The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXXV - The life & legend of Robert Roy MacGregor (1671-1734), Jacobite & outlaw, popularly remembered as "Rob Roy."







Kith & Kin | Project MERCATOR
I've been invited to Xanadu to meet my wee niece, Lucy, this weekend. The Loose Ties & a couple other ska bands are playing at the reborn Flint Local 432 on Saturday. Lucy trumps rock & roll every day of the week & twice on Sunday, but this is the devil's own timing. Curses! Drat & double drat! On the other hand, hooray, Lucy! At last!

Remember, Lucy, Uncle Mike is your favorite.

The Queue
There is a wearisome repetitiveness about the stories in The Man who would be King and Other Stories. Even the better specimens touch upon marital infidelity, tangentially if not as the crux of the plot. Was this the central amusement of Anglo-Indian society or was the young Kipling, only in his early twenties at the writing of these stories, not yet confident enough to tackle other, more varied themes? Either way, it's tiresome. I don't know if the best course is to plow ahead & just get this over with, or to take a break & recharge my enthusiasm with another, better book. I was afeared this volume would not live up to the boundless promise of Kim, but never did I imagine that the obstacles would be as they are.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Less Than Jake, "Does the Lion City Still Roar?" from GNV FLA (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: I wanted to end this second R.B.D.S.O.T.D. celebration of "SKApril" on a high note, & is there a higher note on which to finish a month dedicated to ska than Less Than Jake? Some as high, perhaps—The Mighty Mighty Bosstones & the Reel Big Fish spring to mind—, but none higher. "Does the Lion City Still Roar?" has it all: horns, relentless pace, cynicism, a social conscience. That L.T.J. have been as good as they are, for as long as they have, as prolific as they are, boggles the mind. We are all the richer for that boggling.

"The city seems like it's trapped
Between its future and its past,
Life or death of a city not coming back.
The city feels like a cage,
Feels like a powder keg,
And now its gonna explode!"

The ska can't be contained within the thirty days of April, but there will be non-ska R.B.D.S.O.T.D. in the days ahead. I hope you enjoyed SKApril '12; I'm already looking forward to SKApril '13, SKApril '14, & beyond. "Ska! Ska! Ska!"

Spy v. Spy
Is it wrong that I kind of hope there is some skulduggery, or at least more than a simple accident, behind this death in Vienna: death of a diplomat-link? Mayhap I'm just too fond of The Third Man, but to my mind Vienna is such a wonderfully sordid, double-dealing place.

We here at The Secret Base do not yet have a titled, occasional feature wherein we discuss the despicable, depraved mores of 21st century society, an immoral morass that afflicts both Western civilization & Western-influenced Eastern & African civilizations. I doubt I'll add such an occasional feature, as I suspect precious few of you wish to read my old-fashioned moralizing outside of specific instances regarding Holy Mother Church ("Urbi et Orbi") or mine own social & romantic encounters ("Projects MERCATOR" & "PANDORA"). Nonetheless, I shan't overlook an interesting little bit of public moralizing from the besieged island quasi nation of Taiwan: beauty pageant-link.

Proud Europa
All the world knows that Yulia Tymoshenko isn't a saint, but one of the most fundamental principles of liberal democracy is that the government can't lock up the loyal opposition for the "crime" of being the loyal opposition. I'm glad that the heads of state & government of Europe have at least taken notice of the troubling situation in the Ukraine, even if their protests are meek & likely to be, as are so many European protests, ineffectual: political prisoner-link. Even an ineffectual protest is better than silent complicity. The Ukraine is a small country caught betwixt two great powers, a semi-confederated Europe & a semi-authoritarian Russia; let us hope the Ukrainians ultimately turns toward Europe & liberal democracy rather than toward Russia & Asiatic despotism.

Bier!
I have a more liberal attitude toward drinking than I did in my younger days, but a pair of recent incidents reminded me of just how much I dislike the well & truly intoxicated. A fortnight hence, one of my hotel roommates became so inebriated that he needed to be taken back to the room & put to bed. I was willing to do it, but another fellow—one staying in our hotel but in a different room—who was ready to end his own evening's revels volunteered in my stead. There were three of us staying in my room, with two keys between us; the third chap had taken off to a house party & rightly taken a key with him; I gave my key card to the kindly fellow who escorted my soused roommate back to our room. Alas, this left me without a key. By the time I got back to our room, having been let into a side door of the hotel by some kindly passersby, my drunken roommate was passed out beyond all recovery (or at least beyond be roused by my loud knocking on our door). I knocked on the door of the fellow who'd helped my roommate back to the hotel & found him still awake. Alas, he'd not had the presence of mind to hold onto the key card to my room, which was locked inside with my passed-out roommate. Drat! I blame myself, because I'd not vocalized my thought that I should tell him to retain the key card & not to lock it inside the room with a passed-out drunkard; when has giving a person's intelligence too much credit not bit my in the arse? So, I took the stairs down to the lobby & explained the situation to the night clerk, who was only too willing to run off a new pair of key cards, which of course deactivated the old key cards. The problem now was how to let the third roommate, the one out & about at a house party, into our room. I discussed the situation with him via text message & eventually left a key card slid halfway under the door; I went to bed & hoped no ne'er-do-well would use the key card to gain entrance to our room. I wasn't quite asleep when the third roommate returned. All's well that ends well, right? I suppose, but it was still blasted annoying having to deal with my inebriated roommate & the key card kerfuffle.

The very next Friday, back in sacred Michigan, I met The Interpreter for after-work drinks. There was talk of meeting "the gang" for said after-work drinks, but 'twas just the two of us. That was to my taste, except for some issues I'll discuss in the next "Project PANDORA" post. I had two pints, a gin & tonic, & an abominable shot—that was meant to taste like the milk leftover after eating a bowl of Fruit Loops cereal—on which The Interpreter was insistent. The Interpreter had at least two beers, three cocktails, & two shots, including the Fruit Loops abomination. In the middle of this I mildly suggested that perhaps she slow down, but my counsel went unheeded; such was her prerogative. We departed Churchill's & repaired to her apartment. There, we danced for awhile to some of the worst music I've ever heard, what sounded to my ears like the unholy spawn of techno & hard rock. Screaming over thumping electronic beats; a nightmare. After the dance party, she insisted on Taco Bell. We motored to the nearest location in Lumi the Snow Queen, motored back The Interpreter's apartment, & ate; thereupon, without preamble, The Interpreter curled up on her couch & fell asleep. She murmured something when I turned out the overhead light; so, I waited 'til she was lightly snoring before I took a blanket off her bed, laid it across her body, put on my sneakers, & exited. The next morning she sent me a text message, "You mad at me?" I was not mad, & so answered to that effect, which didn't entirely reassure her, especially when I gently declined to see her the rest of the weekend, even though I was free. But in truth I was not mad; disappointed, perhaps, but not mad. I gained priceless insight into who she is & how she conducts herself, & for that I am even somewhat grateful.

Both situations were irksome, but 'twas invaluable to be so reminded of the intrinsic irritation inspired inside me by inebriated idiocy. As the brewers, distillers, & vintners urge us in their advertisements, "Please drink responsibly."

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Reel Big Fish, "Don't Start a Band" (live) from Our Live Album is Better Than Your Live Album: Disc 2 (Nick Andopolis)

Commentary: Aaron Barrett, front man of the Reel Big Fish, prefaces the live version of "Don't Start a Band" with the words, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the meanest song I ever wrote." Given that R.B.F. has an entire album titled We're Not Happy 'Til You're Not Happy, that's really saying something. The lyrics bear out his claim.

"Don't start a band!
Nobody wants to hear, nobody understands,
Don't start a band!
You will be so disappointed that it was nothing like you planned.
Don't start a band!
Oh yeah, yeah, yeah,

I hate to ruin the magic,
I hate to kill the dream,
But once you've been behind the scenes
Well, you'll know just what I mean.
You might think that it's cool to get up on the stage,
(And play rock and roll with your heart and soul)
But when no one shows up and your songs all suck,
(And there's no applause and no flying bras)
No girls will scream for you,
No one's gonna sing along with you!"

It goes on like that, except that it gets darker. The Reel Big Fish fully embrace the Bard's wisdom, "I must be cruel only to be kind." Ye be fairly warned, all ye fool enough to start a band.

