The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Seventh Day of Christmas
Mu330, "Angels We Have Heard On High" from Winter Wonderland (T.L.A.M.)

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Sixth Day of Christmas
Duvall, "Away in a Manger" from O Holy Night (T.L.A.M.)

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Fifth Day of Christmas
The Klezmonauts, "Little Drummer Boy" from ?Oy to the World: A Klezmer Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Fourth Day of Christmas
Sufjan Stevens, "What Child is This Anyway?" from Songs for Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: 'Tis the Feast of the Innocents, those blameless infants who were slaughtered that the Christ Child might never attain the dignity of His Kingdom. The Christ was born that all Mankind might be saved—past, present, & future.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Third Day of Christmas
The Klezmonauts, "Joy to the World" from Oy to the World: A Klezmer Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

The Queue
All things considered, I'd rather have read Baltimore as a comic book than an illustrated novel. It was so similar in tone to Maestro Mignola's Hellboy & B.P.R.D. comic book stories that it cried out for more of his powerful, atmospheric artwork.

Recently
Christopher Moore, You Suck: A Love Story
Christopher Moore, Bite Me: A Love Story
Mike Mignola & Ben Stenbeck, Sir Edward Grey, Witchfinder: In the Service of Angels
Mike Mignola & Christopher Golden, Baltimore, or, The Steadfast Tin Soldier and the Vampire

Currently
Mike Mignola, John Arcudi, & Guy Davis, B.P.R.D.: King of Fear

Presently
Bram Stoker, The Jewel of Seven Stars
Mike Mignola, John Arcudi, & Guy Davis, B.P.R.D.: Hell on Earth—New World
Edgar Rice Burroughs, Tarzan of the Apes
Mike Mignola, John Arcudi, & Guy Davis, B.P.R.D.: Hell on Earth—Gods
David Ignatius, Body of Lies
Len Deighton, City of Gold

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Second Day of Christmas
Nat King Cole, "Joy to the World" from Christmas with Big Crosby, Nat King Cole, & Dean Martin (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: 'Tis the Feast of Saint Stephen the Protomartyr. 'Tis also Boxing Day, a secular holiday with roots in Saint Stephen's Day & dedicated to charitable giving. The Christmastide yet runs for another week & a half, treasured readers. The Christ Child, He whom the prophet Isaiah called "Wonder-Counselor," is born. Make merry!

"He rules the world
With truth and grace…."

Operation AXIOM
Merry Christmas to all, the Christ is born! Peace on Earth & goodwill towards Man! Of course, Christmas Day is the exclusive preserve of family, so these lines aren't being actually composed on Christmas Day. Nor do I expect that they'll be read on Christmas Day. No, they're being typed days in advance, & set to be published automatically by the friendly robots at Blogger (not nearly so friendly since they were bought by the evil empire that is Google, but still). I hope that each of you was nice rather than naughty over the course of the past year, & that Santa Claus rewarded you accordingly. Pray take a moment, amidst all the presents & the familial love & the return of the N.B.A., to reflect upon the momentous occasion that we mark today, the Mass we celebrate to illuminate our joy at the birth of the Christ. The Lord Almighty, Creator of Heaven & Earth, came down amongst us, not with an earth-shaking voice & His Terrible Majesty, but as a wee babe, tender & mild, born not in a palace mighty but a stable filthy. He came with mercy beyond our comprehension, to take upon His sinless breast all the sin of Mankind—past, present, & future—& to trade His life for ours. He is the King of Kings, the Redeemer of all the world; His Kingdom will stand throughout all eternity, & yet He came into the world as we all come into the world, naked & cold, screaming for air. A perfect & perfectly normal human baby, & yet at the same time the Creator of Time & Space, infinite, without beginning or end. Today we celebrate the birth of the Christ, the birth of hope & our salvation. If that's not a reason to be merry, I don't know what is. Merry Christmas! "God bless us, every one!"

The Explorers Club
№ CCLXVII - Old Sarum, original site of the English town of Salisbury, & prior to the Great Reform Act of 1832 the rottenest of the rotten boroughs.









The Rebel Black Dot Song of Christmas Day
Sufjan Stevens, "Holy, Holy, Holy" from Songs for Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

The Rebel Black Dot Song of Christmas Eve
The Puppini Sisters, "O Holy Night" from Christmas with The Puppini Sisters (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"Fall on your knees! O hear the angels' voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born;
O night divine, O night, O night divine.

Christ is the Lord! O praise His Name forever!
His power and glory evermore proclaim;
His power and glory evermore proclaim!"

The Stars My Destination
Another Russian Soyuz rocket has suffered a catastrophic failure: "Major Tom (Coming Home)"-link. The silver lining to this dark cloud is that the failure is different from the failure which caused the loss of another Soyuz in August… meaning the problem might well be systemic to the Russian space program: Wayback Machine. Oh, wait, that's not a silver lining, that's a yet darker cloud. That means this failure is every worse news. The United States is entirely dependent upon the Russians to ferry our astronauts to & from the International Space Station, & yet Russian rockets are failing at an appalling rate for a wide variety of problems; fear not, though, because our helplessness & utter dependence on the Russians is exactly according to President Obama's plan. The reliability of the Russians was one of the keystones behind Mr. Obama's dual decisions to cancel Project Constellation & simultaneously retire the Space Shuttle fleet; alas, time has proved that the only thing the Russians do reliably is build rockets that fail.

"You know what… you know what I noticed? Nobody panics when things go 'according to plan.' Even if the plan is horrifying." Nobody panic, because President Obama's plan was always to be dependent on the Russians. Everything is therefore going according to plan. Even if the plan is horrifying.

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
Louis Armstrong & The Commanders, "Cool Yule" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"He's gonna have a bag of crazy toys,
To give the groanies of the girls and boys,
So dig, Santa comes on big.
…
Have a Yule that's cool!"

Project MERCATOR
Last Friday, now nearly a week hence, I collected Jojo from her house & piloted Lumi the Snow Queen into the heart of Flinttown to see The Loose Ties at the Soggy Bottom Bar (not just downtown Flint, but north of the river, where formerly mayor Woodrow Stanley once warned white suburbanites such as your humble narrator not to venture). Jojo broke off to take a seat with Farr Afield & T. B. Player while I claimed a barstool near Ska Army & Nick Andopolis. Much nonsense was discussed 'til the first band began their set, two chaps with guitars doing acoustic covers of '90s hits. It was quite charming, highlights including Oasis's "Wonderwall" & No Doubt's "Spiderwebs." When it came time for The Loose Ties to play, wow, they brought the fury. Not only did they play a double set, which well-nigh killed me, but they also debuted half a dozen new songs. New songs! I love The Loose Ties unconditionally, but they had been playing more or less the same set for the better part of two years. There were both covers & originals amongst the new songs & one of the originals, "She'll Never Know," is far & away the finest song they've written. Well done, lads & lasses!

On two occasions the evening flirted with Project PANDORA status. After spending a cigarette break outside with Jojo, with whom he went to high school, T. B. Player made the curious remark that everyone—he did not specify whom constituted "everyone"—was wondering when Jojo & I were going to get together (he did not specify romantically or sexually, so I choose the former). Jojo's expression was inscrutable, so I mildly chided T. B. Player that my friendship with Jojo is just that, a friendship, & nothing else. Jojo is a lovely girl, with a waifish beauty that draws the unwanted attentions of dirty old men, "creepers" in the modern vernacular; in other circumstances, I'd love to be seen with her on my arm, but these are not other circumstances for two very good reasons. The first is that the first time Jojo & I rendezvoused to socialize we had a somewhat odd discussion of an ex-boyfriend of hers & a relationship that lasted too long, which morphed into a discussion of the necessity of friends remaining friends, not trying to use friendship as a stepping stone to a romantic entanglement. To mine ears, the meaning of this discussion was quite clear. The second reason is that I've learnt the embarrassing lesson of my erstwhile misguided, damn' fool pursuit of The Impossible Ingenue. Jojo is simply too young for me & I am simply too old for her. I believe in the half-your-age-plus-seven rule with all the fervor of a penitent reprobate. I have no idea what prompted T. B. Player's remark, & it might well be entirely innocent, though of course the dark bastard sees conspiracy & ulterior motive everywhere.

