International Business Machines Vs. Macintosh
I have to say, I'm having persistent second thoughts about buying a Macintosh. I fucking hate the Mountain of Love's Power Book. I just sent an email from my Yahoo! account and I could neither italicize nor underline text within the email. The procedure for doing both things from a PC is ridiculously simple, yet for the life of me I could not devise how to accomplish them on this machine. I shall have to see if the now sleeping Mountain can show me how to do those things with a Mac. If not, if these infernal devices won't allow for the simplest aesthetic flourishes, I will have no choice but to buy a PC. I hate all HALs, but I've never had trouble using italics on a PC. Is the vaunted user-friendliness of Macs complete horsepucky, a pack of lies like the Golden Gate Bridge? Things aren't looking good for Steve Jobs at the moment, at least not insofar as earning my business.

Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
The Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society is back on the air... metaphorically. I don't have the head of steam necessary to write the requisite big moving posts at the nonce, but suffice it to say that I am very pleased to be living with my brother, though simultaneously terrified to be living so far from home. Mine was a very isolated life in Grand Blanc, far removed my my dear friends, but that life boasted the comfort of the hearth and literal familiarity. Here in Fort Worthless, I am confronted by the great unknown. But at least I have my beloved brother by my side; so, I have someone with whom to commiserate in the face of the relentless 100 F heat. Fucking Texas.

One item of interest: both my aged, second-hand laptop and my aged,second-hand PC seem to have given up the ghost. Damnation. Still, such are the perils of collecting used HALs instead of forking out the greenbacks to purchase one of your very own; I knew this day would come sooner or later and, really, looking back, I had no right to expect that it would come this late. Both HALs should have been junked years ago. (And given the brief lifespan of HALs, it is a minor marvel when any HAL has years of life in it, even if most of those years are after it should have been put out to pasture.) So, I shall soon be biting the bullet and investing in a suitable, thought hardly state-of-the-art HAL, probably of the Macintosh persuasion. For now, I am bloggy blogging on the Mountain of Love's Power Book, which he has been kind enough to place at my disposal.

More later, gang. Have a lovely day.

Running various errands this afternoon, I spied two of the best vanity license plates I have ever seen, the king of all vanity plates being the Senator's Daughter's signature plate: 701. The lesser of today's finds was DATA; I do not know if the plate was intended as a reference to Star Trek: The Next Generation's Lieutenant Commander Data, but that is how I choose to view it. The greater of the two was, brace yourself, HHHHHHH. Seven H's looked pretty sweet on the back of that minivan, and I salute the creativity that had to have gone into selected HHHHHHH.

Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
This will probably be my last bloggy blog post until the Mountain of Love and I are situated in Fort Worthless. Stay strong over the course of the next week. The Secret Base isn't giving up the ghost like the blogs of Skeeter, Daddy Dylweed, The Squirrel King, Neutral Man, and so many others. According to a recent issue of Discover, there were 500,000 blogs in 2003; here in 2006 there are around 30,000,000. The Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society has been in operation since February of 2002; so, it's not going anywhere. The Secret Base is as bankable as the outrageousness of Jack Pratt's pants. And as we all know, you can't beat pants. I have a feeling I've lost the thread, but I've never let that stop me. BTW South's cable installation, providing the vital dual lifelines of television ("...teacher, mother... secret lover") and ye olde internet, is scheduled for next Freitag. Cowboy up and you'll make it until then in fine style. And if you really need your daily fix of Last Angry Anger, there are four and half years of archives to cull. Bon chance, mes amis.

(Of course, knowing how I love to procrastinate, I wouldn't bet against there being one or two more posts as I grope desperately for anything to do to avoid finishing packing.)

Driving home at 11:00 o'clock, I didn't feel like listening to the BBC. I tuned in WKAR, the classical music NPR station, but didn't like the piece being played. Next up, I tried WHNN, the oldies station. And what did I hear? Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock and Roll"! Now, that kind of music just soothes my soul. Next up was "December 1963 (Oh, What a Night)" by The Four Seasons. It was the absolutely perfect song for that moment in time. I feared disappointment following back-to-back triumphs, but wihout cause: Roy Orbison's "You Got It." Jumpin' Jack Pratt, I know that one thing is undeniably true: it is ALWAYS the right moment for Roy Orbison. What a fantabulous hat trick.

Bog, I love music.