This Week in Motorsport
Formula Fun!
The Bahrain Grand Prix was the perfect way to reengage with the 2012 Formula One World Championships after travel forced me to miss two of the three season-opening grands prix! For our purposes, we shall largely sidestep the issue of whether F1 should have been racing in civil unrest-torn Bahrain in the first place, saying only this: F1 races in the People's Republic of China—without much if any controversy—despite that country's atrocious human rights record, & the Hungarian Grand Prix was commenced in 1986, when Hungary was still under the brutal Communist regime that the Soviets had established after crushing the 1956 revolt; so, we should not pretend as if the massive commercial enterprise that is Formula One cares much about a host nation's politics. Back to the track.

The season opened with much talk of "domination" by Mercedes-powered teams, McLaren (Mercedes) having finished first & third in the season-opening Australian Grand Prix, third in the Malaysian Grand Prix, & second & third in the Chinese Grand Prix; & the Mercedes A.M.G. factory team finishing first in Shanghai. My visceral disdain for all things Mercedes-Benz naturally made me skeptical of this view, but so did the fact that other engine manufacturers were also competitive: Red Bull (Renault) finished second & third in Australia & also fourth at both Malaysia & China; Ferrari & Sauber (Ferrari) finished first & second in the rain-interrupted Malaysian Grand Prix. Of the top twelves spots in the first three grands prix, Mercedes-engined cars claimed six, compared to four for Renault engines & two for Ferrari engines; better than anyone else, yes, but not, to my possibly jaundiced eye, dominant. Bahrain further undermined this dominance storyline, with Renault-powered cars claiming all four of the top spots, Red Bull in first & fourth & Lotus (Renault) in second & third.

The first four grands prix of 2012 were won by four different drivers representing four different constructors (teams):'09 World Champion Jenson Button of McLaren won in Australia; double World Champion Fernando Alonso ('05 & '06) of Ferrari won in Malaysia; Nico Rosberg of Mercedes A.M.G. took his maiden F1 victory in China; & reigning double World Champion Sebastian Vettel ('10 & '11) won in Bahrain. Three of the four races have been won by world champions, Button, Alonso, & Vettel, & '07 World Champion Kimi Räikkönen of Lotus finished second in Bahrain. Mark Webber of Red Bull has been the most consistent man on the grid, having finished fourth in all four races. Next week will see three days of testing at the Mugello Circuit in Italy, the first in-season test since '08, before my time. The European season, the historic meat of the F1 calendar, begins in a fortnight, in Barcelona, Spain.

I had time enough this week to watch not only last weekend's Bahrain Grand Prix, but the Malaysian Grand Prix from four weeks before that. (Thanks, V.H.S. tapes!) My father shakes his head at F1 continuing in the rain, but what would he have them do, run for shelter at the first raindrops like those sissies in N.A.S.C.A.R.? The rain is a challenge, a further test of the drivers' skill, like the heat in Malaysia & Singapore or the wind at Silverstone. If even a little rain would put an end to the running, then great historic circuits like Spa-Francorchamps & the Nürburgring would be impossible; though not in F1, the Circuit de le Sarthe in Le Mans would also be put out-of-bounds by such a fear of rain. (The excellent documentary film about Le Mans, Truth in 24, opens with narrator Jason Statham intoning gravely & gravelly, "It always rains at Le Mans.") Malaysia's Sepang International Circuit is a marvel, but it wouldn't be half as fun a place from which to watch a race without the unpredictability of the weather.

I've now seen three of this year's four Formula One grands prix, & eagerly await the rest of 2012. What a season!

Indy Rock | By Endurance We Conquer
Tomorrow is to be a busy day of racing, with the IndyCar Series in action in Brazil, one of the series's two races outside of North America, & the Rolex Series (henceforth to be referred to simply as "Grand-Am," because while I've nothing against corporate title sponsorship I'm not going to do their marketing for them without some form of pecuniary compensation) in action at Miami. I'm making an effort to follow the IndyCars this year, partially inspired by the reduction of the "spec series" aspect by the addition of Chevrolet & Lotus as engine suppliers to compete with Honda; that said, I'm glad that the majority of the races are on road courses & street circuits, because the appeal of oval tracks continues to elude me. With the American Le Mans Series in self-imposed exile on the espn3.com website, I'm hoping that grater attention paid to Grand-Am will help sate my jones for endurance racing. Between Formula One & the 24 Heures du Mans my love of motorsport has had a decidedly international flavor; will this summer's double-barreled experiment with two more predominantly American series prove fruitful? Only time shall tell.

(It must be noted that this season will see the return of the United States Grand Prix to the F1 calendar—sadly, at the new Circuit of the Americas in Austin, verdammt Texas instead of a classic Yankee venue like Watkins Glen, New York or Long Beach, California—, & in 2013 there are supposed to be two American races, with the U.S. Grand Prix to be supplemented by the Grand Prix of America in New Jersey. So, even as I try embracing American motorsport F1 is making another of its periodic attempts to crack the nut that is the American market. Let us hope this time, whichever number it is, proves the charm.)

Rally Monkey
There will be one more race to watch tomorrow in addition to IndyCar & Grand-Am, the World Rally Championship's (W.R.C.) Rally Argentina! Yes, the W.R.C. is now on Speed! Hooray! I'd despaired of being able to follow the W.R.C. after it was dropped by Discovery (the fiends!), but now it will be seen—admittedly, in a very limited format—on Speed, which really does seem to be living up to its billing as "The Motor Sports Authority." Yes, the three days of the Rally Argentina will be cut down to a single hour, compared to the three-plus hours H.D. Theater/Velocity aired in 2011, but that single hour is far better than the absence of television coverage that had so far prevailed in 2012. So, woot! "Rally Monkey" has rallied!

Coming Attractions — Update
{a} "Kith & Kin" - The Squeak is a big sister!
{b} "The Explorers' Club" - № CCLXXXIV
{c} "This Week in Motorsport" - the Bahrain Grand Prix
{d} "Bier!" - inebriated idiots = infuriating
{e} "Project PANDORA" - The Interpreter, cont'd
{f} "The Queue" - short stories, short on patience

Two-thirds Five-sixths of the way. None too shabby, if I do say so myself. Done, at last.

The Queue
Once again, complaining seems to have worked the trick: The Man who would be King and Other Stories has improved, with "At Twenty-two" & "The Education of Otis Yeere" being more akin to the Kipling I'd expected. Let us hope this bit of braggadocio hasn't jinxed the endeavour.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
The Hippos, "Irie" from Forget the World (T.L.A.M.)

The Stars My Destination | Obamboozled
The dispersal of America's Space Shuttle fleet, the transition from working spacecraft to museum pieces, continues apace. Today's move is the least bittersweet of the four, since the Enterprise was never a spacecraft & has been a museum piece for decades, but tears are entirely possible when the Atlantis is installed at the Kennedy Space Center & the Endeavour, the youngest of the fleet, is transported to California. This is the end, the premature, entirely arbitrary end, of American manned spaceflight; surely this cannot be the change you voted for in '08: Enterprise-link.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Slow Gherkin, "Pretty (In a Pretty Sort of Way)" from Run Screaming (T.L.A.M.)

Kith & Kin
The L.A.W. gave birth to a bouncing baby boy—Benjamin—on Tuesday, making Brother-in-L.A.W. a proud papa twice over & The Squeak a big sister! "Ben" was only two ounces short of eight pounds, being both heavier & longer than The Squeak was at birth. My wee nephew, whom I believe I'm going to call "Benno" & who does not yet have a Secret Base code name, has Brother-in-L.A.W.'s surname, whereas The Squeak has The L.A.W.'s surname; such are the perils & idiotic, needless complications of modernity. Calling him Benno, like the German actor Benno Fürmann, will have the dual advantages of amusing me & annoying everyone else; win-win! Welcome to the world, Benno! Uncle Mike is your favorite!



Yes, I will from time to time call him "Be Jammin'." Such is a dedication to wackiness—& yes, indeed, awesomeness—that makes Uncle Mike the favorite of wee bairns throughout the land.

I've still not met my niece Lucianna, Where's Teddy?'s little sister, though she is now close to two-months-old. I have twice proposed visits & both times been put off by weak excuses; the inescapable conclusion is that I am unwelcome at Xanadu, unwelcome around my nephew & niece. I hate to grouse, but this wounds me grievously. This injustice I cannot abide.

Postscript (6:59 P.M.): Moments ago, we concluded a "webcam" chat with The L.A.W., Brother-in-L.A.W., The Squeak, & wee Benno (who might be given the code name "The Shriek," if he keeps making that particular voice). He's so tiny! "Baby T.V." is such a curious phenomenon: the infant is too small to be able to do much of anything, & yet staring at him is engrossing for even fairly sophisticated adults. So, now Benno's been told directly that Uncle Mike is his favorite; fortitudine vincimus, by endurance we conquer. The Squeak is enthusiastic & eager to help out, having been trained on her creepy Baby Alive dolls, though of course she's also in the midst of the "terrible twos" & unsure of what this new presence in the household will mean for her. We all reassured her that Benno is lucky to have such a good big sister.

