The Explorers Club
No. CXCVI - Raymond Dart (1893-1988) & the Taung Child (Australopithecus africanus).







Project MERCATOR
I saw Jonah Hex this evening at The Impossible Ingenue's invitation. We saw it gratis at the Flint Institute of Arts thanks to the "College Town" initiative, which includes free screenings on Thursday nights, & yet I still feel as if I was overcharged. Jonah Hex is a wretched, wretched film, the kind of bad that I'd expect from a Syfy Original starring one of the lesser Baldwin bros. It's too late for me, save yourselves.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Spike Jones & His City Slickers, "Der Fuehrer's Face" from The Spike Jones Anthology (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Why? Because on Tuesday a good-natured buffoon subjected me to the always popular "Stalin was worse than Hitler" argument. Is there really a point to parsing out which was the greater evil? Not unless you're trying, in some small but morally repugnant way, to excuse the other.

"Are ve not the supermen?
Aryan, pure supermen?
(Ja, ve is the supermen!)
Super duper supermen!"

Obamboozled
Then-Senator Obama spent the whole of the '08 campaign declaring loudly & often that President Bush had politicized the Department of Justice; what we've seen from the Justice Department in the first twenty-one months of the Obama Administration is politicization on a ghastly & previously unimaginable scale at the same time that investigations have cleared the Bush Administration of any impropriety in the celebrated case of the firing of eight United States Attorneys, who, after all, serve at the pleasure of the president. Similarly, then-Senator Obama roundly denounced President Bush for politicizing government reports on science. Kind of funny, then, isn't it, how the Obama White House used bad science to lie about the quantity of petroleum bubbling out of this year's Gulf of Mexico oil spill? Liar! Liar! Pants afire!link. Feeding the public blatant misinformation, Mr. President? Actively withholding the truth, Mr. President? Your sin, Mr. President, while great, would be less so were it not so unforgivably hypocritical.

I was going to title this post "Obamboozled: Science!," but unlike President Obama my conscience does not permit me to politicize science while denouncing others for that very thing. Thus, let me reiterate that this is an "Obamboozled" post, NOT a "Science!" post.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Staggers, "Snoopy vs. the Red Baron" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty or more,
The bloody Red Baron was rolling up the score!
Eighty men died trying to end that spree
Of the bloody Red Baron of Germany."

The Victors
(No. 19) Michigan 42-35 Indiana
5-0, Big Ten 1-0

I didn't see last Saturday's game against the wily Hoosiers; so, though I have read a good deal about it via ye olde internet, the second-hand character of all my knowledge would make my first-hand opining a vice. Having not seen the game I cannot judge if it really was as much of a close-run shootout as the score would indicate. After all the valiant Wolverines have put me through in the years since The Horror (the loss to Appalachian State under Lloyd Carr, followed by the two consecutive losing seasons under Rich Rodriguez), my first reaction upon learning the outcome was to breath a sigh of relief at the victory. A loss would have saddened me, but not necessarily surprised me. It's not that I don't have any faith in the valiant Wolverines, it's that the defense is about as resistant to tearing as tissue paper; it's that Shoelace & the rightly vaunted offense were held scoreless for vast swaths of the game against the vile Fighting Irish. I have faith in the valiant Wolverines, but my faith is not blind; it knows them to be all too fallible.

This Saturday, the (No. 18) valiant Wolverines of the University of Michigan host the (No. 17) dastardly Spartans of the Michigan Agricultural College (or whatever they're calling themselves this week). This is more than just a football game, this is a manifestation of the war for the soul of the State of Michigan between the light of knowledge (us) & the darkness of ignorance (them). This is a war that divides families & sunders (temporarily) friendships. All this week, I've donned Michigan paraphernalia to proclaim my side in the struggle. There is no neutral ground in this, not for a Michigander.

Go Blue!

I learned the final score via a voicemail left by my father. He is in the habit of ringing my mobile when he's traveling; unlike so many of his other habits, I find this endearing instead of annoying. He left me two voice messages on Saturday, the first describing the many new attractions added to the National Museum of the United States Air Force at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base since his last visit & the second giving me the round-up of the day's Big Ten action. Both of these were most sincerely appreciated. The sunshine of southern California seemed a world away from the windswept gridirons of the Midwest, & yet football Saturdays are so rare & precious that every ounce of enjoyment must be wrung out of them, even by proxy. The Air Force Museum at Wright-Pat is one of my favorite places on Earth, one of the last places where I can still recall & enjoy my childhood idolization of my father. I like Wright-Pat even better than the National Air & Space Museum of the Smithsonian, & I will take my children to Dayton to look at the aeroplanes & marvel at Man's ingenuity.

I apologize for my failure to document properly last spring's speech & debate activities. I shall make a good faith effort to catch you up, but priority must be placed on not falling any further behind; to wit, the weekend just past:

Master Debating
The style of debate in which my teammates & I compete is known by several names, among them Oxford-style, Worlds-style, and British Parliamentary-style (B.P.). This last name, though most common, is the most unsatisfactory, as the previous format in which I competed, N.P.D.A., was nicknamed "Parli," as it too took its cues from the Westminster Parliament. The preferred name, then, is "Worlds," in part because there is an actual world championship contested between teams from several nation-states. I cannot specify any of them beyond the United States, the United Kingdom, and the stepchild of those two parents, the Dominion of Canada, & so I would not guess as to the presence of Worlds in the Commonwealth beyond the six nations of the Anglosphere.

A round in Worlds is contested between four teams of two members, named as 1st Proposition (or Prop), 2nd Proposition, 1st Opposition (or Opp), & 2nd Opposition. (I prefer the names 1st & 2nd Government [Gov] to 1st & 2nd Prop because of the similarity of Prop to Opp & the resultant opportunities for confusion, but I defer to the names used at last weekend's tournament.) The two members of 1st Prop are the Prime Minister (P.M.) & the Deputy Prime Minister (D.P.M.), 1st Opp: the Leader of the Opposition (L.O.) & the Deputy Leader of the Opposition (D.L.O.), 2nd Prop: the Member of Government (M.G.) & Government Whip (G.W.), & 2nd Opp: the Member of Opposition (M.O.) & Opposition Whip (O.W.). Each delivers a speech "not to exceed seven minutes," with significantly shorter speeches being very much frowned upon. The "top-half" speakers (1st Prop & Opp) alternate with each other, followed by the "bottom-half" speakers (2nd Prop & Opp), so that the speaking order is thus:

P.M. (1st Prop)
L.O. (1st Opp)
D.P.M. (1st Prop)
D.L.O. (1st Opp)
M.G. (2nd Prop)
M.O. (2nd Opp)
G.W. (2nd Prop)
O.W. (2nd Opp)

Even though the two Proposition teams are on the same side of the debate, as are the two Opposition teams, they are also in competition, as the four teams are ranked in descending order: 1, 2, 3, & 4. It is entirely possible for the 2nd Prop to win the round with the 1 while the 1st Prop slinks away in shame with the 4. It is also more important in competition to win the round than to "win" the debate. The purpose of a Worlds round (as distinct from the pedagogical purpose of Worlds overall) is not to solve the world's problems by arguing over the best policies, but to fulfill best & most properly your assigned role. Rounds are judged on three criteria: matter, manner, & role fulfillment, though the maddening aspect of the whole process is that each judge seems to have his own definition of those terms & his own calculus for how each is weighed. Matter is what you say: the quality of your arguments & analyses. In Worlds, you can argue that Marxism is the best economic system, but you've got to back is up with a more sophisticated analysis than "capitalism is bad." Manner is how you say what you say: confidence is the key to public speaking, and smooth, persuasive, engaging oratory is rewarded. Not to toot boast, but at the end of almost every round, when the two sides "cross the aisle" to shake hands before adjudication begins, I am almost invariably complimented on my oratory. Role fulfillment: how well you conduct your specific function within the round, & whether you "move the debate forward." A great emphasis is placed on the longevity of arguments; if the points brought up by 1st Prop are still being wrangled over by the Whips, there is a good chance 1st Prop will get the 1. Each of the four positions has its own requirements, as do both roles within each position; the P.M. has a very different job than the M.O., and a different speaker will be better at one role than another, based on that individual's skill-set. Points of information, questions asked during a member of the other side's speech, are a way to remain engaged in the debate (sometimes important to the judges' final scores) when it isn't your turn to speak.

