The Victors
Just before the start of today's contest between the mighty University of Michigan Wolverines and the dastardly Michigan State University Spartans, The Guy called the Mountain of Love with a prediction: Michigan State would win the game. The Guy is a 2006 graduate of U of M-Flint; this is not the University of Michigan, but it is a University of Michigan. How could any U of M alumnus predict victory for the treacherous Spartans? Predicting victory for the nefarious Spartans and being desirous of same are two disparate things, to be sure, but still I feel as if The Guy has committed an act of heinous disloyalty. I, and a good many of my fellow alumni, fear the power of the odious Ohio State University Buckeyes under the fiendish Jim Tressel, but I could not in good conscience predict a victory for the hated Buckeyes. Has The Guy perpetrated a breach of faith? Did he bow to the considerable influence of The Gal, herself an MSU alumna? I have no answers, my friends, only a disquieting sense of uncertainty.

Truth be told, I was supremely confident before today's contest. True, the vile Spartans had not defeated the noble Wolverines since the "phantom second" debacle (a.k.a. Clockgate) in 2001; so, from a historical perspective MSU was "due" for a win. And after embarrassing loses to the despicable University of Notre Dame Fighting Irish and the unobjectionable University of Illinois Fighting Illini, the foul Spartans would certainly be playing with a ferocious determination to redeem themselves. But, we are talking about the pea-brained Spartans here, the greatest innovators of self-annihilation to have ever graced the fields of American collegiate football. I was confident Michigan would prevail, if not by the virtue of her own skill then by the dogged ineptitude of Michigan State.

Still, as often happens against Michigan State, I was not elated by the victory. There are few accolades to be won in triumphing over the hapless Spartans. Really, teh U of M-MSU game is a no-win situation for Michigan. If we win, big deal, we're supposed to be able to beat them; and if they win, sweet merciful crap, every idiot in green and white will be reminding you of the game at every opporutnity over the course of the whole year until the next game. At the end of games against Michigan State, I am primarily just glad that the wretched task is over for another year, that the helots have been put back in their place. No one wins when Michigan State is involved, regardless of the victor, the question is simply one of who loses the most. But, I am glad the wretched task has been completed for another year, it warms my heart to know the helots have been reminded of their place.

Victory for MSU? *scoff* Not bloody likely.

BTW South Song of the Day
Amanda Abizaid, "A Place in Time" via ye olde internet (Mt. Love)

"A Place in Time" is the theme song of the superb television series The 4400.

M2K4... 5... 6...
The plucky little Opportunity rover and the Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter: two great tastes that taste great together. Say Cheese! We have dispatched an army of robots to unlock the secrets of the Red Planet. An army of robots. And the mission is progressing swimmingly! Wow, Jasper was right, "What a time to be alive."

Meanwhile, also in space, the International Space Station is becoming ever more international. Neat! Once the ISS is capable of supporting a "permanent" six-member crew we'll need an American astronaut/commander (The Right Stuff-type), a Russian cosmonaut, a European Space Agency astronaut (preferrably from Edinburgh), another American astronaut (scientist), a Japanese astronaut, and a Canadian astronaut. Mix them together and what do you get? Star Trek! Sulu was Japanese; Chekov was Russian; Scotty was Scottish; we don't have access to any Vulcans, but Leonard Nimoy is American, thus the American scientist-type; and while there weren't any Canadians in Captain Kirk's crew, actors William Shatner (Kirk) and the late James Doohan (Scotty) both hail from the Great White North. No state in Africa has yet mounted or chosen to participate in a space program; so, there won't be a direct analogue for Uhura. But the African states, either separately or cooperatively, will get there in time. I am absolutely certain.

And here are a pair of hyperlinks on the Orion spacecraft and why, in President Kennedy's memorable phrase, we choose to go to the Moon.

First we shall return to the Moon and then we shall go boldly where no man has gone before, enigmatic Mars. Science!

BTW South Song of the Day
"Weird Al" Yankovic, "Canadian Idiot" from Straight Outta Lynwood (T.L.A.M.)

The Honeymoon is Over
I hate my Mac Mini exactly as much as I've hated every other HAL I've owned. I was a fool to think that the hype was true, that Macs were "better" than PCs. Macs are just as infernal as PCs; both are horrors and constant afronts to human dignity. I thought this would be the first HAL I'd like, or at least not hate; I was disgustingly, unforgivably naive. My HAL is an adversary, an enemy of my happiness.

Upon further reflection, I should have perhaps directed my frustrations at my CD of Good or Suck!, the failure of which to properly interact with my HAL set off the above tirade. Still, the Mountain's theory that home-burned CDs simply decay faster than store-bought doesn't mollify me, since the two CDs I ripped yesterday, Can't Stop the Love Sled and the Katia & Scott EP, both by The Watergirl, were both home-burned CDs and neither gave iTunes any fits.

I think "The Honeymoon is Over" is an apt title, since the marriage of man and machine will continue, and I hope that many years of happiness await us, it's just that the fool's paradise of the honeymoon is over.

Hat Day!
During this evening's dinner, the Mountain of Love wore a pink with white polka dots Boonie hat and I wore my porkpie. Sweet fancy Moses, I love Hat Day!

BTW South Song of the Day
They Might be Giants, "Museum of Idiots" from The Spine (Mt. Love)

Runner-Up
Barenaked Ladies, "Conventioneers" from Maroon (Close, but no cigar, guys. Better luck tomorrow.)

The New Gods
I believe I have arrived at a name for the vicious young officer of Aero-Troopers from "The Forever War": Balthazar. Balthazar is the Cadillac of given names; it's all but impossible to go wrong with Balthazar. Balthazar!

Balthazar vs. Solon

Balthazar vs. Oceon

Balthazar vs. Fastbak

Today is Thursday and dinnertime is scant hours away. 'Tis Hat Day, good people, make ready.

Yes! M!ch!gan
In the same vein as the recent acquisition of five songs about Mars, I have harnessed the power of iTunes and have now in my possesion four songs "about" the 26th State in the Union, the Great Lakes State, the Wolverine State, my beloved Michigan:

Duvall & Seville, "Michigan"
Gordon Lightfoot, "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald"
John Linnell, "Michigan"
Superchunk, "Detroit Has a Skyline"

And, yes, I'm still dating Miss Michigan after all these years.

BTW South Song of the Day
Bob & Doug McKenzie featuring Geddy Lee, "Take Off" from Great White North (T.L.A.M.)

The New Gods
{Part I of II}
I have to change the name of my fanatical Aero-Trooper officer in "The Forever War." I named him Zaladin, a corruption of Saladin, but was recently reminded that a member of the Axis America team that appeared in JLA Nos. 80-82, "The White Rage," was called Zaladin. Sure, sure the Fourth World of the New Gods of Apokolips and New Genesis appears to be some manner of otherdimensional realm (you can't get there by starship, only by boom tube), but a great many of their names reference back to Earth culture:

New Genesis = the Book of Genesis

Apokolips = the Apocalypse

Desaad = the Marquis de Sade

Virmin Vundabar = both "vermin" and the German word wunderbar

Kalibak = has to be a reference to Shakespeare's Caliban

Highfather (Izaya the Inheritor) = Odin was called the "high-father"; the prophet Isaiah

Orion = Orion

Lonar = he is a loner

Serifan = a fan of old movie serials, a serial fan

Valkyra = a Valkyrie

(Vyken = curiously, he seems to have no connection to Vikings)

Steppenwolf = Hesse's Steppenwolf

So, just as Zaladin referenced Saladin, I would like the new name to reference Earth in some way, especially since Whatshisname will fight two new New Gods named Solon (after the ancient Greek law-giver Solon) and Oceon (the Titan Oceanus and the oceans).

Also, I'm thinking of basing his particular unit of Aero-Troopers (whom we will see in more detail than the average group of Apokoliptian soldiers) after the famed "Winged Hussars" of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, though that doesn't mean he has to have a Polish-ish name. Potentials:

Vizier ("My father had lofty ambitions for his son's service to Great Darkseid.")

Kircholm (a battle in which the Winged Hussars fought with distinction)

Hussar / Huszar

Ideas and suggestions would be most sincerely appreciated.

{Part II of II}
Some ideas for tales of the New Gods beyond "The Inheritance," "The Never People," and "The Forever War."

"Supertown"
The title of the story in The New Gods No. 1, written and drawn by Jack Kirby, is "Orion Fights for Earth!" I like both New Genesis and Apokolips just fine, but the King himself intended for the New Gods to be active on Earth.

Highfather Takion (originally a human named Josh Saunders) decides to establish a new, permanent, and high profile presence for New Genesis on Earth: a smaller version of Supertown, the floating capital city of New Genesis. The polytheistic history of India makes it an excellent site for a literal city of the gods and as an added real-world bonus this will help establish the DCU's bona fides outside of North America.

The usual suspects, Orion and Lightray, oversee the project, though the construction oversight comes courtesy of Atinai, the architect of Supertown. Sabotage and strife abound as Darkseid's sinister agents and human forces offended by the very idea of "new gods" independently work to shoot the floating city right out of the sky. Action, theology, weird science, and intrigue interact in the skies above India! (I originally had this idea as a way to work the New Gods into my Superman stories. "Supertown" could function as a Superman story guest-starring the New Gods, a New Gods story guest-starring Superman, or an independent New Gods story.)

"The Old Warhorse"
Before the New Gods of New Genesis and Apokolips, the Old Gods, both good and evil, lived side by side on a single planet. The final battle of the Old Gods rent their world asunder, New Genesis and Apoklolips born as twins out of the ruins. Innumerable ages passed before the rise of the New Gods. The last living Old God is Thunderer, a magnificent steed awakened from his long slumber beneath the surface of New Genesis by Lonar, the only New God who prefers solitude. Or preferred solitude, as now Lonar and Thunderer are inseparable chums.

"The Old Warhorse" is the story of the last days of the Old Gods, seen only in Thunderer's memories and communicated to no New God. I want to achieve the effect of a fly on the wall during the last days of Troy, of Valhalla just before Ragnarok. The life and family Thunderer loved, the "human" Old Gods who were his masters and peers, the tragedy of a doomed world, tragedy not lessened by the foreknowledge of the doomed. Or did the Old Gods know their world was ending? I don't think Mr. Kirby said anything explicit on the subject. Maybe some knew and others refused to believe... no, that has too many shades of the doomed planet Krypton; if they knew, it evokes the Aesir, apropos since the Old Gods visually resemble Thor's world as rendered by Kirby for Marvel Comics. Hmmm.

Like "The Inheritance," another story more about emotion than action.