The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXXIV - The 20th Century Limited (1902-1967), "The Most Famous Train in the World."







The Queue
To my great dissatisfaction, thus far The Man who would be King and Other Stories is a nightmarish bore. The further I went into Kim, the better the book got; the short stories in this collection are afforded no such opportunity to win my favor over the long haul. I already knew that I preferred novels to short stories (& note from my love of the Bernard Samson trilogy of trilogies & the James Bond series that I might even prefer series of novels to stand-alone novels), but I hoped that Kipling's acknowledged mastery of the short story form would carry the day; such is not the case, at least not yet, through the stories "The Strange Ride of Morrowbie Jukes," "The Phantom 'Rickshaw," "Gemini," & "A Wayside Comedy." I'm struggling here, dear readers, to the extent that the idea of abandoning the enterprise has flitted 'cross my mind. More likely, I'll take a break & read something else like The Gods of Mars before returning to the Kipling short stories. Something must be done, because I don't think I can continue like this, not for much longer, not without some promise of improved quality or some other form of succor. By Lucifer's beard!

Lies, Damned Lies, & the News
The Catholic Church in the United States is not, ought not be, & never shall be an arm of the Republican Party. The Church's teachings disagree with many aspects of Republican policy, & Church leaders have no responsibility to endorse the initiatives of any particular Republican politician, neither Representative Paul Ryan nor any other. That said, to describe the faculty of Georgetown University as "Catholic leaders" when they attack a policy proposal of Mr. Ryan's is akin describing P.F.C. Bradley Manning, he of WikiLeaks infamy, as a "leading voice" in the United States Army. It lends their partisan behavior a cachet of impartiality that it does not deserve. The B.B.C. ought to be ashamed of themselves for their religious exploitation, but of course they won't be, since anti-Catholicism is still formally enshrined in British law. They ought, however, as reporters, to be ashamed of their shoddy reporting: Titus Oates would be proud-link.

Postscript (4:18 P.M.): Since the morning, the front-page headline for the above B.B.C. article has seen the words "Catholic leaders" changed to "Catholic academics." Click on that link & the headline has changed from "Catholic leaders skewer Ryan budget plan" to "Georgetown faculty members skewer Ryan budget plan." Apparently, I was not the only reader to note & take umbrage at the B.B.C.'s assertion that the faculty of Georgetown speak for the leadership of Holy Mother Church. Of course, because there is no explicit mention on the B.B.C. website of these changes, they could well be accused of having subjected their earlier errors to damnatio memoriae; corrections are to be commended, but it is unseemly for reporters to attempt to sweep their misconduct under the rug.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
King Apparatus, "Hold Me Down" from Marbles (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "Better than you have tried and failed to hold me down."

Coming Attractions
{a} "Kith & Kin" - The Squeak is a big sister!
{b} "The Explorers' Club" - № CCLXXXIV
{c} "This Week in Motorsport" - the Bahrain Grand Prix
{d} "Bier!" - inebriated idiots = infuriating
{e} "Project PANDORA" - The Interpreter, cont'd
{f} "The Queue" - short stories, short on patience

Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Mustard Plug, "Real Rat Bastard" from In Black and White (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: No offense is meant to The Loose Ties, The Ninjas, The Insyderz, C.B.J., or Gunday Monday, et al., but Mustard Plug remains Michigan's best ska band.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Link 80, "Verbal Kint" from Mailorder is Still Fun!! (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: If there is a flaw in "Verbal Kint," it is minor & even then only that the words Keyser Söze appear nowhere in the lyrics.

Operation AXIOM: Countdown to Narwhal Day
Attention, readers! One month to Narwhal Day, repeat, one month to Narwhal Day! Begin your preparations now: ready your gray item of clothing, practice reciting the "Oath of Narwhal Day," & fill your heart full of sympathy for the narwhal. One month 'til Narwhal Day '12, 23 May 2012. Make ready! Narwhal!



The Winged Wheel
The Detroit Red Wings have suffered an early exit from the playoffs for Lord Stanley's Cup. I do not claim the Red Wings will hoist Lord Stanley's Cup every year the monster Bertuzzi is not on their roster, but I do guarantee they will not claim Lord Stanley's Cup any year that the monster Bertuzzi is on their roster. The monster Bertuzzi is a cancer, a malignancy upon whom the hockey gods always frown & never smile. I cannot wait for the day when I can "Believe" again.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
No Doubt, "Ache" from No Doubt (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Yes, once upon a time No Doubt was a ska band. Sort of. This was before Gwen Stefani became the pop abomination of latter days. Today's R.B.D.S.O.T.D. is a nod toward my completist streak; tomorrow's R.B.D.S.O.T.D. will be better.

This Week in Motorsport
Formula Fun!
My Formula One season hasn't made a good start. Watching the opening round, the Australian Grand Prix went well, but I was on the road during the next two grands prix, master debating in Ohio during the Malaysian Grand Prix & master debating in Oregon during last weekend's Chinese Grand Prix. I was home during both of the weekends 'twixt Malaysia & China, but of course those Sundays were Palm Sunday & Easter Sunday, & not even the F1 circus is going to travel then. My plan for this afternoon was to watch yesterday's qualifying session & then this morning's controversial Bahrain Grand Prix, but an unexpected battle with the hydra that is our house's sump pump & sundry pipes eighty-sixed those plans. When will I find the time to watch Bahrain? Sooner rather than later, I hope.

Postscript (11:26 P.M.): I watched qualifying after this evening's new episode of MythBusters. Vettel's on the pole! Woot! I should have the time to watch the grand prix itself on Tuesday. The worst part about missing a race is having to avoid the F1 websites—part of my normal online routine—, so as not to learn the outcome.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
The Planet Smashers, "Romeo" from Attack of The Planet Smashers (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: The Planet Smashers are Canadians. Given how far behind the eight-ball that puts them, they aren't so bad.

Bonus S.O.T.D.!
The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "Not to Me on That Night" from Pin Points and Gin Points (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: We're had two bonus S.O.T.D. during SKApril, both by The Bosstones & both from their first post-hiatus album, Pin Points and Gin Joints. Amidst the Blue Tree Whackers I'm alone in revering T.M.M.B. alongside the likes of Less Than Jake & the Reel Big Fish, but that isolation doesn't diminish my love for their music. Ska is my favorite music & The Mighty Mighty Bosstones might be my favorite ska band.

Operation AXIOM
Ninety-four years ago to the day, 21 April 1918, Manfred Freiherr von Richthofen, far-famed as the "Red Baron," was killed in action in the skies above France. Richthofen was the leading ace—in any air force, Central Powers or Allied Powers—of the Great War, being officially credited with eighty victories, including two on the day before he died. The Red Baron was all of twenty-five years old when he died, & this knowledge depressed me when I turned twenty-six, for my birthday meant that though I'd outlived Richthofen I'd done so at the price of obscurity, of oblivion. He died young, yes, but all men die in their time, whereas he has achieved a sort of immortality as long as his name, or rather his nickname, endures. I still labor in obscurity at thirty-two, & envy Richthofen his fame more than befits a Christian, but every day I fight to check the show of pride, the root of that envy. If I live long enough, & work diligently, I might yet cease to envy the Red Baron entirely, & thus take a step closer to true immortality, to the life eternal in the Kingdom of Heaven. The Red Baron went to meet his Maker on this day ninety-four year hence.

Autobahn
I spied a droptop Porsche yesterday, with its soft top up due to the threat of rain. I glimpsed it in Lumi the Snow Queen's rear-view mirror & from a distance, & was thus unable to discern whether 'twas a 911 cabriolet or a Boxster.

I saw a Fiat 500 Abarth today, the first time I've seen an Abarth with my own two eyes outside of the North American International Auto Show. Alas, I lost all interest in the wee 500—plain Fiat or tuned Abarth—as soon as Fiat ran an Abarth advertisement featuring the reprehensible Carlos Estevez, more commonly known by his stage name, "Charlie Sheen." Advertising works, ladies & germs, just not always the way the ad men intended.

