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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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







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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Raise a glass, friends & countrymen: To sport!

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

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

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

"Victory for ZIM!"

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

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

Currently
Steve Martin, An Object of Beauty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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







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

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

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

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

Project OSPREY
(№ 2) Kansas 64-62 Ohio State (№ 2)
N.C.A.A. Final Four

(№ 1) Kentucky 69-61 Louisville (№ 4)
N.C.A.A. Final Four

Well, poo. On the other hand, I cannot deny experiencing a certain thrill as I watched the hated Buckeyes flail about, impotent to halt the Self-made men's onslaught. I do so love watching any team representing the Scarlet & Gray lose, all but regardless of the circumstances. I'm not alone in thinking Kentucky is going to chase Kansas right out of the building, yes? A shame, that, especially since it is inevitable that Kentucky will later have to vacate the win, just as UMass & Memphis had to vacate wins from John Calipari's tenures as head coach at those institutions. Sure, sure, he's never been implicated in any of the UMass or Memphis shenanigans, it is simple coincidence that every school for which he coaches later runs significantly afoul of the N.C.A.A. rulebook. In the immortal words of Ian Fleming, "Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. The third time it's enemy action." I'll never understand why Kentucky sold their souls for the surety that they'd be the proof of the fiend Calipari's "enemy action," the fools.

Closer to home, the blog U.M. Hoops has taken a pair of interesting looks back at the season that was for the valiant Wolverines: highlights & lowlights. Ah well, there's always next year.

Go Blue!

This Week in Motorsport
Formula Fun!
I've not yet had the time to watch last weekend's Malaysian Grand Prix. Curses!

By Endurance We Conquer
Bored with the first half of the Kentucky-Louisville game, I wandered through the channels to Speed, where I caught the last minutes of the Porsche 250, the second race of the year for the Rolex Sports Car Series. The Daytona Prototypes still look bulbous & awkward compared to proper Le Mans Prototypes, but aesthetic changes made since last year have made them look considerably more racy. As long as the American Le Mans Series remains unpalatable, mayhap I should invest more time & attention into the Rolex Series. It's not A.C.O.-sanctioned, but it is endurance racing.

Project OSPREY
Thursday, 29 March
(№ 3) Stanford 75-51 Minnesota (№ 6)
N.I.T. Final

I didn't see Thursday's night finale to the 75th National Invitation Tournament because I was at the aforementioned History Club game night playing Risk, but my father described the on-court proceedings as being as ugly as the final score. The luckless Golden Gophers "had no answer" for the suffocating defense of the epithetless Cardinal(s). 'Tis a shame, both because the Big Ten team did not triumph & because the loss came at the hands of the ancient foe, the Pac-12. Still, it must be noted that Minnesota was far from a top-tier Big Ten team, & I remain confident that in any apples-to-apples comparison of the Big Ten's best against the Pac-12's best, the pride of the Midwest would send those not-as-coastal-as-they-used-to-be West Coast bastards packing. Nevertheless, drat!

Much as it pains me to root for the hated Buckeyes (№ 2), here's hoping that, win or loss, they acquit themselves well in tonight's "Final Four" showdown with the epitheless Jayhawks of Kansas (№ 2), for their play will leave the season's final impression of the whole Big Ten. N.P.R. doesn't often cover sports, & this week has been a painful reminder why that's a good thing: the coverage of the second-to-last round of the N.C.A.A. Men's Basketball Tournament (Division I) has focused almost exclusively on the in-state rivalry 'twixt (№ 4) Louisville & (№ 1) Kentucky, with only passing mentions of Kansas & THE _{(Ohio State University)}. The Final Four belongs to everyone, you snooty poseurs, not just the Commonwealth of Kentucky!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Barenaked Ladies, "Maybe Katie" from Everything to Everyone (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"What's the use in hesitating?
Can't you see that Katie's waiting?
Just because her youth is fading
Doesn't mean she's not worth dating."

Project GLOWWORM
A persistent but low level question about my whiskers, specifically my moustache, was if it would interfere with making out, since I'd not kissed a girl since initiating first the Banzai Beard Bonanza II: Bonsai's Revenge & then the whiskers of permanence for the foreseeable future. There didn't seem to be any problems tonight, at least none caused by the whiskers. Too soon to say if the moustache is, as 'tis hoped, a signal of virility, but at least now I know its not a hindrance. Onward & upward!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Aquabats!, "Stuck In a Movie!" from Charge!! Special One Year Anniversary Edition (Captain Thumbs-up)

Operation AXIOM
One hundred years ago to the day (probably), 29 March 1912, Robert Falcon Scott perished, the last of his five-man party of polar explorers to succumb to malnutrition, exhaustion, & the killing cold. Scott & his men were beaten in the race to be first to the South Pole by Roald Amundsen's Norwegian party; whereas Amundsen & his men all lived, Scott lead his men to their doom. Heated debate continues to this day over whether "Scott of the Antarctic" was a hero or a villain, a victim of misfortune & the harsh Antarctic conditions or a murderously incompetent fool who lead good men to a bad end. I've not yet read any of the books on the subject & so shall withhold any direct comment on Scott's culpability. I will say, however, that my idol, of all those who participated in the Heroic Age of Antarctic Exploration, is Sir Ernest Shackleton (1874-1922), in no small part because despite the travails of his ill-fated Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition—being shipwrecked in the ice, marching across vast expanses of sea ice, & braving the frigid Antarctic waters in open boats—Shackleton brought every single one of his men home alive. Requiescat in pace to Captain Scott, Doctor Edward Adrian Wilson, Lieutenant Henry Bowers, Captain Lawrence Oates, & Petty Officer Edgar Evans.

