Project GLOWWORM
Guinness World Records can go to blazes! This fellow doesn't have the world's longest moustache, he has a very, very long beard—possibly the world's longest beard, but that thing's not a moustache: I call shenanigans!-link. The photographs clearly show hairs from below his lips, his cheeks, & his jawline contributing to his "moustache." A moustache is something much more specific than just a beard paired with a shaven chin. It is right & proper that the B.B.C. quotes a member of the Handlebar Club in support of this fraud. Those hypocrites follow the same prejudice, explicitly discriminating against men with beards whilst allowing their own members to have "moustaches" that are massive beards with just the jutting chin cleanshaven. A moustaches-only club is fine, as long as the rules are consistently applied! For shame, Guinness World Records & the British Broadcasting Corporation, for promoting such chicanery.

This Week in Motorsport
Formula Fun!
Sunday's Gran Premio de España was won by Pastor Maldonado of Williams (Renault), the first Venezuelan driver ever to win a Formula One grand prix. The victory was the august Williams team's first since '04; Maldonado's triumph also made him the fifth different driver to win one of 2012's five grands prix, from five different constructors. '09 World Champion Jenson Button of McLaren (Mercedes) won the Australian Grand Prix, '05 & '06 World Champion Fernando Alonso of Ferrari won the Malayasian Grand Prix, Nico Rosberg of Mercedes A.M.G. won the Chinese Grand Prix, reigning '10 & '11 World Champion Sebastian Vettel of Red Bull (Renault) won the Bahrain Grand Prix, & the aforementioned Maldonado won at the Circuit de Catalunya. Rosberg & Maldonado are both first-time race-winners. No one knows what to expect from the rest of the 2012 World Championships. Who will win? Who will lose? The most consistently fast team has been Lotus (Renault), but they've yet to win a grand prix. Traditional powerhouse McLaren seem to be moving backwards after their triumph in Australia, even though '08 World Champion Lewis Hamilton has won three* of the first five pole positions (*he won the pole in Spain, but was disqualified after the session, promoting Maldonado from the second starting position to the pole; technically then, Hamilton only has two poles); their pit stops & strategy calls have been suspect. Ferrari are said to have a terrible racecar, but the Spaniard Alonso won in Malaysia & lead much of his home grand prix before losing out to the surprising Maldonado. '10 & '11 World Constructors' Champions Red Bull are leading the constructors' standings, but have only one race win, in Bahrain. It's a topsy-turvy season, & next up is the "grandest grand prix of all"—& the most idiosyncratic—, the Grand Prix de Monaco!

By Endurance We Conquer
Last weekend's coverage of the American Le Mans Series (A.L.M.S.) race at Laguna Seca in Monterey, California was the most satisflying (or, rather, least dissatisfying) I'd experienced since the A.L.M.S. sold its soul to the Entertainment & Sports Programming Network. (The six-hour race was on Saturday, the two-hour television broadcast was on Sunday.) I attribute this to three factors: One, a long time had passed since I'd seen an A.L.M.S. race, even in such a butchered form, & absence makes the heart grow fonder. Two, the nature of the race, being a true endurance race (six hours!) & being held on a spectacular race course, Laguna Seca. Three, the delightful commentary provided by veteran driver Justin Bell; nothing against usual commentor Johnny O'Connell, also a veteran driver, but Bell is simply a more amusing, more satisfying broadcaster.

One of the most beautiful aspects of endurance/sports car racing is the endurance, an area where the A.L.M.S. struggles. The first round of the year, the 12 Hours of Sebring (Florida), is the longest race on the calendar, & also serves as the first round of the F.I.A. World Endurance Championship (W.E.C.); the second round is the shortest race of the year, a mere two hours around the streets of Long Beach, California, held the same weekend as the IndyCar Grand Prix of Long Beach. Two hours does not an endurance race make. Six hours around Laguna Seca would test any machine, but after that come three races of just under three hours; I cannot say exactly how long the cars must drive to constitute an endurance race, but four to six hours would seem to be a reasonable standard, no? The W.E.C. is a joint venture of the F.I.A. (the Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile, the world governing body) & the A.C.O. (the Automobile Club de l'Ouest, the organizers of the 24 Hours of Le Mans), & supplants the A.C.O.'s runaway success the Intercontinental Le Mans Cup as the world's premier endurance racing series. All seven (or eight) rounds of 2012's inaugural W.E.C. will be at least six hours in length, with Sebring & Le Mans being twice & four times as long respectively. Of the remaining seven rounds of this year's A.L.M.S., only one will be longer than four hours, the ten-hour-or-one-thousand-miles Petit Le Mans. The American Le Mans Series must be convinced to make endurance a focus of its racing.