The Queue
Recently
Victor Davis Hanson, A War Like No Other: How the Athenians and Spartans Fought the Peloponnesian War
Steve Martin, An Object of Beauty
Steve Martin, The Ten, Make That Nine, Habits of Very Organized People. Make That Ten.: The Tweets of Steve Martin

Currently
Rudyard Kipling, The Man who would be King and Other Stories

Presently
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Gods of Mars
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Warlord of Mars
Edgar Rice Burroughs, Thuvia, Maid of Mars

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
The Aquabats!, "Aquabat March!" from The Return of The Aquabats! (Captain Thumbs-up)

Commentary: I still love The Aquabats!, even though they're no longer a ska band. But they sure were back when they released their debut album, The Return of The Aquabats! I thought "Aquabat March!" an apropos choice for a day that saw the premiere of yet another smashing new episode of The Aquabats! Super Show! on The Hub.

Wow, what a surprise, the new Blogger interface is a nightmare. Thanks for being so thoroughly evil, Google!

The Queue
Back to the books after my vacation with The Economist & some comic books. Yes, the only way I'll interact with Twitter is through a book; to quote the RX Bandits, I'm something of an "analog boy in a digital world."

Recently
Steve Martin, Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life
Victor Davis Hanson, A War Like No Other: How the Athenians and Spartans Fought the Peloponnesian War
Steve Martin, An Object of Beauty

Currently
Steve Martin, The Ten, Make That Nine, Habits of Very Organized People. Make That Ten.: The Tweets of Steve Martin

Presently
Rudyard Kipling, The Man who would be King and Other Stories
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Gods of Mars
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Warlord of Mars

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Let's Go Bowling, "Oatmeal for X-mas" from Mailorder is Fun! (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: What was the R.B.D.S.O.T.D.'s celebration of SKApril missing? An instrumental song! Thanks for stepping up to the plate, Let's Go Bowling.

Operation AXIOM
Two hundred thirty-seven years ago to the day, 19 April 1775, colonial minutemen fought imperial redcoats in the Battles of Lexington & Concord, sparking the Revolutionary War. It is impossible to overestimate how different the world would be without the spread of popular sovereignty & representative democracy that we have seen over the last two-plus centuries; the shape of the world would be unrecognizable were it not for that far-famed "shot heard 'round the world." A few hundred free men stood up for their rights against the most powerful empire on Earth, & upon such moments hinges the fulcrum of history.

The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXXIII - The Rosetta Stone.







Urbi et Orbi
Part of being Catholic, a duty of both lay & religious, is fealty to the hierarchy of Holy Mother Church: nun-link. If you don't want to listen to His Holiness the Bishop of Rome, the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (the old Holy Office), or the U.S. bishops, such is your right, but in so doing you risk ceasing to be Catholic. If you want to set yourself up as your own pope, to make claims of having a unique & unchallenged ability to decide all matters of theology for yourself, that's called being Protestant.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Dance Hall Crashers, "D.H.C." from The Old Record (1989-1992) (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: The Dance Hall Crashers are a nontraditional ska band insofar as their songs rarely feature horns. But they've got plenty of back beat, a social conscience, & all the snark & peppy gloominess you'd expect from any self-respecting third-wave ska outfit. "D.H.C." is quite possibly their most horn-intensive song.

"Out on the dance floor
Everything's going to be all right,
Out on the dance floor,
Dance Hall, Dance Hall Crashers tonight!"

The Stars My Destination | Obamboozled
As is said within the body of the following, "bittersweet" is the perfect word: Discovery-link. The end of the Shuttle Program didn't have to happen this way, & should never have happened 'til N.A.S.A. was ready to field the Space Shuttle's replacement. This bitterness is tempered by the sweet memory of what America used to be capable of doing, before President Obama ordered us to stop dreaming & brought an unceremonious American manned spaceflight.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
RX Bandits, "Gun In Your Hand" from Halfway Between Here & There (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: There is an argument to be made for writing the name of the RX Bandits as "℞ Bandits," because the original name of the band was the Pharmaceutical Bandits & the RX is meant to reflect ℞. But the name is pronounced "R-X-Bandits," not, for example, the "Prescription Bandits;" so, I think it best to use the RX spelling.

Urbi et Orbi
So, yeah, I'm now a member of the Knights of Columbus. Giving me a hard time about belonging to an explicitly fraternal organization would not be out of bounds, given the scorn I have heaped upon Greek-letter frats in the past (& surely will in future). My sincerest hope is that my membership in the Knights will help me to be a more humble, more selfless servant of the Lord.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
The Ninjas, "Robot Pirates" from Platypus (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: As my love of The Aquabats! might have signaled, I loves me some silly ska.

Bonus S.O.T.D.!
The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "Graffiti Worth Reading" from Pin Points and Gin Joints (Hotburger)

Commentary: SKApril policy is to feature thirty different songs by thirty different bands, & The Bosstones have already had their moment in the sun with "Katie" on 5 April, but there was a moment today for which "Graffiti Worth Reading" was absolutely perfect, hence this bonus Song of the Day.

"Graffiti worth reading rarely is written
On walls that are worth writing on."

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Sublime, "Santeria" from Sublime (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "Santeria" is like one of the oldies to which I grew up listening: I can't tell if I like it or not, but I'm thoroughly familiar with the every nuance of the song & know it like the back of my hand.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
The Insyderz, "God Almighty" from Soundtrack to a Revolution (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: The Insyderz are Christian ska with gravelly vocals just this side of Dicky Barrett. It's hard to encapsulate just how much better I'd like them if their name was "The Insiders."

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Monkey, "No Colour, No Power" from Mailorder is Fun! (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Not to be confused with The Monkees or The Moon Monkeys. Have I mentioned haw terribly fond I am of the word monkey? I'm all but unable to say "Monkey" without smiling. Monkey! Oh, the song's good, too.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Big D & the Kids Table, "Learning to Listen" from Plea for Peace (T.L.A.M.)

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Mad Caddies, "The Joust" from Duck and Cover (T.L.A.M.)

Happy Birthday!
Happy birthday to my friend, partner, & source of endless motivation, K. Steeze! You cannot hope to stop K. Steeze, nor can you hope even to contain him; his boundless energy is a wonder to behold. His creative moxie is pugnacious & yet inviting. He's a filmmaker, a musician, a writer, & an impresario. He's more than a triple threat! He is also the fearless leader of Blue Tree Whacking, & amongst my dearest friend. Being his friend is a privilege & a pleasure. Happy birthday, Kevin!

Later today I shall be bound for (almost) the West Coast, Salem, Oregon, which will be the farthest west I'll have ever been. (At present, my most westward point is Portland, Oregon, which is mere fifteen minutes of longitude west of San Francisco.) I'm leaving the R.B.D.S.O.T.D. in charge while I'm gone, & I fully expect to return & find that The Secret Base's celebration of SKApril hasn't missed a beat.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Edna's Goldfish, "I'm Your Density" from Before You Knew Better… (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: George McFly is the perfect romantic rôle model for any ska kid.

Project PANDORA
Things have moved swiftly with The Interpreter, & seemingly all to the good. Allow me to express my regrets for the lengthy interval that will pass before I am able to renew my account, but time grows short before I depart for (almost) the West Coast & there are many demands on my time.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Operation Ivy, "Sound System" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: When ska first arose on Jamaica, a "sound system" was an alliance of musicians, disc jockeys, & sound engineers, an organization for producing this brand new sound. It is to these sound systems that Operation Ivy's "Sound System" pays tribute.

Project PANDORA
I first met The Interpreter over a week ago, very briefly when she poked her head into the History Club's game night. I invited her to stay & she declined politely, though I didn't look at her except out of the corner of my eye & extended the invitation as a courtesy, not because of any specific interest in her. (Game night: Wayback Machine Ein.) I met her more properly the very next evening, at the triumphant History Quiz Night. The Interpreter sat at our table & we were introduced; her name is Katie. Her Secret Base code name derives from her knowledge of American Sign Language (A.S.L.), & her habit, as her inebriation increased throughout the evening, to sign along as she spoke, signing even at those who doesn't know A.S.L. Our small team, Dr. Ellis's Own, was insufficient to occupy our entire table; The Braggart's girlflesh sat at one end of the group & I sat at the other, with perhaps four chairs between us. (Quiz night: Wayback Machine Zwei.) Originally, The Interpreter was seated at the far end of the group, but as the evening wore on she migrated toward me, which I interpreted as a good sign. I thought she was funny & she thought I was funny & I was beginning to wonder if there might be a possibility, until I returned from the water closet to discover she'd moved so close to me that she's taken my seat itself. I thought this a bad omen as I found her in animated conversation with the wild-eyed fellow who'd been useless as far as the Quiz was concerned, acting only as team secretary. Suddenly it seemed as if her movements throughout the night had been not her inching closer to me, but her inching closer to him. The low point came slightly later, when after the victory I returned to the table to discover that The Interpreter & some others had decamped to the Firkin & Fox below without me. (History Quiz Night was held, as it has been for the last few years, in the upstairs banquet hall.) Easy come, easy go, I sighed, & snatched up my trophy, intending to finish my Carlsberg & head home.