"Civil Engineering"
In Orion, the evil Mantis unleashed a Hellborer, a diabolical machine that blighted the surface of New Genesis with an Apokolips-style Fire-Pit. Vyken of the Forever People, cleverest of all the New Gods after Metron, and Atinai try to engineer a technical solution while Mark Moonrider and Big Bear deal with unrest among the project's Bug workers and sabotage by unknown agents of Apokolips (possibly disguied Female Furies). Meanwhile, Beautiful Dreamer, Serifan, and Forager (II) are drawn into a separate web of intrigue as they attempt to heal the "soul" of New Genesis through Bug mysticism and discover a far more serious cancer in the heart of the New Gods.

More on that next time as we discuss the ideas I like to call "Gods and Martyrs," "Crusade," and "A Bug's Life."

BTW South Song of the Day
Reel Big Fish, "I'll Never Be" from Turn the Radio Off (Mt. Love)

No more bitchsquealing.

Here's something I've always liked, "Esky" from the August 1999 issue of Esquire. Enjoy:

Judie, for the thousand kisses. Anna, who always had cookies and a hug. Linda, who used to dance all crazy, whipping me around until I couldn't stop laughing.

Mary, for holding off on the hysterectomy.

Carol, for cooking with nothing but butter and meat. Christine, because every sandwich she makes will always taste better than one I make myself. Josephine, for still baking me the hamburger-Tater-Tots-cream-of-mushroom-soup thing, even though I am forty years old. Doris, who hass a little bowl by the front door that is always full of Peppermint Patties. Jenny, who taught me that food may not be love, but it can come awfully close.

Jyl, for the terry-cloth shorts.

Cookie, who taught me how to worm a hook. Jody, who showed me the trick with the Land O Lakes box. Janice, who let me win at eight ball. Jeanine, who could go shot for shot when we broke out the Yukon Jack.

Maria Cantaloupes, we called her, sophomore year.

Erika, who was as curious as I was. Samantha, whose father never came downstairs. Kristen, whose uncle bought us beer. Sue, because somehow she was sixteen, too. Sheryl, who was twenty-two when I was eighteen. Jan, for the cemetery next to the dorm. Steph, for fifteen minutes in a closet twenty years ago.

Jane, for those eyes, that ass.

Karen, who kept the letters.

Kathy, who sings along to the radio and manages to annoy everyone except me. Christine, because she can tell the difference between G-sharp and B-flat on the piano from two rooms away.

Miriam, because she hated having to break my heart twice.

Laura, because she is beautiful and has no idea. Nicole, who honestly thinks she has small breasts. Doreen, who ate nothng but chocolate cake and looked great. Ashley, because she has incredibly good posture.

The beautiful woman on the filthy subway fixing her lipstick in the blackened window.

Beth, who has the voice of an angel and knows when to use it. Lesley, for doing that little dance. Stacy, because her eyes change color every day.

Boomer, the best mechanic in Massachusetts.

Sarah, my dear, dear friend. Brenda, who said exactly the right thing at the right time. Molly, who knows that life is so much better without a boyfriend than with one. Carla, for refusing to get a nose job. Caitlin, who said nice things behind my back. Jenny, who, even though I knew her really, really well, I never knew went to Harvard.

Louise, for her brutal honesty. Amy, for her silence.

Leslie, for standing by her man, even though it wasn't me. Cathy, for that one last time before she got married.

Lisa, who is so cool.

Eleanor, for full-body goodnight kisses. Diane, for long legs and short skirts and black stockings with a thin line running up the back. Leigh, for wearing that skirt whenever I ask. Gillian, for piercing her tongue.

Stefanie, for flushing when she was told to plunge.

Marcia, for letting me sleep in on weekends. Jessica, for insisting on vacations. Valerie, who likes to argue but never gets mad. Alison, because she always calls me by my full name. Janis, because she is smarter than me and sometimes pretends not to be.

Gobby, who was seventy-five and wore an Easter-egg-purple suede coat.

Sarah, who, when I came home at midnight to tell her about the latest cruel machinations of my famous boss at my fabulous job, which paid for our car and food and the roof over the heads of our three children, said without hesitation, "Tell him to fuck off."

Becky, for saving my life by giving me one.

Annie, because she loved me back.

Narwhal!
One eight months until Narwhal Day! Speaking of narwhals, I received my narwhal of narwhals T-shirt in the post today. Woot! Thursday is laundry day; so, I'll be wearing it Friday!

BTW South Song of the Day
The Epoxies, "It's You" from Stop the Future (T.L.A.M.)

Editorial Correction
The Mountain of Love has requested a correction. He never said that he has become "much more vain" since the phsycial reformation of his junior year, he only said that he has become "more vain" since the physical reformation of his junior year. My intention was never to imply that my brother is vain and I am sorry if such was inferred by any readers.

Also, there're mermaids.

Self-Improvement is Masturbation
So sayeth Fight Club. Of course, Palahniuk meant for people to be repulsed by the space monkeys, not inspired by them.... The Mountain of Love told me that he has become much more vain since he first lost all that weight and stopped shaving his head during his junior year of college. Since that transformation he has had his first two real girlfriends, the second of whom is now his intended, and become much more socially adroit.

On Friday, The Watergirl ruminated on "what it takes to score with chicks." Of paramount importance: be attractive. A couple years ago, Skeeter told me that it was completely unfair of me to attempt to initiate relationships with pretty girls since I was so unwilling to make the same commitment to aesthetics that they had. (As all you have met me are aware, I am fat and habitually unkempt.) She had a point. Some of these nicknames are brand new: A Girl Named Hell-ya, From Russia With Love, Mrs. Sacramento, Skeeter herself, Swimmer Girl, China Doll, Annie Power!, just a sampling of the girls I've pursued in the last ten-odd years and each and every one of them a creature of exceeding loveliness. I must have been mad to think I could rouse desire in any of these beauties on the strength of charisma alone.

That said, I don't want to be vain. I don't want to trade the deadly sin of gluttony for the deadlier sin of pride. Pride is the deadliest of the seven deadly sins and, I fear, inevitably followed by greed and envy (and lust, too, pretty please). Am I eating copious fruits and vegetables to combat gluttony or to satiate pride? Do I run and lift every day to combat sloth or to indulge greed, lust, envy, and pride? (That's the vile beauty of the seven deadly sins: as often as not they come as a cocktail.) At confession, I once told Father that I was afraid I gave to charity to try and salve a guilty conscience; he told me, not in these words, to stop being an overanalytical schmuck: anything I gave to charity went to help people, to do the Lord's work, and so giving, regardless of the motive, was a good deed. Unfortuantely, the same cannot be said of a superior diet and rigorous exercise regimen. Am I trying to improve the Lord's House on the theory that my body is a temple, or am I just trying to get laid? Once I'm thinner, will this automatically translate into leading a better Christian life? Or a less Christian life full of debauchery and excess?

I do not wish to be vain, but I want all the benefits of vanity. I want to be attractive. Or, at the least, I wish to be less lonely and I see vanity as a means of attaining that end. Would it be enough to be less of a fatbuddy? Must I also becoem a devotee of fashion? Must I align my interests and my conversation with the mainstream? Should I shed my contrariness and be more open to all the things that "everyone" is supposed to like, the right music, the right movies, and Bog forbid we talk about books? Would I hate myself or would I just be happy to have a girl and a larger gaggle of fair weather friends? Would I finally, for the first time in my life, be cool, be with it, be like everyone else?

Of course, I'll be wearing an Edna's Goldfish T-shirt when I run and lift today; so, being cool is probably an impossibility, thank goodness.

In the Chinese Grand Prix, on the Forumla One circuit, the highest-place finishing American was Scott Speed of the Toro Rosso-Cosworth team at No. 15, one lap behind winner Michael Schumaker. With a name like Speed, how can he possibly justify a fifteenth place finish?

The Victors
The Little Brown Jug is back where it belongs and all is right with the world.

Today is the first day of October and yet the afternoon high is expected to be 92 F; so, I am wearing my Flounders T-shirt because I needed a reminder of home. The Flounders are a unique University of Michigan institution (though I am told a related game is played at the Detroit Athletic Club), and every day that I spend in Texile Michigan seems more and more the paradise I always knew it was. Yes, M!chi!gan!

BTW South Song of the Day
Shakira, "Hips Don't Lie" via iTunes (Mt. Love)

Editorial: Anyone who has ever met a girl knows that hips do, in fact, lie. Hips are quite expert liars.

Saturday, September 30
Aqua, "Back from Mars" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

The Stars My Destination
I had no idea that NASA's new Crew Exploration Vehicle had a "name," but it does: Orion. Sweet! In the proud tradition of Project Mercury, Project Gemini, and Project Apollo, we have now embarked upon Project Constellation, at long last the resumption of the manned exploration of our solar system. Gene Cernan and Jack Schmitt, the LEM astronauts of Apollo 17, departed from the Moon in 1972, thirty-four years ago. That is thirty-four years too long for Man to have been shackled to the earth (and low Earth orbit). Make no mistake, I love Earth, Earth is the crucible which forged the glory of Man, but I believe our destiny (though I don't believe in the concept of destiny/fate, you know what I mean) is to be found among the stars.

I have had since I was a boy a battered die-cast toy of the Space Shuttle. It is one of my most prized possessions. But in the real world the entire Space Shuttle venture was a distraction for which we paid a high price in blood (the fourteen souls lost aboard the Challenger and the Columbia), treasure, and time. The very name says it all, the Space Shuttle. What, like a shuttle bus? There's no romance in the word shuttle. We need to put the romance back in manned space flight. (Which is not to say we should not also pour our energy and treasure into unmanned space flight; Opportunity and Spirit are marvels of American ingenuity.) Mercury! Gemini! Apollo! Orion! Those are names to go boldly where no man has gone before.

We are still at least half a decade away from the first flight of an Orion spacecraft, but in the meantime we have at last turned our eyes once again to the heavens. Huzzah! Or in the vernacular, woot! And now I leave you with the opening lines of the prologue to Alfred Bester's The Stars My Destination:

"This was a golden age, a time of high adventure, rich living, and hard dying... but nobody thought so. This was a future of fortune and theft, pillage and rapine, culture and vice... but nobody admitted it. This was an age of extremes, a fascinating century of freaks... but nobody loved it."

Science!
Would any of you be interested in co-founding and/or joining a radical organization called the Pluto Restoration Front? I love science; had not my faith in the Almighty been concretely established by the touching of my heart by the Holy Ghost, science would be my god. And so I have the greatest respect for those who dedicate their lives to science, the scientists. However, the International Astronomical Union (IAU) has gone too far and must be stopped. Yes, the existence of Eris raises serious questions about Pluto's status as a planet, but the definition the IAU devised to reclassify Pluto as a dwarf planet (alongside Eris and the former asteroid Ceres) is hogwash.

