Project MERCATOR
The Lost Weekend
So, what was the deal with my refusal to socialize in this year's Halloween festivities? Two factors: {a} It was a failure by yours truly to live up to MERCATOR's ethos. I had opportunities to socialize & I declined them in part simply because I didn't really feel like going out. In moderation, the reclusive instinct can be quite beneficial, but the motive behind MERCATOR's absolutism is that moderation has never been my strong suite, especially when considering reclusiveness. But, as I lack the ability to traverse time in anything other than a real-time linear fashion, there's no way to undo that failure. So, failure acknowledged, there's naught but to do better the next time. {b} The social activities on offer weren't anything I'd normally get involved in except for a specific-to-Halloween desire to socialize. So, there is still reason to suspect that this failure of Project MERCATOR might have been the best course of action anyway.

On Thursday (28 October), I was invited, along with everyone else in Creation, to Churchill's, the unofficial campus bar (located right across Saginaw Street from the University Pavilion, formerly the Water Street Pavilion), for their "Halloween party." I'd been to Churchill's at least twice before, once for a Loose Ties show (score!) & once just because; the folks in charge do an excellent job of staying on the right side of having enough dank to make Churchill's seem like a real bar, not just a trendy hot spot, but not so much dank that it seems like a dive, such as The Torch. And even though it's an easy enough thing to do, they have a large photograph of Winston Churchill over the front door; what's not to love about that? But the list of people on the FaceSpace intending to attend gave me pause. My "Spidey sense" was atwitter that the night would be far less about costumed tomfoolery & much more about inebriated jackassery. Steeze made the excellent point that I should have gone regardless, because even had my worst fears been confirmed I could easily have made a swift exit & been very little the worse for wear. As it is, I am left with the uncertainty of what might have been, the avoidance of which was one of the instigating impulses behind the codification & implementation of Project MERCATOR. Good Idea/Bad Idea: Bad idea.

Planned for after Churchill's were parties at U of M-Flint's two frat houses (there are more frats, but they don't have houses). I was thrilled not to receive any kind of invitation to whatever monstrous Bacchanalia they were planning until The Most Dangerous Game (whom, we must remember, has sullied herself by joining a sorority) invited me. I protested that I hadn't been invited by the hosting authorities, but she countered this legalistic attempt to escape by telling me everyone in Creation (my words) was welcome. But not for love nor money would I have gone to one of the frat parties; in all honestly, I would have gone to the other for the right love or a large enough amount of money & then left as soon as my contractual obligation was fulfilled, but as no such bribes were proffered I merrily avoided the whole scene as if it was a plague ship. Good Idea/Bad Idea: Good idea.

The next night (Friday, 29 October), the Economics Club planned to visit at least one & possibly several haunted houses, preceding this with a meal & following it with drinking. The evening's sequence was described as "drink, eat, haunt, drink." I disliked this plan from the word "Go." I'm not a fan of haunted houses & I've never understood the appeal. I went to one during my time in Texile, & by no means did I have anything but a good time, but I still walked away from that haunted house as not tuned-in to the experience as ever. And the alehouse in which my fellows planned to start the evening was none other than Kickers. (I'm neither sure if it's actually Kickers, plural, or Kicker's, possessive, nor do I have the least bit of interest in learning for sure.) I've been inside Kickers once; never again. That place reeks of defeat, of people who've been bested by life, given up on ever winning again, & decided to numb the pain for the rest of their days with cheap domestic swill from plastic pitchers, i.e., people who can't even drink themselves to death correctly. I would have liked to have seen The Cowgirl & the Action Hero, who aren't around very much anymore, but for no reason will I set foot inside Kickers. Good Idea/Bad Idea: Good idea.