Project MERCATOR
I played Risk this evening with my fellows from the History Club. Five individuals on four teams, three lads playing solo & two lasses playing in tandem. Mr. Red quickly established himself Down Under & put the Australian Gambit into effect; Mr. Blue drove the lasses & me out of South America & initiated Pinochle with Pinochet; the Mademoiselles Green began an Asian Simmer; & I was soon utilizing Out of Africa, with a strong defensive foothold in Europe.

Mr. Blue made a few tentative moves toward the suicidal European Hurry Up & Wait, but I responded in force & used my silver tongue to explain that Europe was too rich a prize for me to allow him to hold it uncontested; so, if he persisted in trying to seize that prize I'd be forced to stop him & we'd be locked in a death struggle while Mr. Red cultivated the Australian Gambit to our eventual doom. Mr. Blue also made a few moves toward pursuing the North American Dream, but I had a large enough contingent there to spook him; he was afraid that if he went too much on the offensive that I'm swing down into Central America & take away his continental bonus. Silly Mr. Blue, he'd have helped himself a great deal if he'd just launched an all-out assault on my fairly weak North American garrison. Mr. Red also began pursuing the North American Dream, & they went tit-for-tat, neither ever attacking except "for card." I don't feel bad about shaking on the Brazil-North Africa Non-Aggression Pact with the hapless Mr. Blue, since it was his idea. Meanwhile, I used Out of Africa to expand not northward into Europe but eastward into Asia, & the Black Raj was soon extant; I have had my most consistent success at Risk pairing Out of Africa with the Black Raj. Knowing that the Australian Gambit is the long game & Mr. Red would only grow stronger, as soon as I had the right slot in the turning-in-cards rotation I attacked Indonesia from Siam-I-Am; the rolls were with me, leaving more of my forces intact that I'd dare hope, but even with bad rolls I'd have had the numbers to make the Australian Gambit mine instead of his.

All this time, the Mademoiselles Green were simmering away in Asia, playing without an apparent strategy but accumulating cards & amassing a large, sedentary army in Kamchatka. In his pursuit of the North American Dream, focused on Mr. Blue's similar dreaming, Mr. Red had left his rear exposed & vulnerable. Once I had blasted through the large red army in Indonesia & seized the continental bonus, Mr. Red looked irrecoverably vulnerable; it took only a little persuasion before the Greens were spurred into action, wiping out Mr. Red & seizing his cards. Turning in three sets of cards simultaneously mid-turn, the Mademoiselles Green were very uncertain what to do with their new, preposterously large, poorly deployed army. They launched assaults against Mr. Blue's Asian Simmer & made his Pinochle with Pinochet their own, but their offensive fizzled before it encroached on my empire. I marshaled my forces & finished off a demoralized Mr. Blue, claiming his cards. They'd been plainly evincing fatigue; so, on the cusp of turning in cards mid-turn to launch a campaign of annihilation to win me the world entire, I proposed that we call it a game & resign ourselves to a cold war 'twixt green & black. This proposal was greeted with enthusiasm & the game night (we'd first played Apples to Apples) drew to a close.

The doctrine of "Who Dares Wins" & my calm throughout the proceedings had won me a clear psychological advantage over the Mademoiselles Green, who seemed confident that they could not defeat my global Black Raj, even though they had massive armies placed haphazardly around the globe—so haphazardly as to comprise a halfway defensive alignment: the "snake" to annihilate them would have had to have been a many-headed hydra, a proposition that poses challenges & great peril to the attacker. I was aided earlier in the game by Mr. Blue's timidity, a chillingly accurate reflection of the sorry way I used to play (&, like clockwork, lose) before I instituted "Who Dares Wins." These advantages were not mine by random chance, though, but the calculated products of my comportment throughout. Sweet fancy Moses, I love playing Risk!

Autobahn
At one point of my drive this afternoon Lumi the Snow Queen was behind an Oldsmobile Silhouette minivan. I glanced in the rear-view mirror & saw the vehicle behind was also an Oldsmobile Silhouette minivan. It's sad to think that it has been eight years since the demise of Oldsmobile, sad because such an idiosyncratic marque is gone, & because with the bankruptcies & bailouts of General Motors & Chrysler & the demise of other marques such as Pontiac, Saturn, Hummer, Saab, & Mercury Oldsmobile seems to have gone gentle into that good night unnoticed & unmourned. I have a T-shirt, purchased from the R. E. Olds Transportation Museum in Lansing, with the following emblazoned across the chest: "Before Chevy, before Dodge, even before Ford, there was Oldsmobile. Established August 21, 1897." The station wagon in which my siblings & I were ferried as wee bairns, before we in our childish idiocy advocated for our parents to adopt that weird status symbol of late 1980s suburbia, the minivan, was an Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Association, "Windy" from the Rhino Hi-Five: The Association E.P. (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Yes, an argument could be made that the R.B.D.S.O.T.D. should have been "In My Merry Oldsmobile," but "Windy" was already stuck in my head before Lumi the Snow Queen became the meat in-between two pieces of Silhouette sandwich bread.