Last winter & spring, in two weekends of Parli competition & one weekend of Worlds, I was partnered with The Most Dangerous Game, who is solely responsible for my recruitment onto the team. (Wayback Machine.) Her preference was for me to take the rhetorical lead—in Worlds almost invariably acting as P.M., L.O., or either Whip—though she very much liked to believe that she was directing events from behind the scenes. For the fall, now that we'd gotten our feet wet in Worlds, The M.A.P. decided that he'd flex his muscle as coach & faculty adviser & pair me with team captain Too Sly as a definitive "A" team. The Most Dangerous Game resented this for two reasons: {a} she'd brought my masterful speaking ability onto the team in the first place & {b} over the summer she'd tried & failed to supplant Too Sly as team captain. The Game's least charming quality is her almost psychotic need to be the leader of any organization of which she is a part. She doesn't necessarily want the burden of command, she just wants everyone to tell her she's in charge & do her bidding. However, Too Sly is clearly the driving force of the team, his commitment going above & beyond that of The M.A.P., for whom coaching the debate team is part & parcel of his teaching contract. Too Sly remains team captain, however unofficial that designation may be. The Most Dangerous Game was left without a partner for the first six rounds because at 2:30 P.M. on Thursday, at the very time we were meant to be piling into the van to motor down to Metro Airport, her partner—the guy on the team nobody liked—announced that he wasn't coming. (The story behind this is a pathetic saga all its own, into which we shan't now delve.) The novice pairing of Love/Hate & The Regina soldiered on through six fruitless rounds, at which point The Most Dangerous Game paired with The Regina for Round 7 & Love/Hate for Round 8.

Too Sly & I's result were as follows: Friday: Round 1: 4, Rd. 2: 2, Rd. 3: 1 (!); & Saturday: Rd. 4: 4, Rd. 5: 3, Rd. 6: 2, Rd. 7: 1 (!), Rd. 8: 3. We screwed up mightily only once, in Round 1, where we committed a startlingly elementary error as 1st Prop. There are mitigating factors, but at the end of the day we cannot & do not deny that we fumbled. Our triumph in Round 3 was especially thrilling because we both, but your humble narrator principally, were praised by one of the most experienced & influential Worlds coaches in the country. (The coaches adjudicate the rounds in teams of two or three; many teams have assistant coaches.) It is a poor workman who blames his tools, but the flip side of that coin is that every athlete knows that it's hard to win when you're playing against both the other team & the zebras. Too Sly & I didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell in Rounds 4 & 5, in which we faced the same judge twice. He loathed us openly & undeniably—if not us people than our debating style & every word that came out of our mouths. I'm honestly surprised that he gave us the 3 in Round 5 instead of a second consecutive 4. Through the eight rounds we twice occupied every position: 1st Prop, 1st Opp, 2nd Prop, & 2nd Opp. The most gratifying round of all was Round 7, our second crack at 1st Prop; we'd learned the painful lessons of our Round 1 failure & almost faultlessly executed our roles as 1st Prop. It is a point of particular pride that I was P.M. in our Rd. 7 victory.

The tournament was reseeded after every round; so, our 1 in Rd. 3 partially contributed to the Rd. 4 debacle, as the 2 in Rd. 2 & then the Rd. 3 1 lead to us being reseeded against superior competition. For all that, though, we're beginning to see what judges are looking for, figuring out how to win, & both Too Sly & I maintain, without as much impartiality as we are able to muster, that we deserved the 3 in Rd. 4, not the 4. Our steady improvement throughout Saturday (4, 3, 2, 1) lead to our Round 8 seeding in "the scary round." All three of the teams we faced were in contention to "break," to be among the eight teams that advanced to Sunday's semifinals & thence to the finals. Too Sly was completely psyched out as we entered the room; I was more composed only because I'd resigned myself to a sure & certain 4. Acting as 2nd Prop, we emerged from the round with the 3. We were aided by the meltdown of 1st Opp; the D.L.O.'s seven minutes were rambling & incoherent, & throughout the L.O. sat with her head in her hands. Nevertheless, we acquitted ourselves quite well, and in explaining the adjudication (as happens at the end of every round) the judge acting as chairman explained that we'd been close to the 2, remarkably close considering how outclassed we'd presumed we'd be.

At the conclusion of the U. of M.-Flint Speech & Debate Team's first Worlds tournament, the U.S. Nationals last spring in Denver, all we had going for us was enthusiasm: we'd universally liked Worlds & were eager for more. Coming away from Claremont, we're starting to know what we're doing, almost. (Hee hee, clearly tottering on the edge of hubris.) Our next competition is in less than a fortnight at the University of Toronto's Hart House (Toronto, Ontario, Canada). There is room in the competition for only two of our possible three teams; my place alongside Too Sly seems assured, but I cannot say what duo of The Most Dangerous Game, Love/Hate, The Regina, and our newest member, Matthew (some guy who has swiftly become Love/Hate's boyflesh, it is not yet known if he'll need a Secret Base code name), will be also competing. (Further readinglink.)

Also of note, the journey to Toronto will be the first time I've crossed the sovereign borders of the United States of America since before 9/11.

He's Dead, Jim
I picked up my new spectacles this afternoon. My plan is to wear them indoors for the rest of the day, switching to my sunglasses for motoring. I've no intention of becoming a permanent eyeglass wearer, but I do want to give these new spectacles a fair assessment, even if that assessment leads me to reconsider the permanence of my spectacle-wearing. I concede that it is entirely possible that I haven't been seeing as well as I could have, instead limping along on the undeniable strength of my left eye. But, let's not put the cart before the horse; first, let's see if I get through the rest of the day without a splitting headache.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Spike Jones & His City Slickers, "Leave the Dishes in the Sink, Ma" from The Spike Jones Anthology (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: On Sunday, after the conclusion of the debate tournament, the team played tourists, including visits to Hollywood, Beverly Hills, & the Santa Monica Pier. In Hollywood, where we lunched, we happened upon the Walk of Fame & the spied the star of Spike Jones. I made joyous noises at this happenstance, prompting our coach, The M.A.P., to ask me how many of the people who saw Spike Jones's star thought it was in recognition of his namesake Spike Jonze. Depressed by the thought, I began to give a maudlin answer until an idea occurred to me, and was immediately uttered, about how sensational Spike Jones's music videos would have been. The M.A.P. & I were both pleased to expound briefly on how Spike Jones could easily have beaten Spike Jonze at the latter's own game.

Autobahn
Based on my observations, B.M.W.s in Beverly Hills seemed as common as Chevrolets are in Michigan, in essence the default motorcar. Far fewer in number, though still not uncommon, were Porsches. I saw one Ferrari & one Maserati. The default motorcar in the rest of greater Los Angeles was either a Toyota or a Honda.

Master Debating
I am returned from California & the three-day Oxford-style/Worlds-style/Bitish Parliamentary-style debate tournament at Claremont McKenna College. (If you look up C.M.C. on the Wikipedia, you will see a photograph of the Bauer Center, where I spent the better part of Saturday & large swaths of Friday & Sunday.) I am plum tuckered out, and will be playing catch-up for the rest of the week. More detail when I can.

The Queue
Holy smoke, Berlin Game was satisfying in all the ways Horse Under Water wasn't. Also, great Caesar's ghost, Deighton is a relentless cynic! I am most enthusiastically on board for Mexico Set & London Match; I cannot yet commit, but things are looking good for the second & third Bernard Samson trilogies, Spy Hook, Spy Line, & Spy Sinker and Faith, Hope, & Charity, as well as Winter, a prequel to the trilogy of trilogies.