A planet must a) orbit the Sun, b) be large enough for its own gravity to make it round, and c) have "cleared the neighbourhood" of smaller celestial bodies. "Cleared the neighbourhood"? What the devil does that even mean? What is a planet's "neighbourhood"? 0.1 AU from the center of the planet? 0.05 AU from the upper reaches of the plent's atmosphere? What? The IAU, in it's dubious wisdom chose to not define "neighbourhood" in the slightest degree. The IAU's "definition" of a planet is, at best, perilously nebulous. A kilogram isn't one thousand freeform units called grams, it's one thousand grams; and you can then ask what a gram is an be provided a specific definition. The criteria used to downgrade Pluto from a "planet" to a "dwarf planet" is pseudoscientific gibberish!

Pluto is smaller than Eris; so, unless we want to define Eris as the tenth planet and open the door for dozens of other minute planets, we need clear rules defining what is and is not a planet. The currently agreed standard is in no way up to the task. The de-planetization of Pluto was hasty and unjust. This cannot stand.

That's where my nascent organization comes in. The Pluto Restoration Front will defend Pluto's honor against the capricious predations of the IAU. The PRF will uncover the sinister agenda behind the IAU's vendetta against Pluto. Science will be freed from the grip of fat cat scientists sitting in smoke-filled rooms making crucial scientific decisions willy-nilly! As Pluto goes, so goes all of science! Science!

Help defend science, help me found the Pluto Restoration Front. Others topics of interest to the PRF will include the theoretical intra-Mercurial planet Vulcan and the hypothetical star Nemesis. Science!

BTW South Song of the Day
Teddybears, "Yours to Keep" via iTunes (Mt. Love)

Thursday, September 28
Murky Transport Disaster, "The Viking Song" from The Murky Transport Disaster Disaster Transport Transport Disaster (T.L.A.M.)

Wednesday, September 27
"Weird Al" Yankovic, "Headline News" via iTunes (Mt. Love)

Tuesday, September 26
Reel Big Fish, "Ban the Tube Top" from Cheer Up! (T.L.A.M.)

While the Mountain of Love and I are using our apartment complex's generously named "exercise room," we watch television, usually Pardon the Interruption followed by Seinfeld. During my generously named "run" today, I saw a commercial for the new film School for Scoundrels. One of the two above-the-title stars is Jon Heder, the douchebag who starred in a truly wretched independent film called Napoleon Dynamite. I remarked, "I'd like to see something bad happen to him. Something along the lines of a substance abuse problem." Thing is, I really meant it. I then paused for a moment and considered the moral ramifications. I'm just not a good person. I'm not Pol Pot or Richard J. Daley, but neither am I Fred Rogers. This is far from the first time I've made the observation that I'm kind of a monster, nor will it be the last, but every once in a while that lurking realization pushes its way to the front of my mind. Well, how about that?

And all that said, if Jon Heder ended up a homeless crackhead, I would laugh and laugh and laugh and not feel the slighted twinge of sympathy. I'd almost certainly feel guilty about my lack of sympathy, but that lack would doubtlessly persist. I really hate that guy.

U.N.believable
Hyperlink. I know that Executive Order 12333 prohibits any agent of the U.S. Government from conducting assassinations or participating in assassination conspiracies, but the first Bush Administration reinterpretted the rule to give the green light to assassinating terrorists and their benefactors. Is there any way we can view Mark Malloch Brown as a terrorist benefactor? Here's how it works: Khartoum used to provide aid and shelter to al Qaeda. Now that same government supports to janjaweed death squads in Darfur. The death squads, with active involvement from the Sudanese air force, are perpetrating genocide against the non-Muslim Sudanese of Darfur. Therefore the Sudanese government is actively engaged in a terrorist action. There is a UN Resolution that would allow the formation of a UN peacekeeping force for Darfur (even though the peacekeepers' mandate wouldn't have the teeth to stop the bloodshed). The only things stopping the peacekeeping force from entering Sudan is the intransigence of Khartoum. Mr. Malloch Brown, Kofi Annan's chief henchman, has said that Khartoum is right to block the UN force since it is afraid of being "the victims of the next crusade after Iraq and Afghanistan." Ergo, Malloch Brown is actively shielding the Sudanese government which is actively conducting a terrorist enterprise; A=B, B=C, A=C, Mark Malloch Brown supports the terrorist campaign in Darfur. So, can we assassinate him now?

The British Empire
September 29 was a good day for the building of the British Empire: on this day in 1725, Clive of India was born; he would do more than any other single individual to found and expand the British Raj, often in explicit contradiction of the orders of his superiors. On this day in 1758, Lord Horatio Nelson was born; Britain is an island nation and in all her history Nelson is Britannia's greatest naval hero. Upstaging Sir Francis Drake is no small feat.

Dieu et mon droit.

Hat Day!
The Mountain is in Austin with the Fwopera road show. Hat Day's just not the same when you're flying solo. Still, I wore my awesome/awful AC Spark Plug baseball cap modified with, you guessed it, Viking horns. What, you don't have a ballcap outfitted with Viking horns? Then, my friend, you haven't lived.

Back in the days before Real Can of Yams was "seven hundred and one ounces of terrible," Murky Transport Disaster was "the best band for all the wrong reasons." MTD had a Viking song called "The Viking Song." For the live performance of "The Viking Song" we decided that each member of Murky Transport Disaster had to sport a Viking hat. And because the BTWay is to go that extra mile in the name of showmanship, each member of MTD didn't need to wear a mere Viking hat, we each had to wear a distinct Viking hat (and please forgive me if I screw up who was wearing which hat):

The Mountain of Love - a Viking helmet with faux fur around the base of the horns
K. Steeze - a Viking helmet with really big horns
Mr. Coliadis - a Viking helmet, almost identical to the Mountain's, but without the fur
The Professor - a Viking helmet with only one horn, worn unicorn-style
Ms. Ele - a Minnesota Vikings baseball cap
The Last Angry Man - an AC Spark Plugs baseball cap with Viking horns

BTW South Song of the Day
Work and poverty and missing The Buckeye have been taking their toll on the Mountain, putting him in an ill humor for much of the last week. We'll get the Song of the Day back on track as soon as we can, because nobody enjoys it more than us. Nobody, you hear me? Nobody!

Meanwhile, I just bought five songs "about" Mars from iTunes and they're all winners! Prior to inputting "Mars" into the Power Search (inspired by plotting my hypothetical Martian Manhunter series, which is now getting the full The Magic of Shazam! treatment), I'd never even heard of any of these songs, much less heard them, and they're all even better than the thirty second snipets that convinced me to buy them in the first place. Woot!

Aqua, "Back from Mars"
Hannah Russell, "Mars"
The Misfits, "Mars Attacks"
Monsters From Mars!, "Avanti"
The Skatalites, "Trip to Mars"

Something Wicked This Way Comes
Recently, via the Netflix subscription service, I saw a brilliant film, Scotland, Pa., a hilarious interpretation of The Tragedy of Macbeth. The writing credits: "Written and directed by Billy Morrissette. Story by William Shakespeare." In mentally composing this post I resolved that henceforth I shall call motion pictures that retain the Shakespearean dialogue "versions" of a given play, while films adapted into the vernacular will be called "interpretations."

Versions
Macbeth (1979, Ian McKellan as Macbeth!) from The Tragedy of Macbeth (1606)
Titus (1999) from The Tragedy of Titus Andronicus (1594)
Romeo + Juliet (1996) from The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet (1594)

Interpretations
The Adventures of Bob & Doug McKenzie: Strange Brew (1983) from The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (1600)
10 Things I Hate About You (1999) from The Taming of the Shrew (1593)
Scotland, Pa. (2001) from The Tragedy of Macbeth (1606)

Getting back to Scotland, Pa., the film is both uproariously funny and pleasingly faithful to Macbeth. If you need more enticement: Maura Tierney as Pat McBeth (Lady Macbeth) and Christopher Walken as Lieutenant McDuff (Macduff). And it's set in the 1970s. See the movie, you'll thank me later.

Science!
Bog damn, I love Sir Richard Branson! Hyperdrivelink! "To infinity... and beyond!"

The New Gods
Ideas for tales of Jack Kirby's Fourth World, the realm of idyllic New Genesis and hellish Apokolips.

"The Inheritance"
Orion and Mr. Miracle are given a gift by Highfather Takion, the opportunity to commune directly with the Source and speak to their deceased father, Izaya the Inheritor, the first Highfather of New Genesis. Orion will confront the young Izaya of the Techno-Cosmic War between New Genesis and Apokolips, before he found the peace of the Source and became Highfather. Adoptive father and son in fierce combat intended to help Orion make peace with the fury and bloodlust in his conflicted heart.

Scott Free (Mr. Miracle), Highfather's biological son, grew up on Apokolips as part of the Pact that ended the active phase of the endless war. The heroic part of his soul recognizes that his own suffering helped end a devastating war, but there is another part of his that rages against the father who traded his own son into terrible slavery for the greater good. Time for a little father and son screaming, cursing, raging, and maybe understanding. I mean the "maybe" part, since I believe most of Scott's anger toward Highfather has little to do with being exchanged for Orion as part of the Pact, is has to do with the one terrible day the young Scott Free, on the run from Granny Goodness's ghoulish orphanage, turned the terrible power of the Anti-Life Equation against the hapless denizens of the Armagetto.

Fathers and sons, fathers and sons.

"The Never People"
The young Forever People just want to live lives of carefree exploration: a truly endless summer. Alas, the schemes of Darkseid's evil minions are legion. The Never People, darkling reflections of the Forever People created in Virmin Vundabar's laboratories, have reached through time to capture an ally of our heroes and twist him into a weapon of dreadful power, The Anti-Lifeguard. Only those who know the complete Anti-Life Equation can resist it's power; so, how will the Forever People ever stop the Never People? And that's without even bothering to ask how they will resuce their friend without killing him. Heck, maybe I'll even throw in the Newsboy Legion for good measure. The Forever People getting their butts kicked, the Super-Cycle, the Infinity-Man, Anti-Life, the Newboys' Whiz Wagon! (Or do I go with the latest name, the Zipp Drive?) "The Never People"'s got is all!

The Forever People - Mark Moonrider, Beautiful Dreamer, Big Bear, Serifan, Vyken.

The Never People - Sunripper, Dreadful Nightmare, Big Boar, Oneshot, Sazin.