Project OSPREY
(№ 6) Minnesota 68-67 Washington (№ 1) (O.T.)
N.I.T. semifinals

My congratulations to the luckless Golden Gophers on advancing to the N.I.T. final, & my thanks to those selfsame Golden Gophers for proving that the Pac-12 champion is barely equal to a bottom-of-the-heap Big Ten team. To claim the N.I.T. crown on Thursday Minnesota will have to defeat one more of the Big Ten's ancient foes, (№ 3) Stanford. Go get 'em, Gophers!

The Savage Wars of Peace
We open with a pair of B.B.C. articles related to the Syrian Arab Republic, the first concerning former U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan's peace mission: optimism-link. The second concerns U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton's shockingly prudent response: pessimism-link. Given the Obama Administration's naïveté regarding the Russian Federation & the Islamic Republic of Iran & frequent kowtowing to the wishes of the People's Republic of China, Secretary's Clinton's attitude toward Syria's Ba'athist government is both refreshing & most welcome. Events on the ground in that benighted country continue to affirm Mrs. Clinton's attitude even as they negate Mr. Annan's: fatalism-link.

Elsewhere, good news in the continuing African Union-Kenyan-Ethiopian fight against al-Qaeda's franchise in Somalia, al-Shabaab: retreat-link. Lawlessness anywhere is a threat to law everywhere; the world, especially the West, dare not again turn its back on Somalia 'til their is a state in place that can defend its sovereignty against the depredations of pirates & jihadis.

The Stars My Destination
The robotic "space lorry" Edoardo Amaldi has docked with the International Space Station (I.S.S.): autopilot-link. The A.T.V.s are as yet unmanned, but they still afford the E.S.A. a greater capacity to lift cargo & experiments into orbit that far outstrips anything at N.A.S.A.'s disposal; is the loss of America's lead in manned spaceflight really the changed you believed in in '08? I know I harp on this subject quite a bit, but that's only because it is so galling & appalling that the United States of America has is less capable of conducting independent spaceflight operations that the Russians, the Chinese, & even the Europeans, who have never managed to put a man in orbit by themselves. (Nonetheless, they currently have a launch capability greater than anything in N.A.S.A.'s fleet.) The shame is nigh unbearable.

The Edoardo Amaldi is unmanned, true, but there is a full crew on the I.S.S., making this a "The Stars My Destination" post, not a "Science!" post.

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Robbie Williams featuring Jon Lovitz, "Well, Did You Evah!" from Swing When You're Winning (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "That's a lovely dress. Do ya think I could talk her out of it?"

Dienstag, 27 März
Less Than Jake, "Robots One, Humans Zero" from B is for B-Sides (T.L.A.M.)

The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXX - The life & trek of Kazimierz Nowak (1897-1937).







Science!
I no longer have any interest in James Cameron's feature films, but that doesn't mean I disdain his spirit of exploration. My congratulations to only the third challenger of the Challenger Deep: The Abyss-link.

For more on the Mariana Trench & the Challenger Deep, please see:
"The Explorers' Club" № CCLXXI
"The Explorers' Club" № CCLXXII

Science!

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Queen, "We Are the Champions" from Greatest Hits I (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "And we'll keep on fighting 'til the end", possibly the song's most underappreciated lyric. Even victors need continue striving.

Sonntag, 25 März
Robbie Williams featuring Rupert Everett, "They Can't Take That Away From Me" from Swing When You're Winning (The M.A.P.)

Samstag, 24 März
"Weird Al" Yankovic, "Close But No Cigar" from Straight Outta Lynnwood (Ska Army)

Commentary:

"I said, 'Hey, are we playing horseshoes, honey?'
No, I don't think we are…

I said, 'Hey, are we lobbing hand grenades, kiddo?'
No, I don't think we are…

I said, 'Hey, are we doin' government work here?'
No, I don't think we are…"

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Crash and the Boys, "I Am Sad, So Very, Very Sad" from Scott Pilgrim vs. the World: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: I do love that the title of "I Am Sad, So Very, Very Sad" is more verbose that the song itself, the entire lyrics being the words "So sad!" Not "So sad!" in endless repetition, just a single declaration, "So Sad!" Thus concludes our week of lamentation for the ignominious end of the valiant Wolverines' (men's basketball edition) Big Ten Co-championship season. We cling to the sustaining belief of all sports fans: there's always next year. Go Blue!

Science!
As is so common in these days of exoplanetary discovery & new instruments with which to probe the mysteries of the heavens, it appears that our assumptions about the structure & nature of Mercury, the planet closest to the Accursed Sun, might have been rubbish: iron core-link & icy shadows-link. Of course, upon reflection our assumptions about what constituted a "normal" solar system—rocky planets closer to the star with gas giants farther out—was based on a sample size of one, which is an insufficient basis for making broader generalizations. Also, what we see about Mercury's inner structure might be unprecedented, but we must also consider that our precedents are all set by just a few planets: Venus, the Earth, Mars, & perhaps Pluto. I say the following not with disdain but with enthusiasm: we don't know jack! "There's so much to learn!"

Science!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Starting Line, "Saddest Girl Story" from Say It Like You Mean It (T.L.A.M.)

