The less I have scheduled, the less I get done. Laziness is a pernicious and vexing pastime.

I know myself to be an impressionable soul. I cannot change this about my nature; so, I attempt to use it to my advantage. Whenever I place Diurnal: or, Confessions of the World's Worst Vampire on my writing schedule, I'll first bone up on vampire lore (for inspiration both positive and negative, to know what to steal and what to avoid like plague) with books like Judgment of Tears and Carmilla and films like Dracula (Tod Browning's 1931 film) and The Lost Boys. I mention this because I recently saw the film Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief and so now find my idle thoughts dominated by my proprietary tale of ancient heathen gods still extant in the 21st century, Epimetheus ♥ Pandora (which might well be changed to Pandora ♥ Epimetheus for marketing purposes, her renown far outstripping his). I am meant to be plugging away at character backstories for Steeze and putting the finishing touches on Project TRITON, not dilly-dallying with brilliant, hopelessly curious Pandora & morose, hopelessly reckless Epimetheus. More on the siren song of The Lightning Thief later.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "All Things Considered" from Pay Attention (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"There is this older guy that comes around from time to time,
We're sure that he fought in the war, the war in Vietnam,
Most of what he tells us no one's verified,
He swears that he was there the day that Brendan Behan died."

This Week in Motorsport
Only a fortnight remains 'til the first Formula One grand prix of 2010, the Bahrain Grand Prix! Asked about the new, larger fuel tanks in this year's cars (refueling has been banned, the cars now have to start the race carrying all the fuel they'll need to finish it), Red Bull driver Sebastian Vettel quipped, "The cars are longer—we are limo-drivers now." Welcome to the knee-slapping world of F1!

This is going to be my first full F1 season, kids, and I am determined to watch all nineteen—19!—grands prix (all seventeen from '09, plus the return of the Grand Prix du Canada & the inaugural Korean Grand Prix)! Bahrain! Australia! Malaysia! China! Spain! Monaco! Turkey! Canada! "Europe" (Spain again)! Britain! Germany! Hungary! Belgium! Italy! Singapore! Japan! Korea! Brazil! Abu Dhabi!

Formula One? Formula fun!

The Queue
At the peril of being pilloried as a philistine, I cannot say that I enjoyed P. G. Wodehouse's Mike at Wrykyn. It was not so much a novel as a series of vignettes; the plot does not so much conclude as simply end. And that style of writing is just not to my taste at present. Though clearly light and humorous in tone, I found little amusement in the enterprise. All that said, I have not deviated from my intention to read also Wodehouse's Mike and Psmith, quite often published with Mike at Wrykyn as a single volume, I'm just taking a little break before introducing myself to Wodehouse's much more famous character than Mike Jackson, the irrepressible Rupert Psmith.

First, though, I have reshuffled the queue, elevating Ian Fleming's Casino Royale all the way to the top of the reading list. There is of course considerable danger in this undertaking; I am tremendous fan of the James Bond film franchise, but have never read any of the 007 novels. Will I be able to judge Fleming fairly, or always view his prose in light of the subsequent films, which deviated, so I am given to understand, considerably from the source material? Will I be so infatuated with Fleming's literary Bond that I come to view his cinematic counterpart as a clownish caricature? Will I enjoy the book on its own merits? I know of only one sure way to answer all of these questions. Forward ho!

Recently
Agatha Christie, Crooked House
Marshall Jevons, The Fatal Equilibrium
P. G. Wodehouse, Mike at Wrykyn

Currently
Ian Fleming, Casino Royale

Presently
P. G. Wodehouse, Mike and Psmith
Agatha Christie, Passenger to Frankfurt
Agatha Christie, The Murder at the Vicarage

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Joe Jackson, "Is She Really Going Out With Him?" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"They say that looks don't count for much
And so there goes your proof."

Project MERCATOR
I had a phenomenally wretched day, a day that started out with such promise, and I'm too furious to write coherently; my anger would overcome my discretion and I'd write things that would cause grievous, possibly irreparable, harm without achieving any practical aim. No, better to hold my proverbial tongue and bide my time. For an entirely new purpose, let's dust off an old and treasured line of the Bard's device:

"That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain."

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Reel Big Fish, "Suckers" from Cheer Up! (Dr. Hee Haw & The Guy, sort of)

Commentary: "This one's for all the suckers who still believe in love, this one's for you!"

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
MxPx, "Responsibility" from The Ever Passing Moment (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"Responsibility, what's that?
Responsibility, not quite yet.
Responsibility, what's that?
I don't want to think about it,
We'd be better off without it."

If only.

Project PANDORA: The Other Woman
At the end of November, I saw The Loose Ties at Woobie's Bar & Nightlife, a watering hole in Flint proper. (Wayback Machinelink.) As The Cowgirl was (and still is) dating Ska Army, a member of The Loose Ties, I was able to to get the whole gang to come with me to a ska show. (Alas, they weren't there because I'd successfully opened their ears to the manifold glories of ska.) Because our little Econ Club-centered gang is chockablock with so many cool people, The Cowgirl decided to invite her sad sack friend, whom we shall refer to as the Other Woman, to join us. I'm not picking on the Other Woman, The Cowgirl herself described her as a little depressed and with friends in short supply. The Other Woman arrived when The Loose Ties were playing; so, The Cowgirl had to shout during our introduction. I greeted the Other Woman and made one or two of my usual witticisms, but over the music we couldn't really talk. The Cowgirl took the Other Woman back to our table, and I went back to dividing my time between skanking in front of the band (Woobie's doesn't sport a proper dance floor; so, I skank wherever I can find room) and flirting with The Impossible Ingenue around the pool table.