Only the trophy wasn't mine. Included amongst the prizes was a gift certificate to the Firkin & Fox; I'd removed mine & used it to purchase the Carlsberg I was enjoying, but the trophy I snatched still had a gift certificate stuffed in its cup. I headed down to the bar, intending only to trade the trophies & then beat my retreat. At a table, I found The Interpreter, the wild-eyed bloke, & a rotund cad who referred to himself with a wink as a "cunning linguist." (I disliked him viscerally.) I began to explain about the trophies, but had little luck before The Interpreter invited me to sit down & join them. I pressed on about the trophies, both because I didn't want anyone to be created out of their winnings & because I'd already staked out the trophy The Interpreter had taken as mine & wanted it back. I was able to finagle the of the trophies, but she was insistent that she not claim any of the other prizes, citing that she hadn't done much for the team; so, I accepted the doubling of my loot (minus the second trophy). Not long after this a waitress as tall & blond as a Valkyrie arrived at the table with a huge tray of drinks that had been ordered before I arrived; she informed the table that we'd just hit the "Power Hour," during which all drink orders are doubled at no additional cost. A great many libations were placed on the table, including at least half a down enormous shots (they had to have been at least triples, or the biggest doubles ever seen). I was invited to partake, though I said I wished only to finish my beer. I had soon downed three of the enormous shots. I remain uncertain of what exactly I drank. I wasn't going anywhere in the short term.

This was clearly a contest for The Interpreter's affections. The cad was the raconteur of the party, regaling us with tales of rock shows past heavily laden with sexual innuendo. The wild-eyed bloke spoke at length of his kids & his wife (not ex-wife), whom he believes is the devil. My advantage seemed to lie in being the closest to The Interpreter's own age (she's twenty-nine) & my moustache. The Interpreter's constant refrain was that she had to be awake very early the next morning to motor to Pennsylvania, & yet she continued to imbibe. At one point I gently removed a drink from in front of her & set it elsewhere on the table, but she insisted on its return. She signed more & more as she grew more intoxicated. Still able to read but thwarted in handling the keyboard on her new mobile, she dictated a couple text messages for me to type. At several points I thought to pack it in & extricate myself from what had the potential to be a night of banal drunken idiocy, but at each of those points some small, heretofore silent instinct compelled me to remain. I excused myself to use to W.C. & The Interpreter blurted out that she had to go, too. On the way, she saw from instructors she knew from her A.S.L. training & engaged them in a furious, silent conversation. After this, I guided the unsteady lass to the ladies' & continued on to the gents'. Once I was done, I waited outside her water closet, figuring she'd need assistance getting back to the table. There was a curious look on her face when she emerged, & without thinking about it I pulled her body close to mine, wrapped my arms around her waste, & told her that I was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes & tilted her face up toward mine & I kissed her.

We made out in the hallway for a few moments before we returned to the table. The wild-eyed fellow took his leave & when the cad excused himself for the moment I took the opportunity to abandon my chair & join The Interpreter on the bench opposite. She leaned on me & we kissed a little more, until she became suddenly self-conscious & remarked that we were in public. The cad returned & said in a jocular tone, "I see how it is," & left for another table, populated by others from History Quiz Night. The Interpreter announced that it was time for her to leave, & I walked her to her motorcar. We made out in the parking lot 'til a light rain began to fall & she remembered that she'd left her sweater & a bag of Quiz Night swag inside. We tramped back into the bar & found our former table already with new tenants, who were apologetic about having stolen out table. While The Interpreter rooted around for her bag, I assured them that the table was theirs, that we were done with it once she had her sweater. The Interpreter found her swag bag & another swag bag belonging to the cad. She returned it to him at his new table, & after another round of good-byes I again walked her to her motorcar. We again made out in the parking lot, this time ignoring the light rain. We quit after some little while, I urged her to drive safely, & we headed off into the dark night in opposite directions.

Friday night remained a pleasant memory through Saturday & by Sunday, Palm Sunday, just over a week ago, I decided to take action & call The Interpreter. First, though, I sought out an expert's advice, consulting The Watergirl, the self-styled "make-out queen." I text messaged her that I'd made out with a girl on Friday & wished to know how long to wait to call this girl, with a subquestion to confirm that it would be better to call than to text. The Watergirl was generous with her expertise, advising that I call that evening, or Monday at the latest. Yes, to call was better than to text. Shortly after this I visited the FaceSpace & spied that The Interpreter had put out an open call for assistance in moving some heavy furniture. Thinking this a more informal chance to see her than the phone call I'd envisioned for the evening, I text messaged The Interpreter relaying that I'd see her FaceSpace request for help & was proffering my manual labor. The Interpreter accepted, an address & directions were texted, & within an hour I was at her new basement apartment. There I joined The Braggart in carrying two heavy shelves, a mattress, & a box spring, while The Interpreter & her sister carried lots of lighter items. The Interpreter thanked us with lunch & a beer (I had a Newcastle) at a chain sports bar. I drove The Interpreter & The Braggart in Lumi the Snow Queen, while The Interpreter's sister popped home to change out of sweatpants into jeans; The Interpreter was aghast, exclaiming that I drove like a racecar driver. With a mischievous gleam in my eyes, I held up a driving-gloved hand for her to see. I was angling to stay, to get to know her better while I helped her unpack, but The Interpreter pointed out that The Braggart's truck was parked in by Lumi the Snow Queen, & I took my leave.

Just before I put Lumi into gear, I sent The Interpreter a text message saying that it had been nice to see her again, "& not for the last time I trust." Upon my arrival home I saw her return text, which sparked a text conversation that lasted the rest of the day. She asked how drunk I'd been on Friday night. Not as drunk as she'd been, I replied, relaying my hope that I hadn't taken inappropriate advantage (a genuine fear). I hadn't, & she revealed her fear that I'd kissed her only because I'd been drunk. We carried on in this nervous, self-effacing, sometimes playful way throughout the afternoon & into the evening. We made plans to have lunch together on Monday, the next day. I picked The Interpreter up at her office, where she works as a secretary, & we had a pleasant, mirthful lunch, getting to know each other better than we'd bothered to during Friday's free-for-all. We kissed when I dropped her off at her office, the first time in a very long time that I'd kissed a girl who hadn't been drinking. We texted on & off through the rest of Monday. I dropped by her office for a few minutes on Tuesday & we hugged when we parted, not kissing because her boss was present (he'd been absent on Monday). Via text message later in the day, she invited me over to her apartment that evening to hang out. I was tired & wished to spend a quiet night at home, so I rolled the dice & said I couldn't, asking if perhaps we could hang out on Wednesday night instead? She was to have a girls' night out on Wednesday, so we settled on Thursday. We texted throughout Wednesday & Thursday, alternately playful & earnest, each claiming, "I can't wait to see you." We each appeared to be making an emotional investment on Thursday night's proceedings, & the evening drew inexorably closer.

To be continued...

The Queue
Well, that was disappointing. An Object of Beauty is a match for neither Shopgirl nor The Pleasure of My Company, Martin's previous novels. Maybe he's too close to the art world, & that's why so much of the novel is so indulgent of that world's peculiarities? Whatever the reason, the book was unfortunate; not a complete waste of time, but unfortunate.

Recently
Steve Martin, Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life
Victor Davis Hanson, A War Like No Other: How the Athenians and Spartans Fought the Peloponnesian War
Steve Martin, An Object of Beauty

Currently
book holiday, to spend some quality time with The Economist

Presently
Rudyard Kipling, The Man who would be King and Other Stories
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Gods of Mars
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Warlord of Mars

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
The Pietasters, "Girl Take It Easy" from Oolooloo (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: The title should read, "Girl, Take It Easy."

Urbi et Orbi
The Christ is risen! Happy Easter, dear readers! The heavy lifting of salvation was done on Good Friday, when the Christ died on the cross for all our sins, but His resurrection on Easter is what made concrete His hard-won victory over the grave, the triumph of the life everlasting over death. On this day of days, may the voices of the Church Militant, the Church Penitent, & the Church Triumphant be united in the endless song of praise. The Christ is risen! Whosoever believes in Him shall not die, but will live forever. The Christ is risen! Alleluia! Alleluia, I say unto thee!