Vote for Kodos | Project PANDORA
I've a wee crush on an ultraconservative girl. Ultraconservative, you ask? The girl adores Senator Santorum. The only thing I can say in my defense is that my infatuation is mostly physical; she's a dancer!

Project OSPREY
(№ 6) Minnesota 78-72 Middle Tennessee (№ 4)

In N.I.T. action, the luckless Golden Gophers outlasted the epithetless Blue Raiders to advance to the semifinals (equivalent to the "Final Four" in the N.C.A.A. Tournament). Rarely have I seen so persistently & effectively interdict in-bounds passes as did Middle Tennessee, but it was too little, too late, & Minnesota demonstrated that a team that makes the most of its free throw opportunities has a distinct advantage both down the stretch & in the clutch. My congratulations to Coach "Tubby" Smith & his luckless Golden Gophers. Let's go, Big Ten!

This Week in Motorsport
Beyond Thunderdome
The first pair of V8 Supercars races reminded me of what attracted my attention throughout 2011: V8 Supercars is an exuberant form of motorsport. Mayhap I'm reading too much into the Aussie bravado, but there is about the enterprise a palpable joy & a devil-may-care dedication to fun. The commentators neglect to identify themselves; so, I can't tell you one from another, but I enjoy the caliber & tenor of their commentary, delivered in those preposterous, delightful Australian accents. I've watched enough of the races now to be familiar with some of the competitors, & to have a general sense of their rising or falling fortunes. My "in" to the competitive side of the sport is that I was raised in a General Motors (G.M.) family in a General Motors town, making it only natural to root for the Holden Commodores (Holden being G.M. of Australasia) as they oppose the Ford Falcons. I hate that blue oval, hate it no matter the continent or the context.

Yes, the races are edited, & broadcast on Speed days or weeks after the races are run Down Under, but the quality & deftness of the editing & packaging serves not to siphon the fun & sport out of the races, but to underscore the feebleness of the Entertainment Sports & Programming Network's butchering of the American Le Mans Series's (A.L.M.S.) races. Say "G'day" to the V8 Supercars!

By Endurance We Conquer
The 12 Hours of Sebring was run on Saturday last, beginning both the inaugural F.I.A. World Endurance Championship (W.E.C.) & this year's A.L.M.S. Audi finished first & second overall & in the L.M.P. 1 category (Le Mans Prototype 1), with the third Audi entrant much further down the order but still having classified as having covered the race distance, meaning it must have spent some time in the pits with mechanical troubles. Corvette finished second & fourth in the G.T.E.-Pro. class (Grand Tourer Endurance-Professional), behind a B.M.W. & above & behind a Ferrari. Here's hope to gain a greater sense of how it all went down through this weekend's Mobil 1 The Grid, an invaluable source of motorsport news & highlights. Motorsport that you don't see just isn't the same; curse the A.L.M.S. for selling its soul to the E.S.P.N.!

Audi are again campaigning with the turbo-Diesel-powered R18, which first competed last year. With the surprise exit of the turbo-Diesel-powered Peugeot 908 from the W.E.C., the R18's most serious competition is expected to be the brand-new petrol/electric-hybrid Toyota TS030, which won't be unveiled 'til the six-hour/1,000-kilometer race at mighty Spa-Francorchamps in May. Here's hoping that the Toyota will be able to give Audi a run for their money, to keep the sport competitive 'til Porsche arrives in L.M.P. 1 in 2014.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Sam Cooke, "Sad Mood" from Portrait of a Legend, 1951-1964 (T.L.A.M.)

Science!
Indiana Jones meets Star Wars: archæology-link. Further proof that everything is better with the word "space." (Space pope, space bees... space archæology!)

Science!

Autobahn
This afternoon, I spied a Chevrolet Cruze sporting the vanity plate CRUZE. I'm yet undecided if that's appealingly clever or appallingly dumb.

In unambiguously appealing news, I spied, in the Brutalist concrete structure where I customarily park Lumi the Snow Queen to shade her interior from the death rays of the Accursed Sun, a Fiat 2000 Spider, resplendent in rosso corsa, Italian racing red. The top was down, revealing an easily accessible fire extinguisher & four-point harnesses that lead me to surmise the Spider is a track-day racer, or at least that the owner has pretensions in that direction. The sleek lines & ridiculously low stance of the Spider were rare sights in a muscle-car Mecca like the Vehicle City, & the badges with the script "Pininfarina" added a touch of continental class to these provincial environs. There are a pair of modern Fiat 500s often to be seen in the parking structure, both in unimaginative shades of gray, but after today I'd say the 2000 Spider is the only real Italian automobile I've seen in there. The Spider's vanity plate read FIATALY (an awkward portmonteau, I suppose, of "Fiat" & "Italy").

Another bloke was looking at the 2000 Spider as I approached & took my gander, neither of us sure exactly what we were seeing. (I did not know that what I saw was a 2000 Spider, a Pininfarina-manufactured continuation of the Fiat-produced 124 Sport Spider, until I could consult ye olde interweb, specifically the Wikipedia.) We agreed that neither of us had seen the Spider's like there on campus, though he said there was a sweet Dodge Challenger to be seen on the lowest level & I told him of the Triumph TR6 I've seen tooling around Grand Blanc & an M.G. I've seen parked at my church. He said that the only Triumphs he'd ever heard of were motorcycle, which lead to an unfortunate digression into two-wheeled territory, where my interest does not lie. But we parted on amiable terms after introducing ourselves (his name's Andy) & the sighting of the Fiat was made more enjoyable by the sharing of the experience with the fellow.