Toward the end of the evening, The Cowgirl sent me a text message stating that the Other Woman had a crush on me. Well, how about that? Still very much smitten with The Impossible Ingenue, I was uncertain how to proceed, but was let off the hook when The Cowgirl and the Other Woman soon departed. The dilemma I faced was this: a slow and steady campaign of friendship and flirting was (and remains) the way to The Ingenue's heart, but could I pass up the opportunity presented by the Other Woman? I did not know her at all, certainly not well enough to have any feelings for her, but she was openly attracted to me. There it was, one of the hardest parts of Project PANDORA, attracting the attention and nascent affection of a girl, already taken care of for me. The opportunity was simply too good to pass up. My discussions with Mrs. Skeeter, Esq. were especially helpful at this juncture, and I am grateful to her for her ability to cut through the rubbish to the heart of a problem. So, I was resolved to explore the potential of a relationship with the Other Woman, and to that end we began interacting through the FaceSpace. What was to be my next move?

Once again, no action on my part was required. A week and a day after the Saturday night of ska at Woobie's, the Other Woman turned 21. She celebrated as everyone turning 21 does and should, by going to the bar. Now, because of her aforementioned dearth of friends, the gang was invited, all of us but The Cowgirl having only met the Other Woman just once. Because the Other Woman is a theatre person, we went to Pachyderm, a gay bar (I've nothing against the gay bar, that's just a completely accurate description of what Pachyderm is, a gay bar). Four of us met the Other Woman's party of four: Ska Army, who is curiously socially conservative for a heathen (atheist), clung to The Cowgirl in terror; The Most Dangerous Game was relentlessly hit on by the Other Woman's older sister and another girl whose name I never caught; my assignment for the evening was to be the Other Woman's fellow; and a chap named Kevin was friendly enough, but saddened that his boyfriend, also named Kevin, had not been able to attend. Throughout the evening everyone bought the Other Woman drinks, and I sat with my arm around her, gradually migrating from her shoulder to her waist. I was funny, she was funny, and she looked at me with desire so obvious that even I—blind, foolish I—couldn't miss it.

When at last the evening came to an end, we all walked out to the parking lot and began to disperse to our vehicles. When I was talking to The Most Dangerous Game and Ska Army, The Cowgirl came up from behind and tapped me on the shoulder. With alcohol-fueled mischief in her eyes, she said, "Sammy wants to say goodnight to you." I walked over to the Other Woman, standing a few yards from the rest of the group, and unseen behind me everyone else retreated to the far side of Ska Army's hideous Honda Element. Without preamble, the Other Woman and I kissed. Not a peck, we threw our faces together with considerable gusto. Treasured readers, it had been literally years since I had shared a romantic kiss, and I welcomed back the old thrill with much rejoicing. Yet for a beggar I remained remarkably choosy, and from some distant, dusty corner of my head an unbidden voice compared the Other Woman's efforts with other kisses I've enjoyed, and found her skills lacking. The majority of my mind gave this killjoy the old heave ho, and the Other Woman and I continued sucking face. I let my hands fall from her shoulders down to her arse, and pulled her in close. I pulled my face away, as I am wont to do in such instances, because I wished to look into her eyes for a spell, but after only a moment she dove back in and we resumed as before.

After a pleasant interval, she took a gulp of air and said she had to go. I continued to kiss her and she returned the favor. Again, she took a gulp of air and said she had to go. I released my grip, but persisted with my lips, as did she. A third time she said she had to go and this time we parted; she scurried to her sister's waiting motorcar and I strolled over to the Element. I got home in the middle of the night and, as I had a PowerPoint presentation that would constitute a considerable part of my grade due the next afternoon, decided to pull an all-nighter. As I worked, my idle thoughts were quite naturally dominated by the Other Woman, pleasing reflections on the night just past and cheery speculations on the nights to follow. I began to scheme for our first formal date, an event I considered to be an inevitability.

To be continued…

Operation ÖSTERREICH
One week ago, I returned from the sun-blasted desert of Arizona to the sun-starved snowfields of Michigan with a budding case of the dreadful sick (cough & runny nose variety). I lost last week to the dreadful sick, able to function but unable to exert myself; when I did skank last Friday at the ska show, I paid for it with a coughing fit. The week before, after that first triumphant swim, was a casualty to the snow—a Tuesday on which all campus activities were canceled after 4:00 P.M. and a Wednesday that was a complete snow day—and the pressures of preparing for an aerial hop to the other side of the continent. This week saw Monday wiped out by another, this time unnecessary, snow day, and me weakened by the lingering effects of the dreadful sick. I hope to return to the pool as soon as possible, but my breathing is not yet unencumbered, curse it all.

I hate being sick.

***CAUTION: LEWDNESS AHEAD***

Mission: Unpossible Drei - Tag Sieben
The thing of it is, it doesn't matter if you think masturbation is or is not a sin. That's the basic and most diabolical flaw of Protestantism, the ludicrous notion that each man can decide for himself—and by himself—what is sacred and what is profane. Masturbation is a sin, and one with grave consequences for the soul.

By masturbation is to be understood the deliberate stimulation of the genital organs in order to derive sexual pleasure. "Both the Magisterium of the Church, in the course of a constant tradition, and the moral sense of the faithful have been in no doubt and have firmly maintained that masturbation is an intrinsically and gravely disordered action." "The deliberate use of the sexual faculty, for whatever reason, outside of marriage is essentially contrary to its purpose." For here sexual pleasure is sought outside of "the sexual relationship which is demanded by the moral order and in which the total meaning of mutual self-giving and human procreation in the context of true love is achieved."
—Catechism of the Catholic Church, Second Edition, Part Three "Life in Christ" 2352, pg. 623

The ultimate goal is to purge entirely from my life the sin of masturbation, but as the first two attempts as Mission: Unpossible proved "unpossible," we start with the far more modest goal of passing a single Lenten season without committing that particular sin.

So far so good, but bitter experience tells me there is tough sledding ahead.