The second occasion was less ambiguous. There was only a single bartender & no waitresses on duty; so, I had to go to the bar myself to get my first drink of the night. After receiving the outrageous news that they were all out of Guinness, whilst waiting for my consolation Heineken, a lovely raven-haired girl in spectacles turned to me & struck up a conversation. We traded a few humorous observations & parted with broad smiles on both our faces when I disengaged to rejoin my party. Later, once The Loose Ties had begun the first of their two sets, I was skanking along in rhythm when suddenly the bespectacled girl appeared at my side. She watched my feet & then made a halting first stab at skanking. Her girl friend was alongside her & a pair of chaps materialized also. For a few moments, half a dozen of us were skanking to the beat. She would come & go from the dance floor, never staying for more than one song, but always with her ruby lips parted into a smile. (Late in the first set, not long before intermission, Jojo was standing alongside me when a dirty old man at the bar sent the bartender to buy her a drink; she's not of legal drinking age, but said she'd left her I.D. out in the car & got a Coke. I didn't know a creeper had sent the drink 'til later, when I drove her home.) I approached her at the bar in between sets & told her she was a natural at skanking. We introduced ourselves, but true to form I promptly forget her name, even as I couldn't take my eyes off her smile. A few songs into the second set, she again returned to the dance floor & stayed after the song ended. I didn't put a lot of thought into what came next, I simply acted. (On instinct? I don't know. I tend to think that like George Costanza all my instincts are wrong; so, the opposite would have to be right, but that might well be the dark bastard talking.) As we stood next to each other, I slide my left arm behind her back & gently rested my hand on her waist. By way of asking her out, I leaned in & said, "How about I give you my number?" She extended her left arm & brought it to where I could get a clear glimpse of her ring finger & the giant rock perched there. I did not take the time to see if there was also a wedding ring there or just the engagement ring. I leaned in & said, "How about we pretend I never said that?" as I withdrew my hand from her waist & my arm from around her back. No harm, no foul, as she came back after a very short return to the bar & we slow danced (spins & the like, no cheek-to-cheek) during the reggae ballad "Drinking for Eleven." I might not know her name, but I do know that her fellow, whomever he is, is a lucky bloke.

Almost dead on my feet after skanking through twice the normal number of songs, I was glad that I'd parked on M.L.K. Boulevard directly in front of the Soggy Bottom's door. When I pulled into Jojo's driveway I warned her that I was "all gross," but she replied that everyone sweats & gave me our customary parting hug, holding on for slightly longer than normal before exiting.

Autobahn
The next night, Saturday, I again sallied forth to see The Loose Ties, this time at The Lunch Studio, hosted by the resurrected Flint Local 432. (The Local's new building is being renovated thanks to the fine folks at the Mott Foundation.) The weather outside was frightful, but the ska is so delightful & so I had somewhere to go. There was not as much grip as one might wish on I-475, but I was still making my way along without great difficulty until the esses, a long, sweeping righthand curve followed immediately by a slightly shorter, equally sweeping lefthander. In the summertime, when it's dry, those curves are a thrill, as you try to see just how fast you can take them, but they are a nightmare in the winter. As I entered the righthander, I saw cars pulled over to both right & left. Worse still, there was a jerk in the middle of the three lanes crawling along with his hazard lights flashing. I was in a curve that was covered with wet snow & hidden ice & I had no choice but to apply my breaks. I threaded the needle between the jerk with the hazards & the car pulled off to the lefthand shoulder, genuine white-knuckle driving. I had an easier time through the lefthand curve once the rolling chicane was out of my way & gingerly made my way over to the far right for my exit.

As Lumi the Snow Queen was heading up the off ramp, my mobile rang. My custom is not to answer my mobile whilst driving unless I have my hands-free headset, which I did not on this occasion, but for no discernible reason I made an exception in this case. I rolled to a stop at the red light at the end of the off ramp & flipped open my mobile to hear the unrecognizable voice of The M.A.P., my debate coach. The M.A.P. & his wife has been in a traffic collision! I first inquired as to their health & he assured me no one had been injured. My next thought was to ask if they needed me to fetch them from somewhere, as I imagined they were stranded on the side of the road. He asked where I was. I told him that I'd just arrived downtown. The M.A.P. asked me if I could give & his bride a ride home & I agreed without hesitation. Where should I pick them up? He asked me to meet them at a building on campus, to which I agreed while still puzzled as to how they were going to reach that particular destination. Ours is not to reason why, I suppose (with apologies to Lord Tennyson). I piloted Lumi the Snow Queen to the rendezvous spot, again flipped open my mobile, & called Ska Army. I asked him when The Loose Ties were going to go on & he specified a time about two hours into the future. Great, that would give me plenty of time to deliver my soon-to-be passengers & make it back to Flint. I informed him of the reason for my delay & his first reaction was to inquire after everyone's physical well being. Good on him. Perhaps ten minutes after I'd parked at the rendezvous spot, a Genesee County Sheriff's Department Paramedic S.U.V. pulled up behind Lumi. The M.A.P. & Mrs. The M.A.P. soon emerged, clearly shaken up by their wreck but otherwise none the worse for wear. After effusive thanks & the normal pleasantries, we were off.

We hadn't gone far along Robert T. Longway when we made a quick stop in order for her to use the water closet. The M.A.P. made jokes about my "owning" him now, being able to demand in future any favor it might be in his power to grant. I replied that I was doing no less than I'd want someone to do for me or my kith & kin should they be in the same situation. I tried to keep it light, joking & letting them lead the conversation, knowing firsthand the odd mental state one is in after an automobile collision. They were understandably nervous about the expressway since they'd been on I-69 when The M.A.P. hit a patch of ice, invisible in the dark of night, sending their S.U.V. spinning 360˚ before crunching its nose against the unyielding center barrier; so, we took the surface roads. I was playing my tape of The Blues Brothers' first album, Briefcase Full of Blues, & The M.A.P. asked, "Is this the Blues Brothers? I picked the right taxi to call." More conversation about music brought us to "Spiderwebs," an acoustic rendition of which I'd heard the night before at the Soggy Bottom, & Mrs. The M.A.P. & I engaged in some impromptu karaoke. The M.A.P. observed that if this was a debate trip this would be the point where he'd tell me to shut up, with which I agreed, but since the purpose of the off-key singing was to soothe his wife's jangled nerves I continued 'til it died a natural death.

I let them lead the meandering conversation, most of my mind being focused on the treacherous roads. Treasured readers, that night I'd traversed roads of which I was only vaguely aware beforehand & saw parts of Genesee County that I'd never before seen, & more likely than not will never see again. Eastward we plunged into the night, then left & north, then right & east again. A light fall of heavy, wet snowflakes danced in the beams from Lumi's headlights, the road glistening & black before me, an impenetrable, light-swallowing black behind. Onward & onward we plunged. Both my hands were locked onto the steering wheel, my eyes transfixed to the road, only occasionally darting to my mirrors before swiveling back to the far end of Lumi's headlight beams. Only once did we slide, while executing a lefthand turn, & even then only for the briefest of moments, but never was I more than vaguely confident in the adhesive power of the tarmac beneath Lumi's tires. I thanked the Lord Almighty for the four Michelins I bought before the Winter of '10-'11, because the bald rubber I'd been running on before then would surely have lead me into a ditch on such a forbidding drive. Onward & onward we plunged. The miles & the minutes ticked away without any real awareness on my part. I had no idea where we was going, no idea how much further we had yet to go. I turned when The M.A.P. instructed me to turn, my job being that of helmsman, not navigator; my job to keep us 'twixt the white line to my right & the yellow line to my left, & away from the rear bumper of the motorcar ahead, & not to worry about anything else.