One of the inherent problems of the A.L.M.S. is the two-month layoff betwixt Laguna Seca & the next race at Lime Rock, Connecticut, a layoff necessary for competitors to compete at & recover from next month's 24 Heures du Mans in Le Mans, France; but, without the chance to compete in the "Grand Prix of Endurance," what would be the point of the A.L.M.S.? There's just no way around the two-month break. The plus side of the break? It means there's only one month until Le Mans! Yippee!

Grand Dammit
I watched Sunday's Grand-Am Rolex Sports Car Series race from the New Jersey Motorsports Park live on Speed in its entirety, a situation far superior to watching Saturday's American Le Mans Series race from Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca a day later on E.S.P.N. 2, edited to less than one-third of the race's duration. Yet, I still liked the A.L.M.S. race better than the Grand-Am race. I can't really explain why. Positive association 'twixt the A.L.M.S. & my beloved 24 Heures du Mans? The presence in competition of my beloved Corvette Racing team? The aesthetic superiority of Le Mans Prototypes to Daytona Prototypes? It must be said that the Daytona Prototypes (D.P.) look better this year, the bodywork having been restyled from last year; many of the teams are running Chevrolet engines & are branded "Corvette D.P.s," but those aren't Corvettes. The Corvette C6.Rs that run in the A.L.M.S. (& at Le Mans), those are Corvettes. Whatever the root, the prejudice against Grand-Am that led me to declare on May Day that I could no longer justify using the "By Endurance We Conquer" subtitle for coverage of the Rolex Series (Wayback Machine) persists.

Beyond Thunderdome
Last Saturday, I also watched the broadcast of a trio of V8 Supercars races from the Barbagallo Raceway outside Perth, Western Australia. I can't put my finger on why, but I was less entertained than during previous V8 Supercars races. Mayhap I was just in an ill—or an ill-suited—humor? Maybe the magnificently mad Bathurst 1000 has ruined me for other, lesser Aussie circuits? I've enjoyed watching the Supercars in the past & remain confident that I'll enjoy watching them again in the future.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
First Aid Kit, "Emmylou" via iTunes, (free) Single of the Week (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: I'm not normally a fan of those twanging strings, hate 'em in fact, but somehow "Emmylou" works, & it just slays me.

Objective SCHWEDEN
I flew yesterday, traversing the route of my daily constitutional four minutes faster than I'd walked the same distanced on Thursday last. Admittedly, Thursday's time was about a minute faster than usual, due to puddle-avoidance delays & modifications to the route, but that still put yesterday's time a full three minutes faster than the circuit average. I felt as if I was flying the entire time, my pace quick & my feet light as I pushed, pushed, pushed. Today, I went faster still, a minute quicker than yesterday's record time! Initially, my legs felt heavy, like lead, but I pushed through the discomfort & it faded then vanished when I was about one quarter of the way along my route. I powered through that initial sluggishness & at several points along the circuit had to fight the curious urge to break out into a run. The best news of all, better than the pace or the desire to go faster yet, was the welcome return of an old friend. Whenever I felt myself starting to lose pace I heard calling out from the back of my mind a small voice, the familiar, adamantine will that fueled the "S.K.P. Machine" of yore, a voice so long silent but never gone entirely. I smiled through the lion's share of today's daily constitutional, moreso in the middle & at the end than in the beginning, recalling to mind those halcyon days of yore when I reveled in physical exertion, when I was fat but also undeniably an athlete.

Operation ÖSTERREICH
I am enjoying my out-of-doors daily constitutional more than I've ever enjoyed running on a treadmill; girded as I am now to resist the depredations of the Accursed Sun, outdoors would seem to be the way to go. Preparations shall have to be made for enduring should this glorious sensation persist into the fall & the winter. I have always longed to return to the pool, but frankly I'm just not fit enough to swim as intensely as my memories insist I must. They are persistent in their refusal to acknowledge that I was seventeen fifteen years ago, that a thirty-two-year-old man can't be expected to put in the same yards or swim at the same pace. For the nonce, I walk, soon enough to jog & to run. In time, I hope swimming will be the fruit of these labors.