"The Forever War"
On a remote planet, a patrol of Monitors (the military of New Genesis) are ambushed by Apokoliptian Aero-Troopers. The sole survivor, Solon, is pursued by the Aero-Troopers, especially by their zealous young captain, Zaladin. Solon's Mother Box is mortally damaged and so cannot open a boom tube back to New Genesis; without enough energy to both cloak Solon from Zaladin's sensors and call for help, Mother Box devotes her dying moments to screening her young charge from detection.

Back in Supertown, the flying capital city of New Genesis, Solon's boyfriend Oceon refuses to believe that the girl of his dreams is dead, even after hearing that no signal can be detected from her Mother Box. The Monitor communications monitors (hee hee) in Supertown heard the death screams of the Mother Boxes of the rest of Solon's patrol, but none from Solon's Mother Box. Everyone to whom Oceon turns to for help tells him that he must accept that Solon has gone back to the Source, and that he must move on with his life to honor her memory. Eventually, Oceon convinces the second fastest of all the New Gods, Fastbak, to aid him and the two secretly boom tube to the as-yet-unnamed remote planet.

Meanwhile, the war between Solon and the Aero-Troopers has turned into a grim exercise in hours of patient stalking and seconds of furious, desperate hand-to-hand struggles, New Gods fighting and killing each other in the mud, a long, long way from the topless towers of Supertown and the unspoiled natural glory of New Genesis. Recalled by his superiors to Apokolips, Zaladin goes renegade, vowing to remain and finish off Solon in single combat. War is Hell, even for gods.

"The Inheritance" is about the intersection of love and hatred, mentorship and apprenticeship between fathers and sons. "The Never People" is a straight adventure story. I want "The Forever War" to be the We Were Soldiers Once... And Young or In Pharaoh's Army of the Fourth World.

"The weed of crime bears bitter fruit."

Hat Day!
I think Hat Day is going to catch on in a big way. Be the first one on your block to join in on the fun! All you have to do is wear a hat while eating dinner on Thursday. Yes, it's just that easy! Act now, operators are standing by!

The Victors
In the first half, the Wolverines looked like the team I'd dreaded all through the summer. They were much improved in the second half; I believe this latter display to have been an accurate exemplar of their true abilities. Well done, gentlemen. Also, I have a visceral dislike of the Wisconsin Badgers in general and Barry Alvarez (who is still the AD) in particular; I find the lot of them distasteful. So, hooray for the triumph of the forces of good! Go Blue!

Honolulu Blue Forever
21-62, Mr. Millen, 0-3 on the year. A man with any honor would have admitted his failure and resigned his office years ago.

BTW South Song of the Day
Crash Test Dummies, "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm" via iTunes (Mt. Love)

Sunday, September 24
Elvis Presley, "Viva Las Vegas" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Saturday, September 23
Gnarls Barclay, "Crazy" via iTunes (Mt. Love)

Should the Song of the Day be offered sans commentary or should I pipe up when I find a song objectionable and/or laughable? Something I must ponder.

The Lesser of Two Evils
Did you see the way the University of Notre Dame's players and coaches ATTACKED Michigan State's Matt Trannon on the Notre Dame sideline? Holy moley! First, a Fighting Irish player delivered a late hit on a Spartan. Then, Trannon waded in to assist his quarterback; out of the blue, an ND player grabbed Trannon's facemask while an ND coach (or at least someone not in a player's uniform) yanked Trannon from behind. At this point, Trannon lost his head and acted like a blasted fool, nullifying the late hit penalty for which the Irish had been rightly flagged. Did Trannon commit a penalty? Yes, quitely blatantly, and the officials made the right decision in throwing that flag. Why didn't they flag Notre Dame for attacking him in the first place?

Go back and examine every vile, hateful thing I have ever said about Notre Dame's coaches, players, and alumni and you will find I have never accused themn of displaying thuggish behavior. Butt that's what they are: thugs. Only a pack of thugs would simultaneously attack a lone Spartan from the front and the back. Bog knows I hate the Spartans. They are both thugs and braggarts. But they didn't attack a lone Irish player on their sideline the way the Irish attacked Matt Trannon. Charlie Weiss may not be a thug, but his players and assistant coaches are. If Star Trek has taught me anything, it is that a captain is responsible for the conduct of those under his command.

ND should change their nickname from the Fighting Irish to the Thuggish Irish... though if you listen to the 19th century Nativists, called the Irish thuggish is redundant. I am a quarter Irish by blood; so, thanks Notre Dame, for confirming the worst things people say about my heritage. You know I could never, ever bring myself to mean the words "Go Spartans!" However, for the second half of the Michigan State-Notre Dame game I will go out on a limb and cheer, "Don't lose, Spartans... you losers!"

The Magic of Shazam!
It may very well be decades before I have the chance to write The Magic of Shazam! for DC, but the way I see it it is never too early to start planning the demise of Judd Winick's rape (though DC calls it a "reimagining") of the Marvel Family mythos. I really want The Magic of Shazam! to start with the story "Giant Atomic Robots;" so, I'll have to restore the Wizard Shazam to the Rock of Eternity, Billy Batson as Captain Marvel, and Freddy Freeman as Captain Marvel Junior (to be quickly rechristened Kid Marvel) before MoS! No. 1.

The idea is that Billy, Mary, Freddy, and Mr. Tawny will go on a quest modelled after The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. One problem: I've never read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, nor any of L. Frank Baum's other Oz books, I've only seen the famous film The Wizard of Oz (and a few terrifying minutes of The Wiz). The solution is both simply and obvious and I am confident I will find the time to read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz sooner rather than later.

Mary will act as a proxy for Dorothy Gale, the smartest and most level-headed member fo the expedition. Billy will be the proxy for the Scarecrow; by no means is he brainless, but let's face it, there's no doubt that Mary has the lion's share of the brains amongst the Batson children. Billy was chosen to be Captain Marvel because of the purity of his heart, not his GPA; the Scarecrow has a good heart. Plus, Freddy will call the role of the Tin Woodman and then tease Billy about being without a brain. Again, it is an imprecise fit as Freddy is the exact opposite of heartless, but compared to the bleeding hearts of Billy and Mary he is relatively (and again I stress that relatively is the operative word) callous. And Mr. Tawny will stand-in for the Cowardly Lion since, well, he's an anthropomorphic tiger which is darned close to being an anthropomorphic lion.

So, Billy = the Scarecrow, Mary = Dorothy, Freddy = the Tin Woodman, and Mr. Tawny = the Cowardly Lion. The Wizard Shazam will stand-in not so much for the Wizard of Oz, but for Kansas. Who's going to be Oz? I don't know. The Phantom Stranger, maybe? Who's going to be the Wicked Witch of the West? Don't know. Hmmm, maybe an update of a classic Marvel Family foe like Oggar the Immortal* or the Aztec priestess Nyola, or maybe a sorceror/sorceress borrowed from another province of the DCU. Anyway, this story will have it all, munchkins, Emerald City, the Good Witch of the North, the yellow-brick road (called, interestingly enough, "the road of yellow bricks" in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, not "the yellow-brick road"), and, most importantly, flying monkeys.

The title of this magnificent miniseries? I don't know if I want to use Oz in the title, like Shazam!: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz or Shazam!: The Marvelous Land of Oz (slick way to work in "marvel" if I do say so myself); if I want to simply reference the Oz books, like Shazam!: The Yellow-Brick Road, Shazam!: The Emerald City, or Shazam!: Off to See the Wizard; or if I want to follow the "_____ of" theme of The Power of Shazam!, The Trials of Shazam! (*wretch*), and my own beloved The Magic of Shazam! with something like The Throne of Shazam! or The Search for Shazam!

Huh, I quite like The Throne of Shazam!, actually. (And it's apropos since my intention is to restore the Wizard, or at least his ghost, to his rightful throne in the Rock of Eternity.) But the Oz titles are mighty tempting, especially since all the Baum novels are public domain. Shazam! in the Marvelous Land of Oz? And once The Magic of Shazam! is up and running, we could always return to the Oz theme, perhaps with Timmy Tinkle (a.k.a. Robot Marvel) as the proxy for Tik-Tok and Billy's best gal Veronica standing in for, I don't know, Princess Ozma or somebody.

Ooo, perhaps this Oz thing would be a way to work in the Land of Faerie I intend to use in "Faerie Tale," "The Faerie Queene," and other, later stories in The Magic of Shazam! The Faerie Queene as Glinda, the Good Witch of the North? The Erlkonig as the Nome King? Sergeant Perriwinkle as... hmmm. I definitely need to read the Oz books sooner rather than later.

*World's Bestest
Captain Marvel - The World's Mightiest Mortal
Mary Marvel - The World's Mightiest Girl
Captain Marvel Jr. - The World's Mightiest Boy
Dr. Sivana - The World's Wickedest Scientist
Georgia Sivana - The World's Wickedest Girl
Sivana Jr. - The World's Wickedest Boy
Mr. Mind - The World's Wickedest Worm
Oggar - The World's Wickedest Immortal

Back in the Golden Age, the Marvel Family were of course the World's Mightiest Family and the Sivana's were the World's Wickedest Family. Dr. Sivana's two good children, Magnificus and Beautia are part of the modern-day DC Universe and I intend to use them in The Magic of Shazam! Thaddeus Bodog Sivana, Jr. and Georgia Sivana (Get it? Savannah, Georgia? Yeah, that's just terrible; thank Bog is isn't mine.) were created after Magnificus and Beautia and unlike their older siblings are nearly phisically identical to their father, Dr. Sivana. I've been tinkering with the idea of reintroducing Georgia and Junior as clones of Dr. Sivana, not so much as replacements for his beloved but estranged natural children, but as instruments to use against the Marvels, extensions of his own twisted genius.

The Question vs. Propaganda

The Question vs. Vox Populi

Superman vs. The Alienist

Martian Manhunter vs. The Alienist

BTW South Song of the Day
Reel Big Fish, "A-W-E-S-O-M-E" from We're Not Happy 'Til You're Not Happy (T.L.A.M.)

iScream, You Scream, We All Scream for Ice Cream iTunes
With my brother's able assistance, I have "taken [my] first step into a larger world." I have purchased two songs from iTunes, or rather, two different renditions of one song: "Is She Really Going Out with Him?" by Joe Jackson, performed by Joe Jackson and by Goldfinger. It is a great song; so, to this point my iTunes experience has been overwhelmingly positive*. Huzzah! At the risk of bringing diaster down upon my head, I think I'm going to enjoy this larger world.

*Once again, why oh why are the antimatter counterparts of protons called antiprotons while electrons' antiparticle doppelgangers have the much cooler name positrons?