The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXXII - The myth of the Loch Ness Monster.







Project MERCATOR
I went to The Machine Shop on Friday to see, quite out of character, a hard rock show. I went principally to play bodyguard to April May June, who'd been assigned to review the evening's entertainment for the campus rag & who was, given her soft-spoken nature & appearance as a wide-eyed innocent, reluctant to go alone. (The Machine Shop is located on the infamous Dort Highway, the local "wretched hive of scum & villainy," just south of the strip clubs. Yeah, eww.) That The Interpreter, herself a fan of hard rock, was going to be there also was a strong secondary inducement. I met The Interpreter & her sister in the parking lot just after the doors opened, but while they went inside & walked next door to Big John's Steak & Onion, where April May June was interviewing the headlining band's manager. We stayed there about an hour, & after the manager left were joined by her other bodyguard for the evening, an enormous, friendly chap named Gabe. We entered The Machine Shop & I was admitted as April May June's journalistic plus-one. We took a table, were joined by The Interpreter & her sister, & proceeded to wait 'til nearly ten o'clock for the first band to go on. Conversation was difficult due to the music blaring over the P.A., coordinated with videos being played on a halo of televisions around the interior. I understand why a show has to be loud, but why does the background beforehand not stay in the background? What is the business advantage of thwarting your customers from conversing easily?

The first band, Atom Smash, was laughable. I snickered & struggled to suppress a full-blown chortle when the singer started screaming. It was hilarious, though the hard rock fans around me didn't share that appraisal. The second band, Edisun, were utterly forgettable. The headliners, Bobaflex, started off on a high note, there first song bursting off the stage as if fired out of a cannon; they couldn't sustain that energy, but there had a real stage presence & put on a highly entertaining show, one I wouldn't have minded paying a nominal fee to see. April May June worked during the music, taking pictures of the bands from around the periphery & on the stage itself, privileged access due to her reporter's credentials. (All publicity is good publicity.) With her occupied, I was able to join The Interpreter in standing at the foot of the stage. I stayed for only the first two songs of each of the first two bands, retreating to our table to sip my Heineken, but stayed with her throughout Bobaflex, of whom she's an ardent fan. Sometimes I clasped my arms around her waist, sometimes I rested my hands on her hips, sometimes I disengaged entirely to assume a combat stance when a thrashing mosh pit broke out, ready to use a pointed elbow to stand my ground. Several times she reached out to hold my hand, & turned around to kiss me briefly. The most curious part of the whole exercise was how we just stood there. We all just stood there, except for the periodic thrashers. The crowd writhed slightly & many hands were thrust into the air to make the rock sign, but that was it. No one danced. How could anyone dance to that rubbish? I sent imploring text messages to K. Steeze, The Guy, & The Ace, asking what was the point of music to which you could not dance. Both The Guy & K. Steeze shared my befuddlement.

My second least favorite thing about The Machine Shop is the volume to which the speakers are attuned. If ever I again visit, I shall first invest in earplugs. The Interpreter & her sister both complained of "concert ear" the next day, too. My least favorite thing about The Machine Shop is the no re-entrance policy; if you walk out the door, you have to pay a second cover fee to get back in. The tyrannical aspect of this policy is that the club doesn't serve any food, it is a bar & a concert venue only, leading to famished patrons on both of my visits. When April May June was ready to leave I had a duty to see her safely to her motorcar, so I disengaged my arm from around The Interpreter's waste, removed her hand from my knee, & said I had to escort April May June outside. The significance of this didn't seem to occur to her, & she lingered as I left. I texted that I'd wait around the parking lot for a few minutes, but not for too long; it was a cold night for which I was unequipped, & I didn't wish to hang around such insalubrious environs. A few minutes after I left she texted back that she was about to leave, then rued the fact that we'd been unable to kiss good night. Well, yes, that was precisely what I'd attempted to impart to her earlier, inside the club, but at the time she was distracted looking around for more band members to assail. Her regret wasn't as nice as the kiss would've been, but it wasn't a bad consolation prize.

I returned home in the wee hours of the morning & woke up earlier on Saturday than I'd have liked in order to volunteer at the new Flint Local 432. The Rash, who earned my everlasting devotion when he allowed Blue Tree Whacking to use the old Local for our musical & cinematic shenanigans around the turn of the millennium, organized a small cadre of the tattooed (including me) & the hooded sweatshirt-wearing (not me) to clean up the new Local. While some painted, a few others & I swept up a very dusty side room, the door closed to keep the dust from getting into the paint next door. We swept that room twice over & made much progress, but it could have used a third sweep & a mopping. After a lunch break at the nearby Wize Guys Pizza while the paint dried, we swept out & washed the main room. I'd never before pushed so much water with a push broom. I can't say it fostered any desire to be a sailor swabbing endless decks. The space looked better when we left than it had when we arrived, but there's still much to do before the Flint Local 432 opens, in just a few short weeks. I wish I'd volunteered sooner, wish I'd done more. I shan't permit such regrets going forward, as I will place myself at The Rash's disposal to aid the Local however I can; I see the Local as an inspiration for & an expression of the spirit of Project MERCATOR.

This Week in Motorsport
Indy Rock
This afternoon, I watched a tape recording of last weekend's Honda Indy Grand Prix of Alabama, the second race on the 2012 calendar of the Izod IndyCar Series. My principle critiques of IndyCar last year, in which I had only a most lukewarm interest, were my bored incomprehension of oval-track racing & that IndyCar was a "spec series," meaning every competitor drove essentially the same car. The 'Bama race was on the road course at the Barber Motorsports Park, solving for the nonce the oval problem. IndyCar introduced a new chassis in the off-season, dubbed the "DW12" in honor of the late Dan Wheldon, who did much of the development driving & who was killed in last year's IndyCar season finale (Wayback Machine). The DW12, whilst brand-new, is a universal chassis used by every IndyCar team, much in the vein of last year's car, but there is the promise that from next year teams will be allowed to use a variety of customizable "aero kits" in pursuit individual advantage. Also, for the DW12 multiple engine manufacturers have been invited into the sport, ending Honda's monopoly. Around two-fifths of the field still use Honda power, with around two-fifths using Chevrolet engines & the remainder using Lotus engines.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Pushover, "Yo Se" from Mailorder is Still Fun!! (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: SKApril '11 featured thirty songs in thirty days by thirty different ska bands, & yet still didn't exhaust my music library's selection of ska bands. For SKApril '12 I'm alternating returning bands from '11 with those who, due no fault of their own but only the limited length of April, weren't featured last year. After yesterday's R.B.D.S.O.T.D. by ska-punk stalwarts Mu330, today we spotlight Pushover, another band from the Asian Man Records stable. Pushover is inconsistently a ska band on the album, Logic & Loss, but "Yo Se" is undeniably third-wave ska.

He's Dead, Jim
I have a blister on the palm of my right hand from pushing a broom at the Flint Local 432 this morning & afternoon. That's going to annoying over the next several days.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Mu330, "Pool Party" from Mu330 (T.L.A.M.)

I've no comment of any import to make about this, other than that I never realized how much the words "ghost ship" added to the general merriment of a day: ghost ship-link . Resuming the daily news routine, a routine bereft of ghost ships, won't be as jolly. Ghost ship.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Tip the Van, "Circles" courtesy Ska Army (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Ska Army likes to wax eloquent about the dual distaff vocalists of Tip and Van, & he isn't wrong. The effect is similar to yet distinct from the dual distaff vocalists of Dance Hall Crashers.

Operation AXIOM: April Fools' Day After Action Report
April Fool's Day 2012 was a banner year for my online pranks. Here at The Secret Base, "The Explorers' Club" highlighted Bigfoot (a fine subject as a pop-cultural phenomenon), & implied that I might consider the "sasquatch" anything other than hokum—April fools! The Guy left a comment, joining in on the joke. "This week in Motorsport" purported that I'd "seen the light" & now liked N.A.S.C.A.R.—April fools! I disdain N.A.S.C.A.R. utterly, memorably describing it as, "A watered-down demolition derby for those who are too timid to admit they like crashes more than they like races." I fell victim to a prank by Google, when I believed their false story about agreeing to race a self-driven robot car in N.A.S.C.A.R. Good prank, you villains!