Recently
Anthony Hope, The Prisoner of Zenda
Christopher Andrew, Defend the Realm: The Authorized History of MI5
Len Deighton, Berlin Game

Currently
Len Deighton, Mexico Set

Presently
Len Deighton, London Match
Karen E. Olson, Pretty in Ink
Len Deighton, Winter

The Rebel Black Song of the Day
Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, "Country Roads" from Have Another Ball (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: So much better than John Denver.

The Explorers Club
No. CXCV - The Pont du Gard & the Roman aqueduct of which it is part.









The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Less Than Jake, "Bridge and Tunnel Authority" from B is For B-Sides (T.L.A.M.)

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Cake, "The Distance" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: And so begins the annual running of the Petit Le Mans, the final race on the American Le Mans Series calendar, a race over one thousand miles or ten hours, whichever comes first. Last year's race was cut short by heavy rains; this year's race finds me in the Golden State, master debating furiously, and will be able to enjoy the race only if my relay of coordinated V.C.R.s works to plan, "if" being the operative word.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Go-Go 13, "Idiot Box" from Rice Capades (Captain Thumbs-up)

Commentary: Why was the R.B.D.S.O.T.D. selected by Captain Thumbs-up & not by The Last Angry Man (T.L.A.M.)? Go-Go 13 aren't The Aquabats! The answer is right there on the cover of Rice Capades: "The Aquabats! and Horchata Records Present… Rice Capades Music Sampler Vol. 1."

This episode of "The Explorers Club" concludes our month-long series on espionage. I am also pleased to report that thanks to the twice-weekly frequency of "The Explorers Club" we are swiftly making up the ground lost during the regrettable & unintended December '09 to May '10 hiatus. Let us hope that boast has not jinxed our chances of successfully returning to form.

The Explorers Club
No. CXCIV - Fritz Duquesne, Part II: The Duquesne Spy Ring.







The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Aquabats!, "Idiot Box!" from The Fury of The Aquabats! (Captain Thumbs-up)

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Aquabats!, "Idiot Box!" from The Return of The Aquabats! (Captain Thumbs-up)

Commentary: 'Tis always amusing to note that The Return of The Aquabats! is the very first album by The Aquabats!.

The Victors
(No. 21) Michigan 65-21 Bowling Green
4-0, Big Ten 0-0

Due to Saturday's afternoon attendance at the Michigan Renaissance festival, I was unable to watch the Michigan-Bowling Green (B.G.) game, though I did use the house D.V.R. (Distance Vril Recorder) to record it for later viewing. I would not normally have done so, because into every life a little rain must fall & sometimes that metaphorical rain includes missing some of the year's precious few college football games. But I very much wanted to see the B.G. game because I knew I'd have to miss the following weekend's Michigan-Indiana game, the valiant Wolverines' Big Ten season opener. Our cable system does not carry E.S.P.N.U., the channel on which Michigan-Indiana will be aired; some would surely point out that I could probably find E.S.P.N.U. & thus the game at a local sports bar, & that would be an excellent plan accept for the fact that I will be both out of the state & otherwise occupied on Saturday afternoon. So, alas & alack, I shall have to miss the Indiana game, and so forewarned I was unwilling to miss the game against the epithetless Falcons of Bowling Green. I could not watch the B.G. game upon my return from the Ren. Fest. because my parents were hosting the first "Cards" game of the season. "Cards" is a fantastic tradition, a monthly (nine or ten times a year) evening of camaraderie & pinochle between my parents & three other couples. "Cards" is one of the best ideas for adult socialization I've ever encountered, and it should serve as a model for us all. I would not dare to interfere with such a grand tradition even were I in a position to rightfully do so; so, I didn't get the chance to watch the football game until Sunday afternoon.

To wit: Holy smoke, what an offense! I do not care if the epithetless Falcons are a M.A.C. team, and not necessarily a good M.A.C. team at that. The valiant Wolverines have struggled so thoroughly & so mightily over the last three seasons that just as no opponent can be overlooked, no victory can be taken for granted. And sixty-five points is impressive no matter whom you are playing. What happened to Bowling Green in the first seven minutes of the game? For that I'm going to turn Denard "Shoelace" Robinson's nickname into a verb; the epithetless Falcons got Shoelaced, though not as badly as UConn & Notre Dame got Shoelaced due to the super scary possible knee injury sustained by Robinson on yet another Shoelacing run. More impressive to me--because four games into the season Shoelace is viewed, and rightly so, as a demigod for whom almost nothing is impossible--was the play of backup quarterbacks Devin Gardner & Tate Forcier. 12 for 12? Twelve passes completed in twelve passes attempted? One hundred percent passer efficiency? It's good to know that even though little man Tate's no longer the starter it's still true that "the ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Forcier." A couple weekends back I saw Arizona State being lead by quarterback Steven Threet, a transfer from Michigan & our starting quarterback in the benighted '08 season. "Triple Threet" might develop into a fine pocket passer-style quarterback, but he was, as a legacy of the Carr era, entirely ill-suited to the hydra (it would be redundant to call a hydra "multi-headed" as I originally intended) that is the Rodriguez offense. I think back to '08, when we'd been abandoned by the faithless turncoat Mallett (whom Lloyd had loved too well, and who is now prospering at Arkansas), leaving us with essentially no starter-caliber quarterback; Threet & Nick Sheridan ("the devil Sheridan") tired their best, but at that point in time neither was any better than a second- or perhaps even third-string backup. And now the valiant Wolverines have three serviceable starting quarterbacks on the roster, none older than a true sophomore. Astonishing!

But best of all was the improved play of the defense. B.G.'s first scoring drive came when we were all still petrified by the specter of Shoelace's injury. The second was not a sustained drive, but the result of one well-designed, well-executed play & a single missed tackle. Do I wish that tackle hadn't been missed? Yes. Do I with our defenders had gotten off their blocks? Of course. But, and please forgive my language, shit happens; shit happens & that's the nature of the game. Bowling Green put together a regrettable third scoring drive, but after that it was curtains for the epithetless Falcons. They were held scoreless throughout the fourth quarter as the valiant Wolverines sealed the win with continued, though ultimately unnecessary, displays of offensive wizardry. The defense is still Michigan's Achilles heel, far & away our greatest weakness, and like the rest of the Maize & Blue faithful I dread the arrival of the inevitable day when the defensive unit's failings prove our undoing. But after the heart attack-inducing debacle against UMass, Saturday's improved showing was a needed glimmer of hope.

But let us remind ourselves that we've been here before. Last season, on the strength of an undefeated non-conference schedule, including a win over an overly esteemed Notre Dame squad, the valiant Wolverines were 4-0 & ranked in the Top 25 on the eve of the Big Ten season. What followed was a total team collapse worthy of the dastardly Spartans, and a 1-7 conference record. A repeat is too horrific to contemplate, but the moment we deem it impossible we all but guarantee a repetition. I will not see next Saturday's game against the wily Hoosiers of Indiana University, the opener of Big Ten Conference play, but I will read about it extensively as soon as I return from La-La-Land. Here is my most sincere hope that all goes well, that all goes to Coach Rich Rod & the valiant Wolverines' plan.

Go Blue!

Project MERCATOR
Friday night, The Impossible Ingenue hosted a party in celebration of her birthday (actually on Saturday). The festivities were quite in line with The Ingenue herself, understated & casual. It was the first time I'd been to her home in rather a while, invitations having been far less frequent since The Most Dangerous Game moved out into her own apartment. My present to her, though inexpensive, is the kind of gift that keeps on giving; I hope she enjoys it. I hope, also, that she had a delightful time, but of course The Impossible Ingenue plays her cards so close to the vest that no one ever knows that she's really thinking. Not in the same sense as she was originally dubbed "Impossible," but impossible girl, just bloody impossible. So, I hope she had fun. Happy birthday, Cara!