Hat Day!
On his way home from work this evening, the Mountain of Love stopped by The Stockyards and bought an authentic cowboy hat. He's wanted to do this since first he decided to accept the year-long appointment from the Fwopera. In honor of this momentous occasion, this evening we ate dinner while wearing hats, he his brand-spankin'-new ten gallon hat and I my Pith helmet. Henceforth, Thursday shall be Hat Day at BTW South, to be celebrated by the wearing of hats during the consumption of the evening meal. Huzzah, I say, for as a man who does not often wear a hat in his workaday life, I have long regarded hats as inherently festive. Hat Day is going to be great. Woot!

One of my favorite aspects of the visual cacophony is its eclecticity... which I'm reasonably sure isn't a real word, but we continue undaunted. Just today, I hung a poster of the Three Stooges as "Dewey, Cheatem & Howe - Attorneys at Law" below a poster of Starlight Over Rhone by Van Gogh. High culture, baby!

Hey, which would be a better nom de guerre/supervillain codename for a radical Marxist terrorist enemy of The Question, Propaganda or Vox Populi?

BTW South Song of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "Hung Up On You" from Welcome Interstate Managers (Mt. Love)

BTW South Song of the Day
Jerry Bock & Sheldon Harnick, "To Life" from Fiddler on the Roof - London Cast (T.L.A.M.)

And now the Mountain and I are going to watch the last four episodes of the second season of the American The Office in preparation for tomorrow's season three premiere. Thinking about Jim and Pam... I'm probably going to want to kill myself by the end of the night. Tim and Dawn, Jim and Pam, bless you and damn you, Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant.

Perchance to Dream
I remember having a really cool dream this morning, but I'm able to recall precious few details. I think it was set during the Second World War, which makes sense since when I couldn't sleep last night I used ye olde internet to read up on Nazi Wunderwaffe and Vergeltungswaffe. And there was a stupefyingly beautiful girl, but that's hardly surprising. Every dream worth having revolves around a stupefyingly beautiful girl. I know this was a seriously cool dream full of excitement and adventure. I don't remember it, but at least I remember how it made me feel. And that's no small thing. What a great way to start off the day.

To borrow (steal) another line from the Bard, "To be or not to be, that is the question." What remotely rational argument could be put forward in support of bloggy blogging? Mexico, a friend, neighbor, and ally of my beloved America, is fighting for her political soul. No one cares. The spectre of the world-conquering madness that periodically possesses the Germans has been raised once again, or at least a shade of the spectre (A shade of a spectre is, like, what? One-tenth of a ghost? One-seventh?), and just as before the two greatest bloodlettings of the 20th Century, no one wants to listen. Street clashes in Hungary, a coup d'etat in Thailand, Iran's quest for the bomb. *snore* But dare to impugn the mystique of invincibility of Notre Dame and even U of M alumni turn traitor and fall all over each other to offer fellatio to Charlie Weiss. The world? Bollocks. Sports? Boring. An assault on Notre Dame's honor? To arms! To arms! The barbarians are at the gates! I have often said that I have the greatest friends in all the world, but when even their tastes and interests take a turn toward vapidity, why continue?

I should contain such thinking to my personal journal.

Call me a girl, call me a wuss, I don't care, Spider-Man Loves Mary Jane is the best comic book in the wide world.

Science!
Set your phasers to fun, space cadets, it's an honest to Bog mystery in space!

BTW South Song of the Day
Spring Heeled Jack, U.S.A., "Jolene" from Songs From Suburbia (Mt. Love)

The Girls of September '79
Happy birthday to Katie, a.k.a. The Watergirl a.k.a. The Girl in Camouflage.

Hungarian Link. What in the Sam Hill is going on in Hungary?

BTW South Song of the Day
The Suicide Machines, "Islands" from Destruction by Definition (T.L.A.M.)

Sunday, September 17
Goldfinger/Mest/Good Charlotte, "The Innocent" via ye olde internet (Mt. Love)

Honolulu Blue Forever
Great day in the morning, do I even need to say anything about Roy "Not the Good Roy Williams" Williams? That Matt Millen still has a job goes a long way to explaining why the Ford Motor Company is in such desperate straits. Henry Ford was a monstrous anti-Semite whom I'm sure is burning in Perdition's flames as I type these lines, but he was a hell of a businessman. His decendents, who seem to be far better human beings, are nepotistic idiots. 21-59 in five seasons, 0-2 so far in the sixth. Millen's record speaks for itself.

As for the rest of the Lions, who in the hell gives up four aerial touchdowns to Rex Grossman? Rex Grossman! Mr. Injury-prone himself! Rex "I Can't Believe We Lost to This Frickin' Idiot" Grossman! Gah! I am so very, very torn. On the one hand, I love the Lions so much and I want them to win. On the other hand, the Lions are doomed so long as Millen captains the ship; so, there is a certain ruthless logic in rooting for the Lions to lose every single game to hasten Millen's firing. (Even W.C. Ford's blind, stupid faith has to have a breaking point, doesn't it? Doesn't it?) On the gripping hand, the Lions have been so bad for so long that the "glory" days of Wayne Fontes and losing in the first round of the playoffs like clockwork seem like another lifetime. The idea that the Lions will ever be anything but terrible seems laughable; so, why even hope that they'll get better? They'll never get better. They'll always be on par with the Houston Texans and the Arizona Cardinals. And as long as there's no hope of getting better, why rant and rage against the damnable nimrods who are the architects of this sorry state of affairs?

On the one hand, cheer in vain for victories. On the other hand, cheer in vain for changes in the front office. On the gripping hand, cheer for the Lions with no thought toward victory or defeat. Oh, the gripping hand is stupendously tempting, but I just can't make the leap from outrage to apathy. That feels too much like letting Millen win. Nevermind that Millen has already won by fleecing the franchise for millions, paid ever-increasing amounts of money while reducing the team to the laughingstock of the NFL. I was here before he came and I am determined to be here when he's finally, finally run out of town, far, far too late to make any difference. I will continue to be of two minds, cheering for "the Lions" in the abstract while perversely enjoying each bumbling misstep of Millen's chosen players and coaches.

I'm sad because the Lions lost to the Bears, but I'm happy that Chicago made Roy Williams eat his asinine words. I hate losing a divisional game, but I'm glad that Millen's lapdogs Marinelli and Martz are being exposed as chumps. I am of two minds and will be for the indefinite future. The Lions will always be my team; so, tomorrow I'll be wearing my Honolulu blue T-shirt as a token of my solidarity, even though I smile whenever I see that 34-7 score. Fuck you, Roy Williams. Fuck you, Matt Millen. Fuck you, William Clay Ford.

BTW South Song of the Day
Better Luck Tomorrow is one of my favorite movies; so, better luck tomorrow.

Mexican Standoff
I hate to say it, but how typical of a leftist party: Uno. Mexico is supposed to be a state governed by the rule of law. According to Mexico's laws, the same laws that Mr. Lopez Obrador would have been obligated to uphold had he been elected presient of the United Mexican States and the same laws under which Mr. Lopez Obrador ran for the presidency, President-elect Calderon won July's election. Mexico's electoral laws may not be perfect, but that is a mater to be settled by the drafting of new laws in the congress, not by disrupting the traditional celebrations of the nation's independence day. By Lucifer's beard, the President of Mexico couldn't even mark his country's valiant struggle for freedom in the national capital. Imagine if President Bush was run out of Washington, D.C., on the Fourth of July. If there is one day that should bring all Mexicans together, it is September 16. Yet at precisely that moment the leftists declared their own will more important the then rule of law. Bog knows the law is an oft-flawed instrument of justice and good governance, but in the final analysis the law is all we have. Any system of raises one man's judgments and whims above the law, no matter how well-intentioned, leads inevitably to tyranny.

Example: the Union during the Civil War. President Lincoln is our national martyr and rightly honored as the greatest of all Americans, but his administration was also our most tyrannical. The military occupation of Maryland and the restrictions placed on free speech throughout the North would have been intolerable had we not been facing the gravest crisis in the Republic's history. Fortunately, when the crisis was past and the Union was secure again, the veil of righteous tyranny lifted and the rule of law reigned supreme again. (Though it must be said that the military occupation of the South, a.k.a. Reconstruction, should have continued for many decades, probably into the early twentieth century. The sufferance of Jim Crow was a complete betrayal of both our national ideal and the sacrifices made during the Civil War.)

It does not matter how good the Mexican left's intentions may be. Mr. Calderon was elected by a majority of the electorate, a razor-thin majority but a majority nonetheless. Mr. Calderon was elected in accordance with the law. The law must reign supreme if the future of the Mexican people is to be as bright as they deserve. I do not know how to resolve this crisis, how to make Mr. Lopez Obrador and his followers recongnize the necessity of the rule of law; so, to our friends south of the border I say "Bueno suerte" and "Vaya con Dios."

Deutschland Uber Alles
I fully support cracking down on far-right neo-Nazis. Lord knows the German people have proven themselves easily seduced by evil; so, the world cannot afford to allow them the same freedom of speech, no matter how ignorant and vile, we enjoy here in the land of the free and the home of the brave. Zwei und Drei. But why is it that while Berlin is warily eyeing neo-Nazis and skinheads, German Muslims are allowed to openly call for the annihilation of Israel and violence against Jews all around the world and no one bats an eye? It is the worst kind of "soft" racism to hold white, native-born Europeans to one standard of behavior and immigrant and/or minority populations to another, lower standard. The essense of democracy is that all men are equal before the law. Radical anti-Semitism from a neo-Nazi white lunatic is just as monstrous as radical anti-Semitism from a Hezbollah-adoring Arab lunatic. The Federal Republic of Germany should not crack down on only the former, it must crack down on both.

BTW South Song of the Day
The University of Michigan Marching Band, "The Victors" from A Saturday Tradition (T.L.A.M.)

The Victors
I love Saturday Night Latham and Boof on their own merits, but it definitely enhanced my U of M experience to live with two members of the magnificent Michigan Marching Band. Woot!

Though I must confess some confusion. Charlie Weiss is far and away the greatest, most brilliant man to have ever coached college football, the television told me so. I've even been lead to believe that Charlie Weiss invented the offensive phase of football. Charlie Weiss is more perfect than Jesus Christ, so the "Catholic" fans of the Fighting Irish have implied. So, how exactly is it that the football team of the godless University of Michigan held St. Charlie Weiss's perfectly schemed, expertly conceived, cunningly devised, and indescribably innovative offfense in check? Charlie Weiss must have wanted Michigan to win! Of course, it is the only explanation that makes any sense. Yes! This must be come clever ploy to teach his team about humility, about the dangers of having false confidence in themselves when they should only have confidence in their one, true god, Charlie Weiss. It's all so clear to me now. Wow, we could all learn a thing or two from Charlie Weiss, the most admirable human being to have ever walked the earth. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha!