"Vote for Kodos" became "Vote for Kodos? Maybe Vote for Kang," & claimed that I'd changed my mind about Obamacare after seeing a television appearance by Marxist & 9/11 "Truther" Van Jones, formerly a close adviser to President Obama. This to my way of thinking was the most easily detected prank. What are the odds, honestly, that I've not thought long & hard about Obamacare, both as a constitutional matter & as a simple piece of policy, divorced of any constitutional implications? My political opinions are not arrived at lightly, nor do I allow them to sit on the self without regular reexamination. Even were I to experience a change of mind regarding Mr. Obama's signature legislative achievement, would that change really take place as a result of the claims & analysis of a 9/11 Truther? The "9/11 Truth" movement has all the credibility & ethical currency of Holocaust denial; the scandal is that the president was so willing to take policy advice from a man who believes the United States government perpetrated the 9/11 attacks as a pretext to launch the War on Terror. Daddy Dylweed fell for "Vote for Kodos? Maybe Vote for Kang" hook, line, & sinker, even requesting access to the information that had changed my mind. Upon learning of the prank he lamented, "That's what I get for skimming when I'm behind in my RSS reader." I've never been entirely certain what R.S.S. is, but now I know that I am implacably opposed to the accursed thing. I know I often don't succeed, dear readers, but The Secret Base is meant to be an entertainment, a diversion to be enjoyed at length & at your leisure, not something to be scanned in seconds like the latest sports scores.

The April Fools' Day fun continued over on the FaceSpace. I replaced my bewhiskered profile photograph with an archival shot of my mug, cleanshaven in the immediate aftermath of the Magnificent Moustache Malarkey, accompanied by a claim that I'd rid myself of my "juvenile... 19th century" facial hair—April fools! Distaff reaction was swift & horrified; the fellows seemed a little more suspicious that the whole thing might be an April Fools' prank. Mrs. Skeeter, Esq. took the opportunity to pour venom on my whiskers, though it was uncertain if she detected the ruse. Hotburger, the newest member of the master debaters, commented on the cleanshaven mugshot itself, & didn't seem aware of Monday's revelation of the hoax, believing I'd shaved at least as late as Tuesday.

The most thoroughly bamboozled victim was my mother. We went to eleven o'clock Mass together, & she knew I still had my whiskers. But after that I went upstairs for a couple hours, & did not come down 'til I was prepared to leave, to move some heavy furniture into The Interpreter's new apartment. I said "Good-bye" to my mother as I headed out the door. When I returned home, my mom looked at me as if I had two heads. She had cruised the FaceSpace whilst I was out, & had seen my prank profile photo & bought the deception. She believed the (unbeknownst to her) falsified FaceSpace evidence despite having seen me still bearded with her own eyes! She explained that she'd thought I was still bewhiskered when I left for The Interpreter's, but that she hadn't taken a very close look (she'd been seated at far end of a long room); so, once she saw the FaceSpace photo she assumed she'd been mistaken, that I was cleanshaven when I left the house, & that she hadn't noticed because she hadn't paid close attention. She was delightfully embarrassed that she'd believed a FaceSpace photograph over the evidence of her own two eyes. Hee hee!

I hope there are no hard feelings over this year's pranks, they were intended to be harmless amusements. I doubt anyone will again believe that I've shaved off my whiskers; I'll have to think long & hard to come up with next year's April Fools' Day tomfoolery.

Project GLOWWORM
The booty from last Friday's victory at History Quiz Night included a gift certificate to the hosting public house, the Firkin & Fox, which proudly serves "traditional pub fare." I decided to partake of a hard-won victory lunch this afternoon. Upon my arrival, two punks—replete with low-rising Mohawks, stretched earlobes, tattoos, & strategically-tattered clothing—were immediately taken with my moustache, complimenting me boisterously & inviting me to join them for a beer. I held up An Object of Beauty & declined their invitation, thanking them but explaining that I had my heart set on reading. They played pool whilst I ate & read. As I was departing, & thank them again for their hospitality & thanked them also for their good-natured acceptance of my desire to eschew their company for my book, at which some persons would take umbrage. They waved off this last bit & again complimented my moustache, positing that it must afford me the opportunity to—pray pardon the lewdness—perform cunnilingus on multitudes of the distaff persuasion. While appalled by their bawdiness, I am pleased by any interpretation of my whiskers as a signal of virility & sexual prowess (however misleading).

The Queue
The least endearing facet of An Object of Beauty is its adherence to the vexing modern fashion of being divided into a great many chapters of extremely short length. Many "chapters" are composed of but a single page; as many again are only two pages. An Object of Beauty is just short of being three hundred pages long & is divided into sixty-eight chapters, leading to an average chapter length of 4.3 pages. Vexing!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "Katie" from Medium Rare (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "Katie" is not a particularly complimentary song, so I wish to make clear that it has chosen in reference to neither longstanding friend-of-the-blog & R.B.D.S.O.T.D. nominator The Watergirl nor new-on-the-scene girl The Interpreter, whom I appear to have taken on as a paramour.

Project PANDORA
My time is not as exclusively mine own as it was scant days ago. I rue that The Secret Base is suffering, but the matter is not without its compensations.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
The Forces of Evil, "Fight" from Friend or Foe? (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: During SKApril, if it's not ska it's crap!

"How come nobody plays ska anymore?
I guess they all forgot what we were fightin' for,
They're grown up now and they want to be respected,
And be a part of the business we rejected.

I liked things how they used to be
And now I'm doing what I can do save our scene!

You got to fight for your right to skank,
You got to fight for your right to skank,
We can't do it on our own,
So pick up the telephone,
And tell your friends they gotta fight to skank!

Whatever happened to the bands that make you dance,
And laugh so hard you nearly wet your pants?
They want to be emotional and that's so boring,
Take out the fun and we're left snoring.

I wouldn't blame it on T.V. or radio,
It's this growing music wave that has got to go!

You got to fight for your right to skank,
You got to fight for your right to skank,
We can't do it on our own,
So pick up the telephone,
And tell your friends they gotta fight to skank!"

Project OSPREY: End of the Road
(№ 1) Kentucky 67-59 Kansas (№ 2)
N.C.A.A. Championship Game

Kansas had a puncher's chance, & really could have won, but they needed not to miss as many shots as they did, not miss as many free throws as they did, pick better shots, & not suffer two extended scoring droughts. In short, they needed to do what every underdog needs to do to prevent a "coronation," as that tool Jim Nance called it: not beat themselves. Of course, it matters little that Kentucky won, for the other two teams coach John Calipari has lead to N.C.A.A. Tournament success (though never before a championship) have both had to vacate those wins due to profoundly crooked violations of N.C.A.A. rules regarding student-athletes. Enjoy it while it lasts, Kentucky, for it shan't last long.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
The Loose Ties, "Semi-Charmed Life" (live) from Live at The Machine Shop (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Yes, "Semi-Charmed Life," the insipid Third Eye Blind song from the '90s. I hated that song when it was new, but what I really hate is that The Loose Ties have crafted it into a pretty jumpin' ska cover. They've made "Semi-Charmed Life" good, the fiends! I refuse to countenance this abomination at their live shows, which has evolved into something of a bit wherein I cover my ears & one or more of the horn players comes down from the stage to play right in my anguished face.

Project OSPREY
I find myself embracing a cause that is not mine own. What care I if Kansas prevails? Precious little, but care I do that Kentucky does not prevail. I find myself backing what I fear is a lost cause, hoping against hope that my judgment & my instincts are both in error. Kansas has a puncher's chance, & that is no small thing. A puncher's chance is all anyone ever has in sport, & sport is one of the finest expressions of that which allows Man to transcend his animal nature & be something else altogether.

Raise a glass, friends & countrymen: To sport!

Project MERCATOR
Friday night last saw the Firkin & Fox, a public house of local renown, host the 9th Annual History Quiz Night, a pub quiz-like affair put on about this time every year by the U.'s history department. I am both a history nerd & a trivia fan, even fancying myself something of a small-scale trivia master, so History Quiz Night is one of my favorite local fêtes. Last year, my team won the Quiz, & I may say not immodestly on the backs of yours truly & another fellow who had been a several-day winner on Jeopardy!. The two previous years, my teams had both finished second, & with yours truly being the paramount contributor of answers. All three of those squads were organized by The Outlaw, a pal who was the longtime honcho of the History Club. This year, The Outlaw did not take the time off work to organize a team & my invaluable services were in inexplicably scant demand. Several of my fellows in the Club said that I could join their teams, but only after they'd already found their maximum-allowed five official members, relegating me to "hanger-on" status. Do you people not know who I am? I was resigned to showing up to History Quiz Night & accepting a pity-driven invitation to be a hanger-on 'til the Wednesday prior, when I had a chance encounter with The Braggart, a most intolerable fellow with whom decorum dictates I maintain civil discourse. The Braggart didn't yet have a fully-formed squad & asked me to join his understaffed team. I accepted with trepidation, remembering two years earlier when The Braggart had been with me on The Outlaw's team; Pompous had started drinking heavily as soon as he arrived at the Firkin & Fox & was uselessly drunk by the time the Quiz got underway. Nonplussed, I agreed The Braggart's invitation, grasping at this seeming final chance not to be a hanger-on.