***END LEWDNESS***

Project MERCATOR
I have made reservations to travel by aeroplane to old New Amsterdam in the spring, to spend a week imposing upon the hospitality of Mrs. Skeeter, Esq. and Mr. Skeeter, Esq. (né Jimmy From Queens). We shall indeed find out if everyone's your friend in New York City.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "Leave the Biker" from Fountains of Wayne (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"He's got his arm around every man's dream
And crumbs in his beard from the seafood special.
Oh, can't you see my world is falling apart?
Baby, please, leave the biker,
Leave the biker, break his heart.
Baby, please, leave the biker,
Leave the biker, break his heart."

My plans for a productive snow day went awry almost as soon as they were devised. Upon sortieing downstairs for a bite of lunch, I became embroiled in a meandering confab with my father, a discourse that ranged from splendidly amusing to stiflingly banal and concluded with an all-too-predictable attempt on his part to link the "impending demographic demise" of Europe and Japan to the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. (I concur that the demographics of both Europe and Japan could well augur trouble ahead, especially as their ratios of pensioners to productive workers grows increasingly unbalanced, but to my father demographics are a fetish, making any interesting conversation on the subject impossible.) This confab consumed a couple of hours, followed by a belated "wake up" shower and, at long last, lunch. Then, ahead of schedule, we shoveled Wilson Field, a task that consumed more time than either of us had estimated; the day's snowfall was of a far heavier and wetter composition than the delightful, voluminous powder of a fortnight hence. After that, I attended to some electronic correspondence and showered again, finally emerging from my room some significant time after 6:00 P.M. Where had the day gone? A lovely dinner of tacos followed, a meal shared by my mother and me as my father had scurried off to some or another political event. I did the dishes and then sat down for an evening of catching up on some recorded television programs, last week's episode of Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe and a Mike Rowe-narrated special I'd taped off the Discovery Channel some time before the New Year, Discovering Ardi.

Now to bed, as I face a murderous three whole days before spring break, provided we don't have another snow day.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Dan Potthast, "Same Page" from Eyeballs (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"We're on the same page,
We're on the same page,
It's good to know
We're on the same page.
(We're on the same page,
We're on the same page.)"

Snow Day
So, I really have no excuse not to bloggy blog like a fiend. Lunch, then to work!

Freaks and Geeks… and Greeks
I was recently gifted with a bid to join the U of M-Flint colony of the Phi Kappa Tau fraternity (Phi Taulink & Wikilink). This is the same frat that sought my membership a year hence, and once again the pursuit was them-of-me, the reverse of the traditional rites of fraternity rush. There are three questions to be addressed: Why do the Phi Taus pursue me? Why should I join Phi Tau? Am I now a brother in Phi Kappa Tau?

Why do the Phi Taus pursue me? Being of a mind to view false modesty as very nearly as offensive as arrogance, I state plainly that I am a tremendous fellow, well-regarded and even mildly admired among the campus community. I am possessed of a keen intellect, finely honed oratory skills, and a brilliant sense of humor. Of course, I am also, despite the wild and ongoing success of Project MERCATOR, not the most sociable chap, and would not fit in with the culture of debauched carousing that typifies Greek life; so, the very fact that I am the type of lad the Phi Taus want speaks well to why I should accept their offer of membership.

Why should I join Phi Tau? In all their pursuit of me, not one Phi Tau freely proffered an explicit reason why I should join their fraternity. I believe that they were avoiding intentionally the hard sell, and if so I laud that decision in theory while noting that in practice they took it to an unfortunate extreme. No one likes the hard sell, but that should not be seen as a reason to avoid all efforts at salesmanship. After waiting, with steadily decreasing patience, for one of them to step up to the plate, I finally had to put the question directly to Phi Tau brother Ska Army: Why should I join Phi Tau? He spoke of brotherhood, camaraderie, and community service. He spoke also of sharing my contemptuous view of typical frat boys and Greek life, emphasizing that Phi Kappa Tau had been the anti-frat frat from its beginnings, originally chartered at Miami University as the Non-Fraternity Association. So, why go Greek only to be anti-Greek? I asked. He spoke of a desire to change the image of Greek life, to reform it into something noble and proper. The journey of the Non-Fraternity Association to the Phi Kappa Tau Fraternity was one of seeking broader acceptance and recognition; to have any influence on the direction of the Greek system on America's college campuses, the Phi Taus had first to be accepted into that system. So it is with the Phi Tau colony at U of M-Flint; these are not the churlish louts one pictures when one thinks of frat boys, but they are all interested in the fraternal ideals of brotherhood and service.

Am I now a brother in Phi Kappa Tau? No, I am not. I find unconvincing the notion of reforming the Greek system from within. Why should I care if the Greeks continue to be churlish louts ensconced in a culture of debauched carousing? The time and energies of decent blokes, as most of the Phi Taus are, would be better spent simply carrying on with the business of being decent blokes, rather than trying to save the Greeks from their chosen path of knavery and snobbery. And the Phi Taus do not have an answer for my greatest objection to Greek life, the debasement of the word and notion of brotherhood. I know what it is to have a brother, and in my time I have known a great many frat boys who actively hate a goodly number of their own "brothers." There is simply no comparison between the empty Greek notion of "brotherhood" and the bond of the Super Wilson Bros., nor the brotherhood I share with my fellow Blue Tree Whackers. I mean no offense to my friends who are Phi Taus, nor any to the rest of the U of M-Flint Phi Taus, but even were I to join their ranks not a one of those lads would be as a brother to me, and so how could I possibly call them all and sundry my brothers?