I had no idea how long we'd been motoring until I turned on The M.A.P.'s driveway, one of those long, winding driveways snaking through the forest that you encounter with houses build in B.F.E. An hour & a quarter had passed since we left our rendezvous point, an hour & a quarter of claustrophobia, of plunging headlong into the dark unknown. Or is that the unknown dark? I parked next to their other motorcars; went inside for a few minutes to see their house & its high ceilings, oh & ah over their really quite impressive Christmas tree, use the W.C., & accept more effusive thanks; then I took my leave & prepared for the return journey. Almost. A slip of white paper on the carpet before the passenger seat caught my eye, & upon examination I saw it was from one of the responding lawmen. They might want their case file number, so I trudged back up to the house. We'd originally entered through the garage, the door of which was now closed. Their house is one of those where no one will ever use the front door, because they don't live on a proper street & don't have neighbors—everyone who approaches will do so from the side, from or through the garage. I made my way to the nearest back door, of which there was a multitude, & knocked. I heard The M.A.P. ask, "Is that you?" The answer would be yes no matter whom I was, but I know what he meant, & answered in the affirmative. He walked past my door heading toward the garage & I called him over to me. I handed him the slip of white paper & he all but smacked himself across the forehead. Departure, take two.

The inbound journey was less dramatic than had been the outbound leg. I resolved to chance the expressway & followed the last northbound road we'd taken (M-15, which The M.A.P. called exclusively by its own name, State Road) all the way down from Otisville—which everyone, myself included, mistakes for Ortonville, because no matter how podunk Ortonville may be (& is, unequivocally), it is a thriving metropolis compared to the one-horse hamlet that it Otisville—to Davison & I-69, in this instance referred to as "Civilization." The roads were still slick, but the snow had relented & there was a general sense that conditions were improving, however slightly. Not long into the journey I was keeping about thrice the usual distance to the S.U.V. ahead of me, allowing extra stopping distance, to the great consternation of the Jeep behind me. At the first opportunity he dove across the center line & passed Lumi the Snow Queen. He immediately slammed on his brakes, having not the slightest chance of passing any of the train of vehicles ahead of him. Jackass. Shortly before the caravan reached the big city of Davison, the Jeep flipped on his blinker & attempted a left turn. I saw attempted because he was carrying far too much speed & missed the corner. Only by the slightest of margins was he able to slam on his brakes & keep his Jeep out of the inviting ditch. When last I saw him he was parked across the northbound lane, too many cars heading southbound for him to back up & take the slight northward jog he needed to make his intended turn. I freely admit that I relished seeing him reap his comeuppance.

Once I was on I-69, I found it drier & safer than I-475 had been two hours earlier. I made my way back to Flint without incident, though the journey still took a solid forty minutes, the lion's share in the caravan on M-15. I parked along Saginaw Street about half a block from The Lunch Studio & walked in about five minutes before The Loose Ties took the stage. I exchanged greetings & pleasantries with my old Real Can of Yams bandmate The Duffmeister, the "damned, dirty lefty," & grabbed a Jones Soda out of the cooler courtesy of Joel, the main man behind the Flint Local 432 & an all around admirable fellow. The Aquabats! said it best, adventure today!

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
The Klezmonauts, "Deck the Halls" from Oy to the World: A Klezmer Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

Urbi et Orbi
This post comes to you in response to a request left by Ki-El in response to a previous post. We here at The Secret Base are always striving to engage more closely with our readers & are thus delighted to fulfill such requests. Ki-El wrote, "I'm kind of curious to hear your thoughts on Pope Benedict's whole 'redistribution of wealth' speech."

On Friday, His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI gave a speech which included words to the effect that, & I couch in this manner because I'm unsure in what language the speech was actually delivered, society needed "adequate mechanisms for the redistribution of wealth." This is entirely consistent with the teachings & policies of Holy Mother Church. For at least the last hundred & fifty years, since the emergence of the competing philosophies of capitalism & socialism, the Catholic Church has been a critic of both. The Church disdains the concentration of wealth into the hands of the few, be they plutocratic capitalists or bureaucratic socialists, favoring instead diffuse ownership of the means of production, not through collective ownership but through individual ownership of small shares of the whole. Some thinkers have tried to synthesize various encyclicals & proclamations into a fully fleshed-out economic philosophy, known as distributism, a third way that stands opposed to the false binary choice between capitalism & socialism. There is nothing new in a pope calling for wealth to be distributed more evenly amongst the population. This would be good for both the physical welfare of the destitute & the spiritual welfare of the rich (note that in Scripture those who are richly rewarded in this world will be terribly punished in the next).

What are my thoughts on "adequate mechanisms for the redistribution of wealth"? I agree absolutely with the principle, even if you & I might quibble over the details. I believe in free-market capitalism as a pillar of our country's broader commitment to freedom of the individual, but just as society places reasonable restrictions on my freedoms—I cannot shout "Fire!" in a crowded theater, despite my freedom of speech—so too must there be protections against abuse & restrictions placed on even "free" markets. I am a Republican because I am a liberal, not a libertarian. (Liberalism, real liberalism, not the peculiar & frankly wrong American description of Leftism as "liberal.") I support the redistribution of wealth through mechanisms such as an old-age pension (in this country, Social Security) & a progressive tax scheme, wherein those in higher-income households pay a greater percentage of that income in taxes than do those in lower-income households. Do I want to see Social Security reformed? Yes, I do, because I think a number of reforms are needed both to ensure the solvency of the program & to make it a more effective means of ending poverty amongst the aged, its original purpose. Do I want to see a "flat" income tax or a nationwide sales tax such as the pernicious "FairTax"? No, I do not, because both of those policies, whilst supposedly based in "fairness," would both fail in their attempts to make both rich & poor pay an equal percentage of their treasure into the public coffers & would in fact create a regressive tax scheme whereby the least well-off amongst us would pay the highest share of their treasure in taxes. I do not think we should lower, let alone repeal, capital gains taxes, because to do so would merely shift a larger share of the public tax burden onto those in lower income households who derive most or all of their income through wages instead of capital gains. We need a complete rethink of our present day, Great Society-derived "welfare" system because all available evidence suggests that it is not alleviating poverty but instead creating a permanent underclass, generations of citizens who will forever be dependent upon Caesar for their bread. We need to redistribute wealth from the very rich to the very poor, not redistribute power from the town hall to the technocrats' committee room.

I favor minor, incremental changes to our present mixed economy, nothing that would be enough to transform our curious hybrid of capitalism & socialism into true distributism. This is in part because I'm not convinced distributism would work as smoothly & justly as its theorists theorize, & in part because I almost always favor gradual change so as to avoid the unpredictability & seemingly inevitable violence of revolution.

The redistribution of wealth is a right & just aim of public policy, good for both the body politic & the souls of the body politic. We might & probably would disagree about the proper degree of & mechanism for that redistribution, but that is precisely the purpose for which we have politics, to be the means through which we hash out those disagreements.

If these lines do not satisfy your curiosity, Ki-El, I'll be happy to take another stab at the issue. In the immortal words of Groucho Marx, "These are my principles. If you don't like them, I have others."

Bier!
I had a jones for Carlsberg yesterday, but none was to be found at my only known local source for Carlsberg. Curses! Not wishing to partake in the Samuel Adams Boston Lager my parents habitually keep on hand, after dinner I decided to have one of the bottles of Guinness Extra Stout I'd had sitting in the garage since an Epsilon gave them to me as repayment for a favor, even though Guinness Draught was the actual repayment he'd offered whilst pretending to having something beyond the most passing knowledge of Guinness. The Extra Stout wasn't as bad as I remembered, not at first, but the farther I got into the bottle the worse I was walloped by the dreadful aftertaste. The aftertaste lingered, & lingered, & lingered. Egad! At this point, I know I'm not going to drink the Extra Stout; so, it'll probably end up going down the drain, which would normally be a waste, but that sludge isn't fit for human consumption. I'd say it's a potent potable, but I'm not sure it should be considered potable.

The Queue
I've not purchased a comic book in a goodly while, but I still have quite a backlog of books I've not yet read from before the discipline necessary for Project RADIANT's success brought an end to that particular hobby. Both to keep me in a paranormal frame of mind to aid Project PARAFFIN & because I enjoy tales "From the pages of Hellboy" on their own merits, I've decided to intersperse comic book miniseries amongst the novels in the queue. When I exhaust my supply, the G.D.L. has a surprisingly complete library of trade paperback collections. Onward!

Baltimore is neither a comic book nor a collection, but "an illustrated novel." (Principally text with supplementary illustrations scattered here & there.) There are Baltimore comics that came after the debut novel; so, if that goes well they may well follow.