My intake of fruits & vegetables has increased in the past fortnight. For the past few days I've also done a much better job of cutting back on the cheese & the various snack chips/crackers. All to the good if these trends continue & become institutionalized.

Autobahn
I spied a pair of Dodge (Alfa Romeo) Darts this afternoon on I-75, much as I several times spied pairs of Fiat 500s last summer or the summer before. (Chrysler's headquarters are less than half an hour to the south via 75, in Auburn Hills.) The Dart looked very different than it did this winter at the North American International Auto Show, but that's the be expected given the vagaries of light & vantage point. Neat!

Also today, I saw a hardtop B.M.W. Z3. I'm no fan of cabriolets (beware the Accursed Sun!), but I will never understand why anyone would want to put a hardtop on a motorcar that was designed to be a roadster.

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Lit, "Four" from A Place in the Sun (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"Yeah, she doesn't think we're gonna make it,
But when I'm home we're sleeping' naked,
And we pretend that we're in love."

Dienstag, 15 Mai
John Williams, "Theme from Jurassic Park" from Jurassic Park: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (T.L.A.M.)

Caution: Lewdness afoot.

Project PANDORA
Continued from: Wayback Machine.

One week after I first met The Interpreter, six days after I'd really met her & ended the evening by making out with her in the parking lot in a downpour, I followed the internet-derived driving directions to her basement apartment (not quite remembering how to get there from the previous Sunday), parked Lumi the Snow Queen, & knocked on her screen door. The main door behind the screen was already open & I heard her shout, "Come in" from somewhere around the bend of the descending stairs. I set my hat upon a convenient piece of counter top, we exchanged, & I kissed her hello. Her eyes acquired a dreamy look I'd soon come to recognize as their habitual reaction to being kissed. She removed a goodly number of assorted containers from her refrigerator & set about making our dinner, a pair of miniscule, personal-sized pizzas. We bantered throughout the preparation & cooking. As we kissed, separated by the high, narrow counter upon which I'd set my hat, she suddenly but slowly pulled back & said she needed to tell me something; from her tone, I know nothing good was to follow. At some point in the recent past, she'd had a liaison with The Braggart. I gather there was no intercourse, but in truth, as I told her, I didn't want to know what she'd done before we'd even met; 'twas none of my affair & none of my concern. She asked if I now thought she was repellent. I said that I'd show her what I thought of her, & kissed her. (The kiss was a white lie, because who in her right mind would have a tryst with The Braggart?! A seed of trouble was planted, though not what you're thinking.) We then sat down to our meager, Weight Watchers points-friendly meal. She laughed, I laughed, & we found each other very amusing. We repaired to the couch, talked, laughed, & made out. As the hour grew late, I prepared to take my leave. She said she wasn't going to screw me (she used the more polite euphemism "sleep with"), but asked me to spend the night in her bed. I demurred, kissed her good night, & went out into the cool night air.

We exchanged text messages throughout the weekend & made plans to get together on Monday. I was to leave for Oregon on the following Wednesday, & this would be our last chance to see each other for a week. Events unfolded much as they had on the preceding Thursday, except that our dinner was fish tacos. I'd never before had a fish taco, always regarding that combination of words with, frankly, dread. A fish taco? That seemed like asking for trouble. I've never like tilapia, & the fish tacos did nothing to change my mind. I was eating tacos, but there was a flavorless void where the ground beef or chicken was supposed to be. Nevertheless, I was thankful for the meal, as I am for any meal I needn't prepare myself. We sat on her couch & snuggled for a spell, until she suggest we play Uno—strip Uno. She'd mentioned this earlier in a text message & I was prepared for the eventuality. The worst past of the novel Moonraker is an exhaustive, trick-by-trick account of a game of contract bridge between James Bond & the villain, Sir Hugo Drax; I'll spare you that. She won & some of my clothes came off. I won & some of her clothes came off. She won the tiebreaker, we made out a bit, & then she took me by the hand & led me into her bedroom. As we laid there in each others arms, she asked me how many girls I'd screwed. I answered her, "Zero." In our various conversations she'd expressed some amazement at my almost complete lack of relationship experience, questioning & probing how many girlfleshes I'd had & how long those relationships had endured, but at no point did I lie to her about sex. She never asked if I abstain from premarital sex; I never volunteered that I do. We talked & kissed & cuddled for a spell, & she asked me to stay the night, stating her desire to wake up next to me. I did indeed have a very trying day awaiting me upon the next morn; so, again I demurred. We got dressed & said our good-byes, & I went out into the night, back to mine own bedchamber.

