Special Request
To deal with the dearth of television programming that typifies the summer (at least until Burn Notice and Mad Men begin their all-too-brief seasons), and not being in a humor to read, I elected to watch Superbad this evening. I received the D.V.D. for Christmas and had exhausted all the bonus features, but this was the first time I'd seen the movie since originally seeing in the theater. This was both an enormously good decision and a preposterously poor choice: enormously good in that Superbad is a hi-fucking-larious film and I laughed and laughed and laughed, even pausing the film so as not to miss the next joke or gag while laughing; preposterously poor as Superbad is, beneath all the funny funny jokes, about Evan and Seth's friendship. And I don't really have a best friend anymore, my best friend cut me out of his life in the cruelest terms possible and then had the audacity to accuse me, with a victim's pain in his voice, of shutting him out of my life. So, though I had a lovely day today except for the continuing Floridian heat and humidity, I've spent the last half hour wrangling with my pain and fury and getting those two bastards back into their corrals. Pain in my arse.

Really, though, I'm going to have to live with this betrayal for the next thirty-one years and change, and I don't want my parade continually rained upon. Perhaps a series of intentional and controlled exposures are just the ticket, exactly what I need to get a handle on things. You know, that actually sounds like a good idea. I will devise an experimental protocol at once!

The problem with a long term revenge scheme is that by nature that damn thing is years in the offing. The planning is done, the execution has been thought through to the last detail, now I just have to wait for the moment to be ripe. And you all know me, delaying gratification has never been my strong suit. But for this... I will teach myself patience. I hold in my heart the words of John Dryden:

"Beware the fury of a patient man."

Too melodramatic? All this maniacal cackling and villainous hand-rubbing has left little time for "The Stars My Destination." Standby, space cadets, the countdown is on a hold.

Project TROIKA
To this point, Steeze has been intensely focusing on one part of the overall tapestry while I've been plugging away at the remainder in a more general fashion. He has completed and transmitted to me the first draft of his labors, which I am reading closely and evaluating. After a suitable period for sober reflection, I will pass onto him my patented one-two punch of effuse praise and withering critique. Plot always follows character and several characters, until recently vague placeholders, have lately sprung to life before my mind's eye. So, as I enjoy saying (possibly just a bit too much), the work continues apace.

Grow or die.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Chinkees, "Trophy Winner" from Peace Through Music (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Because, really, what better way to celebrate the Red Wings' Stanley Cup triumph than with a fifty-eight-second instrumental song by a California-based, all-Asian band dedicated to combating racism, sexism, and discrimination of all types; fostering racial harmony; and advancing a vaguely socialist agenda?

I have no idea what this song is really about, as there are no lyrics. Even the album's liner notes, which detail the genesis of each individual song, read for "Trophy Winner" simply, "Instrumental." Way to help, Mike Park.