Happy Birthday!
I wish nothing but the preposterously happiest of birthdays to The Guy! An old chum from way back (the halcyon days of endless summers at the Ottawa Hills Cabana Club; yes, "cabana club" not country club), The Guy & I reconnected on a much deeper level in the years either side of the turn of the millennium, the Golden Age of Blue Tree Whacking. It is my privilege to be not only his friend, but his partner on a writing project that I can't believe I've not yet code named. It was a delight to be his & his lovely wife's house guest at the New Year. Happy birthday, Zach!

The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXIII - The Nazca Lines.







Project MERCATOR
I saw The Loose Ties at their usual haunt, the Soggy Bottom Bar, last night, performing alongside local rockabilly band Badsville. I'm not sure how to dance to rockabilly; so, I sat on a bar stool near the stage, snapping my fingers or slapping my thigh rhythmically, & clapping & cheering loudly after each song. I thought about asking April May June to dance, figuring that a couple dancing awkwardly & uncertainly would be less awkward than a solo awkward & uncertain dancer, but she was busy playing pool with Ska Army, Farr Afield, & Farr Afield's present boyflesh. (I mean no offense by the word "present," but the facts remain that the entirely delectable Farr Afield changes boyfleshes every three to four months with nary a break in-between.) When April May June left the poolroom at the back of the bar to come near the stage she did so with her camera in hand, & I wished not to interfere with her photography. I left after Badsville's set, shortly before The Loose Ties began, to fetch Jojo at the end of her work shift. We missed only one or two of The Loose Ties' songs, & danced our way through both of their sets, skanking during the fast numbers & slow dancing during the musically sweet but lyrically dark "Drinking for Eleven." I was able to cajole The Most Dangerous Game into going to one ska show, & then only because The Cowgirl was going, & The Cowgirl was only going because she was Ska Army's girlflesh at the time. What is truly rad about Jojo is her embrace of the ska show, not necessarily falling in love with the ska music, but loving the atmosphere & the dancing, loving the fun. After the second set we hung around 'til closing time, chitchatting with Farr Afield, her boyflesh, & T. B. Player, an old high-school chum of Jojo's. When the Soggy Bottom closed ("You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.") Jojo & I repaired to my house, where we watched John Carpenter's The Thing into the wee small hours of the morn, after which I drove her home, shared with her our customary long embrace of greeting & parting, & motored home to my bed.

My convivial persona came back to bite me betwixt The Loose Ties' two sets. I sat on a stool next to Ska Army, joshing with my pal, my back to the wall, catching my breath after the dancing exertions of the first set. Jojo appeared before me, biting her lower lip, & extending toward me a ten-dollar bill. I asked her which item of clothing she'd like me to remove first, but after a smile addressed her real purpose & asked her what manner of drink she wished me to purchase for her. She replied that she didn't know, & she didn't want to fight the throng gathered in front of the bar to find out what they had. I took a guess, a double chocolate beer, & her face lit up; she'd beer jonesing for the double chocolate since the last time we'd been there together. As I made my way to the bar—& it must be noted that I am particularly inept at attracting the attention of barkeeps, be they lads or lasses—I passed a group of jovial chavs & heard them reciting lines from the old Saturday Night Live sketches about Bill Brasky, that "son of a bitch." Without even thinking about what I was going I played the Tim Meadows part & pipped in that I knew Bill Brasky before continuing on my way. I reached the emptiest spot on the bar, flagged down the attention of the one of the pair of distaff bartenders from whom I'd not yet ordered over the course of the evening, & order Jojo's brew. On my way back, brew in hand, i was briefly detained by the chavs who marveled at my knowledge of their supposed inside joke. I was wearing my convivial façade & poured on the charm 'til I was able to break away & make my delivery to Jojo. No sooner had a done so than the leader of the chavs, absent during my second brief interaction with them, tapped me on the shoulder &, true to the Bill Brasky sketches, offered to buy me a round. He wouldn't take "No" for an answer & so I rejoined his little troupe. We indulged in a mutual love of S.N.L.'s past glories & I impressed them as mightily as I do so many people; I cannot explain why my good-time Charley façade is so devastatingly effective, I know only that it is before a wide variety of audiences. I was soon invited by the chavs' chieftain to join them sometime for a game of Dungeons & Dragons, a suggestion that surprised me less once I noticed that the chieftain's stocking cap bore the likeness of Jack Skellington from Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas. Making friends & influencing people wherever I go, even when I don't intend to do so.