Recently
John le Carré, The Spy Who Came in From the Cold
Christopher Moore, You Suck: A Love Story
Christopher Moore, Bite Me: A Love Story
Mike Mignola & Ben Stenbeck, Sir Edward Grey, Witchfinder: In the Service of Angels

Currently
Mike Mignola & Christopher Golden, Baltimore, or, The Steadfast Tin Soldier and the Vampire

Presently
David Ignatius, Body of Lies
Mike Mignola, John Arcudi, & Guy Davis, B.P.R.D.: King of Fear
Len Deighton, City of Gold
Mike Mignola, John Arcudi, & Guy Davis, B.P.R.D.: Hell on Earth—New World
Edgar Rice Burroughs, Tarzan of the Apes

The Rebel Black Dot Hanukkah Song of the Day
Barenaked Ladies, "Hanukkah, Oh Hanukkah" from Barenaked for the Holidays (T.L.A.M.)

Autobahn
I saw a Fisker Karma today, not in motion but parked in front of the Buick/G.M.C. pavilion of the mammoth multiple-marque "Auto Plaza" motorcar dealership that spans damned near half a mile alongside South Saginaw Street in my beloved Grand Blanc. Quite eye-catching is Henrik Fisker's namesake. The Karma's extravagant price might help to explain why so many denizens of Genesee County's less affluent municipalities resent Grand Blanc as a enclave of wealth, privilege, & snobbery.

Later in the day I found myself motoring behind a Camaro painted in the most hideous shade of neon green. The vanity plate on the verdant eyesore? "GRRREEN." What a perfect encapsulation of why Mrs. Skeeter, Esq. remarked, when I told her of my fanciful desire to purchase a Camaro, that I should save myself quite a bit of money & just have made a T-shirt emblazoned with the word "Douchebag."

The Rebel Black Dot Hanukkah Song of the Day
Susan Egan "We Are Lights/Shalom Alaychem" from Winter Tracks (T.L.A.M.)

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
The Irish Rovers, "Good King Wenceslas" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: A semi-religious Yuletide carol encroaching on the secular songs' patch, 'tis true, but I'll allow it.

The Explorers Club
№ CCLXVI - The ancient White Horse of Uffington.







Urbi et Orbi | The Savage Wars of Peace
Father Gary opened Mass today with a minute of silent reflection upon the "end of the Iraq War." Father Gary is a great old hippie priest, whose beliefs run far to the left of mainstream Catholic opinion, though he's so pacifistic I know he'd never join with those murderous lunatics who preach so-called "liberation theology" (a.k.a. "Catholic" Marxism). I know that Father Gary is in earnest in his wish for peace, & he was both morally & politically opposed to the war from the beginning, but I am puzzled by his celebration of the war's end, as I was all last week by the Forth Estate's celebrations of same. The war's over? Really? Tell that to the Iraqis who perish in the ongoing terrorist violence, the smoldering sectarian strife. Iraq's come a long way since the worst days of 2006-2007, but the fighting continues. The war is only over for America's fighting men & women, yet it continues for the Iraqis, the Iranians, & the foreign fighters who still enter the country seeking martyrdom. The war is over. How unpardonably insular of us, to think that if a war isn't killing our boys than it must not be happening at all. This attitude on the part of the press doesn't surprise me in the least, those jackals think of nothing beyond themselves, but I am surprised & a little disappointed that a man as concerned about the whole of Mankind as Father Gary would fall prey to that same nationalistic blindness.

The Queue
I'm tempted to read Christopher Moore's non-vampire novel A Dirty Job, set in the same continuity as the A Love Story series & involving some of the same characters (I freely admit I'm a sucker for a shared universe), but I've been dissuaded by the diminished rôle of the characters Jody Stroud & Tommy Flood & the usurpation of their pages by the far less interesting character Abby Normal. So, we move on.

I am uncertain what to read once the New Year arrives & Project PARAFFIN is upon us. Should I continue to read of the supernatural to keep me in the right frame of mind? Is that even the right frame of mind? Or with my writing focusing on vampires & the profane, should I look for something else in my reading, such as the splendid escapism of spy fiction? Perhaps I should re-read Dracula & Hellboy: Wake the Devil, the two best vampire stories I've encountered, the former having the added bonus of being an example of the epistolary form. Maybe I should read more Poe, to get a better sense of horror? The Moonstone, an early work of detective fiction & thus outside our bailiwick, but also another epistolary example? I must read whatever it takes, including next to nothing at all if it should come to that, to make a success of PARAFFIN.

Recently
Guillermo del Toro, Christopher Golden, & Troy Nixey, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark: Blackwood's Guide to Dangerous Fairies
John le Carré, The Spy Who Came in From the Cold
Christopher Moore, You Suck: A Love Story

Currently
Christopher Moore, Bite Me: A Love Story

Presently
Mike Mignola & Christopher Golden, Baltimore; or, The Steadfast Tin Solder and the Vampire
David Ignatius, Body of Lies
Len Deighton, City of Gold

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Songs of the Day
Sufjan Stevens, "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" from Songs for Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: 'Tis the fourth & final Sunday of Advent, the Christmastide is nearly upon us. Another baptism at today's Mass, another prayer that the Holy Ghost will soften The L.A.W.'s & Brother-in-L.A.W.'s hearts so that The Squeak might be baptized into the Body of Christ, for the redemption of her immortal soul.

"O come, o come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel."

Samstag, 17 Dezember
Ella Fitzgerald, "Sleigh Ride" from Elf: Music from the Motion Picture (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"It's lovely weather
For a sleigh ride together
With you."

If only 'twas so. Last night was a miserable night to be out & about, as proved by my sojourn through windblown snow along icy roads to take The M.A.P. & his wife home after they had been in a traffic collision, their motorcar having spun on the ice & crashed into a barrier on the expressway. On their wedding anniversary, no less! I'd never before been so far into the wilderness of Genesee County as to reach Otisville, & 'twas very nearly the worst possible night for such a trip. That said, they needed my help; what other choice was there but to help, despite the peril? 'Twas an adventure.

Freitag, 16 Dezember
The Klezmonauts, "Jingle Bells" from Oy to the World: A Klezmer Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Sung in, I assume, Yiddish.

Happy Birthday!
Happiest of birthday wishes to my wee niece & faux goddaughter (or "godlessdaughter"), The Squeak! It is amazing, startling, & a little terrifying to see how swiftly she is growing up, already no longer a baby & on the cusp of being a real little girl. The Squeak talks up a storm, though its not always easy to understand what she's saying, especially as she still favors a pacifier (or "binky"). I love that little monkey to pieces, & it grieves me that I don't get to see her more often. Happy birthday, Natalie!

Urbi et Orbi
I bowled last Friday, which my chums from the History Club, & when asked later if I'd had a good time I replied as I always reply after bowling, "I'll say the same thing I always say after I go bowling, & it's as true now it it was then, 'I should go bowling more often.'" I gave my confession this evening, that is to say I partook of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. I'll say the same thing I always say after Reconciliation, I should go to confession more often. It does my soul palpable good.

This evening's was my first communal reconciliation service, more formally the Rite of Reconciliation of Several Penitents with Individual Confession & Absolution. The festivities kicked off much like a shortened Mass, but in place of the Eucharistic celebration there was communal reflection on the shortcomings of each of our attempts at lives of Christ-like imitation, & the splendor of His boundless mercy. After that, we queued & each give his individual confession, eight priests being scattered at discreet distances around the nave of Holy Family. (There was a similar service Tuesday night at my own parish, Holy Redeemer (H.R.), but I was exhausted by the time the evening rolled around, in no shape to make a proper confession of my many sins.) By chance, I confessed to my own pastoral vicar, Father Steve. Father Steve's penances are lighter than Father Tim's were when the latter ran H.R., but I don't mean to complain.

It seems that every parish is struggling with the new translation of the Roman Missal. Amongst other bits of new language & gesture,

Priest: "Peace be with you."
Parish: "And also with you."

is now

Priest: "Peace be with you."
Parish: "And with your spirit."

As Father Gary joked a few weeks back at Holy Redeemer, just give us forty years & we'll have it down pat.