Despite all this, my mind was genuinely undecided until I received my bid, or just shortly thereafter. The second-to-last weekend in January found me in Ypsilanti & Ann Arbor with the speech & debate team, and also desirous of seeing The Loose Ties perform in Lansing (Wayback Machinelink). Saturday night, I received a text message from Frankenstein's Monster, like Ska Army both a member of my usual Econ Club-centered gang and a Phi Tau, informing me that I was to be welcomed into Phi Kappa Tau (and was to be given a more formal bid later); he further wrote that there was no pressure on the decision, I could take my time. At that moment, though undecided, I was leaning toward becoming a Phi Tau; the main reason not to do so was my long-standing enmity against frats and sororities, and I could scarcely reject Phi Tau on those grounds, since it was so decidedly against those things I was against. But then I received another text from Frankenstein's Monster, informing me that if I was going to accept the Phi Tau bid that I needed to do so in less then twenty-four hours (this was around 10:30 P.M.) and be at the Flint Arts Council for some manner of induction ceremony by 9:00 P.M. on the following day. Nothing focuses the mind like a deadline, and for me everything snapped into crystal clear focus. All that mattered was that I could not think of a compelling, positive reason to join the Phi Taus. Absent that, my unequivocal answer could only be no.

I informed Frankenstein's Monster of my answer via text message, and almost immediately had cause to think I'd narrowly escaped becoming bound up in something unsavory. The Monster expressed regret at my decision, and told me that should I chance my mind my bid would remain open for a calendar year. Wait, what? The bid was to be open for twelve months, yet they'd needed me to say "yes" in less than twenty-four hours? I smelled shenanigans. What were they playing at here? Had the less-than-a-day deadline been meant to scare me into acceptance, to make me think that I had to leap at the opportunity being presented or risk losing it forever? I have not breathed a word of this to Frankenstein's Monster, nor to Ska Army nor The Outlaw (a pal from the History Club), nor any of the other Phi Taus, but I found this snap decision/year-long bid bait-and-switch business deeply suspicious. To my mind, it suggests nothing else so strongly as duplicity and double-dealing. Mayhap the Phi Taus aren't such atypical Greeks after all? Unlike The Iliad and The Odyssey, I've not read The Aeneid, but I still appreciate Virgil's words, "I fear the Greeks even when they bear gifts."

Of course, that's not quite the end of our story. In league with the other two predominantly white fraternities, Kappa Sigma and Theta Chi, Phi Kappa Tau last week put on an improv comedy show modeled on Whose Line Is It Anyway?, with all proceeds from the gate to go to charity. (At U of M-Flint, the more numerous black fraternities and sororities are self-segregated as the "Divine Nine" and do not participate in any pan-Hellenic organizing with the white frats and sororities.) On Tuesday, Frankenstein's Monster asked me if I'd be willing to help the Phi Taus with the show. I knew not what this would entail, but knowing the charitable aim of the show I acceded to his request. Only when I showed up for practice on Wednesday evening did I learn what I'd gotten myself into; there was only one Phi Tau present, and I was to be one of Thursday night's improv comedians. Oh, bugger. The rest of the session convinced me that the show might well be a fiasco, but also possessed the potential to be quite a success. There was a minor imbroglio during the day on Thursday over a case of mistaken identity: some members of Kappa Sig and/or Theta Chi took exception to the inclusion of an outsider in what was meant to be an Inter-Fraternity Council event; who was this bearded "Matt" kid to be involving himself in a Greek event, anyway? I am uncertain how or even if all the ruffled feathers were smoothed out, but I imagine some cover was given to the Phi Taus by my possession of an open bid to join their number. (Apparently, all I need do is sign on a dotted line and I'd be in.)

Thursday evening came and the show went rather better than expected. (When first I stepped out onto the stage, I was blinded by the projector being used to display behind us the name of the "game" we were playing and other useful information, thus the imperative nature of Fountains of Wayne's "Comedienne" as Thursday's R.B.D.S.O.T.D.) Much fun was had at the expense of one performer in particular, a Kappa Sig who works as a stripper and is featured in a homemade same-sex porn video circulating on the internets, but he was a good sport. The obligatory school administrator who'd been dragooned into filling Drew Carey's shoes erroneously introduced me as a member of Phi Kappa Tau, but for the purposes of the evening that might as well have been accurate. I was appalled to see The Impossible Ingenue in the audience, though suddenly her multiple text messages throughout the day in reference to the show made a good deal more sense. Also in attendance were Frankenstein's Monster and The Outlaw; I was a far better improv performer than either of them would have been, but why was I on stage if there were bona fide Phi Taus available to perform in the show? Great Caesar's ghost, had I been brought in as a ringer? After the show and our habitual lollygagging in making any kind of decision, The Impossible Ingenue; the Monster; the "other" Phi Tau performer, Kevin; and I had a quick dessert at a chain restaurant near my house. Then The Ingenue drove home and we chaps repaired to my house to watch that evening's new episode of Burn Notice. There is talk of making Whose Line Is It Anyway? an annual event; maybe next year it'll even be an all-Greek show.

Also, a brand-new sorority on campus, Sigma Sigma Sigma, is making a pretty strong push to recruit The Most Dangerous Game. I don't know any of the Tri-Sigmas, they might be great girls, but I can't help but feel I must devise some way to keep her from taking the plunge. "I fear the Greeks even when they bear gifts."

The Banzai Beard Bonanza II: Bonsai's Revenge
Day 56: During a webcam chat with The L.A.W. & Brother-in-L.A.W., orchestrated principally so my mom could gander at the still uncodenamed Natalie, my sister conceded that the beard was looking better, a reversal of her earlier "scraggly" criticism. I'm pleased, but slightly exasperated; of course it took some time for the beard to grow in, Rome wasn't build in a day! I entertain not the slightest hope of ever overturning Mrs. Skeeter, Esq.'s deep and abiding hatred for not only my beard, but for the entire concept of the Bonanza.

Banzai!

The Queue
Recently
Nick Hornby, Slam
Agatha Christie, Crooked House
Marshall Jevons, The Fatal Equilibrium

Currently
P. G. Wodehouse, Mike at Wrykyn

Presently
P. G. Wodehouse, Mike and Psmith
Agatha Christie, Passenger to Frankfurt
Agatha Christie, The Murder at the Vicarage

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Tally Hall, "Just Apathy" from Marvin's Marvelous Mechanical Museum (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"Waiting 'round for something better
I'm the one that wouldn't let her,
Now I'm back and forth,
I get bored when she's no perfect find.