Hello, my name is Michael Patrick Wilson. In my head, I call myself Mike. I am an American, a Catholic, a democract, a Republican, a capitalist, a Zionist, a prude, a liberal, a Star Wars fanatic, a Trekkie, a fanboy, an otaku, a Michigander, a fat guy, an old ska kid, and a virgin. I am The Last Angry Man, Michael P., the SKP Machine, and the sole member of the Rebel Black Dot Society. I owned and named Michael Patrick Donut Shark. I am the master and commander of the legendary Mousemobile.

I say this not as I usually would, as a challenge, but as an invitation: who are you?

On Saturday, the Mountain of Love proposed marriage to the Buckeye and she accepted, becoming the future Mrs. Mountain. I hope they make each other very happy, because if she ever hurts him there shall come a frightful reckoning. (My purpose is not to offend; as anyone who knows me is well aware, I am very protective of my beloved brother.)

My Favorite Martian
Prompted by my interest in the new Martian Manhunter miniseries, I've begun collecting the Martian Manhunter ongoing series from the late 90s and generally researching the life and times of J'onn J'onzz. As is my habit, I've also begun formulating a few story ideas. Preliminary ideas include "Little Green Men," which will utilize The Alienist, a villain I invented for the hypothetical Superman story "Superego," and "Flight of the V.U.L.T.U.R.E." about the Manhunter's evil twin brother (honest to American God) Malefic and his worldwide criminal/terrorist organization V.U.L.T.U.R.E., the Vicious Union of Lethal Torturers, Underminers, Ravagers, and Executioners. As a fan of the miniseries Son of Vulcan, which featured a pair of the villainous White Martians as the chief black hats, I want to add Vulcan (Miguel "Mikey" Devante) to J'onn's supporting cast in a quasi-sidekick role. I can even borrow a title from The Man From U.N.C.L.E., "The Vulcan Affair," to introduce him into my Martian Manhunter. I believe the Martian Manhunter is rising quickly on the list of my favorite DC heroes.

Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
Mom and I drove up to Frankenmuth this morning and as a result of our trek I am now the proud owner of an amusingly hideous white wicker "entertainment center" and two matching end tables. All three items were gifts from Roz and Marty. Still, my new possessions will be quite useful in the new apartment in Forth Worthless. In a similar vein, I've decided to take my dresser after all; previously, I had thought that all my T-shirts and boxer shorts would reside on a series of plastic shelves to be placed in the closet, but now I am of the opinion that the dresser is the way to go.

Also this afternoon, I sold out. I am now the ashamed owner of a mobile telephone. As a Catholic I am drawn to the notion of penance through suffering; so, please be merciless in your mockery. The harsher you are the cleaner I will feel. While reading through the instruction manual, I became aware that I am not at all certain I have current telephone numbers for a great many of my dearest friends. So, if you would like to be entered into my mobile's contact list, email your digits to rebelblackdot@gmail.com. Jeers and taunts may be left in the commenting section of the Secret Base. Today, for the second time this summer, I hold cheap my manhood.

No Oracles at Delphi
Today, Diane, a lady at work whom I would guess is approximately the same age as my parents (mid-50s), gave me a Superman Returns calendar. Like almost everyone else at Delphi she has seen me reading comics on my breaks and once we even had a pleasant conversation about the joys and perils of being a pack rat. We're friendly acquaintances. She said she saw the calendars at a discounted price at a drug store and bought two, one for each of us. Bog, I hated Superman Returns, but in the giving and receiving of gifts it is of course the thought that matters. What a kind gesture. Hoorah for random acts of kindness.

Speaking of things that make life more splendid, I can't get the Fountains of Wayne song "Lost in Space" out of my head. You cannot think about "Lost in Space" without smiling, it's impossible. Sweet fancy Moses, Utopia Parkway is an amazing feat of musical brilliance. It's splendiferous!

"And she walks the earth,
But she's not from the human race.
She's a pretty little thing, but she's lost,
Yeah she's lost in space,
Yeah she's lost in space."

The War for Civilization
Dear God. Hyperlink. Do you remember the world of August 2001, just five scant years ago? Jihadist terrorism was a deadly threat in August of 2001, but it was a deadly threat of which we were all blissfully ignorant. We were living in a fool's paradise, but as I've said before, the thing about living in a fool's paradise is until it falls apart you're living in paradise. And who doesn't enjoy living in paradise?

Still, that world is dead and gone. The war for civilization, the war for peace and the rule of law, continues. The triumph of liberal democracy over despotism and terrorism is inevitable, but lamentably that doesn't mean there won't be many terrible days of blood and fire between now and glorious victory. Thank the Almighty today wasn't one of those days.