I can't recall precisely how it got started, but by this time The Interpreter & I had fallen into the habit of exchanging "good morning" text messages at approximately 8:20 A.M. More often then not, these texts found me still in bed but awake, going through the laborious process of getting up. This ritual was both a pleasing & an annoying way to start the day, but if Project PANDORA is ever to get anywhere my cherished (& by the same token, stifling) routine will have to suffer some disruption; there are worse things than the apple cart behind upset. I was fun & flirty in our texts, always mindful that my innuendo didn't go so far that my ego was writing cheques my body couldn't cash. But I was soon to depart for the West Coast, for the Pacific Time Zone, & 8:20 A.M. texts from The Interpreter would reach me at a decidedly unpleasing & definitely annoying 5:20 A.M.; so, for the duration of my trip I would be the one to initiate all text messaging. I'd be busy & otherwise engaged much of the time, but I told her I'd text when I could, to tell her about my day & inquire about hers. We exchanged texts, but far less frequently than we had been to that point. Several factors contributed to this: one, when I travel I am truly away from my life. All of my usual routines go out the window or are substituted with new & different rituals. Two, out of sight, out of mind; inevitably, when there was no chance to see her, no chance to pop up to her office on campus & steal a moment with her, she just couldn't occupy the same place in my thoughts. Three, & perhaps most significantly, The Interpreter was simply outshone by the brilliance that is Comrade Coquettish, with whom I spent every available moment whilst in her adopted hometown of Salem, Oregon. I've reveled in the splendiferous company of Comrade Coquettish on four occasions; based on the ratio of time spent together to fondness, she is possibly my favorite person in all the world. Fond as I'd grown of The Interpreter, what chance has a single candle against all the radiance of the sun?

I returned to sacred Michigan on Tax Day, a Monday, having been "on the road" since the previous Wednesday. There was no time to catch my breath, time & tide waiting for no man. I saw The Interpreter only briefly on that Tuesday, & spent my evening being initiated into the Knights of Columbus (Wayback Machine). When I embraced The Interpreter on Wednesday it was evident that we'd missed each other in the week-plus we'd been part. We passed a lovely evening together, cuddling as we watched, via D.V.D. multiple episodes of The Big Bang Theory, which The Interpreter was very insistent that I must see. Perhaps because I am a nerd, she thought the show would have some special resonance with me? Perhaps she's just inordinately fond of a mediocre situation comedy? (I am an unrepentant snob, if this had somehow escaped your attention.) The hour grew late & we retired to her bedroom, & to her bed. For the first time in my life, I spend the night in the bed of a paramour. We kissed & cuddled & snuggled under the blankets whilst a fan turned to make such heavy bed coverings bearable. The pillows upon which my head was to rest were insufficient, but it must also be noticed that I like my pillows uncommonly hard & piled uncommonly high; I bear no ill will to any bed unequipped to deal with this idiosyncrasy. The low point of the night was when The Interpreter decided to test or ignore the rules & attempted to fellate me; physical intercession was necessary to thwart her ambition, & only in the nick of time was my virtue, such as it is, preserved. We continued to fool around, & soon put behind us that unpleasant business. All in all, 'twas a joy to be in her bed, & to have her in my arms.

We kept each other awake far too long into the wee hours of the morning, & I spend a restless night, awakened by my awkward position in the unfamiliar bed, & by the incessant circling of The Interpreter's incredibly irritating cats. (She has two, the maximum permitted 'fore one becomes a "crazy cat lady.") The early alarm necessary for her to be at work by 8:00 A.M. came at its appointed time, as necessary & unwelcome as the crowing cockerel. I slumbered as she showered, then we dressed, bade each other a fond farewell, & went our separate ways. The drive of shame? I returned home Thursday morning in the same clothes as when I'd left the previous Wednesday morning, a novelty in my experience. I ate my usual breakfast, then repaired to my bed for a rare & invaluable nap. I met The Interpreter after work on Friday, for drinks at her favorite public house, Churchill's. I appreciate the Winston Churchill quotes spread throughout the interior of Churchill's, but little else about the establishment recommends it; mine own preference is for The Torch, & not just for the "Torchburgers." Still, better Churchill's than that den of iniquity, The Loft. The evening was derailed when The Interpreter imbibed too much (Wayback Machine), but aside from that wrinkle the time we'd spent together since my return from Oregon filled me with joy. We'd not had "the talk" about the status of our relationship, but I liked spending time with her, she liked spending time with me, & I liked that she liked spending time with me. We had a good thing going. The anticipation of the previous "Project PANDORA" post had come up trumps, I'd experienced new & exciting milestones in my greatly retarded development, & a new highpoint had been reached in the history of Project PANDORA. Valuable data were being accumulated &, what's more, being with The Interpreter made me happy; not that I'm normally unhappy, but happy in a new & interesting way.