And for the record, I never claimed to be gracious in victory, especially not when Notre Dame is involved.

"Hail to the victors valiant!
Hail to the conqu'ring heroes!
Hail! Hail! To Michigan
The leaders and best!"

Go Blue!

The Victors
It's halftime. What the hey was up with allowing Notre Dame that easy touchdown at the end of the second quarter? All in all, though, the Mountain and I are gleeful at this stage of the contest. Hooray for Super Mario! Now, we just need to keep up the pressure in the second half and we may yet overcome the "Charlie Weiss mystique." Go Blue!

BTW South Song of the Day
Mu330, "Vacation" via ye olde internet, available on CD only on a Japanese import (Mt. Love)

The Wealth of Nations
In a comment to one of Tuesday's posts, The Guy made the following very interesting statement: "That makes my capitalist soul sing." Wich raises the question, Do you subscribe to capitalism as an economic philosophy or do you simply reside in a nation-state with a predominantly capitalist economy? Do you believe in the capitalist-socialist hybrid practiced in the United States? Do you prefer the socialist-capitalist hybrid that holds sway in the European Union? Absolutist laissez-faire capitalism? Marxism? Marxism-Leninism? Anarcho-communism? State corporatism? Another system altogether or do you simly believe that barter is better?

Without going into any meaningful detail, as a statist and a pragmatist, I believe in the American capitalist-socialist hybrid, though I do with me emphasized the capitalist side of the model more to the detriment of the socialist. In what do you believe, dear readers? My curiosity in genuine and any and all who assist me in sating it will have my gratitude.

The Girls of September '79
Happy birthday to Julie, a.k.a. Skeeter.

Reading The Watergirl's blog a few moments ago, suffering in sympathy with what she must have endured during the awful aural assault of "The Case of the Worcester Girls on the Bus," I was struck by a recurring thought: what's wrong with this country is not that we have too much brick violence, but that we don't have enough brick violence directed at the right people. I am convinced that a relatively few, well-placed bricks to the face, perhaps as few as a score for every thousand people, would produce in our society a level of harmony and joy unrivaled in all the ages. Remember, bricks don't hit people in the face, people hit people in the face... with bricks.

The two best names I've ever heard for intramural sports teams are the Genesee County All-Stars, of which I was a founding member, and the Hurt 'Em Bad All-Stars, a basketball team against which my uncle Jim played while an undergraduate at the University of Cincinnati in the early '80s. Plus, the greatest shoes known to Man are Chuck Taylor All-Stars. There's no guarantee with all-stars, but it's a good place to start.

Train Wreck
For the last two weeks, the Mountain and I have been visiting our apartment complex's claustrophobically small exercise room on a daily basis (though I skipped last Saturday's session). We've been lifting and jogging on the treadmill. Bog, how I despise that treadmill. And yet, each day I mount it anew and willingly subject myself to a warm-up, thirty minutes of jogging, and a cool down. I jog at an incredibly slow speed, but a) I am a bloated fatass and b) I've never "run" before in my life. Before Tuesday, September 5, I'd never taken a constitutional jog in my life. I shall always think of myself as a swimmer, damn it, I don't run. Unfortunately, history has shown that I have a poor track record of dragging myself to a pool and pounding out enough yards to do my overtaxed heart any good; whereas under the stern gaze of the Mountain of Love's intracable discipline (which is a healthy adult adaptation of his unbelievable childhood stubbornness), I have run on nine of the past ten days. And that's even when I have regular acccess to a pool. Here in Fort Wothless, I'd have to find a suitable facility and then purchase some kind of membership. And while BTW South is proximal to UT Arlington, and while I would be surprised if their recreational facilities did not offer some kind of club membership for non-members of the university community, I might end up paying quite a bit of money for a pool I'd rarely visit. Whereas the price of admission to the minute exercise room and it's hated treadmill is built into the rent I'm paying anyway. Crap, not only am I rambling, but I'm rambling about a banal topic and, most unforgiveable of all, I am rambling in excruciatingly dull language. And yet, I'm going to post this rubbish. Man alive, why does anyone bother patronize this egomaniacal debacle of a bloggy blog?

I shall mightly endeavor to be more eloquent and more interesting when next I sit down to compose new material for the pompously christened Secret Base.

Addendum: If there is any point to the above, it's that thanks to the Mountain of Love I am eating better and getting much more exercise. Thanks, David!

BTW South Song of the Day
The Aquabats!, "Meltdown!" from Charge!! (T.L.A.M.)

The Mountain of Love and I were just rocking out to the Song of the Day, jumping and thrashing about in my room. Jumpin' Jack Pratt, Charge!! is an incredible album! All hail The Aquabats!

A couple pieces of terminology I've decided upon. First, I have been signing my emails to the fine folks at Comic Relief "Mike in Exile" instead of the usual "Mike" or "M!ke." However, since this "exile" is in the Lone Star State, I think I shall start referring to my time here not as the Exile, but as the Texile. Secondly, though my family has owned the Lumina since 1995, it has only become my property within the last month; everything old is new again and I've been trying to find a fitting name. She's a rather unremarkable vehicle, but she's mine and I'm trying to do right be her. To this point, the most fitting name I've come up with is the Blumina, since, after all, she's a blue Lumina.

BTW South Song of the Day
Biz Markie, "Just a Friend" via ye olde internet (Mt. Love)

BTW South Song of the Day
They Might Be Giants, "New York City" from Factory Showroom (T.L.A.M.)

Seriously, "New York City" is the most romantic song in the whole wide world.

Science!
A pair of hyperlinks: Spacewalk Cakewalk and When Humans Attack. Regarding the death of the Crocodile Hunter, I found everything about Steve Irwin amusing, from his ridiculous acccent to his unbridled enthusiasm to his too-short shorts to that fact that he was called "the Crocodile Hunter" but worked to protect, not kill, wild animals. I am sory for his family's loss, but at least he died the way he lived, and that's more than can be said about most people. If there is a such a thing as a good death, this was a good death. Rest in peace, Mr. Irwin, and thank you.

The Struggle for Civilization
In the Second World War, the United States, the last, best hope for Mankind, and the United Kingdom, the incubator of liberal democracy, joined forces with the absolute evil of Josef Stalin's Soviet Union to oppose the absolute evil of Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan. In a similar vein, it is a testament to the dread threat posed by Islamist terrorism that the United States and Syria, otherwise implacable ideological foes, can find common ground enough to cooperate in opposition: it never ends. Thank goodness for the Syrian security forces.

The Struggle for Civilization
"We love death. The U.S. loves life. That is the big difference between us."
--Osama bin Laden

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."
--Edmund Burke

First and foremost, I am an American. I love America and, Bog help me, I love my fellow Americans. Let us never forget, not for an instant, not even in the heat of the bitterest partisan disagreement, that we are not the enemy. We can, nay, we must disagree, we must argue and yell and struggle to find the best way forward, but we will move forward. We will face the enemy together, as Americans, united. E pluribus unum. We move forward as one. God bless you all, and God bless the United States of America.

"This I Believe" by Frank Miller.

BTW South Song of the Day
Aaron Tippen, "Where the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Fly" from Where the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Fly (Mt. Love)

Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
I have begun to apply the visual cacophony to The Last Angry Lair. The Mountain and I have already given the treatment to the living room and the kitchen, producing a truly exceptional hybrid of our two poster collections, paying homage to Blue Tree Whacking; Star Wars; Star Trek; Indiana Jones; such comic book icons as the Batman, Captain Marvel, and Spider-Man; the University of Michigan; and such musical greats as The Aquabats!, Reel Big Fish, Less Than Jake, The (late, lamented) Hippos, and Mu330; The Simpsons; Bob & Doug McKenzie; et al. It's magnificent to behold.

The process of postering my bedroom is always long and laborious, but worthwhile. This go around, I am dealing with the added frustration of BTW South's walls, which are comvered in a bumpy, uneven kind of drywall. Taping is more difficult than normal; so, on some of the posters we have resorted to using tacks. All in all, I am satisfied with our progress, though as always my elation is tinged with anxiety for when we have to tear it all down again in eleven months.

The X-700 is out of commission and the Mountain's digital comera is dead; but, as soon as we have photographic means at our disposal, I shall attempt to share with you some of BTW South's decorative brilliance.

Doom
Yesterday, while we were exploring the mall in which is located the movie theater at which we saw Little Miss Sunshine, I bought an Invader ZIM T-shirt. As I type this, I have an image of GIR saying "Make me a sammich!" on my chest. Ain't life grand?

The Girls of September '79
Happy birthday to Lindsay, a.k.a. Mrs. Sacramento (formerly Never Girl).

BTW South Song of the Day
The Bruce Lee Band, "Go Feet Go" from Beautiful World (T.L.A.M.)

Sunday, August 27
King Apparatus, "Michael & Anne" from Marbles (T.L.A.M.)

Saturday, August 26
Better Than Ezra, "Good" via ye olde internet (Mt. Love)

Friday, August 25
The Blue Meanies, "Acceleration 5000" from Mailorder is STILL Fun! (T.L.A.M.)

Thursday, August 24 - Move-In Day!
Less Than Jake, "Al's War" from Hello Rockview (Mt. Love)

And that's it, we're all caught up. From now on, you guys are going to have to suffice with just one Song of the Day per day. Stiff upper lip and all that, we'll get through this together.

The Girls of September '79
Happy birthday to Emma, a.k.a. Mrs. Blinky.

BTW South Song of the Day
+44, "Lycanthrope" via ye olde internet (Mt. Love)

Live Long and Prosper
Forty years ago tonight, on September 8, 1966, Star Trek debuted on American television. To mark the occasion, the TV Land network aired a four-episode Star Trek "marathon" of "The Man Trap," "The City on the Edge of Forever," "The Trouble with Tribbles," and "Plato's Stepchildren." "The Man Trap" was the episode aired on September 8, 1966; so, it's inclusion was perfectly logical. "The City on the Edge of Forever" is widely considered the single best episode of Star Trek's 1966-1969 run. "The Trouble with Tribbles" is beyond doubt the single most fun episode of the original series. If you were putting together a four-episode tribute marathon, those three episodes are virtually required.