Saturday afternoon, I motored Lumi down to the (ugh) "Shire of Holly" for the Michigan Renaissance Festival. Year after year, I've always meant to go to the Ren. Fest., but the time flies so quickly and there are so many other distractions on the weekends: even if the weather's not too hot, there's a college football game to the watch, or a Formula One grand prix, or the lawn needs to be mowed, or the house needs to be cleaned. But this year I was invited to accompany a new acquaintance and speech & debate teammate, The Regina, a friend of Love/Hate's, & that was just the kick in the pants I needed! I was additionally aided by The Most Dangerous Game scoring free tickets from one of her multiple places of employment. A "free"* ticket? Don't mind if I do! Thanks, The Most Dangerous Game! Because Grand Blanc is so proximal to Holly I offered to drive myself, rather than needed to be picked up. The rendezvous was originally set for noon, but in the morning it was pushed back to one o'clock via text message. I was running a few minutes behind schedule, as is my habit, and informed The Regina by way of text. I was directed overland (see: Saturday's "Autobahn") to a parking spot almost in the bushes on the edge of the improvised parking lot & began the long trek to the Festival grounds. (It was not a long, dusty trek thanks to an earlier spot of rain, just enough to keep the dust down but not enough to reduce everything to mud.)

I reached the main gate, where the overly theatrical fun begins, without any word from The Regina, and so resigned myself to trying to locate her & her companions once inside. I had just finished handling & being entranced by a rapier (though, sadly, the "full basket hilt" was anything but) and was trying to figure out how best to respond to the bladesmith's offer to sell me the sword--something more brief & clever than, "Sorry, chief, but {a} I cannot justify the expense of a rapier until after the successful conclusion of Project RADIANT and {b} the blade is beautiful, but if I'm buying a rapier I'd really rather one with a far more elaborate hilt"--when my mobile, an anachronism, I know, rang. The Regina & company were running ever more late than I was, but soon enough I'd met them just inside the entrance & all was well. Over the course of the afternoon we took in a joust; split down the middle over the superior lunch choice, a bread bowl full of chili or a giant turkey leg; agreed that a "Schneeball" is a magical dessert; spend a spell in incongruously Asiatic hedonism around a hookah; were by far the loudest laughers & clappers amidst an almost comatose audience at the Zucchini Bros. juggling show; & visited every leather shop in search of the one with the secret "adult" backroom. (I waited outside & tried to think happy thoughts.)

The Renaissance Festival is a lot like bowling: every time I go, I wonder why I don't go more often. I had a splendid time & am determined to make the Renaissance Festival a yearly tradition. Project MERCATOR is about more than just socialization, it's also about taking advantage of everything my community has to offer. The Renaissance Festival is right up MERCATOR'S alley.

*As a partially-trained economist, I know that nothing is truly free, everything has costs even if those costs aren't borne by or apparent to you. My ticket to the Ren. Fest. was paid for by somebody, possibly even out of the Festival's own funds, even though it was "free" to me.

The Explorers Club
No. CXCIII - Fritz Duquesne (1877-1956), Part I: The Second Boer War & "the Man who Killed Kitchener."







He's Dead, Jim
After mowing the lawn on Friday & schlepping up & down the grounds of the Renaissance Festival all afternoon on Saturday without experiencing any ill effects, I am declaring my feet fully recovered from Objective FINNLAND. I won't have the chance to put them to the test at a ska show for almost another month, though, alas.

The week before last, I went to the optometrist for the first time since 2001 (according to their records, since I didn't remember precisely, instead saying "about ten years"). Given that nine years have passed, my eyes have changed rather little. The vision in my left eye is almost perfect, farsighted only ever so slightly. My right eye, by contrast, is nearsighted, and slightly more so. I've had prescription spectacles since I was perhaps twelve or thirteen, but have never in my life had to wear them with any regularity. I get by just fine on the strength of "Lefty," and that's not just my opinion: the State of Michigan does not require me to wear corrective lenses while operating a motorcar. But I do have spectacles & I have long believed that it is only a matter of time before I must join the rest of my immediate family (both of my parents & both of my siblings) in needing to wear spectacles in everyday life. I am acquiring a new pair of spectacles, in part to acclimate myself to them for the future. I almost never wore my old spectacles in part because I never liked the frames (which predated that last appointment in 2001) & in part because, as the years passed, their out-of-date prescription defeated the corrective purpose of the lenses. Experimentation will begin once my new frames & lenses are prepared.

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
The Hold Steady, "Girls Like Status" from Boys and Girls in America (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Note to self: Acquire status, Project PANDORA's success may well depend on the success of Project EPIMETHEUS.

Sonntag, 26 September
Less Than Jake, "We, the Uninspired" from the Absolution for Idiots and Addicts E.P. (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "World is for the living not the dead."

Science!
Forget the United Colors of Benetton, make way for the false-colors of Saturn: auroralink. By Jove, those images are beautiful!

Science!

The Queue
I was prematurely nostalgic for Defend the Realm: The Authorized History of MI5 before I'd finished the book & now that I have finished I am properly—if, I condede, preposterously—nostalgic. The monstrous thing's eight hundred fifty-one pages long, not counting the scores of pages notes & the bibliography, and covers a century in the Security Service (M.I.5), Great Britain's domestic intelligence agency, but for all that I wish it had been twice as long. I want more! I shall have to see what else I might find concerning M.I.5, starting with the other works of author Christopher Andrew & drawing upon Defend the Realm's bibliography. And then I shall have to see what might be found concerning Great Britain's foreign intelligence agency, the Secret Intelligence Service (S.I.S. or M.I.6). For whatever reason, this brings to mind a few lines from the extraordinary television miniseries adaptation of John le Carré's novel Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy; not the whole brilliant miniseries, but just these lines, spoken by Control, the head of "the Circus" (M.I.6), to his deputy George Smiley:

"Buying their way in with counterfeit money. Tell them that! Tell them anything, I need time. (pregnant pause)

There are three of them, and Alleline. Sweat them, George; tempt them, bully them, any damn thing. Give them whatever they eat, I need time!"

And now a few words on the next book in the queue, reprinted from the B.T.W. Forums. The Forums are the exclusive preserve of the members of Blue Tree Whacking, not fit for the eyes & minds of outsiders, but since this is my own product & does not concern any internal B.T.W. business, I think an exception is in order.

I was mildly disappointed by Len Deighton's Horse Under Water, but not so much that I'm unwilling to give Deighton another chance. Wagering that some of the problem with Horse Under Water might have been the unnamed protagonist & narrator, I'm going to try another character, this time Bernard Samson, protagonist & narrator of a trilogy of trilogies: Berlin Game, Mexico Set, & London Match; Spy Hook, Spy Link, & Spy Sinker; and Faith, Hope, & Charity. I'll only tread the second & third trilogies if I like the first and I'll only read the second & third books of that trilogy if I like the first; so, much may hinge on Berlin Game. Reading Berlin Game, Mexico Set, & London Match was going to be a hodge podge, because due to a random purchase at a used book sale several years ago, before I knew who Len Deighton was, I own a paperback copy of London Match, but neither of the others. The university library doesn't have the books, and the county library has only Mexico Set as an individual volume. All three books are available in one massive hardcover that drawfs even the behemoth of Defend the Realm. So, the plan of campaign was to read Berlin Game in the back breaker, Mexico Set in a much more reasonably sized library hardcover, and then my own copy of London Match. A short time ago, I unburdened myself of some ill-advised past acquisitions at Jellybean's & as part of the swap got ahold of a pristine paperback copy of none other than Berlin Game. I no longer have need of the back breaker!

A score or so pages into Berlin Game, it's not nearly so spare as Horse Under Water, a book that is spartan at all the wrong times.