Autobahn
Everywhere I look I'm seeing New Beetle convertibles—not New Beetle hardtops, only New Beetle ragtops. I've never understood why anyone would want a cabriolet, especially in a clime such as sacred Michigan's. Not only does a droptop expose the driver & his passengers to the death rays of the Accursed Sun, but in the winter it cannot provide nearly as much insulation as a fixed roof, making the interior of the vehicle that much colder at all hours of the day & night. Madness! Madness, I say!

Anywho, I had a telephone conversation last weekend about the end of the New Beetle/the arrival of the no-longer-New new Beetle. My conversational partner lamented the demise of the cut-as-a-button New Beetle. The cuteness was the only thing the New Beetle had going for it, I told him, & that wore thin after a few tears. 1998 is a long time gone, amigo; you can't live in the past. The new Beetle is a more viable alternative to the burgeoning lineup of Minis & the arrival of the Fiat 500 than the New Beetle, I insisted, but he'd hear none of it. I wasn't terribly invested in making the case for the new Beetle, as he was the one who brought up the topic in the first place, but it was still irksome that all he offered in refutation was, "Nuh-uh, it is way cuter!" (I paraphrase.) Since then, it's been convertible New Beetles everywhere I turn. Your guess is as good as mine.

Of course, there's no point in discussion the New Beetle, much less the New Beetle convertible, unless 'tis as a vehicle for this gem: Bill Briggs-link. This commercial remains a perfectly preserved moment in time, regardless of that earlier hogwash about not living in the past.

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
Sufjan Stevens, "Jingle Bells" from Songs for Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Wishful thinking, as there is not enough—indeed, not any—snow on the ground for a ride in a one-horse open sleigh.

Science!
I have long had a print hanging above my desk, a drawing of an anthropomorphic Space Shuttle being dragged along by the tremendous power of the rockets attached to its large central fuel tank. The print is titled Nantucket Sleighride, a reference explained in the text that accompanies the image:

Many years ago in new England, the term "Nantucket Sleighride" referred to a whale boat being dragged along by the enormous power of a harpooned whale. Today the Space Shuttle, riding atop its enormous expendable fuel tank, is dragged along at launch by the incredible power of its solid rocket boosters.

Finally, after all these years of waiting, a second whaling-themed N.A.S.A. project: Space harpoon-link.

This story also illustrates once again the principle that every noun is made more impressive & amusing when preceded by the adjective "space." Harpoon? Good. Space harpoon? Better. (See above.) Coyote? Good. Space coyote? Better. ("Take that, Space Coyote!") Pope? Good. Space Pope? Better. ("Is the Space Pope reptilian?" Crocodylus pontifex!)

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
Barenaked Ladies, "Carol of the Bells" from Barenaked for the Holidays (T.L.A.M.)

Operation AXIOM
One hundred years ago to the day, 14 December 1911, Roald Amundsen & his Norwegian expedition because the first men to reach the South Pole. Many before & many since have perished trying to accomplish the same feat, but Amundsen's intelligence, preparation, & endurance allowed him to conquer the Antarctic & bring all his men home to tell the tale. Mankind's progress depends upon such a spirit of exploration, & it is right & proper that we should remember & honor Roald Amundsen's, et al., achievement. Reminder-link.

Obamboozled
What was the harm in asking the Islamic Republic of Iran to return the United States drone that malfunctioned/was downed over Iran? The Iranians might say no, once again highlighting President Obama's impotence in international affairs. Bad news, Mr. President, the Iranians have once again highlighted your impotence in international affairs: No, thank you-link. Maybe the latter-day princes of Persia would be more agreeable, sir, if you actually kowtowed before an image of the Ayatollah Khomeini? As long as we are doing everything we can do to appear as weak as possible in the eyes of both our friends & enemies, it might be worth a try.

How's the parade of horrors been treating you, Obama '08 voters? Is this the change you believed in?

The Queue
There is one crucial plot hole in The Spy Who Came in From the Cold with which I was familiar from the excellent motion picture adaptation; I was mildly disappointed to find it in the novel as well. 'Tis one of those niggles that perhaps irks only persnickety beggars such as your humble narrator. "The plan" only works because of some unanticipated element that could not possibly have been anticipated, even by a nigh-omniscient planner, yet the author never bothers to offer a plausible explanation of how the plan could possibly have worked without that unanticipated element. The Spy Who Came in From the Cold is a grand yarn, but it is far more akin to Call for the Dead—le Carré's debut—than Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy—his masterpiece. I fear I've read his best, but find solace in the confidence that there is plenty of worth in much of the rest.

Recently
Christopher Moore, Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story
Guillermo del Toro, Christopher Golden, & Troy Nixey, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark: Blackwood's Guide to Dangerous Fairies
John le Carré, The Spy Who Came in From the Cold

Currently
Christopher Moore, You Suck: A Love Story

Presently
Christopher Moore, Bite Me: A Love Story
David Ignatius, Body of Lies
Len Deighton, City of Gold

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
Barenaked Ladies, "Footprints" from Barenaked for the Holidays (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"You look just outstanding in the snow,
Standing in the snow."

There is an inverse relationship 'twixt when I intend to rise & when I fall asleep the previous night. Were I planning to wake up at eight this morning, I probably would have been able to fall asleep between midnight & one o'clock. Because I planned to wake up at seven this morning (& the plan worked), I could not embrace slumber 'til after two. Lovely, prosperous relationship, that.

Autobahn
I shall never understand those of my fellow motorists who drive at a speed of thirty-five miles per hour on Hill Road, where the posted speed limit is forty-five miles per hour, & at a speed of thirty-five miles per hour on the tight, twisting streets of my subdivision, where the posted speed limit is twenty-five miles per hour. I don't find them just infuriating, but also utterly bewildering. I fail to comprehend what they could possibly be thinking. There are lots kids & old fogeys, no sidewalks, & precious little margin for error in the neighborhood, you menaces! There are acres of asphalt, delightfully few curves, & almost no pedestrians on Hill Road, you snails! Mayhap we should invest more public treasure into mass transit, so as to get more of those yahoos out from behind the wheel.

Obamboozled
In no way am I blaming President Obama for the loss of our stealth drone over Iran, but is he making an already humiliating situation better or worse by asking the loose-cannon fanatics who run the Islamic Republic to return the blasted thing? What's the harm in asking?-link. Is a highly classified surveillance drone like a Frisbee that has sailed over the fence into your curmudgeonly neighbor's backyard? Can you just ask for it back? Maybe if Mr. Obama would sweeten the pot by having Secretary Clinton send the Guardian Council a nice handwritten note that read, in part, "Pretty, pretty please, with sugar on top?"

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
The Klezmonauts, "Good King Wenceslas" from Oy to the World: A Klezmer Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

The Explorers Club
№ CCLXV - The hard-fighting, hard-drinking life & times of John Manners, Marquess of Granby (1721-1770).









Operation AXIOM
A year ago to the day, 11 December 2010 (stylized as 12.11.10), your humble narrator was in Ann Arbor for The Big Chill at the Big House, & thus became, for the second time in his life, part of the largest crowd ever to attend an ice hockey game. The Big Chill was a spectacle, combining the largest-ever crowd with fireworks, a flyover by a B-2 stealth bomber, & an immensely enjoyable victory, Michigan 5-0 Michigan State. 'Twas one of the ages, a gay old time I shan't ever forget.

Go Blue!

The Victors: Project OSPREY
Saturday, 10 December
(№ 20) Michigan 90-80 Oakland
7-2, Big Ten 0-0

The display the valiant Wolverines put on against the epithetless Golden Grizzlies was distressing. Yes, the Maize & Blue prevailed, but I wouldn't be at all surprised to see Michigan drop out of the Top 25 after such a sorry spectacle. In the first half, the valiant Wolverines built up a fourteen-point lead, only to let it slip through their fingers thanks to double-digit turnovers; an Oakland three-pointer just before the buzzer meant the teams went into halftime tied, 32-32. In the second half, the valiant Wolverines built up a fifteen-point lead, only to see the epithetless Golden Grizzlies pare it down to six before the fouls & free throws of the last minute stabilized Michigan's edge at ten points. Being able to prevail over a competent, if unspectacular opponent even when putting in a subpar performance is encouraging, I suppose, but the discouraging part of yesterday's contest was the Jekyll & Hyde nature of the valiant Wolverines' play. Consistency, lads, consistency! We must achieve a superior degree of consistency!