No Oracles at Delphi
I didn't pack a sack lunch today; so, I left the plant at "lunch" (7:00-7:30pm) and took advantage of one of the numerous readily accessable restaurants with drive-thru capabilities. Not in the mood for NPR, I hit the SEEK button on the Mousemobile's radio and soon found myself listening to a country music station. Bog, what I would have given for the DJ to have said, "We've got both kinds, country and Western." As I left work at the end of the shift (no overtime tonight; so, I left at 10:42pm), I decided to repeat the experiment. This time, I found myself listening to a Christian-themed inspirational/motivational monologue from a man with a voice both soft and intense. I love the Lord, but as I listened to this very earnest and clearly well-meaning man all I could think of was:

"In his favorite club,
In his favorite seat,
I saw the Devil,
Wingtip shoes on his feet,
Porkpie hat on his head,
He was diggin' the beat,
And the band ripped like demons
When he screamed, 'Turn on the heat!'"
--The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "Devil's Night Out" from Devil's Night Out

Also, whenever possible I think I'll start referring to the Mousemobile as "the legendary Mousemobile." Legendary, you ask? You know as well as I that the Mousemobile is a rolling legend in her own time.

And soon the legend of the legendary Mousemobile will be huge. Huge like Brinkman.

"I couldn't see, what I once saw,
In your lovely face
Once your lovely face
Became commonplace."
--The Proclaimers, "What I Saw in You" from Restless Soul

Clockwork Confusion
At the corner of Robert T. Longway Boulevard and Dort Highway there is a defunct business called the Klock Korner. Why in Bog's name would anyone name something like that? Okay, yes, it was a clock store located perilously close to a corner, but both "clock" and "corner" already start with the letter C. Why change their spellings to start with the letter K? Clock Corner, what's wrong with that? I could understand changing the first letter of one word - if clock was actually spelled "klock," I could see changing corner to "korner" since people find visual "alliteration" nearly as pleasing as actual alliteration - but both words already started with the same letter!

Now, since both "crispy" and "creme" already begin with the letter C, I've always assumed that the Krispy Kreme chain was thusly named as an allusion to the Ku Klux Klan. Krispy Kreme is a Southern company, after all, so what other reason would there be to favor the Klan-esque Krispy Kreme over the proper Crispy Creme?

Krusty the Klown is excused from my ire since spelling Krusty with a K instead of the proper C allowed for "comedy" and "classic" to be modified to be brought into line with Krusty, giving us the hilarious gag of Krusty's Komedy Klassic at the Apollo Theater. Is there anything funnier than an animated clown being pelted with produce?

Anyway, I'm glad the Klock Korner went out of business. I'd be chagrined had the business been named the Clock Corner, since the idea of a dedicated clock store is pretty neat.

Mexican Standoff
Supporters of left-wing Mexican presidential candidate Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador have been fouling up traffic in Mexico City with an enduring campaign of civil disobedience for the better part of a month (hyperlink), waiting for electoral officials to overturn the election of right-wing candidate and now President-Elect Felipe Calderon. Mexican law is clear, Calderon carried the day by the skin of his teeth, but Lopez Obrador's partisans refuse to concede. There's no good way out of this mess and Mexico's politics are going to be paralyzed by years of bitterness no matter the result.

This is a golden opportunity, yet I have not seen a single American newspaper boasting the headline "MEXICAN STANDOFF!" Come on, people! It's a standoff, it's in Mexico, and it can only end badly! It's the perfect Mexican standoff! There are no leaps of logic here. There's no need for semantic gymnastics. This is an honest to Our Lady of Guadalupe Mexican standoff! Oh, man, this is so much fun.

I can't be the only one who's thrilled by this. Don't wait, jump on the Mexican standoff bandwagon! Get exicted, people, it's a Mexican standoff, the best thing in the world after a knife fight in Caracas!

Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
Though my bellyaching at the time was both frequent and persistent, I now realize that the failure of our air conditioner a few weeks hence was in fact a blessing. The new AC unit is more efficient and more effective than the old unit; given that the heat index today is supposed to be over 100 F, with actual temperatures in the high 90s, I'm not sure the old unit could have coped. Not that I'm faulting the old Lennox, it fought the good fight for thirty-odd years and gave the last full measure of devotion, but the present heat wave would have simply overwhelmed its capabilities. Hooray for blessings in disguise.

What does this have to do with moving to Forth Worthless? I'm moving to Texas in the middle of August, the same Texas where you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a 90 F afternoon high. Am I fucking retarded? I blame the Mountain of Love for this. It's all his fault.