This Week in Motorsport
Formula Fun!
The 2012 F.I.A. Formula One World Championships got off to a rip-roaring start with the Australian Grand Prix at the Albert Park Street Circuit in Melbourne, Victoria. The race began with a distinct difference from 2011: Neither of the two Red Bull (Renault-powered) cars started from the from row. Reigning double World Champion Sebastian Vettel ('10 & '11) & grizzled Aussie veteran Mark Webber started sixth & fifth, the first time no Red Bull had been in the top four starting positions in over twenty grands prix. Once the race began, though, it became clear that things were not so different this year after all. The McLarens (Mercedes) of '09 World Champion Jenson Button & '08 World Champion Lewis Hamilton started from the front row & set the early pace. There was much talk in qualifying & before the race of those Kraut bastards at the Mercedes factory team having finally taken that big step from being the fastest of the midfield teams to being truly able to compete with Red Bull, McLaren, & Ferrari; seven-time World Champion Michael Schumacher ('94, '95, 2000, '01, '02, '03, & '04) started fourth, his highest grid position since he came out of retirement for the 2010 season. Once the race began, however, Schumacher's Mercedes was a rolling chicane, a roadblock in front of the Vettel's Red Bull; once the younger German was able to make the pass, his streaked into the distance. Schumacher soon inflicted fatal mechanical damage to his machine & had to retire from the grand prix. Slightly farther back in the running order, the second Mercedes of Nico Rosberg held up Webber & the Ferrari of double World Champion Fernando Alonso ('05 & '06), 'til they were each able to pass & leave the "Silver Arrow" Mercedes far, far behind. Vettel was able to leapfrog Hamilton on the pit stop rotation & made up ground on Button, but didn't quite have an answer to the McLaren's speed. The top five finishers were the top five contenders for the '10 & '11 World Drivers' Championships: Button, Vettel, Hamilton, Webber, & Alonso. F1 is back! Hooray! The next round of the championship will be the Malaysian Grand Prix, coming up this very weekend.

The Lotus Eaters & Farewell to the Virgins: The twelve teams competing in 2012 are the same twelve teams as in each of the last two seasons (several dropped out & several entered the sport 'twixt '09 & '10), though three of them now have different names. The former Renault factory team is no longer majority owned by Renault, & last year called itself Lotus Renault; this year, after settling the dispute with the former Team Lotus, the former Renault team are Lotus (still using Renault power). The brand-new team that entered F1 as Lotus Racing in '10 & became Team Lotus in '11, have relinquished the Lotus name & Chapman heritage & are contesting the '12 campaign as Caterham (Renault). (A further twist is that Caterham is an English sports car manufacturer whose principal product is the Caterham 7, based on Lotus founder Colin Chapman's old Lotus Seven; the Caterham 7 is far closer to Chapman's Lotuses than anything currently manufactured by Lotus Cars, the title sponsor of the former Renault team/current Lotus.) In far less confusing news, the hapless Virgin squad are now called Marussia (Cosworth), title sponsorship having changed from Sir Richard Branson's sprawling Virgin empire to the Russian sports car manufacturer Marussia.

The Pilots: Red Bull (Vettel & Webber), McLaren (Button & Hamilton), Ferrari (Alonso & Felipe Massa), Mercedes (Rosberg & Schumacher), & Sauber (Ferrari) (Kamui Kobayashi & Sergio Pérez) return the same driver lineups as in 2011.

At Force India (Mercedes), Adrian Sutil has been replaced by Nico Hülkenberg (who was a rookie with Williams in 2010), paired with the returning Paul di Resta. At Williams (switched to Renault from Cosworth), Rubens Barrichello has been replaced by Bruno Senna, paired with the returning Pastor Maldonado. At Caterham (last year's Team Lotus), Jarno Trulli has been replaced by Vitaly Petrov, paired with the returning Heikki Kovalainen. At Marussia, Jérôme d'Ambrosio has been replaced by rookie Charles Pic, paired with the returning Timo Glock. At Hispania (Cosworth), Vitantonio Liuzzi has been replaced by Pedro de la Rosa, paired with the returning Narain Karthikeyan (who gave up his seat for half of last year when Red Bull paid Hispania to get then-rookie Daniel Ricciardo some F1 experience).

At Lotus (last year's Lotus Renault), Petrov & Senna have been replaced by '07 World Champion Kimi Räikkönen (returning to F1 after two fruitless reasons in the W.R.C.) & Romain Grosjean (the reigning G.P.2 champion, who was a rookie with Renault in '09 & had been out of F1 since). At Toro Rosso (Ferrari), the Red Bull "B team," Sébastien Buemi & Jaime Alguersuari have been replaced by Ricciardo (who drove for Hispania on loan from Red Bull last year) & rookie Jean-Éric Vergne.

Last year there were no French drivers in Formula One; this year there are trois: the returning (& now much more seasoned) Grosjean & the rookies Vergne & Pic. Oui! Oui! Also, this year there are six World Drivers' Champions on the grid, the most ever to race in a single F1 season, fully one-quarter of the drivers in any given race. In chronological order (& team with which championship[s] was [were] won): Schumacher (Benetton, Ferrari), Alonso (Renault), Räikkönen (Ferrari), Hamilton (McLaren), Button (Brawn), & Vettel (Red Bull).