But "Plato's Stepchildren"? This is not one of Star Trek's most shining moments. (Though it is one of two TOS episodes to guest-star the beautiful barbara Babcock; so, on that score it's a winner. The other is "A Taste of Armageddon." Mea 3, I love you!) On the theme of godlike beings abusing their power, superior choices exist in both "The Squire of Gothos" and, keeping to the Hellenic motiff, "Who Mourns for Adonais?"; for better explorations of the theme of mind-control, look no further than "The Day of the Dove" or "The Gamesters of Triskelion." So, why "Plato's Stepchilden"? The Mountain and I reckon the issue was decided by The Kiss, the first interracial kiss on American television, acted by none other than William Shatner (Captain James T. Kirk) and Nichelle Nichols (Lieutenant Uhura). Jim Kirk's man-whoring knows no racial bounds! Hooray for progress!

"The Man Trap"
"The City on the Edge of Forever"
"The Trouble with Tribbles"
"Plato's Stepchildren"

Happy birthday, Star Trek! Thank you for everything, Mr. Roddenberry, and may you rest in peace. Live long and prosper, my friends.

Welcome to the Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society, now broadcasting (though not really) from The Last Angry Lair at BTW South. I am fully aware that my new HAL is called a Mac Mini, but I still cannot wrap my mind around just how miniature it really is. Holy smokes, it's tiny! This latest incarnation of The Last Angry HAL (No. IV) is ridiculously small. Woot!

BTW South Song of the Day
Mustard Plug, "Mendoza" from Evildoers Beware! (T.L.A.M.)

The Queue
Sarah Vowell, Radio On
Gerald Green, The Last Angry Man
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Uki Goni, The Real Odessa ***In Progress***
et al. as before

BTW South Song of the Day
The Aquabats!, "Todd-1 in Space Mountain Land!" via iTunes (Mt. Love)

And now, while the Mountain is at a party with his Fort Worth Opera (or "Fwopera") colleagues, I shall watch the perfect superhero motion picture, Batman Begins. (And coming soon to the Secret Base: the return of "Mexican Standoff.")

Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
We've started hanging wall decorations. I'm giddy as a school girl just thinking about the glory that is to come. We've got the RCY banner from our last show hanging up over the useless fireplace and my Star Wars Imperial Stormtrooper helmet-and-crossbones pirate flag hanging over the television set and sundry media devices. Most importantly, we have the posters from all six Star Wars movies lined up side by side by side over the living room couch (the Special Edition posters in the cases of Episodes IV, V, and VI). It's... beautiful. Tomorrow, I hope to hang Mr. Turtle in my bedroom. Posters will follow as soon as they are flattened out. To quote Pete Conrad, the commander of Apollo 12, when he became the third man to set foot on the Moon, "Yippee!"

BTW South Song of the Day
Catch 22, "Wreck of the Sloop John B" from Alone in a Crowd (T.L.A.M.)

Sunday, September 3
Ben Folds Five, "Cigarette" from Whatever and Ever Amen (Mt. Love)

Saturday, September 2
They Might Be Giants, "Another First Kiss" from Mink Car (T.L.A.M.)

Friday, September 1
Wally Dogger, "Rock 'n' Roll is Back" from Monster Toast (Mt. Love)

Thursday, August 31
composer unknown since I can't read Japanese, "Tenchi in Tokyo (a.k.a. New Tenchi Muyo) Ending Theme" from imported Japanese Tenchi in Tokyo soundtrack (T.L.A.M.)

Wednesday, August 30
Guster, The New Underground from the forthcoming Guster album, via iTunes (Mt. Love)

Tuesday, August 29
They Might Be Giants, "Doctor Worm (live)" from Almanac (T.L.A.M.)

Monday, August 28
SR-71, "Right Now" from Now You See Inside (Mt. Love)

We're going back and retroactively filing in songs for all the days we've lived here, even thought we didn't start selecting the Song of the Day until yesterday. Hooray for revisionist history?

BTW South Song of the Day
Carl Orff, "O Fortuna" from Carmina Burana (selected by the Mountain of Love a.k.a. Mt. Love)

Monday, September 4
"Weird Al" Yankovic, "You're Pitiful" via iTunes (selected by The Last Angry Man, a.k.a. T.L.A.M.)

The F.R.A.T. Party
I'm not sure what brought it to mind, perhaps the beginning of the college football season, but all day I've been thinking about the grand old time that was the F.R.A.T. Party, the Friends Rebelling Against Tyranny Party, a publicity stunt for the Gargoyle humor magazine that took on a life all its own. Spending all day in the center of the Diag armed with a keg of root beer and a fishbowl full of condoms, a kid named Ryan insisting that he be called Galaxor Nebulon as he ran for student body president, the electioneering (sadly, we weren't the one who thought of it, just the unlikely beneficiaries) that resulting in me actually winning a seat on the student council, those were the days.

One evening, while I was chalking in the Diag, writing "Vote F.R.A.T Party" with the anarchy symbol replacing the A in F.R.A.T., a fellow student came up to me and said, without preamble, "Would you call your country a cunt?" What? "Would you call your country a cunt?"

"No," I said, still mightily confused, "I guess I wouldn't."

"Then why would you call my fraternity a frat?" He then walked away and I resumed defacing the campus with graffiti promoting the F.R.A.T Party and the Gargoyle.

Here's the thing, the frathole's example was a non sequitor, though this was only to be brought to my attention later. If you take "-ernity" off of "fraternity," you get "frat," a term used both by fratholes and frat-haters. If you take "-ry" off of "country," you get "count" not "cunt." Stupid fratboy.

Earlier that evening, a cleaned-up hippie stopped me, "Fraternal order, anarchy symbol. I don't get it." Once I explained to him that I was not in a frat and what F.R.A.T. stood for, he expressed his support for our important work and wished my comrades and me well in our electoral endeavour. He was truly a friend to our rebellion against the tyranny of pomposity.

F.R.A.T. Party forever!

The Queue
Sarah Vowell, Radio On: A Listener's Diary
Gerald Green, The Last Angry Man
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Uki Goni, The Real Odessa
Nick Hornby, A Long Way Down
Baroness Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
William Manchester, The Arms of Krupp
Natan Sharansky, The Case for Democracy
Herman Melville, Moby-Dick

I stayed up half the night yesterday finishing The Last Angry Man. It was, as the quote from The New York Times on the cover promised, "... boiling with human drama...." I also felt that I had wronged both you, my loyal readers, by ignoring the long established traditions of "The Queue" and neglecting to list recently finished books, such as Sarah Vowell's Radio On.

Before resuming Radio On and The Last Angry Man, both had lain fallow since January or February, and I had not read any other books in the interim. I read a lot of comics in that time, and by no means do I desire to disparage the medium of comics, but it feels great to be back into books again.

Snapshot Revised
Fountains of Wayne, Out-of-State Plates Disc One
Fountains of Wayne, Out-of-State Plates Disc Two
Phantom Planet, The Guest
The Killers, Hot Fuss
The Hippos, heads Are Gonna Roll

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
The Buckeye, a.k.a. the future Mrs. Mountain of Love, is visiting. There's no nice way to say this; so, I'll just say it: it's horrible watching college football with her. She's an Ohio State alumna. She roots for Ohio State. That is both the basis for and the entirety of my objection to watching college football with her. Curse you, Brutus the Buckeye!

Huzzah for the victory of the mighty Wolverines over the fearsome Vanderbilt Commodores!

Snapshot
The compact discs currently in my compact disc player:

Fountains of Wayne, Out-of-State Plates Disc One
Phantom Planet, The Guest
Phantom Planet, The Guest Bonus Disc
The Killers, Hot Fuss
and
The Hippos, Heads Are Gonna Roll

The Queue
Gerald Green, The Last Angry Man ***In Progress***
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Nick Hornby, A Long Way Down
Baroness Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
Uki Goni, The Real Odessa: How Peron Brought the Nazi War Criminals to Argentina
William Manchester, The Arms of Krupp, 1587-1968
Natan Sharansky with Ron Dermer, The Case for Democracy: The Power of Freedom to Overcome Tyranny & Terror ***in progress, interrupted***
Herman Melville, Moby-Dick

Also, I very much want to read Alan Dershowitz's The Case for Peace, the follow-on to The Case for Israel, but I shan't add it to the queue until the paperback edition is in my possession.

International Business Machines Vs. Macintosh
I have to say, I'm having persistent second thoughts about buying a Macintosh. I fucking hate the Mountain of Love's Power Book. I just sent an email from my Yahoo! account and I could neither italicize nor underline text within the email. The procedure for doing both things from a PC is ridiculously simple, yet for the life of me I could not devise how to accomplish them on this machine. I shall have to see if the now sleeping Mountain can show me how to do those things with a Mac. If not, if these infernal devices won't allow for the simplest aesthetic flourishes, I will have no choice but to buy a PC. I hate all HALs, but I've never had trouble using italics on a PC. Is the vaunted user-friendliness of Macs complete horsepucky, a pack of lies like the Golden Gate Bridge? Things aren't looking good for Steve Jobs at the moment, at least not insofar as earning my business.

Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
The Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society is back on the air... metaphorically. I don't have the head of steam necessary to write the requisite big moving posts at the nonce, but suffice it to say that I am very pleased to be living with my brother, though simultaneously terrified to be living so far from home. Mine was a very isolated life in Grand Blanc, far removed my my dear friends, but that life boasted the comfort of the hearth and literal familiarity. Here in Fort Worthless, I am confronted by the great unknown. But at least I have my beloved brother by my side; so, I have someone with whom to commiserate in the face of the relentless 100 F heat. Fucking Texas.

One item of interest: both my aged, second-hand laptop and my aged,second-hand PC seem to have given up the ghost. Damnation. Still, such are the perils of collecting used HALs instead of forking out the greenbacks to purchase one of your very own; I knew this day would come sooner or later and, really, looking back, I had no right to expect that it would come this late. Both HALs should have been junked years ago. (And given the brief lifespan of HALs, it is a minor marvel when any HAL has years of life in it, even if most of those years are after it should have been put out to pasture.) So, I shall soon be biting the bullet and investing in a suitable, thought hardly state-of-the-art HAL, probably of the Macintosh persuasion. For now, I am bloggy blogging on the Mountain of Love's Power Book, which he has been kind enough to place at my disposal.

More later, gang. Have a lovely day.

Running various errands this afternoon, I spied two of the best vanity license plates I have ever seen, the king of all vanity plates being the Senator's Daughter's signature plate: 701. The lesser of today's finds was DATA; I do not know if the plate was intended as a reference to Star Trek: The Next Generation's Lieutenant Commander Data, but that is how I choose to view it. The greater of the two was, brace yourself, HHHHHHH. Seven H's looked pretty sweet on the back of that minivan, and I salute the creativity that had to have gone into selected HHHHHHH.

Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
This will probably be my last bloggy blog post until the Mountain of Love and I are situated in Fort Worthless. Stay strong over the course of the next week. The Secret Base isn't giving up the ghost like the blogs of Skeeter, Daddy Dylweed, The Squirrel King, Neutral Man, and so many others. According to a recent issue of Discover, there were 500,000 blogs in 2003; here in 2006 there are around 30,000,000. The Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society has been in operation since February of 2002; so, it's not going anywhere. The Secret Base is as bankable as the outrageousness of Jack Pratt's pants. And as we all know, you can't beat pants. I have a feeling I've lost the thread, but I've never let that stop me. BTW South's cable installation, providing the vital dual lifelines of television ("...teacher, mother... secret lover") and ye olde internet, is scheduled for next Freitag. Cowboy up and you'll make it until then in fine style. And if you really need your daily fix of Last Angry Anger, there are four and half years of archives to cull. Bon chance, mes amis.

(Of course, knowing how I love to procrastinate, I wouldn't bet against there being one or two more posts as I grope desperately for anything to do to avoid finishing packing.)

Driving home at 11:00 o'clock, I didn't feel like listening to the BBC. I tuned in WKAR, the classical music NPR station, but didn't like the piece being played. Next up, I tried WHNN, the oldies station. And what did I hear? Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock and Roll"! Now, that kind of music just soothes my soul. Next up was "December 1963 (Oh, What a Night)" by The Four Seasons. It was the absolutely perfect song for that moment in time. I feared disappointment following back-to-back triumphs, but wihout cause: Roy Orbison's "You Got It." Jumpin' Jack Pratt, I know that one thing is undeniably true: it is ALWAYS the right moment for Roy Orbison. What a fantabulous hat trick.

Bog, I love music.

Hello, my name is Michael Patrick Wilson. In my head, I call myself Mike. I am an American, a Catholic, a democract, a Republican, a capitalist, a Zionist, a prude, a liberal, a Star Wars fanatic, a Trekkie, a fanboy, an otaku, a Michigander, a fat guy, an old ska kid, and a virgin. I am The Last Angry Man, Michael P., the SKP Machine, and the sole member of the Rebel Black Dot Society. I owned and named Michael Patrick Donut Shark. I am the master and commander of the legendary Mousemobile.

I say this not as I usually would, as a challenge, but as an invitation: who are you?

On Saturday, the Mountain of Love proposed marriage to the Buckeye and she accepted, becoming the future Mrs. Mountain. I hope they make each other very happy, because if she ever hurts him there shall come a frightful reckoning. (My purpose is not to offend; as anyone who knows me is well aware, I am very protective of my beloved brother.)

My Favorite Martian
Prompted by my interest in the new Martian Manhunter miniseries, I've begun collecting the Martian Manhunter ongoing series from the late 90s and generally researching the life and times of J'onn J'onzz. As is my habit, I've also begun formulating a few story ideas. Preliminary ideas include "Little Green Men," which will utilize The Alienist, a villain I invented for the hypothetical Superman story "Superego," and "Flight of the V.U.L.T.U.R.E." about the Manhunter's evil twin brother (honest to American God) Malefic and his worldwide criminal/terrorist organization V.U.L.T.U.R.E., the Vicious Union of Lethal Torturers, Underminers, Ravagers, and Executioners. As a fan of the miniseries Son of Vulcan, which featured a pair of the villainous White Martians as the chief black hats, I want to add Vulcan (Miguel "Mikey" Devante) to J'onn's supporting cast in a quasi-sidekick role. I can even borrow a title from The Man From U.N.C.L.E., "The Vulcan Affair," to introduce him into my Martian Manhunter. I believe the Martian Manhunter is rising quickly on the list of my favorite DC heroes.

Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
Mom and I drove up to Frankenmuth this morning and as a result of our trek I am now the proud owner of an amusingly hideous white wicker "entertainment center" and two matching end tables. All three items were gifts from Roz and Marty. Still, my new possessions will be quite useful in the new apartment in Forth Worthless. In a similar vein, I've decided to take my dresser after all; previously, I had thought that all my T-shirts and boxer shorts would reside on a series of plastic shelves to be placed in the closet, but now I am of the opinion that the dresser is the way to go.

Also this afternoon, I sold out. I am now the ashamed owner of a mobile telephone. As a Catholic I am drawn to the notion of penance through suffering; so, please be merciless in your mockery. The harsher you are the cleaner I will feel. While reading through the instruction manual, I became aware that I am not at all certain I have current telephone numbers for a great many of my dearest friends. So, if you would like to be entered into my mobile's contact list, email your digits to rebelblackdot@gmail.com. Jeers and taunts may be left in the commenting section of the Secret Base. Today, for the second time this summer, I hold cheap my manhood.

No Oracles at Delphi
Today, Diane, a lady at work whom I would guess is approximately the same age as my parents (mid-50s), gave me a Superman Returns calendar. Like almost everyone else at Delphi she has seen me reading comics on my breaks and once we even had a pleasant conversation about the joys and perils of being a pack rat. We're friendly acquaintances. She said she saw the calendars at a discounted price at a drug store and bought two, one for each of us. Bog, I hated Superman Returns, but in the giving and receiving of gifts it is of course the thought that matters. What a kind gesture. Hoorah for random acts of kindness.

Speaking of things that make life more splendid, I can't get the Fountains of Wayne song "Lost in Space" out of my head. You cannot think about "Lost in Space" without smiling, it's impossible. Sweet fancy Moses, Utopia Parkway is an amazing feat of musical brilliance. It's splendiferous!

"And she walks the earth,
But she's not from the human race.
She's a pretty little thing, but she's lost,
Yeah she's lost in space,
Yeah she's lost in space."

The War for Civilization
Dear God. Hyperlink. Do you remember the world of August 2001, just five scant years ago? Jihadist terrorism was a deadly threat in August of 2001, but it was a deadly threat of which we were all blissfully ignorant. We were living in a fool's paradise, but as I've said before, the thing about living in a fool's paradise is until it falls apart you're living in paradise. And who doesn't enjoy living in paradise?

Still, that world is dead and gone. The war for civilization, the war for peace and the rule of law, continues. The triumph of liberal democracy over despotism and terrorism is inevitable, but lamentably that doesn't mean there won't be many terrible days of blood and fire between now and glorious victory. Thank the Almighty today wasn't one of those days.

No Oracles at Delphi
I didn't pack a sack lunch today; so, I left the plant at "lunch" (7:00-7:30pm) and took advantage of one of the numerous readily accessable restaurants with drive-thru capabilities. Not in the mood for NPR, I hit the SEEK button on the Mousemobile's radio and soon found myself listening to a country music station. Bog, what I would have given for the DJ to have said, "We've got both kinds, country and Western." As I left work at the end of the shift (no overtime tonight; so, I left at 10:42pm), I decided to repeat the experiment. This time, I found myself listening to a Christian-themed inspirational/motivational monologue from a man with a voice both soft and intense. I love the Lord, but as I listened to this very earnest and clearly well-meaning man all I could think of was:

"In his favorite club,
In his favorite seat,
I saw the Devil,
Wingtip shoes on his feet,
Porkpie hat on his head,
He was diggin' the beat,
And the band ripped like demons
When he screamed, 'Turn on the heat!'"
--The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "Devil's Night Out" from Devil's Night Out

Also, whenever possible I think I'll start referring to the Mousemobile as "the legendary Mousemobile." Legendary, you ask? You know as well as I that the Mousemobile is a rolling legend in her own time.

And soon the legend of the legendary Mousemobile will be huge. Huge like Brinkman.

"I couldn't see, what I once saw,
In your lovely face
Once your lovely face
Became commonplace."
--The Proclaimers, "What I Saw in You" from Restless Soul

Clockwork Confusion
At the corner of Robert T. Longway Boulevard and Dort Highway there is a defunct business called the Klock Korner. Why in Bog's name would anyone name something like that? Okay, yes, it was a clock store located perilously close to a corner, but both "clock" and "corner" already start with the letter C. Why change their spellings to start with the letter K? Clock Corner, what's wrong with that? I could understand changing the first letter of one word - if clock was actually spelled "klock," I could see changing corner to "korner" since people find visual "alliteration" nearly as pleasing as actual alliteration - but both words already started with the same letter!

Now, since both "crispy" and "creme" already begin with the letter C, I've always assumed that the Krispy Kreme chain was thusly named as an allusion to the Ku Klux Klan. Krispy Kreme is a Southern company, after all, so what other reason would there be to favor the Klan-esque Krispy Kreme over the proper Crispy Creme?

Krusty the Klown is excused from my ire since spelling Krusty with a K instead of the proper C allowed for "comedy" and "classic" to be modified to be brought into line with Krusty, giving us the hilarious gag of Krusty's Komedy Klassic at the Apollo Theater. Is there anything funnier than an animated clown being pelted with produce?

Anyway, I'm glad the Klock Korner went out of business. I'd be chagrined had the business been named the Clock Corner, since the idea of a dedicated clock store is pretty neat.

Mexican Standoff
Supporters of left-wing Mexican presidential candidate Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador have been fouling up traffic in Mexico City with an enduring campaign of civil disobedience for the better part of a month (hyperlink), waiting for electoral officials to overturn the election of right-wing candidate and now President-Elect Felipe Calderon. Mexican law is clear, Calderon carried the day by the skin of his teeth, but Lopez Obrador's partisans refuse to concede. There's no good way out of this mess and Mexico's politics are going to be paralyzed by years of bitterness no matter the result.

This is a golden opportunity, yet I have not seen a single American newspaper boasting the headline "MEXICAN STANDOFF!" Come on, people! It's a standoff, it's in Mexico, and it can only end badly! It's the perfect Mexican standoff! There are no leaps of logic here. There's no need for semantic gymnastics. This is an honest to Our Lady of Guadalupe Mexican standoff! Oh, man, this is so much fun.

I can't be the only one who's thrilled by this. Don't wait, jump on the Mexican standoff bandwagon! Get exicted, people, it's a Mexican standoff, the best thing in the world after a knife fight in Caracas!

Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
Though my bellyaching at the time was both frequent and persistent, I now realize that the failure of our air conditioner a few weeks hence was in fact a blessing. The new AC unit is more efficient and more effective than the old unit; given that the heat index today is supposed to be over 100 F, with actual temperatures in the high 90s, I'm not sure the old unit could have coped. Not that I'm faulting the old Lennox, it fought the good fight for thirty-odd years and gave the last full measure of devotion, but the present heat wave would have simply overwhelmed its capabilities. Hooray for blessings in disguise.

What does this have to do with moving to Forth Worthless? I'm moving to Texas in the middle of August, the same Texas where you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a 90 F afternoon high. Am I fucking retarded? I blame the Mountain of Love for this. It's all his fault.