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.)