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
MxPx, "Sad Sad Song" from Secret Weapon (T.L.A.M.)

Project OSPREY
For those amongst you who just didn't get enough college basketball over the first four (or six) days of the N.C.A.A. Tournament, might I recommend the nation's first collegiate basketball championship, the National Invitation Tournament (N.I.T.)? This is the seventy-fifth year of the N.I.T., dating all the way back to 1938. Neat! I glimpsed a bracket that informed me Washington & Oregon had advanced at the expense of Northwestern & Iowa. I hate for any member of the Big Ten, the first intercollegiate athletic conference, to lose to the ancient foe, in any sport, but it is nice to know that the very best of the Pac-12 are worthy to play only the dregs of the Big Ten. The Madness is multifaceted.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Barenaked Ladies, "The New Sad" from Barenaked Ladies Are Men (T.L.A.M.)

For the first time since Christmas Day, "The Explorers' Club" is on schedule. Huzzah!

The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXIX - The life & times of Joseph Thomson (1858-1895), whose exploits were the direct inspiration for the novel King Solomon's Mines.







Bonus: Thomson's gazelle, namesake of the explorer.



I adore Thomson's motto, "He who goes gently, goes safely; he who goes safely, goes far."

Project OSPREY
The ill-starred Boilermakers' loss to the epithetless Jayhawks of Kansas was unfortunate—heartbreaking for my father, a Purdue University alumnus. Still, four Big Ten teams advanced to the Sweet Sixteen, fully a quarter of the participants. I suppose there is some very, very slight consolation for we fans of the valiant Wolverines in Ohio University's advancing to the Sweet Sixteen; we lost to a credible tournament team, not one-hit wonders punching above their weight for a single game. I suppose there's some consolation in that, though I don't feel at all consoled. Drat! Drat! A thousand times, drat!

Lies, Damned Lies, & the News
There's good news & there's bad news. The bad news is that I would have lost my $10,000 bet to Mitt Romney because of the good news: All of this weekend's This American Life is dedicated to clearing up the lies they broadcast about Apple, Foxconn, & production in the People's Republic of China in a much-heralded episode aired in January. (Fortunately, my best with Governor Romney was hypothetical, & I shan't be compelled to enter indentured servitude to work off the debt.) Ira Glass was forthright & earnest, saying that he & his staff had "screwed up" in not adequately fact-checking the story before putting it on air. Glass was endlessly frustrated with the ne'er-do-well actor-cum-reporter who had perpetrated the deception, refusing the accept the scoundrel's self-serving, absurd justification that his lies were true "in the theatrical sense." There's no way to put this that doesn't sound ridiculously self-important, so I'll just eat that accusation: I was satisfied. It would have been useful for the audience to be given a greater understanding of the factors that lead to the screw up. What were the factors that lead Glass & co. to accept a terminally-flawed fact-checking process? Was there an eagerness to believe the worst about a large American corporation & did this lead to the subordination of standard journalistic practice? It would have been useful for this sort of soul-searching to have been presented to the audience, but of far greater importance is that this searing introspection take place, even if only behind the scenes of This American Life.

As is always the case when a reporting organization owns up to its mistakes, far more ears heard the lie than will hear the correction. The damage has been done, & no matter what mighty efforts Glass or others undertake there is a percentage of the populous, either through gullibility or malice, who will continue to believe the lies that This American Life originally proudly proclaimed as truths. My intention is not to pile on, not to castigate Ira Glass & his staff, but to remind one & all of the terrible responsibility borne by those who enter the public sphere as reporters, our culture's tribunes, & the dreadful consequences that result when those tribunes manifestly fail to act responsibly.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
No Doubt, "Sad For Me" from No Doubt (T.L.A.M.)

Operation AXIOM
Today is the feast day of Saint Patrick, one of the three patron saints of Ireland. In my beloved United States & in other places around the world, a great many persons, many of them non-Catholic & even more of them religious in the only most lukewarm sense, will observe this occasion as "St. Paddy's Day," an orgy of drunkenness, cultural mockery, & the crassest consumerism. The question that confronts us on this dark day is this: Is my long-standing, vociferous hatred of St. Paddy's Day more righteous now that I've been to Ireland, now that I've spent a week visiting Dublin & perusing many of her public houses?

The Queue
The Goon is a tremendous series, but I cannot escape the conclusion that fame ruined it to a degree. Eric Powell, The Goon's creator, writer, & artist, has won multiple Eisner Awards, possibly the comic-book industry's most prestigious award for creativity (compare to the Oscars for cinema or the Emmys for television). These awards are well-deserved & I am glad Powell's achievement has been recognized. But, corresponding roughly with the awarding of Powell's first Eisner & the increased attention paid to the series, something changed: The Goon gained a new & not unwelcome emotional heft, & lost much of the zaniness that was so great a part of its charm. The early Goon stories are a madcap delight; the later Goon stories aren't completely joyless, they're just mostly joyless. Mayhap it is unfair to blame this on the fame that accompanied the Eisner Award wins; it could be genuine coincidence that The Goon changed creative direction at roughly the same time. Back to more respected (which is not the same thing as respectable) fare.