Also on Friday, a friend of Frankenstein's Monster was throwing a traditional Halloween house party/costume ball. Two days earlier (Wednesday, 27 October), Frankenstein's Monster had sent me an email through the FaceSpace; he was looking to renew our friendship. Not knowing precisely where things had gone awry, he suggested that we identify a few outstanding issues, discuss them 'til resolution was reached, and discard everything else. Since no single unrecoverable incident has sundered our comity, I took him up on the offer, though I suggested that we bury the hatchet entirely & start anew, tabula rasa. He accepted my counterproposal; easy peasy, amigos again. Sure, I might not have known very many of the people there, but that's the problematic nature of parties & no excuse not to go to one. I've no excuse, I didn't attend the party because by that point in the weekend I was firmly ensconced in my heritage. No re-dos in life, just try to do better the next time. Good Idea/Bad Idea: Bad idea.

So, I was a bump on a log the weekend of Halloween weekend. Nothing to be done about that, but as further analysis reveals, not all of my reclusive decisions were flawed. It was a bad weekend for Project MERCATOR & I certainly should have gone out on at least one if not both Thursday & Friday nights (there was football on Saturday), but it was not the unsociable debacle it appeared to be on All Saints' Day & All Souls' Day. Good Idea/Bad Idea: 2/2.

Not So Surprising
The following Wednesday (3 November), I motored out into B.F.E. to attend a surprise birthday party for The Most Dangerous Game's & The Impossible Ingenue's mother. It was apparent that the party had been engineered by their two younger sisters, because Mrs. Game/Ingenue was in the house when my fellow guests & I began to arrive. She'd been shunted upstairs with little explanation; so, she must have known something was afoot. The food was good & her presents were nice & the conversation was pleasant if not terribly lively, until Mr. Game/Ingenue initiated a theological conversation. Mr. Game/Ingenue suffers from the mistaken belief that he is the world's foremost Bible scholar &, taking Protestantism to an inevitable extent, he regards himself as his own pope, his own final authority on all matters ecclesiastical. He wished to impress upon me the rectitude of his beliefs, & attempted to do so my citing Saint Paul as providing evidence against a resurrection of the body at the Last Judgment. And why exactly should I give a tinker's damn about the theological musings of a man who forbids his family to celebrate Christmas because the Christ probably wasn't born on literally 25 December? Right, I shouldn't & I don't. But aside from that a lovely time was had by all.

Perplexing side note: Mrs. Game/Ingenue's birthday was actually a fortnight prior to the party, a whole fortnight. No adequate explanation was given for the delay in the festivities.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Aquabats!, "Playin' It Cool!" from the Radio Down! E.P. (Captain Thumbs-up)

Commentary: Man alive, I wish The Aquabats! had released "Playin' It Cool!" a decade ago! The lyrics would have been eye-opening to the perpetually pining Mike of years gone by.

"Hoo, I have a crush
But I'm not going to rush things,
I'll hang back and play it cool.
(Hang back, playin' it cool!)
Yeah, I really like this girl
But she don't have a clue about it
I'm acting smooth and playing it cool!
(Hang back, playin' it cool!)

My friends all say I should call her today
Or send her some candy and flowers,
But that ain't my style,
I'm going to give it a while
While lurking in the shadows.

Yeah, I stick with my plan,
Although she don't know who I am,
It's all just part of playin' it cool!
I want to sit down beside her
And tell her that I like her,
But it's probably better than I'm playin' it cool
(Hang back, playin' it cool!)

Playin' it cool!
Oh, that's my technique!
Playin' it cool!
I've been doing it for weeks now!
Playin' it cool
And being discreet,
It's not a mistake, it's mystique!

Now I see this other guy
Hanging 'round the girl I like,
But she'll never like him,
He ain't playin' it cool!
And, uh, they're holding hands,
But this guy don't understand
That he's better off
Just playin' it cool like me.
(Hang back, playin' it cool!)

She's thinkin' I'm mysterious
Because I haven't said a word to her, not even once!
I look away when she smiles at me
And soon she will see
That I'm playin' it cool
And that she really likes me! Yeah!

Playin' it cool!
Oh, that's my technique!
Playin' it cool!
I've been doing it for weeks now!
Playin' it cool
And being discreet,
It's not a mistake, it's mystique!

(sweet breakdown)

Playin' it cool!
Oh, that's my technique!
Playin' it cool!
I've been doing it for weeks now!
Playin' it cool
And being discreet,
It's not a mistake, it's mystique!"