'Cause it's one thing or another,
I don't even know why I bother,
One thing just tears her down.
'Cause it's one thing or another,
I don't even know why I bother,
Something I just can't get around.

Consider the possibility
That you've been had, but not by me.
We're just kids, don't worry about this.
My course is run and I'm so tired,
Until the next one comes inspired,
I feel bad, and I should,
I made her sad and I knew it would."

Samstag, 20 Februar
Tally Hall, "Taken For a Ride" from Marvin's Marvelous Mechanical Museum (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "The chemistry is gone."

Project MERCATOR
I am now the officially designated "Superfan" of The Loose Ties. Also, skanking in a smoke-filled Churchill's while I'm still saddled with a prodigiously running nose and an occasionally hacking cough? Not my best idea. But a man's got to do what a man's got to do, and a superfan's got to do what a superfan's got to do. Man alive, I dig that crazy ska!

Master Debating
Going to Arizona last weekend for two back-to-back one-day tournaments—both on the preposterously expansive campus of Glendale Community College (G.C.C.), one hosted by G.C.C., the other by Arizona State University—was murder. We returned to sacred Michigan on Monday night, and then stepped right back into the meat grinder of the semester on Tuesday morning. I've been running on fumes all week, exasperated by the fasting required by Ash Wednesday and the curious case of simply not eating yesterday. I had a dessert from Applebee's and a banana; I cannot recall any other day when not in the clutches of the dreadful sick on which I've eaten so very little. I am an absolute mess today, but have unbreakable Project MERCATOR commitments both tonight and tomorrow.

Live life to the fullest, because even if you don't it'll be the death of you. (Note to self: the kid whose A.D.S. was about death.)

Science!
Doubt not that archaeology is a science: Bosworth Field (revised)link. I'm so very tempted to quote something from Richard III, but I am more and more convinced it is a political hatchet job perpetrated to curry favor with that monstrous dynasty, the House of Tudor, and a work devoid of historical merit. Still damned fine literature, but not the history so many suppose it to be. But I digress.

Science!

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Madness, "Tarzan's Nuts" from One Step Beyond… (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: I have no idea if "Tarzan's Nuts" is meant to indicate possession (the nuts that belong to Tarzan) or a contraction (probably for "Tarzan is Nuts").

Donnerstag, 18 Februar
Fountains of Wayne, "Comedienne" from Out-of-State Plates, Disc Two (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: I know "Comedienne" was the R.B.D.S.O.T.D. just a few weeks ago, but it is the perfect—perfect, I tell you—song for the out-of-left-field shenanigans that were my Thursday night. Bog, I've got so much bloggy blogging to catch up on… that I don't even care that this sentence almost ended in a preposition.

"She gets caught in the curtains,
Lost in the lights,
But she's wearing a turban,
Feeling alright,
And she's hoping to God
That they're coming tonight."

You'll never guess what I did last night, but go ahead and try, the wackier the better.

Mittwoch, 17 Februar
The Coral, "Dreaming of You" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: After being twice thwarted on Tuesday, in fine farcical fashion, The Impossible Ingenue & I finally dined at Sagano, on Flint's finest sushi. Yes, my life has become something of a screwball comedy.

Dienstag, 16 Februar
"Weird Al" Yankovic, "Bob" from Poodle Hat (T.L.A.M)

Commentary: I'm a wretch and a knave for overlooking Daddy Dylweed's birthday on Tuesday…

Happy (Belated) Birthday!
Happy birthday (on Tuesday) to Daddy Dylweed! Dylweed's been a close chum since first we suffered through Mrs. Horvath's English class back in middle school, and we were as thick as thieves in high school. In the years since, we've seen each other too infrequently, but whenever we do meet it's as if we just saw one another the day before. He's a good friend, but an even better father and husband. Happy birthday, Dylan!

…but I thought I could make amends, at least in some small way, through the selection of the R.B.D.S.O.T.D. I've chosen "Bob," "Weird Al's" tribute to Bob Dylan, after whom, alongside Dylan Thomas, the Dylweed is named. I hope you had a great birthday, old chum!

Happy Birthdays!
Happy birthday, The Most Dangerous Game! Befriending her these last few months has been a supreme joy, and I am continually awed by her energy, ambition, creativity, and endless resilience. She's already amazing, and you guys aren't going to believe what waves she'll make once she's out in the world. Happy birthday, Jessica!

Happy birthday, The Guy! Putting beauty before age in today's birthday well-wishes, let us also not forget one of my oldest and dearest friends, a true blue Blue Tree Whacker. I've known The Guy since we were kids, but has been through B.T.W. that our bond has been truly forged. He and The Gal's enduring love is an inspiration. Happy birthday, Zach!

More to follow…

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "Seatbacks and Traytables" from Traffic and Weather (T.L.A.M.)

Be my anti-Valentine. (This year, I thought I'd experiment with being a little more cheeky.)

The Rebel Black Dot Song of Valentine's Day
The Hippos, "Say You Love Me" from The Hippos (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: My contempt for Valentine's Day is rooted firmly in my nature as a sentimentalist and romantic, a man appalled by the idea that romantic love may only be expressed through the purchase of greeting cards, chocolates, flowers, sex toys, and diamonds.

"I will not rest until you are with me,
No, I will not rest until you are with me,
I swear, I swear, it's all that I need,
I swear, I swear, it's all that I need,
Say you love me."

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Proclaimers, "It's Saturday Night" from Sunshine on Leith (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"I think I'm all right,
I know I'm all wrong."

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Guster, "Airport Song" from Goldfly (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "You'll be better off this way."

Project TROIKA
The Professor has done it! The Project TROIKA novel now exists as a first draft manuscript, Tier 2 has reached its successful conclusion. This calls for a drink; I chose a gin & tonic, champagne and/or sparkling wine seeming a little excessive given the difficult work ahead in Tiers 3, 4, & 5. But now's not the time for that, now's the time to raise a glass to my dear friend, The Professor, on the occasion of his momentous achievement. To The Professor!