But I suppose I should be less harsh in my critiques. After all, these are young men & the season itself is yet young. Plenty of time to correct bad habits & techniques. A win is a win, & I should be grateful for the win. I am grateful for the win. Congratulations, you valiant Wolverines! Keep up the good work.

Go Blue!

Urbi et Orbi
There weren't any babies located near my mother & me at Mass today. Of late, it has seemed as if Holy Redeemer is lousy with babies, & they are a delightful addition to the proceedings, even moreso since I've been an uncle. We have a crying room, but unless the wee bairn cries incessantly I hold that they should be in the nave with the rest of the parish; a little fussing reaffirms the vitality of the parish, the future of the Church. I mug at babies whenever we make eye contact, sticking my tongue out at them & making silly faces. Sometimes they stare blankly, sometimes they smile brightly, sometimes they look away in minor panic. I love making faces at babies & shall not stop unless & until His Holiness the Pope commands me to stop.

I am on track to attend Mass between thirty-six & thirty-nine times this year, well short of the goal of fifty-two Masses I set myself every New Year, but better than I've done since record-keeping began in 2008: '08, thirty-two; '09, thirty-three; '10, thirty-two. I could still technically make fifty-two if I arose early every day to attend morning Mass, but 'twould be abominable to do so, since I'd be attending Mass for my own aggrandizement, not in worshipful deference to the Lord Almighty. My immortal soul is imperiled enough without that additional sin of pride.

A Thousand Words
The photograph below is apropos of nothing beyond the magnificence of the photograph itself. No tree-hugger am I, but I've no particular objection to wind power, as long as it is economically competitive with other sources. (I am an ardent fan of solar power because I love the idea of using the Accursed Sun's own energy to defeat its twin death rays of heat & nuclear radiation, but that's neither here nor there.) The photograph in question:



The Queue
I didn't expect much from a book co-authored by Guillermo del Toro, & he lived down to expectations. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Recently
Edgar Rice Burroughs, A Princess of Mars
Christopher Moore, Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story
Guillermo del Toro, Christopher Golden, & Troy Nixey, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark: Blackwood's Guide to Dangerous Fairies

Currently
John le Carré, The Spy Who Came in From the Cold

Presently
Christopher Moore, You Suck: A Love Story
Christopher Moore, Bite Me: A Love Story
David Ignatius, Body of Lies
Len Deighton, City of Gold

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Songs of the Day
Sufjan Stevens, "The Friendly Beasts" from Songs for Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: 'Tis the third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday. Rejoice!

"Jesus, our brother, strong and good,
Was humbly born in a stable rude,
And the friendly beasts around him stood,
Jesus, our brother, strong and good."

Samstag, 10 Dezember
The Puppini Sisters, "Mele Kalikimaka" from Christmas with The Puppini Sisters (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Chosen in honor of Forgetting Sarah Marshall, which I saw last night for the first time since the cinema. 'Tis such a deftly-crafted film.

"Mele kalikimake is Hawaii's way
To say, 'Merry Christmas!' to you."

Happy Birthday!
Happiest of birthday wishes to my sister, The L.A.W. My sister is a riddle wrapped in a mystery hidden deep within an enigma guarded by a steep cliff & a jaguar, & has always been viewed the least emotional person I know. That said, she had crazy bride eyes on her wedding day, & is as ridiculous & silly around her daughter, my niece, as any mother is around an adorable almost two-year-old girl. Which makes the riddle, the mystery, & the enigma of The L.A.W. all the more impenetrable. Happy birthday, Lisa!

Project PARAFFIN
The code name for my first attempt at penning a novel has been selected. Project PARAFFIN commences on New Year's Day. ("MOAB" is thanked for its participation & will be filed away for some future use.) I fully expect to loathe the word "paraffin" by New Year's Eve 2012, but this change of tack has to happen sometime, & the sooner the better since 'tis already years overdue. Prepare thyself for PARAFFIN.

Grow or die.

But first, I must finish the current tier of Project PALINDROME. No skipping ahead, jerk!

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
Dance Hall Crashers, "North Pole" from The Old Record (T.L.A.M.)

Flip through to the last photograph in the sequence for a delightfully curious case of the wind & the windmill (from the first photo, click on the left arrow): Scotia-link.

Code Name: CHAOS
What shall I code name my first attempt at authoring a novel, Project MOAB or Project PARAFFIN? Project PARAFFIN or Project MOAB? I'm leaning toward PARAFFIN, but MOAB still appeals, too.

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
Sufjan Stevens, "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!" from Songs for Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Yes, I know titular angels are heralding the birth o' the Christ, not the immaculate conception of the Virgin, but since her sinless birth was one of many signs heralding the advent o' the Christ, I thought "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!" apropos enough for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Back to heathen secular Christmas music upon the morrow.

The Victors: Project OSPREY
Saturday, 3 December
(№ 14) Michigan 76-66 Iowa State
6-2, Big Ten 0-0

Project OSPREY '11-'12 got off to a bad start when I missed the valiant Wolverines' season opener against the Ferris State Bulldogs out of sheer forgetfulness. Between the disruption of being in the hateful Canadas the weekend before Thanksgiving & then the run-up to the holiday itself, I also missed the Maui Invitational, which saw the valiant Wolverines defeat the Memphis Tigers (73-61) & U.C.L.A. Bruins (79-63) & fall to the Duke Blue Devils (82-75). I missed the A.C.C./Big Ten Challenge, which saw the valiant Wolverines fall to the Virginia Cavaliers (70-58), because I always miss the A.C.C./Big Ten Challenge. I finally got into the swing of things with the game against Iowa State, after which the valiant Wolverines would not play again for a solid week. I've no one but myself to blame for not taking proper advantage of the earlier opportunities.

I was well-pleased with the discipline—both offensive & defensive—with which the valiant Wolverines built a twenty-two point lead in the second half against the epithetless Cyclones, but then shook a proverbial fist at the sky in frustration when lax defense & countless turnovers saw that lead shrink to as few as six. I must remind myself that overall the valiant Wolverines are a fairly young team, & that experience (some of it bitter) will teach them the importance of playing hard for all forty minutes. All in all, good show, lads!

'11-'12 was going to be a massive year for the valiant Wolverines, 'til Darius Morris, the guard who anchored & coordinated the entire offense, left Ann Arbor to try his luck & make his fortune as a professional. As things stand post-Morris, the valiant Wolverines should still be a solid, sometimes spectacular team, lead by senior & three-time captain Zack Novak, he of "aneurysm of leadership" fame who was aptly described by one of the television commentators as the very definition of "scrappy," & sophomore Tim Hardaway, Jr., the Maize & Blue's leading scorer. Michigan has fallen to № 20 in the polls, after a 1-1 week. Early days yet, but all the elements are in place for the valiant Wolverines to enjoy great success, though there is always more work to be done to sure up the defense. I do so love life in the John Beilein era.

Go Blue!

The Victors
As excited as I am about the valiant Wolverines' berth in the Sugar Bowl, I am not going to hop on the "Geaux Blue!" bandwagon. Yes, the Sugar Bowl is in New Orleans & in French the letters "eaux" can make the same sound as "o" does in English. Yes, I get it. Getting it doesn't make it any less lame. (Because my hypocrisy knows no bounds, I do still want to name a cat Phydeaux, pronounced "Fido.")

Go Blue!

Project GLOWWORM
I trimmed my beard on Friday last, noted in my calendar by a single word, "bonsai," getting fully back on schedule for the first time in months. I stuck to the schedule even though a faction of my mind argued that my beard wasn't long enough to necessitate trimming, & I stuck to the prescribed length (level nine) instead of the shorter, reactionary length that I always regret (level seven). The bonsai regimen was established after careful consideration & experimentation, yet more often than not I deviate in some element. Methinks this is because trimming my beard is essentially less satisfying than cutting my hair, leaving room for some misguided faction of my mind to militate for some harebrained, on-the-fly modification. The system works, Mike, stick to the system.