To quote Robert Browning, "God's in His heaven—/All's right with the world!"

To be continued…

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Robbie Williams, "One For My Baby" from Swing When You're Winning (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "Just make it one for my baby, and one more for the road."

The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXXVII - The life & theology of Reinhold Niebuhr (1892-1971).

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Sam & Dave, "Soul Man" from the Rhino Hi-Five: Sam & Dave E. P. (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: In memoriam Donald "Duck" Dunn (1941-2012), who perished overnight. Duck-link. Requiescat in pace.

Operation AXIOM
This weekend is being commemorated & celebrated the sestercentennial of the sandwich: two hundred fifty-link! Your humble narrator devours a sandwich almost every day, averaging somewhere between five & six sandwiches for every seven-day week; it is impossible to envision what I'd be eating with the Earl of Sandwich's staggering invention. My profound gratitude to the Right Honorable John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich.

Autobahn
Ever since last Sunday's new episode of Sherlock, "A Scandal in Belgravia," I've spotted Saabs everywhere I look.

The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "Someone's Gonna Break Your Heart" from Sky Full of Holes (T.L.A.M.)

Freitag, 11 Mai
Mu330, "Fried Chicken" from Chumps on Parade (T.L.A.M.)

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Gene Kelly, "I Like Myself" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"Can it be I like myself?
She likes me, so I like myself.
If someone wonderful as she is can think I'm wonderful
I must be quite a guy.
Feeling so unlike myself,
Always used to dislike myself,
But now my love has got me riding high,
She likes me, so so do I."

Vote for Kodos
What we need now is a law that bars from dual citizens from serving in the United States Congress (which comprises both the House of Representatives & the Senate, despite the common & incorrect reference to the House alone as "Congress," a misapprehension perpetuated by idiots): Swiss miss-link.

Kith & Kin
Where's Teddy? is in the grips of the "terrible twos," & he can be a terror, but considering the difficulties associated with his age he really isn't all that terrible. We engaged in our most persistent game: mirroring bottles. As I am nearly always to be seen with my flip-top green water bottle, Where's Teddy? likes to have handy a sippy cup full of water—not milk, but water, like mine—& for the two of us to drink at the same time. He walk up to the armchair whee I was seated, by my leave flip open the top of my bottle, scurry to the far end of the adjoining couch where his sippy cup was resting on a small table, & then take a drink at the exact same time I did. We've been playing this game for at least a year, & the novelty's not yet worn off for him. We played lots of games both indoors & out, & I read to him his bedtime stories on both Saturday & Sunday nights. It's not Where's Teddy?'s fault he's a little savage, all Kinder are born such & it is the job of parents, sundry family, & eventually teachers to civilize the little monsters.

My wee niece Lucy has been assigned the code name "The Cupcake," inspired by a nickname given her by her father, mirroring the origin of The Squeak's code name. The Cupcake is only nine weeks-old & so yet evinces little in the way of personality, but she is mostly calm, fusses & cries not in excess, & sleeps like a champ. Not unexpectedly, I suppose, she bears a tremendous resemblance to Where's Teddy? at the same age. She looks so small, &yet she's grown so much since she was born; her legs are starting to become ham hocks & I have high hopes that she'll be quite the fat little chunk in the weeks & months ahead. I love fat babies & fat kitties, & I won't apologize for either.