Recently
Len Deighton, City of Gold
Steve Martin, Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life
Eric Powell, The Goon: Wicked Inclinations (Vol. 5), Chinatown and the Mystery of Mr. Wicker (Vol. 6), A Place of Heartache and Grief (Vol. 7), Those That is Damned (Vol. 8), Calamity of Conscience (Vol. 9), & Death's Greedy Comeuppance (Vol. 10)

Currently
Victor Davis Hanson, A War Like No Other: How the Athenians and Spartans Fought the Peloponnesian War

Presently
Steve Martin, An Object of Beauty
Rudyard Kipling, The Man who would be King and Other Stories
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Gods of Mars

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
They Might Be Giants, "Why Must I Be Sad?" from John Henry (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Welcome to a week-long series of songs of lamentation. I'm sad not because the valiant Wolverines were ejected from the N.C.A.A. Tournament, but because of the ignominious manner in which they were ejected from the N.C.A.A. Tournament.

"…I spit at the Sun!

Sad, sad, sad, sad,
Why must I be sad?"

The Victors: Project OSPREY
(№ 13) Ohio 65-60 Michigan (№ 4)
24-10, Big Ten 14-6

We played in the N.C.A.A. Tournament the same way we played in the Big Ten Tournament: poorly. That was a sad, lazy, pathetic effort & we deserved to lose the game by far more than we did. I mean no offense to the epithetless Bobcats, nor do I mean to belittle their efforts. Why did young Burke try all those three-point shots? We were down by three, yes, but there was plenty of time; we didn't need to take low-percentage long-range shots. We threw away a perfectly serviceable opportunity. We embarrassed ourselves, & only by the grace of the №-15-over-№-2 upsets will we not be an object of national ridicule. It's win-or-go-home time, & by each foolish mistake, missed defensive assignment, & idiotic shot choice we chose to go home rather than to win. This should be a very long, cold off-season for the valiant Wolverines & Coach John Beilein, an off-season full of introspection & reassessment. Drat! drat! & double drat!

Go Blue!

Science!
Rats, no neutrino-based faster-than-light propulsion system just yet: warp speed-link. The upshot is that the laws of the physical universe as we understand them have not been upended, after all.

Science!

Lies, Damned Lies, & the News
It will be interesting to hear what sort of on-air mea culpa comes forth from this weekend's broadcast of This American Life: This American Lie. Ira Glass might well be as "horrified" as he says, but I'd bet Mitt Romney $10,000 that fewer minutes of airtime are devoted to correcting the fabrications presented on This American Life as facts than were initially spent presenting those fabrications as facts; so, of what genuine use is Mr. Glass's self-serving "horror"?

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
John Williams & the London Symphony Orchestra, "To Cairo" from Raiders of the Lost Ark: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: I met Jojo downtown for a late lunch this afternoon & afterward we went for a stroll along the banks of the Flint River. It was a lovely stroll, but for the niggling detail that it felt as if I was walking along the surface of the Accursed Sun. Just one week earlier I was shuffling along very nearby streets for the Art Walk, my scarf & heavy overcoat bracing me against a bone-chilling wind. 'Twas winter then, 'tis summer now, & absent yesterday's swampy humidity my thoughts dwelt upon the desert, the endless sands & the open sky. Thus, "To Cairo."

Operation AXIOM
Two thousand fifty-six years ago to the day, 15 March 44 B.C., Gaius Julius Caesar, dictator in perpetuity (not, as is commonly misheld, "dictator for life") of the Roman Republic, was assassinated by conspirators lead by Marcus Junius Brutus, an Optimate of the old school & a rebel previously pardoned by Caesar. Far from restoring the republican nature of the Republic, the assassination renewed the civil strife Caesar had ended, sparking the wars that eventually saw Caesar's grandnephew & posthumously-adopted son, Octavian, seize power as the first Roman Emperor, Augustus. Would we remember the Ides of March were it not for Shakespeare's play The Tragedy of Julius Caesar? We are lucky that we shall never have to find out, for we live in a world brightened by the Bard's mellifluous verse.

Project GLOWWORM
The unseasonably warm weather means that I've retrieved from storage my linen Trilby & straw Trilby much earlier that I'd have liked. I wore the straw Trilby yesterday as the afternoon temperature soared into the seventies Fahrenheit; I sported the linen Trilby today due to the threat of rain. This will be the second summer for the Mark III straw Trilby (yes, 'tis true, after the worst winter ever summer is upon us at the midpoint of March, to my earnest lament), with the too-tight Mk. II straw Trilby in reserve. I see no reason why the Mk. III might not continue for the whole summer & possibly even the next; 'tis sturdier than the Mk. I straw Trilby, which itself would have been able to continue had it not be inundated by a cloudburst in Fall '10.

This is normally one of my favorite times of year, the time when winter has lasted too long for most of those around me, that melancholy period when winter seems the darkest… just before the "dawn" of spring. Instead, my insulated flatcap has been put in an upstairs closet & yesterday I wore sandals & a straw Trilby to evening Mass. I have the hats for this tragedy, thought I wish fervently they were put away for yet a few more weeks. "Misery, misery, misery."