Recently
Bryan Lee O'Malley, Scott Pilgrim, Vol. 6: Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour
Anthony Hope, The Prisoner of Zenda
Christopher Andrew, Defend the Realm: The Authorized History of MI5

Currently
Len Deighton, Berlin Game

Presently
Len Deighton, Mexico Set
Len Deighton, London Match
Karen E. Olson, Pretty in Ink
John Toland, The Great Dirigibles
Rudyard Kipling, Kim
Anthony Hope, Rupert of Hentzau
Anthony Hope, The Heart of Princess Osra
Saki, When William Came: A Story of London Under the Hohenzollerns

Autobahn
On some level, I suppose I went off-roading in Lumi this afternoon, in order to park at the Michigan Renaissance Festival. The vast expanse of grass over which I motored was uneven & undulating, with dips & rises both significant & abrupt. Whee! The broken ground provided a very fun pair of bookends to an already fun afternoon (recounted in the next Project MERCATOR post).

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Grant-Lee Phillips, "Mona Lisa" from Virginia Creeper (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: A song of love of heartbreaking beauty.

Freitag, 24 September
The Hold Steady, "Chips Ahoy" from Boys and Girls in America (The Guy)

Commentary: Thanks, The Guy! I am most intrigued by these The Hold Steady chaps, & I doubt we've seen the last of them around these parts.

Donnerstag, 23 September
Elvis Costello, "Alison" from The Very Best of Elvis Costello, Disc 1 (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"Alison,
I know this world is killing you.
Oh Alison,
My aim is true."

The Explorers Club
No. CXCII - James Jesus Angleton (1917-1987), proof that just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you.









Autobahn
I spied an amusing vanity license plate this afternoon as I motored around in Lumi. Vital to the comedic value of the plate is an awareness of the motorcar on which it sits, an Audi RS6, the high-end performance-tuned version of the Audi A6 ("RS" standing for Rennsport, German for, loosely translated, "racing"). The Audi's plate: WOWDI. Hee hee. Well played, sir.

Objective FINNLAND: He's Dead, Jim
Almost four weeks hence, I "ran" the Crim 10 Mile Race; almost four weeks later, my poor feet are still recovering. My training regime ahead of Objective FINNLAND was plainly inadequate. This was the result of two flaws in my thinking, driven by two of the seven deadly sins: {a} sloth & {b} pride. {a} I did not spend as much time in training as should have been the case. I've no one save myself to blame for this, and I blame myself alone. {b} I underestimated the rigors of the course. My training involved running not on a treadmill for the first time since the single season in middle school during which I played football. I ran around the circle track in the Rec. Center on campus and I ran on the treadmill on both a level plan and at an incline. What I did not account for properly was a negative incline, running downhill. It is part of my nature, and here my intention is not to boast, that I am a beast when presented with a physical challenge. I do very well running uphill, something about it taps into that old S.K.P. Machine esprit; I have more vim running uphill than I do running on a level plain. But on the downhill I was powerless; it felt completely wrong & I could do nothing about that but push onward.

***Caution: What follows is disgusting, i.e., just plain gross.***

The result was a matching pair of preposterously huge, hideous, black blisters on the balls of my feet. By the end of the day on Saturday, I was hobbled, walking around on my heels, a sharp pain shooting up my brain every time the slightest pressure was place on the balls of the feet. The situation was untenable; so, after elevation & icing failed to have any event & my misery continued, on Sunday night I sat down in the bathtub while my father set about lancing the blisters with an over-sized, sterilized needle & draining out the bloody pus. There was no physical pain in the process, but watching all that offal drain out of my feet was shocking. For all that, though, the draining was a silver bullet. My feet were immensely improved immediately, and though still tender I was able to put pressure on the balls of my feet, slowly beginning to walk normally again. Though in the summer in the house I am habitually barefoot, I wore socks to soak up any residual pus, and soon discovered a special padded type of Band-Aid specifically for blisters. And against my historical pattern of behavior, I did not try to peel off the dead blister skin until it was ready to fall off on its own. Precisely a fortnight after FINNLAND, the white blister skin torn first on my right foot and then, a day later, on the left. The soft, pink skin beneath was a sight for sore eyes.

I was well on the road to recovery, but this seems to have prompted pride which led to a mild relapse. After a fortnight of getting around in my flip-flops (I didn't want to wear my normal sandals for fear that the rear strap would cause further damage to an already burst blister on the back of my right foot) & Adidas Sambas, I was finally confident enough of my feet's recovery to venture into my low topped Chuck Taylor All-Stars. Either the Chucks alone or the Chucks in collusion with my dress shoes (worn to Mass) caused the formation of small blisters on the sites of my former monster blisters. I did not notice the pain until Tuesday evening, after two days back in the Chucks, and quickly put the special blister Band-Aids on both feet & resumed wearing the Sambas. By Thursday, the tide had turned & I was again on the mend. This time, I plan to go slowly, not returning to my Chucks until at least a week after my feet feel & look normal again, and my feet do not yet look normal.

Also, as Mrs. Skeeter, Esq. warned me is an ailment common to runners, one of my toenails—on the index toe on my left foot—has turned a very dark purple color, though it has not fallen off as she said would happen. But only time will tell the whole tale.

***I warned you that would be gross.***

Despite all this, I have every intention of making the Crim 10 Mile an annual event, a collaboration between Operation ÖSTERREICH & Project MERCATOR. Next time, knowing the challenge awaiting me, I will be far better prepared, both to better my time over the course & to avoid this year's pitiable aftermath. Should the effort be code named Objective FINNLAND II, or the German name for another part of Scandinavia, such as Objective NORWEGEN or Objective DÄNEMARK? I was leaning toward FINNLAND II, et cetera, but now that I see the German for Norway & Denmark….

Operation ÖSTERREICH
There has been an understandable pause in my treadmill-based "cardio" routine, though now that I think about it I should go ahead and resume strength training in the weight room, at least on my arms, chest, & torso, if not my legs for fear of re-injuring my feet. Back to work, Lazybones!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Phenomenauts, "Man Alone" from For All Mankind (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "What's a man if he has no ambition?"

Project MERCATOR
I need friends who aren't lame. I kept that sentence simple to heighten its effect, but there are important caveats both because what I mean is simple, but not straightforward, & because I long ago grew comfortable with my own garrulousness. I'm long-winded, bombastic, grandiloquent, what have you. You know this and for your own reasons have not let it deter you from reading The Secret Base, a decision on your part which I find most gratifying. But I digress.

By "friends" I don't mean my friends, I mean my local friends. My friends are the finest people I've had the pleasure to know, clever, challenging, supportive, funny, patient, & generous; the only black mark I can make against many of them is their irrational fondness for a tempestuous scoundrel like your humble narrator. But they should rest assured that I am grateful for that flaw in each and every one of them. Friendship is a category of intercourse in which the English language, for which I harbor an unashamed passion, fails us. From my most boon companion of long standing to the newest acquaintance met by a chance encounter, the word I am expected to use for each is "friend." As a society we recognize the inadequate specificity of that label, which is my we invented from phrase, "best friend." But that hardly solved the problem, as evidenced by a great many people claiming to have more than one "best friend," entirely disregarding the definition of the word "best." The word "acquaintance" could be of great usefulness, except that most people take grave offense at being described as an acquaintance by their acquaintances, resulting in ever more frequent & inaccurate use of the title of "friend." I have yet to devise a comprehensive scheme to counter these linguistic shenanigans, though I am drawn to the phrase "kith & kin," and may well decide to use "kith" to describe solely my truest & most far-flung friends. But again I digress.

(Yes, I am aware of my penchant for, in newspaper terms, "burying the lead.")

I need friends, in the greater Flint metropolitan area, who aren't lame. I am tremendously glad to have met "the gang," the stars of most of the past year's Project MERCATOR posts, and for the subsequent revelation of how lonely I'd been prior to that meeting. Mainstays of the gang include the sisters, The Most Dangerous Game & The Impossible Ingenue; their cousin-sum-sister the Drama Queen; erstwhile paramours The Cowgirl & Ska Army; the Action Hero; Frankenstein's Monster (with whom I wish not to associate, but with whom I shall have to as a byproduct of interacting with other members of the gang); and new members Vitamin H. (Colette) & The Blonde (Jenny). These are people I like, people with whom I enjoy spending my time, but my instinct tells me that none of them are candidates to join the ranks of my long-term kith. A minor but illustrative example of this, and the precipitating event to this post, is that none of them will accept my repeated invitations to join me at a Flint City Derby Girls (F.C.D.G.) bout. Roller derby is a grand old time, but I recognize that lots of people have both terrible taste & no appreciation for fun; so, I know that roller derby isn't for everyone. I wouldn't expect everyone—or even anyone—who attended a game to be instantly mesmerized as I was last fall. But what I find distressing is that not a one will even sample roller derby.