History Quiz Night arrived & I joined the motley crew The Braggart had assembled, composed of only four members, including his girlflesh, unexpectedly in town from metropolitan Detroit. At the next table sat the lion's share of my History Club chums, a massive team of Club members & hangers-on. I was not exceptional resentful, because my Club chums really are my chums, of whom I'm quite fond, but I do admit that there was some small desire to make them regret making me the last kid picked in kickball. As the Quiz got under way we were joined by The Interpreter, a former staff member in the History Department (as opposed to faculty member) & co-organizer of the Quiz Night whom I'd met the previous evening when she briefly stopped in to visit the Club's game night (during which I played the game of Risk detailed in Thursday's "Project MERCATOR" post). We bandied about several ideas for our team name, 'til I suggested we call ourselves the I.R.A., playing to The Braggart's Marxist Irish republican leanings; it brought a smile to my face to see The Braggart, a most boastful blighter, tremble at the thought of offending of the the professors who judged the Quiz. (I didn't code name him "The Braggart" because of any fondness for the fellow.) My mind still full of mischief, I next suggested we call ourselves "Dr. Ellis," after the Night's presiding Quizmaster. This was shortly modified to "Dr. Ellis's" & we were in business. Neither The Braggart's girlflesh nor The Interpreter were terribly helpful, though both were amusing, humorous conversationalists; the bald, wild-eyed fellow who was the third official member of the squad functioned as little more than secretary; winning the Quiz was left to The Braggart & your humble narrator. We blazed out to an early lead in the first round, earning sixteen points out of a possible nineteen. We maintained the overall lead after the second round, though our fourteen points was not enough to carry the round itself. We experienced a near collapse in the third round, scoring only eight of nineteen points. The second-place team finished with thirty-seven points, allowing our skin-of-our-teeth thirty-eight to win Quiz Night. Victory, two years in a row! How do you like me now, losers?

The most surprising part of this first half of the evening (the second half to be recounted in a forthcoming "Project PANDORA" post) was The Braggart. He wasn't useless! Sure, he didn't think Missouri was the slave state admitted to the Union as a result of the 1820 Missouri Comprise, but when the Quizmaster asked which modern city had once been named "Shahjahanabad" he correctly guessed Delhi. I did not know, but guessed Tehran, based solely on the shaky etymology that shah is the Persian word for "king." Point, The Braggart. I've never claimed that I could win History Quiz Night all by my lonesome, my contention had always been that I could be an invaluable part of a winning team. That was exactly the case last Friday, when I provided the lion's share of the answers (employing my most formidable trivia skill: educated guessing), but "Dr. Ellis's Own" (as Professor Ellis called us) could not have won without The Braggart. I really detested typing those words, but less than I'll love typing that for the second year in a row my team won History Quiz Night!

"Victory for ZIM!"

The Queue
A War Like No Other is not an exhaustive account of the Peloponnesian War, but a survey of that ancient civil war, organized not strictly chronologically but principally thematically, with sections which as "Chapter 1. Fear: Why Sparta Fought Athens (480-431)" & "Chapter 7. Horses: The Disaster at Sicily (415-413)." I wish to know more about the awful conflict, so much so that I'm entertaining the idea of reading Thucydides's History of the Peloponnesian War, but this jones might well fade if not immediately sated; I am also considering reading Donald Kagan's Thucydides: The Reinvention of History.

Recently
Steve Martin, Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life
Victor Davis Hanson, A War Like No Other: How the Athenians and Spartans Fought the Peloponnesian War
various writers & artists, Dwight K. Albatross's The Goon: Noir

Currently
Steve Martin, An Object of Beauty

Presently
Rudyard Kipling, The Man who would be King and Other Stories
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Gods of Mars
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Warlord of Mars

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Nothing For Something, "Ska Kids" courtesy Ska Army (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: The commencement of the R.B.D.S.O.T.D.'s celebration of "SKApril" yesterday coincided with April Fools' Day, a holiday which The Secret Base embraced ardently. How to reach an accommodation 'twixt such competing interests? Enter Pain, in the instance of "Jabberjaw (Running Underwater)" performing as The Neptunes. Pain was a third-wave ska band in deep denial of being a ska band. The described themselves as a punk band & were disdainful of ska; so, I suppose we might call them a punk band that just happened to play ska-punk music. So, we opened SKApril with a ska song, but honored April Fools' Day through the prank of presenting a non-ska band as if they were a ska band. Not as satisfying as an episode of "The Explorers' Club" concerning Bigfoot or "This Week in Motorsport" praising N.A.S.C.A.R., perhaps, but to mine way of thinking an adequate solution to a conundrum that only I perceived. (This blog, like all blogs, is an extensive exercise in naval gazing.)

We now continue SKApril will a song about ska music, "Ska Kids" by Nothing For Something. I was introduced to this song maybe six months hence, thanks to addition in The Loose Ties' set. "Ska Kids" is one of the finest covers they play, in part because they've made it their own in a way they haven't with The Mighty Mighty Bosstones' "Royal Oil" or the Reel Big Fish's "Beer." Like every good ska song, "Ska Kids" hits a little too close to home for comfort.

"But when I think about it,
Well, I think I understand.
Who'd want to kiss a guy like me?
Who'd want to hold my hand?

Well, many guys will leave the show tonight
With a little girl in tow (All right),
For us it's always just dance, dance, dance
And we never will get a chance,
'Cause ska kids (Hey!)
We never get laid,
And ska bands (Hey!)
They never get paid,
Oh no, oh no, oh no."

The self-deprecating punch to the gut that is "Ska Kids" is sharpened by The Loose Ties' cover, which is co-sung by Farr Afield, a girl of surpassing pulchritude. When she wags her finger as she sings, "Oh no, oh no, oh no," the joke stings that wee bit more.

The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXXI - Bigfoot, or the "sasquatch," the evidence for which, while not conclusive, is too persistent & persuasive to be dismissed out of hand.







This Week in Motorsport
I've been a narrow-minded fool! I watched the Goody's Fast Relief 500 today, the latest race in the 2012 N.A.S.C.A.R. Sprint Cup Series, & it opened my eyes to the manifold splendor of America's most popular brand of motorsport. The cars circled the half-mile-long track not the advertised five hundred times, but five hundred fifteen times! Holy smoke, fifteen bonus circuits! There were near-constant yellow flags as the titanic, lumbering cars ran three abreast (described by the urbane commentators as "three wide") at many parts of the wee track. Cars crashed & crunched & spun-out all over Martinsville. It was awesome! You just don't see that kind of no-holds-barred carnage in a Le Mans or Formula One pantywaist parade. Boy howdy, I cannot wait 'til the next N.A.S.C.A.R. race!

Also, exciting news: Google, my favorite technology company, is partnering with N.A.S.C.A.R. to produce a racecar that drives itself: the Car of Tomorrow of tomorrow-link. Anyone who thinks most of the thrill of motorsport lies in the skill of the drivers—in watching the synthesis of man & machine, both operating at the peak of their abilities, to create a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts—is kidding himself. Racecars without racecar drivers? Man o man, it'll be as much fun as slot car racing in your basement! I can't wait!

Vote for Kodos? Maybe Vote for Kang
As I washed the breakfast dishes before departing for Mass this morning, I saw Van Jones on A.B.C.'s This Week. Mr. Jones was President Obama's Special Adviser for Green Jobs (or "Green Job czar") before he resigned from that position after unfair criticism of his support for the "9/11 Truth" movement became a distraction, lessening Mr. Jones's ability to push forward Mr. Obama's transformational agenda. In any event, now that Mr. Jones was rightly back in the public spotlight he made several excellent points about the Patient Protection & Affordable Care Act (P.P.A.C.A., or "Obamacare"), bring up issues I'd never before considered. I may well have to reconsider my reactionary opposition to the P.P.A.C.A. This could very well change my entire attitude toward this year's presidential campaign.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Pain (as The Neptunes), "Jabberjaw (Running Underwater)" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)