The Explorers Club
No. CLXII - Belvedere Castle, a curiosity of New York City's Central Park.







One of the sights that in my various sojourns to Old New Amsterdam has been inexcusably overlooked, curse my bones.

Project MERCATOR
I've been invited to a bonfire to be held on this Saturday and shall attend same. There are two wrinkles of mild displeasure about the affair. The first is that Saturday evening is smack dab in the middle of the 24 Heures du Mans, the most important day in motorsport (bugger the Indianapolis 500, 'tis a terrible bore). That would be reason enough to bow out of the bonfire were not social invitations so few and far between this summer; no one intended it to happen, but with most of my local circle off from classes for the summer the regular, sometimes even excessive socialization that marked the fall of '09 and winter and spring of this year has petered out. Project MERCATOR demands that I miss some portion of Le Mans and will accept nothing less. Curses! The second wrinkle is that I shan't be more than casual acquaintances with anyone at the bonfire save the attendant members of The Loose Ties, among whom shan't be counted by pal Ska Army (as the Army, in which he is a Reservist, requires his services this weekend). The bonfire is not my event, and the Farcebook (my new nickname for the Facebook, replacing "the FaceSpace," which was not mine own creation) page describes attendance as by invitation only; there's naught for it but to leave my reserve and shyness in Lumi's glove box and be at my most gregarious throughout the evening. MERCATOR demands nothing less.

Of course, the universe being what it is, I am not merely double booked for this Saturday, but very nearly double booked within Project MERCATOR alone. Though the Drama Queen's birthday was celebrated last month with a large party, a smaller dinner is being held on Saturday, a date much closer to her actual birthday. I looked askance at May's party once I learned how distant it was from the Drama Queen's birthday, and now with this second celebration I have to call shenanigans. Shenanigans or no (and I say yes), good form would compel my presence had I not already agreed to attend the bonfire. A narrow escape! Nothing at all outside family commitments for weekend after weekend, and now two proposed engagements on the same eve. That is, as they sat, the sort of problem one wants to have.

This Week in Motorsport
24 Heures du Mans! The 24 Hours of Le Mans! Le Mans! Le Mans! Le Mans! Saturday! Saturday! Saturday! Le Mans! Le Mans! Le Mans!

Twenty-four hours to glory.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "Seven Thirty Seven/Shoe Glue" from Don't Know How to Party (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Nothing else puts the kibosh on an ill-humored funk so well as The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, the oddly soothing effect of Dicky Barrett screaming, "Seven thirty-seven almost everyday!"

But because I've been strict with other bands I cannot let pass unnoticed the problems with "Seven Thirty Seven/Shoe Glue." The liner notes give the lyrics as "737 almost everyday!," et al.; thus, the title should be "Seven Thirty-seven/Shoe Glue" or "Seven Three Seven/Shoe Glue." The "Seven Thirty Seven" of the title would have to be written in numerals as 7307 or 7,307.

And of course there's something unsettling about the way Dicky croaks at the end, "And nothin's worryin' me…."