setting up his defense drone to cover the hall when Cobryn finally arrived.

"Sorry about that," said Cobryn. "They wouldn't let me out of their sight until I lied about using the restroom."

"Great minds piss alike," Quig said.

"What?"

Quig waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Do you have the keycard to the door?"

"Right here. I haven't tested it since I lifted it off that drunk last night. I hope it still works."

"We're about to find out." Quig drew a flashbang grenade from his pocket. "I'm ready when you are."

Cobryn nodded and inserted the pilfered card. The door unlocked and slid open automatically. Reflexively, the two control room operators turned to look and were immediately blinded by the flashbang. Cobryn rushed in and snapped slave manacles around one of the operators' wrists. Quig pointed a laser pistol at the other.

"Lower the floor tiles. Let Sahara out."

"I can't do that."

Quig pressed the laser's barrel against the operator's neck. "Wanna say that again?"

"N-no. But I don't have the controls to the floor. He does," the operator said, indicating his manacled partner.

Quig risked a glance out the booth window into the arena where Bronson appeared to be giving Striker One quite the beating. "We don't have time for this," he said, and brought the butt of the gun down on the operator's head, knocking him unconscious. Cobryn mimicked the action with his own pistol on the head of the manacled man, and Quig moved to look over the control console. As he would have expected in an arena run by idiots, it was pretty self-explanatory. He punched a few buttons and the floor began to lower, freeing Sahara. Not a moment too soon, from the look of it. Striker One was bleeding badly and had fallen to one knee. The crowd had begun chanting for Bronson to kill him.

"Do something," Cobryn urged.

"What?" asked Quig. His mind had gone blank. All he knew at that moment was that he desperately needed to pee.

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