Project MERCATOR
The Loose Ties played The Flint Local 432 last Saturday, but I was unable to attend as I was at Xanadu meeting The Cupcake & playing with Where's Teddy?. So, even though I was familiar with none of the bands playing at The Local on Friday, I went that night to show my support for the resurrected club. I am thrilled to report, dear readers, that the new Local is the same as the old Local: a bare-bones monument to the D.I.Y. spirit & a no-pressure environment for younglings to learn the difference 'twixt playing music together & performing as a band. I was joined by my pal-cum-acolyte Ska Army, due to spend both Friday & Saturday nights there. In between two bands, Ska Army asked if I wanted to nip over to one of the nearby public houses for "a pint;" respectful of The Local's stance as a substance-free zone—'tis an all-ages venue, after all—, I instead proposed that we get that pint after the evening's music concluded. When that moment arrived we repaired to The Torch, where I had a pint & Ska Army had two pints & a meal, leading me to believe I'd been brought there under a mild pretense. A good time was had by all, his delay simply kept me out slightly later than I'd intended, a small annoyance since I was to awake early the next morrow & motor to Xanadu.

Objective SCHWEDEN | Project GLOWWORM
I was in a position to take my daily constitutional today for the first time since Friday last. Four days on followed by four days off, but at least now May's days on outnumber the days off five to four. Fearful that the sweat of my daily constitutional would bring my pith helmet to an early grave, & yet needing a shield against the death rays of the Accursed Sun, I've acquired a broad-brimmed straw hat. I fully intend to drive this hat into the ground in the course of the next several months, but hesitated to wear it today due to a steady rain; I saw no sense in having it potentially ruined by the rain before it had the chance to fulfill its purpose as a personal parasol. So, I went out into the rain without a hat, the drops feeling nicely refreshing on my only lightly fuzzed scalp. I'd not gone more than a block, though, when the rain ceased, & within a couple more blocks the clouds had parted to unleash the fury of the Accursed Sun. When will I learn not to go out of doors without a hat? When I least think I need it is when I am most vulnerable & thus most likely to be in need of headgear! I got a little sun yesterday (a forthcoming "Vote for Kodos"), so today's didn't make much of a difference, but I learned a valuable lesson. I wish to preserve the pith helmet from the daily grind of the daily constitutional's sweat, & I wish to preserve the wide-brimmed straw hat from the capricious rain; thus, the straw hat on sunny days & the helmet on rainy days (of which Michigan's spring & summer have their share).

I won't take the daily constitutional on Friday if the yard's dry enough to be mowed, since what is mowing but a long walk—albeit a long walk behind an infernal machine & amidst the irksome odor of freshly-cut grass?

The Queue
"Baa Baa, Black Sheep" alone would have more than justified the reading of The Man who would be King and Other Stories, but there were other gems betwixt its covers, such as the eponymous "The Man who would be King," "Only a Subaltern," & "In Flood Time," et al. I skipped "With the Main Guard" & "Black Jack" entirely because, as the twin tales feature Kipling's famous "Three Musketeers"—Mulvaney, Learoyd, & Ortheris—, the tales are written largely in dialect; I couldn't stomach that sort of writing years ago when I aborted reading Irvine Welsh's Trainspotting, & I've still not acquired the knack. My faith in the master has been restored entirely, my grousing about his earlier tales having proved to be grousing about the writing of a young author (only in his early twenties) learning his craft on the fly. I look forward to reading the next Kipling volume sitting on my bookshelf, The Jungle Books.

I've been meaning to read Nicolas Sarkozy's political autobiography/treatise ever since "Sarko l'Américain" was elected President of the French Republic in '07. Now that he's about to be replaced by François Hollande (& Europe is about to be set ablaze, to the detriment of us all), I've been jolted into action. I've also been meaning to read Lush Life since Mrs. Skeeter, Esq. loaned it me in '10, though I cannot point to any specific reason why I decided to read it now. The august Mr. Burroughs will keep a little while longer, & his Barsoom will still be there in all its splendor when I'm through with Messers. Sarkozy et Price.

Recently
Steve Martin, An Object of Beauty
Steve Martin, The Ten, Make That Nine, Habits of Very Organized People. Make That Ten.: The Tweets of Steve Martin
Rudyard Kipling, The Man who would be King and Other Stories

Currently
Nicolas Sarkozy, translated from the French by Philip H. Gordon, Testimony: France, Europe, and the World in the Twenty-first Century

Presently
Richard Price, Lush Life
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Gods of Mars
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Warlord of Mars
Edgar Rice Burroughs, Thuvia, Maid of Mars

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
The Folksmen, "Blood On the Coal" from A Mighty Wind: The Album (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"Blood on the tracks, blood in the mine,
Brothers and sisters, what a terrible time!
Old Ninety-seven went in the wrong hole,
Now in mine number sixty there's blood on the coal,
Blood on the coal, blood on the coal."

