Project MERCATOR
On the Wednesday of the week before last & the Monday of last week, after two consecutive debate practices, I dined out with Ska Army. Too Sly joined us on the first occasion, in what had to one of the most bawdy conversations to which I've been a party. I was the chief instigator of the bawdiness. I don't know precisely what was the source of my odd humor, if I simply surrendered myself to the sports bar atmosphere in which we had placed ourselves (the Detroit Tigers were still playing then, battling on a number of exceedingly large television screens against the Texas Rangers), but I was of a very peculiar mood & launched into what was, by my prim standards, some very raunchy talk. Girls were more prized for their physiques than their intellects in our discussion, & the nation's distaff debaters were cited as one of the activity's principal charms. The following Monday, when Ska Army & I dined downtown, I could not help but see myself mirrored in the lad; he is desperately infatuated with an old friend of his, the newest master debater, & hasn't the slightest inkling of how doomed his hopes are. I freely admit to my ineptitude in reading persons, their intentions & desires, but I'd wager my last pfennig that the lady has no romantic interest in Ska Army. His ardor is genuine, but doomed nonetheless. I see in him the same madness that seized me during my forlorn, distasteful longing for The Impossible Ingenue, of which I remain deeply ashamed. His pursuit, unlike mine, is age-appropriate. Like me, though, there's no talking any sense into him; he'll not accept the sad truth of his situation 'til he stumbles upon it himself. I hope for my friend's sake that I am wrong, but know that I am not. Doom, doom, doom.

Last Friday, I paid my first visit to The Machine Shop, Flint's far-famed heavy metal/hard rock club. It is the metropolitan area's premier musical venue, but, again, 'tis a metal club; why would I ever go to such a place? To see The Loose Ties, of course, playing a gig where they were out of place, because in these desperate days‚stretching back a full decade—a ska band is always out of place. I escorted my new pal Jojo, with whom I'd made plans to sped the evening before I learned of the show (The Loose Ties were an eleventh-hour replacement); once I learned of the show, the two engagements dovetailed nicely. The worst bit of a night was an adoring fan… of mine, a vague acquaintance from campus, one of that puzzling throng who seem to think I'm some manner of guru. Honestly, kid, I have no interest in hearing about your latest visit to, as they call it in Saint Louis, the titty bar, except to say that you should never again defile yourself by visiting a house of iniquity. Conversation with Jojo was difficult due to the combination of the gadfly & the canned music coming through the speakers, but I had previously introduced Jojo to Farr Afield, who in turn introduced her to The Redhead, & the three of them gabbed at great length. The Redhead & I tried to teach Jojo how to skank during The Loose Ties' set, with only a little success. Still, enthusiasm is more vital than physical coordination, & was in no short supply.

We left The Machine Shop at the same time as Ska Army, who was very excited to share with me the fruits of his first foray into the home-brewing realm. I accepted four bottles of his home-brew (I have since drunk two of the bottles & yet retain my eyesight, always a concern when moonshine is involved). After I'd let Jojo into Lumi the Snow Queen's passenger seat & closed the door, Ska Army made am obscure gesture, one could even call it an inside joke, which he coupled with the raised eyebrows of a query. No, I told him, I had no amorous designs on Jojo, she's too young for me/I'm too old for her. (Jojo is older than The Impossible Ingenue, but still falls foul of the "half your age plus seven" rule of thumb, which I now follow in the interests of propriety.) She was hungry, so we repaired to the Firkin & Fox, an establishment of which everyone seems inordinately more fond than I. We shared "Irish nachos," which turned out to be waffle fries (always a plus) with green onions, bacon, & a white sauce I can't quite identify, but was nothing too exotic. Jojo wished to go on, but by this point in the evening it was too late to go anywhere but a bar & too late to go back to one of our places & just hang out (the calculation might well have been different if making out had been in the offing); so, I drove her home, received a parting hug, & motored home.

I had not skanked for months, & the next morning my calves were no fans of my reckless enthusiasm. I'd say I was getting to old for this #%*@, but I already got too old for this #&*@ quite a while ago. To quote a pair of Jamaican chaps I met last spring in Burlington, Vermont, "Ska, ska, ska."

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Aquabats!, "The Thing on the Bass Amp!" from The Aquabats! vs. The Floating Eye of Death! and Other Amazing Adventures, Vol. 1 (Captain Thumbs-up)

Commentary: Welcome to our second annual R.B.D.S.O.T.D. celebration of Halloween. "The Thing on the Bass Amp!" has nothing specifically do to with Halloween, but it well-suited to our purposes because it describes a creepy monster, an insidious presence in the midst of the unsuspecting. It also includes the lyrics, "It's alive!" and sinister cackling. By contrast, "Fashion Zombies!," from Charge!!, has a good Halloween-appropriate title, but is about the real definition of zombie, someone who has surrendered their will to another & acts as a mindless automaton (in this case as a slave to fashion), not the brain-devouring "zombies" of popular culture—which more closely resembles the vampire of Balkan folklore than do the sparkly, tormented hero "vampires" of modern pop culture. Back to "The Thing on the Bass Amp!":

"The thing… that climbs into your head at night,
The thing… with selfish teeth and greedy eyes,
The thing… that helps you escape your mistake,
The thing, the something else that you can blame,
The thing in the bass amp!"