Grow or die.

Objective ZED ALPHA
*shakes fist at television* Where's my phone call, Trebek?!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Reel Big Fish, "Hate You" from Monkeys For Nothing and the Chimp's For Free (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: I find it endlessly pleasurable to embrace such a dark, nihilist song when I am in such a happy, delightful mood.

The Banzai Beard Bonanza II: Bonsai's Revenge
Day 45: Mrs. Skeeter, Esq.'s disdain tops The L.A.W.'s in both vitriol and vehemence, (sic) "you look like you just climbed out of a dumpster behind a big john steak and onion." Mrs. Skeeter, Esq. further contends that the Bonanza is antithetical to the stated objectives of Project PANDORA, "you're just throwing off a ton of energy defeating your best-laid plans." The beard, she claims, is itself hamstringing my already limited ability to woo. It is my great pleasure to present to you now the greatest hits from this afternoon's tremendously fun I.M. conversation—and I'm not being facetious, it was ever-so-much fun; Mrs. Skeeter, Esq. shares my conviction that the deepest bonds of friendship are forged and demonstrated through insults—"interspliced" with the latest digital photographs, from Day 42:



(sic) "i don't get it. you've done it, you have a hideous beard. why do we all need several months of 'silly fun' and ugliness?"



"how strange that… your oldest friends would not want you to walk around looking like you either can't afford or aren't interested in basic grooming."



(sic) "the pictures also make my skin crawl."



With the beard, I, (sic) "just look like a hipster-come-lately. and there's nothing more conformist than a hipster."



(sic) "it's the underlying bad, bad idea that is alarming… that it will be funny to do something that will intentionally make you look and seem really gross, for an extended period of time."



"(it's just so gross!)"



The beard makes me look and seem really gross, got it. Peachy keen! By the end of our discussion, I was reasonably certain that my beard was responsible for rickets, the Exxon Valdez, and the pox upon our popular culture that is Coldplay. If there was any justice in this benighted world my beard would be on trial in The Hague.

A few notes on the strictures of the Banzai Beard Bonanza, a device solely of mine own contrivance. {a} "Trimming" the beard is verboten. I know what my beard looks like after one month; so, what would be the point of keeping it for four months, always cutting it back to that one-month growth? The Bonanza is an experiment; I want to find out what my beard looks like after months of unrestricted growth. {b} "Sculpting" the beard is permitted. For instance, though not visible in the photographs taken Sunday, today I bowed to the inevitable and shaved the straggling hairs on my cheeks, just as I did during '05's original B.B.B. I am still considering shaving the rearward growing extremities of my sideburns, the hairs below my ears in the photos above. {c} Feedback is not only welcomed, but sought after. Again, this entire enterprise is experimental. I know what I think about how the experiment is proceeding, and I am also interesting in how others view the proceedings. I need not necessarily give great weight to those outside opinions, but I am mightily interesting in learning what they are.

Love the beard? Hate it? Feel a deep and abiding ambivalence? Absolute apathy? I want to know!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Ninjas, "Snow Day" from Platypus (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: The irony is that I had a snow day today, while "Snow Day" is about a snow day that was devoutly wished for but which did not come to pass. Close enough.

A week before Fat Tuesday, I have decided upon this year's Lenten sacrifice. In the spirit of CADMUS, that wide-ranging interdisciplinary endeavor to become the man I wish myself to be, I have decided to face a challenge that has in the past proven insurmountable. Lads and lasses, prepare yourselves for Mission: Unpossible Drei! Further discussion will follow in one week's time, but for now suffice it to say that this is the year the "unpossible" becomes possible.

In the interest of propriety, all Mission: Unpossible Drei posts that consist of more than a status update such as "All quiet on the Western front" or "Nothing to report" and the like will be prefaced by a warning such as, Caution: Lewdness ahead.

Operation ÖSTERREICH
I did not swim today, though I had every intention of doing so. Due to road conditions that were both adverse and steadily worsening, the campus was shut down in the afternoon. I might have been able to fit in my 1,000 yards, but I was running behind this morning and did not have time to pack my gym bag; so, a trip home to fetch it would have been necessary, and in lieu of this I took The Impossible Ingenue out to lunch. I stand by my choice.

In reluctant acknowledgment that my grand schemes of early morning productiveness almost always come to naught, I have taken the precautions this evening of already packing both my box lunch and my pool bag. Whatever else may transpire tomorrow, I won't be caught unprepared for at least two eventualities.

Project OSPREY
(6) Purdue 76-64 Michigan State (10)

Between Drew Brees winning the Super Bowl and tonight's victory by the ill-starred Boilermakers over the dastardly Spartans, these are heady days for the Old Gold & Black faithful. Many couches will burn in East Lansing tonight, in mourning rather than in celebration, and it couldn't have happened to a more deserving bunch of illiterate ne'er-do-wells.

I caught only the last ten minutes of the first half and the last three minutes of the second half, first before and then after tonight's new episode of White Collar, but even that was enough to make me groan at the officiating. I could not call a basketball game, it seems devilishly complicated, but the zebras out there tonight were supposed to be professionals and yet seemed the farthest thing from it. The only saving grace, I suppose, is that they blew calls against both teams; they were inept, not corrupt.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "This Better be Good" from Traffic and Weather (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: I'm not even particularly fond of "This Better be Good," but from the moment I was awakened by a text message from The Most Dangerous Game at 7:59 A.M.—to begin planning the festivities for The Cowgirl's impending 21st birthday—I knew it was going to be the R.B.D.S.O.T.D.

Operation ÖSTERREICH
I swam today, only 1,000 yards, but it was great. I did not experience the profound weariness that has marked most of my first swims over the last few years; at the end of the 1,000 yards, divided into ten 100s, considered continuing, but decided not to risk overdoing it and setting myself back. The real test, of course, will be if I can force myself to go back tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day.