I've never said that I'd try anything once, but that's only because my mind instantly leaps to the most extreme examples, like sampling cocaine just to experience being high as a kite or shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die. But I'll try anything within reason once; how else could I conclude whether I liked it? From Sunday's bout (F.C.D.G. v. Jacktown Rollers, "Jacktown" presumably being Jackson)—which I attended alone, such is my love of roller derby—I sent a whiny text about my local friends' refusal to give derby a try; the response, with which I agreed entirely, was, "They're lame?" My friends are lame. Lame friends are better than no friends, but better still are aggressively not lame friends, such as my widely dispersed kith. Though Mrs. Skeeter, Esq. would say it's impossible, as she may well be right, I must endeavour to locate locals who aren't lame, & then befriend them.

* * * * *

This morning, The Impossible Ingenue rang me up to invite me to a working lunch, to help her study for an upcoming mathematics exam (yes, I know, I'd be even my own last choice to help someone study for a math test). Also to attend were Frankenstein's Monster (admittedly, a better math tutor than me) and some girl with whom I'm acquainted. When The Ingenue showed up a half hour late with Vitamin H. & The Blonde in tow, I was halfway through the sushi I'd ordered when she was twenty minutes late. No coherent explanation was given, and instead of her math exam she asked for my help on a biology pre-lab assignment. I owe it to myself to make finding friends who aren't lame a priority.

Project PANDORA
I owe you the whole pointless, eye-rolling tale of the nothing that ever happened with Love/Hate, and I do mean to publish it sooner rather than later, but until then chew on this: on Monday, after debate practice, Love/Hate invited the whole team back to her place to watch episodes of the unintentionally hilarious television show Ghost Adventures on D.V.D. Accepting the invitation were Too Sly, some guy who's new to the team, and your humble narrator. I had confirmed my suspicion that whatever interest I'd ever had in Love/Hate had been extinguished by her relentless mediocrity when I realized that at no point did I hope Too Sly & some guy would leave before me so that I might be alone with Love/Hate. I can do better, & I dare not allow myself to accept less than my very best effort. Project PANDORA continues.

The Explorers Club
No. CXCI - William J. "Wild Bill" Donovan (1883-1959), the "Father of Central Intelligence."

The Victors
(No. 20) Michigan 42-37 Massachusetts
3-0, Big Ten 0-0

There are two ways to looks at the valiant Wolverines' nail-biting victory over the epithetless Minutemen of UMass: {a} a near-disaster that portends doom & gloom for the future or {b} a near-disaster that augurs well for the future. The {a} school of thought runs thus: Michigan entered the game ranked in the Top 25 & yet barely scrapped by an F.C.S. (the old Division 1-AA) team. The defense was atrocious & the offense frustratingly streaky. All is lost, the wise Maize & Blue fan would start drinking heavily now. The opposing {b} view, to which subscribe, runs thus: Michigan was caught unprepared against a seemingly lesser team, made innumerable errors, & yet still managed to pull out the win. The last seven words of that sentence are paramount. We must remind ourselves that it was Lloyd Carr, nor Rich Rodriquez, who was Michigan's coach in 2007 when we became the first F.B.S. (the old 1-A) team in history to lose to an F.C.S opponent, the Appalachian State game that is known as simply "The Horror." Michigan's defense was atrocious, there's no denying that, & the offense was absent from the game for long stretches of time, even when it was out on the field. The epithetless Minutemen were relentless, playing all sixty minutes, but so too did the valiant Wolverines. Too many time in the past we've seen our boys in the Maize & Blue collapse in the face of adversity, especially if that adversity is self-inflicted. But on Saturday, the valiant Wolverines kept fighting. They barely won, that's true, but they could easily have lost.

To my mind, the best explanation for Saturday's close escape is twofold. {a} We were arrogant, both the valiant Wolverines & we their loyal fans in the "Michigan nation." In the week following the emotional win over the vile Fighting Irish of our hated rival Notre Dame (ranking second or third amongst our trio of rivals), we all spent too much time in blissful, idle pondering about the growing legend of "Shoelace" Robinson, and far too little time preparing for UMass. The valiant Wolverines were caught napping early, and were never quite able to get themselves into proper game shape, though again, and I repeat this because it is vital, they were able to wrest victory from the jaws of defeat. {b} 'Tis a cliché for a reason: any given team can beat any other given team on any given day, that's why they play the games. Saturday was the Minutemen's day, & the valiant Wolverines were lucky to hang on for the win by the skin of their teeth. (We must not forget that if any given team can beat any other given team, then any given team can fall to any other given team. Capricious fortune will play her part & will not be denied.)

The upcoming games against Bowling Green & Indiana should be very instructive, letting us know which is true, the first paragraph's {a} or {b}. And if it is the first paragraph's {b}, will this confirm the second paragraph's {a} & {b}? As a fan, there's nothing to do of a practical nature by wait & see. So, we wait & we shall see. And while we wait, we should be grateful for the win, because ever since The Horror we've grown far too accustomed to the agony of defeat; however much Saturday's victory might not have been thrilling, any victory is infinitely preferable to another lamentable defeat.

Go Blue!

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Thin Lizzy, "The Boys Are Back in Town" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: As I was motoring along in Lumi yesterday, I could not stomach the interview on All Things Considered of some washed up old hack who never had any talent to begin with, Robert Plant, I think. I could nto switch over to the primarily classicla music N.P.R. station, because it too carries both Morning Edition & All Things Considered. The oldies station was in commercial. The alternate oldies station was in commercial. (This is why I started listening to public radio in the first place, back in the '90s.) As as last gasp before turning the radio off or popping in a cassette tape, I tried the classic rock oldies station. And there is was, "The Boys Are Back in Town." The lyrics are mediocre, but, by Jove, it's hard to beat that guitar riff. "The Boys Are Back in Town" would have been the R.B.D.S.O.T.D. for Monday, but once I learned what mischief was afoot online, "Virus Alert" was the only song that would fit the bill.

Montag, 20 September
"Weird Al" Yankovic, "Virus Alert" from Straight Outta Lynwood (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Between 5:27-5:30 P.M., an unknown agency seized control of my Yahoo! email account & transmitted four emails to a number of people the account's address book. Those illicit emails contained hyperlinks that must be assumed to harbor malicious content. I know not how to investigate this incident, with an eye toward preventing its recurrence by attacking the problem at its source, but I have changed my Yahoo! password & shall henceforth always sign out from the site after checking my email, instead of leaving myself signed in on my H.A.L. Any amongst you who received the offending emails have my sincerest apologies for the attack & for any resultant damage. I am sorry, my friends.

"Soon, very soon, it will make all
The paint peal off your walls.
It'll make your keyboard all sticky,
Give your poodle a hickey,
And invest your cash in stock in Euro Disney.
Then it will tie up your phone
Making prank long-distance calls,
It'll set your clocks back an hour,
And start clogging the shower;
So, just trash it now or else it will
Decide to give you a permanent wedgie,
Legally change your name to Reggie,
Even mess up the pH balance in your pool!

(Look out!)
It's gonna melt your face right off your skull!
(Look out!)
And make your iPod only play Jethro Tull!
(Look out!)
And tell you knock-knock jokes while you're trying to sleep!
(Look out!)
And make you physically attracted to sheep!
(Look Out!)
Steal your identity and your credit cards!
(Look Out!)
Buy you a warehouse full of pink leotards!
(Look Out!)
Then cause a major rift in time and space,
And leave a bunch of Twinkie wrappers all over the place!