In other personal grooming news, I began last week to shave my cheeks thrice a week instead of twice a week & it has made a world of difference. The sparse hairs on my cheeks, the sparseness of which is why I have to bother to shave my cheeks in the first place, are the enemies of the flying handlebars of my moustache. By shaving them more often, they seem to be growing back more slowly than before. I've no theory as to why that might be, but am more than satisfied with the results. I've also begun to use a dab of Kiehl's after each shaving, & am now entirely befuddled as to why I have not been doing so all along. Such foolishness! Life with whiskers is a continual process of discovery.

Vote for Kodos
I've formulated a wild theory that is plainly ridiculous, but for which the logic is too solid to dismiss easily. Here goes: Newt Gingrich is either a plant or a dupe, in either event an agent of the Democratic party. Speaker Gingrich was instrumental in getting President Clinton reelected in 1996; between leading the newly-minted Republican Congressional majorities into legislative overreach & being so easily & effectively caricatured into a heartless bogeyman, Gingrich was the perfect foil for "Slick Willy." That alone reveals nothing, certainly nothing of a conspiratorial bent, but consider recent events. Gingrich has tapped into the "anybody but Romney" madness that afflicts too many respondents to opinion polls of likely Republican voters, leading the polls in Iowa, a seemingly medieval place. The Democrats are salivating for the chance to run against Gingrich because the man is an undisciplined blowhard, a smug, infantile, corrupt megalomaniac; former Speaker Gingrich has about as much chance of winning a national general election as does Representative Paul with his soft anarchism. If Gingrich can manage to keep his lunacy under wraps for another few weeks, he might be able to edge out Governor Romney & make a dash for the Republican presidential nomination, all but guaranteeing President Obama's re-election.

So what do we have? We have Newt Gingrich being instrumental to the re-election of President Clinton in 1996 & we have Newt Gingrich doing his damnedest to re-elect President Obama in 2012. But that's just two incidents, & the immortal words of Ian Fleming demonstrate that we need three to be sure: "Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. The third time it's enemy action."* What's the third time, the missing piece of the puzzle that condemns the Gingrinch? The answer: 2008. Why didn't Newt Gingrich run for president in 2008? Speaker Gingrich could not have been a viable candidate for president in 2000 because he has too recently resigned from the House of Representatives in disgrace; he could not run in 2004 because there was a sitting Republican president seeking re-election. But what exactly stopped Gingrich from running in 2008? What was different between 2008 & 2012? In 2008, the economy, both domestic & global, was rapidly heading into recessional gloom; in 2012, the economy, both domestic & global, will still be mired in barely post-recessional gloom. In 2008, the Islamic Republic of Iran was pursuing the atomic bomb; in 2012, the Islamic Republic of Iran will be even closer to acquiring the atomic bomb. In 2008, Gingrich was a twice-divorced sleazebag who had been sanctioned by the House of Representatives for ethics violations; in 2012, Gingrich will still be a twice-divorced sleazebag who has been sanctioned by the House of Representatives for ethics violations. The only meaningful difference is that in 2008 there was no sitting Democratic president for a Gingrich campaign to aid.

"Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. The third time it's enemy action."

I freely admit that this theory, to which even its author fails to subscribe, is beyond outlandish, more than fanciful. I have a fertile imagination, but I do not believe in conspiracy theories, because the real world is too messy a place for the neat stratagems of the silver screen's sinister masterminds not to be unraveled, exposed, & undermined. It would be an act of unimaginably, unfeasibly sophisticated plotting for the whole weird arc of Gingrich's career to have been in service of the very principals against which he was railed & legislated; Gingrich cannot be a plant. Yet the individual pieces still stand. Clinton could not have been re-elected without Gingrich. Obama's best chance of re-election is Gingrich. Where was Gingrich in '08? Gingrich might well be a Democratic dupe, an accidental Manchurian candidate. Please tell me that somebody out there can poke holes in this ridiculous piece of farcical supposition.

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
Mu330, "Everyday Christmas" from Winter Wonderland! (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: It's beginning to look a lot like an Mu330 New Year.

*As a side note, I will never forgive Fleming for writing "the third time" instead of "thrice."

Operation AXIOM
Seventy years ago to the day, 7 December 1941, "the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan." The Day of Infamy must never be forgotten, lest we dishonor the memory of those Americans who perished in the sneak attack. Also, lest we forget the naivete that so long dominated America's view of the world beyond our shores, a naivete that fueled our historical isolationism, a naivete that was already a luxury we could not afford on 6 December 1941, but which a variety of accidents of history had left intact. In the present climate of an hysterical isolationist revival, on both the Right & the Left, we dare not forget the harsh lesson of the Day of Infamy. We dare not withdraw back into ourselves, succor ourselves with the lie that the rest of the world is no concern of ours. To do so would be to wreak our own destruction in the 21st century, & to make in vain the sacrifices of those who gave the last full measure of devotion in the 20th century. Lest we forget the Day of Infamy.



Wow, the Time cover is already twenty years old. Tempus fugate.

The Explorers Club
№ CCLXIV - Joshua A. Norton (circa 1818-1880), a.k.a. Emperor Norton I, Emperor of these United States & Protector of Mexico.







The Queue
No, I haven't already finished The Spy Who Came in From the Cold, but I have decided to read at least You Suck & after that quite possibly Bite Me. Vampires are GO!… apparently. There would still be a question mark after City of Gold, except that we don't stretch "Presently" that far into the ever-changing future.

Recently
John le Carré, Call for the Dead
Edgar Rice Burroughs, A Princess of Mars
Christopher Moore, Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story

Currently
John le Carré, The Spy Who Came in From the Cold
Guillermo del Toro, Christopher Golden, & Troy Nixey, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark: Blackwood's Guide to Dangerous Fairies (W.C. reading)

Presently
Christopher Moore, You Suck: A Love Story
Christopher Moore, Bite Me: A Love Story
David Ignatius, Body of Lies
Len Deighton, City of Gold

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
Sufjan Stevens, "It's Christmas! Let's Be Glad!" from Songs for Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

Autobahn
Best. Pile-up. Ever. Crash & the Boys-link.

The Queue
There was much to like & just as much to dislike about Bloodsucking Fiends, in such equal proportions that I am undecided if I shall read either of the sequels, You Suck & Bite Me. Laughs aplenty, but I do so loathe moral relativism.

Blackwood's Guide to Dangerous Fairies was a gift from Ki-El, swag from his career as a journalist covering the nexus between the comic book & the motion picture industries, a token of his regret for having so long in his possession two of the my D.V.D. boxsets of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine; I assured him no such apology was necessary, but he insisted & I am grateful for the gift.

Recently
John le Carré, Call for the Dead
Edgar Rice Burroughs, A Princess of Mars
Christopher Moore, Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story

Currently
John le Carré, The Spy Who Came in From the Cold
Guillermo del Toro, Christopher Golden, & Troy Nixey, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark: Blackwood's Guide to Dangerous Fairies (W.C. reading)

Presently
David Ignatius, Body of Lies
Len Deighton, City of Gold
?

The Rebel Black Dot Christmas Song of the Day
The Klezmonauts, "Santa Gey Gezunderheit" from Oy to the World: A Klezmer Christmas (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"I used to think that it was tough
To get the spring line out,
But here's a guy who really knows
What hard work's all about.
Billions of deliveries
With no option to be late,
That's a lot of schlepping,
Santa gey gezunderheit!
Oh, all year long you're shvitzing,
Making countless wooden toys,
Paint 'em! Wrap 'em! Load 'em up!
For all the girls and boys,
And Mrs. Claus is hocking (sp?)
That you stay up far too late,
And those elves make such a racket,
Santa gey gezunderheit!
…
Santa gey gezunderheit! Santa gey gezunderheit!
Gotta work the territory, God forbid you should be late!"

The Explorers Club | Operation AXIOM
Series are an important part of "The Explorers Club," but a tool on which yours truly became overly dependent over the last year. On the one hand, series allow for the exploration of several interconnected or closely related subjects, adding to a fuller understanding of each. On the other hand, series tend to have an almost parochial focus on two subjects near & dear to mine own heart, Greek myth & espionage. Is it in the spirit of exploration never to venture beyond the same subjects? On the gripping hand, variety is the spice of life, & the natural bent of your humble narrator's magpie mind. Regarding series, moderation shall be our watchword going forward, in the mold of Goldilocks: not too may, not too few, but just right.