In related news, on my way out of the Rec Center, which involved walking from one end of the building to extreme other end, to the only stairs that access the lower levels, and then another walk all the way back to the other end to access the pool complex (I know, I know, it's bonus exercise build into the architecture), I weighed myself. I weight a boatload, but actually less than I thought. Cool! Not so cool: I still weigh a boatload, which is why, despite the stiffness I can already feel overtaking my arm muscles, I must go back tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day.

Now would be a fortuitous moment for a return of the S.K.P. Machine.

The Banzai Beard Bonanza II: Bonsai's Revenge
Day 43: I finally finagled my father into taking a new batch of photographs, but Bog only knows when he'll find time in his "busy schedule" to email them to me. I will post them as soon as I have them.

Last week, in a webcam chat designed to showcase my new niece Natalie, The L.A.W., in her own relentlessly acerbic fashion, said the beard looks "scraggly." My sister isn't always negative, she's just almost never positive. Both my siblings can be put down as solidly anti-beard. The Impossible Ingenue thinks I need to tame the beard, but The Most Dangerous Game thinks I must let it grow wild. We are nearing a point when I must make a decision about sculpting the beard, perhaps getting rid of some of the neckbeard and possibly shaving my lamentably lightly covered cheeks, but the ordinances of the Bonanza do not allow me to trim whatever hairs escape the corralling blade.

For myself, I'm tremendously pleased with the Banzai Beard Bonanza II; I am enjoying Bonsai's Revenge ever so much more than the original Bonanza back in '05. (About which you can now read due to the new template's restoration of The Secret Base's archives!) I would consider simply keeping the beard after the end of the Bonanza, but I very much want to go through with the Massive Mustache Mistake after Cinco de Mustache, and I have given my word to be clean shaven (or at least back to my normal level of facial hair) by my nephew Teddy's first birthday in late May. Mayhap after that….

Banzai!

Project MERCATOR
The patterns of the fall are being repeated, alas, but on a night like this, when a MERCATOR event pops up unexpectedly and intersects with the resumption of ÖSTERREICH, what am I do to? Triage will have to be the order of the day. I covered Operation ÖSTERREICH and the Bonanza, I'll get to MERCATOR in a big post covering the last fortnight/three weeks, and I owe you a "Master Debaters" post before heading off the Arizona at the weekend; priority must be given to "Freaks and Geeks… and Greeks" and finally publishing "Project PANDORA: The Other Woman," just to be done with it once and for all.

2010 won't be like the latter stages of 2009. I will not allow The Secret Base to fall by the wayside.

The Queue
Recently
Nick Hornby, Slam
Charles Brooks, editor, Best Editorial Cartoons of the Year—2010 Edition & 2008 Edition
Agatha Christie, Crooked House

Currently
Marshall Jevons, The Fatal Equilibrium ***on loan to The Most Dangerous Game***
P. G. Wodehouse, Mike at Wrykyn

Presently
P. G. Wodehouse, Mike and Psmith
Agatha Christie, Passenger to Frankfurt
Agatha Christie, The Murder at the Vicarage

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Green Day, "Nice Guys Finish Last" from Nimrod (T.L.A.M.)

Happy Birthday!
Happy birthday to The Professor! Without question the smartest person I know, and the only one to have had his own university-funded laboratory chockablock with scientific apparatus, The Professor has spend the last year slaving over the story K. Steeze and I created during the first year of Project TROIKA, forging our plot and characters into a novel. Never in my life have I written anything even a tenth of the length of The Professor's manuscript, and I stand in awe of his accomplishment. He's a hell of a guy and a maddening, puzzling mass of contradictions. Most of all, he is my friend, and for that I am tremendously lucky. Happy birthday, Jon!

Project PANDORA: Reprising the Prelude
I spent my whole day with The Most Dangerous Game, working on our Duo piece (explanation to follow before the upcoming weekend's big adventure), taking care of a variety of Econ Club business, and having a rollicking good time. Through the agency of a mutual acquaintance, Jenny, The Most Dangerous Game was introduced to The Secret Base; today, she had me take her on a guided tour. She sat at my desk, reading aloud all of last summer's posts concerning my pursuit of her from the very seat in which those posts had been composed. Her account was punctuated by periodic "Ohhh"s of sympathy as she read of how bitter a pill losing her had been. And I learned that had I not been so oft thwarted, she would have accepted my proposal of a date; it might not have lead anywhere, she was at the time the non-exclusive paramour of her current boyfriend, but she would have joined me for at least one evening, with an open mind. Utterly contrary to my thinking over the last half-year, she would have said yes. She—magnificent, magical she—would have gone out with your humble narrator. Holy smoke.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Michael Bublé, "Haven't Met You Yet" via iTunes (The Most Dangerous Game)

Welcome to the future of The Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society.

"I didn't sell out, son, I bought in."

Advantages: Detection of comments at-a-glance and, after an absence of several years, the archives of The Secret Base are returned. Hooray!

Disadvantages: The farther down you scroll, the more of your screen is devoted to a blank gray field. (Note that I did not cite my aversion to change, as I feel the advantages more than outweigh that. But this narrow column for the actual blog posts is a bother, and appears to be universal to the available templates. Rats.)

The Victors: Project OSPREY
(16) Wisconsin 62-44 Michigan
11-12, Big Ten 4-7

Why did the valiant Wolverines lose to the pesky Badgers? Myriad factors contributed to our thorough whipping, but I cite principally that we failed to play as a team. Wisconsin executed a strategy, every man filling his role to form a relentless, shot clock-consuming juggernaut; we, on the other hand, we played as a group of inept individuals. We hardly passed on offense, no one seemed interested in hustling to earn on open look, and those few shots that we taken we all dreadful misfires. We were awful. But I mean to take nothing away from the pesky Badgers; they we collaborating authors and architects of our awfulness, perfectly exploiting out all too obvious weaknesses. Today's contest was ugly from beginning to end, the only bright spot being the enthusiasm of the Crisler Arena crowd. Enthusiastic fans at the House that Cazzie Built? Surely the world has gone mad.