That's right, it's a
Virus alert!
Delete immediately
Before someone gets hurt!"

Sonntag, 19 September
Dropkick Murphys, "The State of Massachusetts" from The Meanest of Times (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Ignoring the lyrics & themes of "The State of Massachusetts," Saturday's game against the University of Massachusetts was certainly amongst the meanest of times.

The Girls of September '79
Happy birthday to The Watergirl! One of my favorite things about my friendship with The Watergirl is the unbridgeable gulf between so many of our opinions. We have widely divergent, irreconcilable views on religion, politics, & interpersonal relations. And these are not merely things about which we disagree, these are also issues in which we are both heavily invested, for which we are both vociferous advocates. And yet in person we get along famously. Perhaps because of the many things about which we agree, among them Michigan football, college hockey, & music. (We often disagree about music, but The Watergirl's got way better taste than, for example, Daddy Dylweed.) Or perhaps simply because we are friends, and that simple, infinitely complex relationship trumps all other considerations. The Watergirl is wrong, dead wrong about all sorts of things, but I know myself to be lucky to be able to count her amongst my friends, and even moreso to be counted amongst hers. Happy birthday, Katie!

The Explorers Club
No. CXC - Whittaker Chambers (1901-1961), Communist spy, anti-Communist firebrand, & self-contradictory witness; & Alger Hiss (1904-1996), diplomat, perjurer, & probable Communist spy.







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

Commentary: Kindly pay no mind to the lyrics of "Katie," I'm just glad to be able to present a R.B.D.S.O.T.D. besides Barenaked Ladies's "Maybe Katie" on The Watergirl's birthday. The Belle of Beantown knows I mean well.

Freitag, 17 September
Less Than Jake, "Negative Sides of Optimistic Eyes" from the Absolution for Idiots and Addicts E.P. (T.L.A.M.)

Donnerstag, 16 September
Zolof the Rock & Roll Destroyer, "Death or Radio" from Schematics (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "Let's hold hands and listen to shitty bands."

The Victors: Halftime
Michigan 21-17 Massachusetts

From my admittedly jaundiced viewpoint, it looks as if we spent far too much of the last week reading about ourselves online (what used to be called, back when people read newspapers, "press clippings") & far too little time preparing to play against UMass. *sigh* The two quick strikes at the end o' the half were grand, but they do raise the troublesome question of why our offense runs hot & cold. Why can't we find a degree of consistency?

And now for the second half. Go Blue!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Senator & The New Republic, "Intermission" via iTunes, Free Single of the Week (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Nominations for the R.B.D.S.O.T.D. are always welcome & always massively appreciated.

The Girls of September '79
Happiest of birthday wishes to Mrs. Skeeter, Esq. (née Skeeter)! We have been friends since the tenth grade, when I was fifteen years old; so, I have now had the pleasure of Mrs. Skeeter, Esq.'s friendship for more than half my life. Just this past spring, I was afforded the privilege of being hosted in Old New Amsterdam for a whole week by Mrs. Skeeter, Esq. & her delightful husband, Mr. Skeeter, Esq. (né Jimmy From Queens), with the pleasant result that the friendship not only endures but thrives even after spending so much time in such close quarters. Objective FINNLAND was initiated & carried out at Mrs. Skeeter, Esq.'s urging, & I thank her for always being there to give me the kick in the rear so often necessary to get me moving (more figuratively than literally). Happy birthday, Julie!

The Victors
Michigan 28-24 Notre Dame
2-0, Big Ten 0-0

Saturday's clash between the valiant Wolverines & the vile Fighting Irish, the two winningest programs in college football, was not a classic Michigan-Notre battle for the ages. Both teams made a great many pathetic mistakes, both teams left a lot of points unscored, and neither team took advantage of all or even most of its opportunities. But what impressed me most about the game was that Michigan was able to overcome those lost opportunities. The valiant Wolverines committed a variety of drive-killing penalties & sundry miscues to paralyze their offense for the vast majority of the second half. Meanwhile, the vile Fighting Irish, while dealing with their own miscues, clawed their way back into the game. Time & time again, from the tenures of Gary Moeller to Lloyd Carr to Rich Rodriguez, when Michigan repeatedly fails to capitalize on opportunities to knock down a struggling opponent & put the game away, we pay the ultimate penalty for that ignominious failure: defeat. So, when the offense sputtered & Notre Dame exploited the holes in our defense, I admit I resigned myself to this being another game that we'd let slip through our fingers, a game we could have won if only we'd answered the door when opportunity knocked. But then Shoelace & the offense proved that they are what every Michigan man strives to be: good in the clutch. The final drive was magnificent. Though it does raise the infuriating question of where that skill & execution had been for the rest of the second half, we should not lose sight of the fact that when the game was on the line, when there was no second chance, the valiant Wolverines proved themselves to be not only winners, but victors.

I'm a dark, pessimistic soul, and so I must caution that these are yet early days. Connecticut & Notre Dame might turn out not be any good this year. Last-gasp drives are no way to run a railroad; sure they're exciting, but they lead more often to defeat than to victory. I'm terrified that Michigan is now ranked in the Top 25 (no. 20 in the A.P., no. 22 in the B.S.), remembering that our 4-0 (non-conference) start to last season earned us a similar ranking, because those whom gods destroy they first make proud. I'm aghast by hyperbolic mentions of Denard "Shoelace" Robinson as a Heisman Trophy candidate, though my horror is tempered by the fact that much of the hyperbole is not coming from the Michigan nation; so, it's not just hubris on our part. And my terror at our ranking is mitigated by the realization that we might actually deserve it; UConn & Notre Dame might turn out to be good this year, in which case we might well be giant-killers!

Saturday was a jolly day, because there's no spectacle in sport that tops a close victory over a hated foe for thrills & pleasing afterglow. Shoelace is a revelation, a marvel to behold. And I've held firm from the beginning: "In Rod we trust." I'm excited for this weekend game against UMass and the rest of the season ahead. Win or lose, it's always great to be a Michigan Wolverine, but there's a reason why our fight song is titled "The Victors." We've always been the leaders & best, let's get back to being victors valiant & conqu'ring heroes and, in time, the champions of the West. Go Blue!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "Half a Woman" from Out-of-State Plates, Disc Two (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"They called him Great Scott
Because he was great.
They called her Great Susan
'Cause she was his date."

He's Dead, Jim
The latest news is, I believe, qualified good news. Though the dark spot in my mother's nose, sited in the same place from which was removed the polyp that was the first indication of the cancer, has been confirmed as being cancerous, both the team of physicians overseeing her care and the ominously- & hilariously-named Tumor Board advise the wait-and-see approach. While I caution that I am neither a medical doctor nor do I play one on television, this suggests to me that they believe the risk of the cancer spreading is less than the risks involved in any of the more serious non-surgical treatments, such as chemotherapy or radiotherapy. The only truly good news would be that she's cancer free, but the qualified good news is that the cancer present does not present such a danger as to require drastic countermeasures, at least not for the time being. My mother's appointments with "Mr. Clean" (Dr. McLean), the head of her team of physicians, have been increased in frequency from bimonthly to monthly; the first of these monthly examinations/consultations will be this Friday. I will keep you apprised of developments as they happen, with the caveat that in this matter, no news may be assumed safely to be good news.

The Explorers Club
No. CLXXXIX - The Cambridge Five, Part II: Kim Philby's 1963 unmasking & defection; the detection of Anthony Blunt (1907-1983), formerly of the Security Service (M.I.5); & the many blind alleys & conspiracy theories on the long road to unmasking the "Fifth Man," John Cairncross (1911-1995).