This Week in Motorsport
Formula Fun!
Because the inaugural round of the 2012 Formula One World Championships is the Australian Grand Prix, broadcast live from literally the other side of the world, Speed's first broadcast will be in just a few hours, 1:30 A.M., the middle of the night. Hoorah for Video Cassette Recorder technology!

By Endurance We Conquer
The 12 Hours of Sebring will be run on Saturday, serving as the first round of both the new World Endurance Championship (W.E.C., a joint effort of the F.I.A. & the A.C.O., replacing the A.C.O.'s solo Intercontinental Le Mans Cup) & the 2012 American Le Mans Series (A.L.M.S.). Endurance racing won't be quite as exciting this year, as Peugeot's sudden withdrawal from the sport leaves Audi without series competition in the top L.M.P. 1 category, but Le Mans remains Le Mans. As I've groused extensively previously, the A.L.M.S. sold its soul to the Entertainment & Sports Programming Network & so the 12 Hours of Sebring won't be seen on television on Saturday; only a two-hour synopsis/mutilation will be seen after the fact, on Sunday. Those race edits provide a worse sense of the race than would a five-minute highlight package. By Lucifer's beard, why won't those fools allow me to be a fan of endurance racing in the United States! At least the W.E.C. has to some degree rejected the A.L.M.S.: the season-ending Petit Le Mans will not be a part of the W.E.C.'s inaugural 2012 campaign.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "The Ballad of Candlepin Paul" from The Magic of Youth (T.L.A.M.)

Obamboozled
This are the very high speed rail system President Obama wants to United States to imitate: Old 97-link. Mr. Obama's proposals wouldn't be so onerous if they weren't so explicitly derivative. If the United States should build a high speed rail network, we should do so because it suits our needs & would advance your commercial & social goals, not simply because we fear a "bullet train" gap with the People's Republic of China.

Autobahn
Last week, I saw a Bentley Continental G.T. in downtown Grand Blanc. Even in "Grahnd Blahnc" a machine from Crewe is a rare sight. At the recent North American International Auto Show, the Bentley display was the only one which kept the madding crowd at least six feet distant from the machines. There was, consequently, no opportunity for the peasants, such as your humble narrator, to sit behind the wheel & daydream about piloting a W-12-powered, $200,000 automobile. I spied retired pugilist Tommy "The Hitman" Hearns behind the barriers, having his picture in front of the Bentley Mulsanne, but I do not begrudge him his access. Who am I to say Mr. Hearns does not deserve such special consideration? 'Twas well-earned, I say.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra, "The Shadow" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: The theme to the unfortunate 1994 film starring Alec Baldwin as the title character.

Dienstag, 13 März
Herman's Hermits, "Mrs. Brown, You're Got a Lovely Daughter" from Herman's Hermits Retrospective (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: In a delightfully spooky coincidence, I made the acquaintance of a lovely girl surnamed Brown yesterday, but only after I'd chosen "Mrs. Brown, You've Got a Lovely Daughter" as the R.B.D.S.O.T.D.

The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXVIII - The intrepid, obscene life & times of Sir Richard Francis Burton (1821-1890).







This Week in Motorsport
Beyond Thunderdome
The first round of Australia's V8 Supercars series was broadcast this past weekend, having been run the previous weekend. I videotaped the race, but have not yet had a chance to watch the broadcast. The important takeaway is that motorsport is back! Yippee! The inaugural Formula One grand prix of 2012 will be held this coming weekend, coincidentally also in Australia.

In the words of Darkseid (from Justice League Unlimited, voiced by the incomparable Michael Ironside), "Let the universe howl in despair, for I have returned!"

Rally Monkey
The 2012 World Rally Championship has been running since January, & this weekend saw the season's third rally, Rally México, but despite re-branding the channel Discovery H.D. as the car-themed Velocity, the Discovery media empire does not appear to be carrying coverage of the W.R.C. as it did in '11. I've been unable to find any American television coverage of the W.R.C. I am a child of the television age, & 'tis hard to be a fan of a sport that I never see; has been raised with nothing but newspaper accounts, I'm sure they would suffice, but I wasn't, so they don't. Curses!

The Queue
The esteem in which I hold Steve Martin is even greater after reading Born Standing Up than it was after reading his first two novels, Shopgirl & The Pleasure of My Company, & Pure Drivel, a collection of his essays. I must endeavour to read his third novel, An Object of Beauty, sooner rather than later. Born Standing Up has also stimulated a jones for more non-fiction, with the result that A War Like No Other has leapfrogged The Man who would be King and Other Stories. I must further endeavour to watch the motion picture The Jerk again sooner rather than later.

Recently
H. Rider Haggard, King Solomon's Mines
Len Deighton, City of Gold
Steve Martin, Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life

Currently
Eric Powell, The Goon: Wicked Inclinations (Vol. 5), Chinatown and the Mystery of Mr. Wicker (Vol. 6), A Place of Heartache and Grief (Vol. 7)

Presently
Victor Davis Hanson, A War Like No Other: How the Athenians and Spartans Fought the Peloponnesian War
Eric Powell, The Goon: Those That is Damned (Vol. 8), Calamity of Conscience (Vol. 9), & Death's Greedy Comeuppance (Vol. 10)
Rudyard Kipling, The Man who would be King and Other Stories
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Gods of Mars

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Erykah Badu & The Blues Brothers, "Funky Nassau" from Blues Brothers 2000: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (M I K E)