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

Commentary: Attacked by snakes-link.

"My perilous fate, I see no escape
As serpents lay siege to my country estate,
The Devil must have opened Hell's gate
And called up millions of snakes to take me from this place.

Big ones, little ones, fat ones, skinny ones,
Protect me from their venomous drug
That springs from the needles of fangs,
Attacked by snakes! By snakes!

So many snakes you could fill the Great Lakes with snakes,
Ha ha ha, run! I tried to hide,
But snakes bites on my face testify I've been
Attacked by snakes! By snakes!

So many snakes it would take a thousand crates
To contain the snakes after me,
I'd rather be burned at the stake
Then be, attacked by snakes!"

Also of interest are the comments of a U.S. Department of Agriculture official named Dan Vice; well, not his comments, but his name: Mr. Vice. Man alive, I hope his surname is pronounced "vice," not something like "vee-che." Beware Mr. Vice!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Three Dog Night, "Eli's Comin'" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: As far as I can recall, I never heard Three Dog Night's cover of "Eli's Comin'" 'til the song was referenced on Sports Night. That television show is immensely influential in my mind's pop cultural landscape, & so I hew to Dan Rdyell's consciously erroneous interpretation of "Eli's Comin'" from the episode "Eli's Coming." There is doom abroad, & it originates from abroad, from the elections in France & Greece, & the return of (Ras)Putin in Russia.

The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXXVI - Los Millares & the eponymous Los Millares culture.







The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Jimmy Eat World, "The Middle" from Bleed American (Jojo)

Commentary: I wish Jojo would take the lyrics of "The Middle" a little more to heart.

"Hey, don't write yourself off yet,
It's only in your head you feel left out or looked down on.
Just try your best, try everything you can,
And don't you worry what they tell themselves when you're away."

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "Workingman's Hands" from Sky Full of Holes (T.L.A.M.)

Project MERCATOR
Yesterday, Jojo picked me up in her brand-new (to her) motorcar, the Chelsea, & we motored to McFarlen Library. There is a nature trail behind the library & we hiked it with gusto. Early on, Jojo spied a blue bird & drew my attention; not being an ornithologist, I cannot provide any additional identifying information other than to say it was predominantly blue & appeared to have some white on its tail. Not long after this, we saw another hiker approaching us. I adopted the voice of a television naturalist & narrated the fellow's approach, telling Jojo that it was important not to spook a human, as they are skittish creatures. Spying the fellow's red T-shirt I commented upon the human's "bright plummage" as he passed us by, a look of mild confusion upon his face. I was utterly composed, being naturally theatrical, but Jojo was on the verge of uproarious laughter. As we watched the fellow go slowly on his way, he hesitantly turned about & said tremulously, "Have a nice hike." I thanked him & wished him the same, & then we were off on our way. I hope I didn't disturb the poor fellow, I was only trying to add a bit of fun to everyone's day. In any event, this further cemented my reputation as a comic genius in Jojo's eyes.

The late afternoon was not quite as hot & humid as I'd feared, & there was blessed shade on some portions of the trail, but between the heat, the death rays of the Accursed Sun, & the exertion I was soon sweating like a Wilson. Onward & onward we pushed, farther along the loop of the trail than I'd ever gone on my own occasional forays into the nature preserve. Of course, we were still in the heart of Grand Blanc & from time to time would see houses & backyards through the trees to our right or left. We discussed the troubles Jojo's recently had, being stabbed in the back en masse by some false friends, one of the seemingly unavoidable perils of the transition from childhood to adulthood. We joked & laughed & we generally reminded of how much we enjoy each others company. By the time we returned to the Chelsea & Jojo rolled down the windows to let the motorcar cool down before we reentered, I felt as if I'd taken a second dose of my daily exercise. We partook of the perfect restorative on a hot summer's day in Grand Blanc, Ziggy's, my treat since Jojo had been kind enough to drive. I had a single scoop of Superman, & did not make a mess of myself with a waffle cone for the first in, literally, years. Woot! 'Twas rather a perfect summer outing.