Bier!
I suppose I should not look a gift horse in the mouth, but when the lead chav insisted on buying me a round I had rather thought that I'd be the one to select the brew. Instead, when we arrived at the bar he handed me a newly-opened bottle of Bud Light. I am fully prepared to be pilloried as an ungrateful snob here, because, really, Bud Light? I understand that bottle of domestic were on special (a scandalous $1.50 per), & free beer is free beer, & yet I was disappointed & vaguely outraged. Of course, I thanked my new buddy for his largess &, yes, I did in fact drink the whole Bud Light. I suppose it could have been worse, it could have been a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon (on special for $1.00 per). I had a bottle of P.B.R. around New Year's when I visited The Guy & The Gal in Saint Louis, & all I can say is that it wasn't bad. When I had a double-sized can of P.B.R. on New Year's Eve itself, though, at the Mu330 show, "not bad" was no longer the case. As a blanket statement, beer tastes better out of a bottle than out of a can, we can all agree on that, but the difference made to P.B.R was immense &, out of the can, detrimental to an extreme degree. Last night's Bud Light was offensive only it is utter blandness.

Project PANDORA
I considered ending the first paragraph of today's "Project MERCATOR" post with the words, "…& motored home to my (cold, lonely) bed," but decided against playing up the melodrama of my parting with Jojo. Sure, I like hanging out with Jojo & in a hypothetical world devoid of moral considerations I'd love to screw her brains out, but our friendship is sincere & I genuinely wish not to be her boyflesh.

Hollywoodland*
The Thing, is should be noted, is both my favorite horror movie (even above, yes, Ridley Scott's Alien, another film that beautifully combines the science fiction & horror genres) & the second scariest motion picture I've ever seen. The scariest movie I've ever seen, though frightening for entirely different reasons than The Thing, is Leni Riefenstahl's propaganda documentary Triumph of the Will.

The Queue
Tarzan of the Apes was a rip-roaring adventure, the kind of book I wish I'd read years & years ago so that I could say my love of the book was lifelong. For all that, I must agree with my father that it didn't tickle my fancy quite as much as A Princess of Mars, the first John Carter book, but that's no harsher a criticism than saying A New Hope doesn't tickle my fancy quite as much as The Empire Strikes Back. My plan is to read more of the Barsoom (Mars) series sooner rather than later, but I also fully intend to delve deeper in the primordial world of Tarzan. Next, though, for E. R. Burroughs at least, I think I'll sample the Carson Napier/Venus series. Adventure today!

Recently
Henry Mazzeo, editor, & Edward Gorey, illustrator, Hauntings: Tales of the Supernatural
Edgar Rice Burroughs, Tarzan of the Apes
Eric Powell, The Goon: Rough Stuff
Hergé, The Adventures of Tintin: The Blue Lotus

Currently
H. Rider Haggard, King Solomon's Mines

Presently
David Ignatius, Body of Lies
Hergé, The Adventures of Tintin: Red Rackham's Treasure
Len Deighton, City of Gold
Eric Powell, The Goon: Nothin' But Misery & My Murderous Childhood (and Other Grievous Yarns)
Steve Martin, Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Reel Big Fish, "Dateless Losers" from Cheer Up! (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"We are the dateless losers,
Lonely until we die,
So unappreciated,
Why why why why?"

Freitag, 17 Februar
Reel Big Fish, "Somebody Loved Me" from Cheer Up! (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: This is the meanest week of the R.B.D.S.O.T.D.'s whole year, & there's no meaner band than the Reel Big Fish; the Reel Big Fish have no meaner album than Cheer Up!, not even the meaner-titled We're Not Happy 'Til You're Not Happy. To quote James Coburn from the motion picture Payback, "Man, that's just mean! That's mean, man!"

"I think somebody loved me once,
I think somebody loved me once,
I think somebody loved me once,
But I cannot remember why."

*The title "Hollywoodland" is lifted from the late, lamented, to-be-resurrected zine The Newsletter.