Go Blue!

Elsewhere in Project OSPREY…

Illinois 78-72 Michigan State (5)

From The Devil's Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce, "Happiness, n. An agreeable sensation arising from contemplating the misery of another."

The Queue
The Fatal Equilibrium is assigned reading, normally a disqualifying quality, but I've made an exception for two reasons: {a} it is a novel, after all, and {b} it gives me hope for the feasibility of ever having published a book I call alternately The Economics of Love or Love & Economics, with it's major internal divisions titled "The Dismal Science," "The Misery Index," & "The Tragedy of the Commons."

Recently
Nick Hornby, Slam
Charles Brooks, editor, Best Editorial Cartoons of the Year—2010 Edition & 2008 Edition
Agatha Christie, Crooked House

Currently
Marshall Jevons, The Fatal Equilibrium

Presently
P. G. Wodehouse, Mike at Wrykyn & Mike and Psmith
Agatha Christie, Passenger to Frankfurt
Agatha Christie, The Murder at the Vicarage

The Victors: Project OSPREY
Halftime: (16) Wisconsin 40-26 Michigan

At one point, the score was Wisconsin 15-14 Michigan. Several minutes of some-of-the-most-pathetic-play-I've-ever-seen later, the tally stood Wisconsin 29-14 Michigan. This is painful to watch.

Go Blue!

Elsewhere in Project OSPREY…

(9) Duke 66-63 Boston College

'Twas already halfway through the second half when I turned on the television in preparation for Michigan/Wisconsin and discovered the Duke/B.C. game. Duke had what I thought was a comfortable, if oddly low, 51-41 lead. Soon, Mom returned home from the grocer's and I helped her both unload her motorcar and put away the newly purchased groceries. I used the w.c. and returned to find the game in its closing seconds and Duke hanging on to a 66-63 lead. I know the Blue Devils aren't world beaters this year, but they're still Duke, or at least they're supposed to be. What in the high holy heck had happened while I was away?

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Brother Bones & His Shadows, "Sweet Georgia Brown" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: The Washington Generals, those perpetuals punching bags of the Harlem Globetrotters, were the subject of a segment on Wait Wait… Don't Tell Me! (which really should be titled Wait, Wait… Don't Tell Me!), and from that moment no song other than "Sweet Georgia Brown," more commonly known, including to yours truly, as the theme song of the Harlem Globetrotters, could possibly have been today's R.B.D.S.O.T.D.

Freitag, 5 Februar
The Atomic Fireballs, "Swing Sweet Pussycat" from Torch This Place (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Many levels of meaning, spanning trouble with my mom's new cat, Diva, to the free swing dance lesson I attended in the evening.

Science!
Whither Gulo gulo?

Science!

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Dance Hall Crashers, "Do You Think You're Beautiful" from Purr (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"Don't you know that the mirror is not your friend?
Unless you're beautiful,
And then it could be the answer to your problems.

Do you think you're beautiful?
All cool and irreplaceable?
Does it really matter at all?
Do you think you're beautiful?
…
Where should we start?
Beauty queen, magazines, steroids, and silicone.
Pick apart,
Mirror, mirror, who is the fairest of them all?
Wouldn't you rather be smart
Than worry about what it means to get by
If you don't look right?
…
Did junior high break you down?
Were the kids so mean that you never quite recovered?
Or were you popular?
Or were you too busy doing your own thing?

Do you think you're beautiful?
All cool and irreplaceable?
Does it really matter at all?
Do you think you're beautiful?

Oh, do you think you're beautiful?
All cool and irreplaceable?
Does it really matter at all?
Do you think you're beautiful?"

Mittwoch, 3 Februar
Barenaked Ladies, "The King of Bedside Manor" from Gordon (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Apropos of nothing.

Dienstag, 2 Februar
The Aquabats!, "Mechanical Ape!" from Charge!! (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"One man stands as the lone magician,
Sending in plays through the ape transmission. Now,
Who can face, who can face,
Who can face the unbelievable Mechanical Ape?
Who can face, who can face,
Who can face the unbelievable Mechanical Ape?
Well I said,
Whoa-oh-oh-oh (Mechanical Ape!)
Whoa-oh-oh-oh (Mechanical Ape!)
Whoa-oh-oh-oh (Mechanical Ape!)
You cannot deface the Mechanical Ape!
Whoa-oh-oh!"

I contend that one of the great unanswered philosophical questions of our age is, Whom would emerge victorious in a clash between the Mechanical Ape and the Giant Robot-Birdhead?

Montag, 1 Februar
Fountains of Wayne, "Bright Future in Sales" from Welcome Interstate Managers (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"I'm gonna get my shit together,
'Cause I can't live like this forever."

Words I dare not forget, not even for a moment.

Sonntag, 31 Januar
Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, "Sunday Morning Coming Down" from Love Their Country (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary-cum-Project MERCATOR: I had The Impossible Ingenue, The Most Dangerous Game, The Cowgirl, & Ska Army over to my house for a screening of Groundhog Day and sundry high-jinks Saturday night. You have three guesses as to how this fact relates to Sunday's R.B.D.S.O.T.D.

"'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel old."

Samstag, 30 Januar
Less Than Jake, "Great American Sharpshooter" from Hello Rockview (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Saturday morning, I motored up to Frankenmuth and saw the 338th Army Band in concert at the invitation of my pal Ska Army (Aaron, The Cowgirl's boyfriend; a Specialist in the Army Reserve; and a member of the fraternity that recently attempted to induct me into its ranks). Ska Army is a member of The Loose Ties and quite the enthusiast for ska, both two-tone and ska-punk.

I have been waylaid by an unholy troika of Project PANDORA, Project MERCATOR, and drama-rama. Forgive my silence, but know that it has spoken volumes.