Project MERCATOR
As expected, when it rains it pours. On the eve of Labor Day (just over a week ago), an impromptu evening was organized at The Most Dangerous Game's apartment. In attendance were our charming hostess; Jenny* (Wayback Machine, see "Project PANDORA"), who in the aftermath of an as yet unexplained gulf appearing between The Most Dangerous Game & The Cowgirl seems to be The Game's best gal pal; Colette*, Jenny's dormitory roommate & a pre-U. of M.-Flint friend of The Game & The Impossible Ingenue; Jelani*, Colette & Jenny's new pal from the dorms; Frankenstein's Monster, who was "fashionably late" as ever; and your humble narrator. Over pizza & buffalo wings, with How I Met Your Mother D.V.D.s playing in the background, there was an effort to open Colette's eyes to the fact that she'd been played, as freshman are wont to be, by a sleazy upperclassman. Later, in a bizarre group discussion, I was the only member of the party to argue that bisexuals are actually bisexual, as opposed to being homosexuals who are still halfway in denial of their homosexuality. (The first time I heard the group's argument was from a homosexual man who hated what he would call "supposed" bisexuals as much as any heterosexual homophobe ever hated homosexuals.)

This past Friday, I took a step to advance Project MERCATOR's lesser known other objective, to not only be more social, but to take advantage of all that my community has on offer: I attended the "2nd Friday Art Walk," a monthly event highlighting Flint's arts scene, from painting & sculpture to dance & theatre. The Art Walk is organized in part by Mr. Flint Local 432, with whom I am acquainted & shook hands, and who has always been a friend to Blue Tree Whacking. I was joined by Colette, Jenny, at the second or third stop by Jelani, & by a girl I'd seen around campus (it's a small place) but never before met, Elise*. From the way the girls were gathered together & conversing at the beginning of the night, I'd have thought they were friends, but after a while it became clear there was tension between the libertine Colette & the enigmatic Elise.

The first stop on the Art Walk was the Buckham Gallery (near but not directly off of the Buckham Alley), bursting to capacity with my fellow Art Walkers and hot as an over from their body heat, despite the evening's chill. The girls stayed near the entrance & the concessions stand, leaving me to explore the art on my own. On display was some interesting photography & some even more interesting sculpture, with the exact wrong proportion of photography to sculpture. While I was trying to find the leaning in a sculpture, I was greeted by Becca, the saxophonist & sometime vocalist of The Loose Ties, who chided me for missing the previous week's show (see the previous "Project MERCATOR," recent enough that the Wayback Machine is unneeded). The second stop was the Greater Flint Arts Council (G.F.A.C.), where a large selection of small quilts (2' x 2', too small be be quilts, really, but I don't know what else to call them) was on display. In the equally crowded space, this time the group stayed somewhat together, though again I was the only one who seemed to be paying any attention to the art. Or should I say, to the displays? I don't think I'd count the wee quilts as art. Craft & skill certainly went into their construction, but are they art? Okay, I'll grant their artistic status, but only stipulate to them being amateurish art.

After the G.F.A.C., the organization of the Art Walk broke down completely. We were making our way back up Saginaw Street on a rough heading back to campus when we encountered Becca in the company of Frankenstein's Monster. They suggested a nearby yoga studio as a useful destination. The paintings on display were interesting, but the studio clearly depends upon sunshine for much of its lighting; so, the illumination was insufficient in the gathering dusk. But we praised our timing as we finished surveying the art (and helping ourselves to cheesecake & green grapes) immediately prior to the arrival of a large herd from the G.F.A.C.; we'd had the yoga studio almost to ourselves, but I'm sure they were back in like sardines before they had time to realize the space was too small for all of them at once. Wandering on, we encountered more quilts at The Lunch Studio, which was unique in furnishing a small pamphlet identifying the works & containing a short artist's commentary on each. Outside, chalk was on offer, with the sidewalks as a canvas; not knowing what if anything to draw, I wrote instead (in cursive), "Welcome to the Mike Wilson Ego Experience."

By now the tension between Colette & Elise was becoming evident & the group soon splintered. Colette, Jenny, & Jelani (who appeared sometime after we departed the yoga studio) raced ahead while Elise & I strolled leisurely behind. We all met up in the UCEN, but first Jelani & then Jenny & Colette said they were retiring back to their dorm rooms. Darkness had fallen by this point & Elise asked me to escort her to her motorcar out in the flat parking lot; after I dropped her off I walked to Lumi, parked as is my habit in the structure (shade against the Accursed Sun), & drove home. A couple days later, in a chat through the Farcebook, Colette wrote that she & Jenny had wanted to invite me to hang out in their room, but hadn't known how to do so without being rude as long as Elise, whom they didn't wish to invite, was around.

On Saturday, The Loose Ties played at the Good Beans Cafe. They were remiss in advertising the where & the when of the show, and their timing was abysmal, as Ska Army told me they were to go on at 7:00 P.M. At 7:00 P.M., the Michigan-Notre Dame football game had not yet reached its breathless conclusion. Let there be no doubt about my allegiance in this situation: I did not put on my shoes & grab my kit until after time had expired and until after basking for a few moments in the glow of the valiant Wolverines' triumph over the vile Fighting Irish. I drove downtown & parked Lumi quite near to where I thought the Good Beans Cafe was sited, where I would have sworn it at least used to be sited. However, my knowledge was either mistaken or out-of-date, for the cafe was not to be found. I wandered up and down Saginaw, covering much the same ground as the previous evening's Art Walk, and a short way along the most likely side streets, but no trace was to be found. I'm convinced I was at an establishment of the same name years earlier, and I'm nearly certain that place was on Saginaw, but now neither hide nor hair was to be found of The Loose Ties. Returning home from an apparent snipe hunt, I harnessed the power of the internets & learned the address of the venue, on Grand Traverse rather than South Saginaw. By this time, the hour was almost 9:00 and if I hadn't missed all of The Loose Ties' set, I'd missed most of it; so, I decided against venturing out again.

*Secret Base code names shall have to be devised for Jenny & Colette. It is as yet unknown if code names will be necessary for Jelani & Elise.

The Rebel Black of Song of the Day
Hey Monday, "Wish You Were Here" from the Beneath It All E.P. (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: A song & a sentiment I'm directing toward a good many people in this moment, foremost among them Comrade Coquettish.

The Explorers Club
No. CLXXXVIII - The Cambridge Five, Part I: Donald Maclean (1913-1983) & Guy Burgess (1911-1963) of the Foreign Office, their 1951 defection to the Soviet Union, & the suspicion the defections cast on Harold "Kim" Philby (1912-1988) of the Secret Intelligence Service (M.I.6).







The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
MxPx, "My Mom Still Cleans My Room" from Life in General (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: She doesn't actually, but "My Mom Still Cleans My Room" is a humorous choice as this weekend, at her request, my father cleaned all the windows (knocking several items off my window sill to land behind my bed, not to be seen again until I undertake the major endeavour—because my room is rather small—of moving the bed) and I Hoovered all the floors. Mom did mop the kitchen & other tiled floors, cooked our meals, and shopped for groceries.

Samstag, 11 September
The Heavy, "How You Like Me Now" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: It seems Denard Robinson's stunning performance against Connecticut was not the one-off miracle the Dark Bastard insisted it was. Hip hip hooray. More in "The Victors." Go Blue!

Operation AXIOM
11 September 2001 is "a date which will live in infamy," a day of profane villainy, made sacred "far above our poor power to add or detract" by the martyrdom of its victims.



Expect more hoopla from yours truly (and from the popular culture 'tis hoped, though very likely in vain, less venality) next annum.

The Explorers Club
No. CLXXXVII - Mata Hari, the immortal name by which is known the Dutch dancer & courtesan-cum-spy Margarethe Zelle (1876-1917).







The Girls of September '79
I was friends with Mrs. Sacramento (née Never Girl) for a year-and-a-half, from her return home to the Ann Arbor suburbs after graduating college a semester early to her departure for graduate school in the Bay Area. At her request, because she was new to the Golden State & lonely, she invited me to visit her in Berkeley. Once my usefulness as an antidote to isolation was at an end—once she forged new, more local friendships—so was our acquaintance. A valuable lesson that, one for which I am grateful despite the bitter taste. Happy birthday, Lindsay!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Atomic Fireballs, "Mata Hari" from Torch This Place (T.L.A.M.)