Our longest-running series to date comprises five episodes spread over two years, highlighting various aspects of what I regard as possibly the crowning glory of Man's ingenuity, Project Apollo & the landing of men on the Moon. I stand behind the proposition that there is no such thing as too much Project Apollo & I would not be surprised should the future hold a sixth part to the series. Apollo! Apollo! Apollo! (Not the Olympian god, in whom I have no interest, despite my general fascination with Greek myth.)

Project PALINDROME
'Tis going to be a December to remember as K. Steeze & I race to wrap up this non-enumerated tier of Project PALINDROME, a project that I suspect is going to undergo significant change based on Steeze's irrepressible energy & entrepreneurship. Of course, as far behind on my work as I am, by the end of this December to remember I'm going to want to forget the whole tortuous (yes, I mean tortuous, not torturous) month. Let the recriminations begin! All the work I have to do in such little time? It's all because Past Mike, when he was Present Mike, didn't feel like writing & said it would be Future Mike's problem. Future Mike has now become Present Mike & he simply cannot pass the buck onto some later-yet Future Mike, not without running the grave risk of the work never being completed. If Present Mike/former Future Mike knew how to get his hands on Past Mike, he's wring Past Mike's fat neck. Curse your sloth, Past Mike! Okay, that's enough of that, because recriminations, as dreadfully fun as they are, aren't going to bring PALINDROME any closer to (tier-bound) completion. Onward!

Grow or die.

Project "THUNDERBALL"*
Aside from the importance to PALINDROME's advancement of finishing my assigned PALINDROME work by New Year's Eve, the paramount reason for this final push is a new challenge that I am going to take up on New Year's Day: Between 1 January & 31 December Anno Domini 2012, I am going to complete the first draft of my first novel. I have never undertaken an endeavour of this magnitude before, but know that it is necessary if I am ever to be anything more than an aspiring writer. 2009, the year of Tier 1 of Project TROIKA, was a time of great creative flowering, as for once my scattershot mind was compelled to focus on one project, to discipline itself; during the two years that The Ace has been laboring on Tiers 2 & 3 of TROIKA I have backslid into my old, unproductive habits of dabbling with this, dabbling with that, & never getting any real work done. K. Steeze did me a good turn by requesting my help with Project PALINDROME, & I have been honored to work on a something that has been so close to his heart for so long, but the fruits of PALINDROME are undeniably Steeze's own; I aided him, but past & present he's done the lion's share of the work & the project is his. If I am to hone my skills as a writer, I need to write more than just treatments & "Bibles," but something that is itself meant for publication. I am not so arrogant as to think I have any conception of how hard this is going to be, though paradoxically I feel certain this endeavour is going to be more torturous (yes, I meant torturous, not tortuous) than anything else I've attempted. I've failed in life to this point because I've attempted next to nothing; the only way to change my stars is to attempt something unprecedented. I might yet fail, but, by Jove, this time it will not be for want of trying!

The sage words of President Theodore Roosevelt:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

'Tis time to be the man who is actually in the arena.

Because next year's exertions are meant to result in (the first draft of) a novel I can (at least attempt to) sell to a publisher, I am unwilling to post in as public a forum as The Secret Base as many details as I'd like to share with you, loyal readers. The secrecy of Projects TROIKA & PALINDROME will be my guide vis-à-vis this blog, though in (relative) private I'll answer all questions, I'll tell you all you wish to know, or at least as much as I've dreamed up at any given moment.

These are far from our last words on the subject.

Grow or die.

He's Dead, Jim
The swelling under my right eye has receded & I've still no explanation for its occurrence in the first place. C'est la vie, I'm just glad to be back to nominal.

*This new project is NOT going to be code named THUNDERBALL. THUNDERBALL is the placeholder name Steeze & I use when we've devised but not yet named a character. Rather, THUNDERBALL is what we call the rôle that character will play in the story, since from my perspective as something with a minor degree of logophilia a character isn't really a character without a name. I adore the works of the Bard of Avon, but must disagree that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. This is to be a "Project," not an "Operation" nor an "Objective"… though now that I think about it the tiers of this project might later be broken down into individual objectives. Leading candidates include Project ANTIPODE, Project OMDURMAN, & Project BALDERDASH, those these are not finalists & the field is still wide-open to other ideas. Any suggestions for code names, dear readers?

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
The Civil Wars, "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" via iTunes, Free Single of the Week (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: 'Tis the second Sunday of Advent. Rejoice! Make ready! The King of Kings draws near!

Also, welcome to the first day of Christmas-themed R.B.D.S.O.T.D., secular music 'til Christmas Eve, excluding Sundays & the looming Feast of the Immaculate Conception, & sacred music (or at least sacred-ish) throughout the Christmastide.

Samstag, 3 Dezember
Irish Tradition, "Loftus Jones" from Green Linnet Records: The Twentieth Anniversary Collection (T.L.A.M.)

He's Dead, Jim
The lower eyelid beneath my right eye & the bag under the eye are swollen. I first noticed the slight compromise to my vision on Wednesday, but didn't spy the swelling in a mirror 'til yesterday. I am baffled as to the cause. I do not recall smacking my face into anything & can say with certainty that I was not struck in a bout of fisticuffs with another gent. I don't recall being bit by an insect or spider, nor do I see any bite sight withing the swollen area. Mayhap the reaction is to exposure to a chemical irritant? Again, I am clueless as to when this might have occurred. The swelling is slightly less today than it was yesterday, but is not decreasing as swiftly as I'd prefer. What the heck?

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Muppets & Joanna Newsom, "The Muppet Show Theme" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Three guesses as to what motion picture I saw at the cinema this evening.

The Explorers Club | Operation AXIOM
My treasured readers doesn't care about the fifth anniversary of "The Explorers Club." This grieved me at first, until I recalled who I am, & for what I stand. I am The Last Angry Man. It is my supreme joy & privilege to be a Blue Tree Whacker, I stand by our ancient motto, our credo, "Alienate the audience." Of course! Alienate the audience! If "The Explorers Club" is what they don't want, then it is "The Explorers Club" I'm going to give them. (Also, agonizingly long, painfully detailed "This Week in Motorsport" posts. Yeah!) The audience doesn't care about the fifth anniversary of "The Explorers Club," which in an odd way validates the projects, which began with the caustic words, "And now for the insults: you lot are terribly ignorant." But ignorance is not that great an insult; ignorance is easily enough overcome, which means it really is no insult at all. No, the far worse condemnation of you lot is not that you are ignorant, but that you are incurious. You've no wish to know anything about the world beyond your own parochial interests, your own petty concerns. Fie, I say! Fie on that! Fie on you! Quixotic though it might/must be, "The Explorers Club" shall not give up its quest to broaden your horizons, to open the eyes of you troglodytes to the boundless vistas beyond your own intellectual shores. We continue, out of spite if for no nobler reason. Spite!

Project PALINDROME
Crunch time. All first drafts are due by the New Year. No exceptions, no excuses, no extensions. I need to put my head down & power through this last bit of the work, for on 1 January I begin a new project, an entirely new challenge about which I shan't say more until I've devised a code name & am ready to give full details. (Expect this within days at most.) Time to spend December in the PALINDROME.

Grow or die.

The Queue
A Princess of Mars is an incredibly short, page-turning read. I cannot wait to read more of Burroughs. Should I next sample his most famous & enduring work, Tarzan of the Apes, of which I own a copy, or continue with the Barsoom stories? That is the kind of conundrum with which I am only too happy to wrestle. First, vampires; then, more spies.

Recently
Allen Dulles, The Craft of Intelligence
John le Carré, Call for the Dead
Edgar Rice Burroughs, A Princess of Mars

Currently
Christopher Moore, Bloodsucking Fiends

Presently
John le Carré, The Spy Who Came in From the Cold
David Ignatius, Body of Lies
Len Deighton, City of Gold

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Heidi Swedberg and the Sukey Jump Band, "Dream a Little Dream" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Heidi Swedberg is also an actress, best known for playing Susan Ross, George Costanza's ill-fated fiancée, on the glory that was Seinfeld. For my money, Susan's storyline was quite possibly Seinfeld's funniest.