Project GLOWWORM
The oddest part about my new Objective SCHWEDEN wardrobe is The Interpreter's reaction to my informing her that I'd be wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt for protection against the Accursed Sun's death rays. She remarked that I'd "melt." I received a similar response in the summer of '11 when I started wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt to mow the lawn & perform other yard work. Out of what material are these people under the impression long-sleeved T-shirts are made? A long-sleeved T-shirt isn't a parka! My short-sleeve-loving credentials are unassailable; my first two tattoos aren't on my upper forearms so that they can be obscured by long sleeves. But at my elephantine bulk a brisk walk for exercise or a more plodding pace behind a no-longer-self-propelled lawnmower is going to generate a lot of heat, resulting in perspiration; I admit that a long-sleeved shirt will generate marginally more perspiration, but any additional discomfort will be more than mitigated by the lack of sunburn discomfort. I'm going to be hot & sweating like a Wilson either way; so, I might as well not be burnt to a crisp.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "All Kinds of Time" from Welcome Interstate Managers (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"He thinks of his mother,
He thinks of his bride-to-be,
He thinks of his father,
His two younger brothers,
Gathered around the widescreen T.V."

Bonus S.O.T.D.
The Skatalies, "James Bond Theme" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: This bonus Song of the Day in memoriam Lloyd Brevett (1931-2012): Requiescat in pace-link.

Obamboozled
Hey, look at that, despite the "reset" of relations, the "New ST.A.R.T.," & the United States's silence over the Russian Federation's propping up of the Syrian Arab Republic, the Russians are still engaging in brinksmanship regarding missile defense: saber rattling-link. Chalk up another victory for the transformative power of hope & change!

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Smokey Robinson & The Miracles, "The Tears of a Clown" from Motown 1's (T.L.A.M.)

Science!
The iceman bleedeth: hæmoglobin-link. No one will ever be able to solve "the world's oldest murder mystery," but it is fascinating to think that the techniques used to locate blood samples from the so-named "Ötzi" (or, "Oetzi," for those who, like the Germanophobic B.B.C., disdain umlauts) might have practical applicability to modern criminal investigations. Keep up the good work, research for research's sake!

Science!

From the article hyperlinked above I was also able to learn that hemoglobin may be spelt haemoglobin or hæmoglobin. Huzzah! I love to discover new & interesting, & still correct, spellings of words, especially if they involve the use of an increasingly rare ligature like "æ." As The Aquabats! said, "There's so much to learn!"

Objective SCHWEDEN
Day two was a success, though I fear I underestimated my old enemy, the Accursed Sun. The sky was cloudy, but the clouds were not as thick as they were yesterday; I saw that for myself via the higher light level, but I didn't draw the proper conclusions from what I saw. My forehead is a wee bit sunburnt. For tomorrow's brisk walk, yesterday's & today's headband will be replaced with my pith helmet & yesterday's & today's fancy-pants "Duo Dry" workout shirt will be replaced with a long-sleeved T-shirt. There will undoubtedly be some compromise in comfort, but this will be more than outweighed by the gains in protection against the death rays of the Accursed Sun. I won't again underestimate my ancient foe.

Autobahn
This afternoon I drove my father to his favorite mechanic's, where his Corvette had been stored for the winter (our attached garage being unavailable for the purpose due to housing his Camaro [1985, I.R.O.C.-Z], which hasn't run since he began an engine replacement project in the 20th century & will never run again, I'd wager). At the I-475/I-69 interchange we saw an S.U.V. overturned in such a way that we both assumed the driver had been exiting I-475 toward eastbound I-69 & at the last second (too late, as evinced by the overturning) tried to switch to westbound I-69. Thereafter ensued a confab about driving itself, & the marvel that many more persons aren't killed annually in motorcar collisions. Think about how complex a task piloting a motorcar is, think about how well most persons are able to carry out that task even when not paying full or undivided attention, & think about how fast everything happens when one is piloting a motorcar. Before, say, A.D. 1850, when had a Homo sapiens sapiens ever traveled (relative to the Earth, which is hurtling through the heavens at a mind-numbing speed) faster than forty-five miles an hour? Nothing in our species's evolutionary path prepared us to navigate, much less pilot, at any rate faster than a horse's gallop. Why is my brain capable of processing stimuli & making decisions as Lumi the Snow Queen flies along at speeds in excess of seventy miles per hour? What use could that processing ability have been to our forebears, scratching out a miserable existence in the Serengeti? A puzzlement, 'tis.

I was awoken at 5:44 A.M. by a text message. Even though I was able to fall asleep again, since then I've been having the devil of a time devising a coherent argument for why murder should be illegal.

This Week in Motorsport
And now for something completely different: toilet-link.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Smash Mouth, "Heave-Ho" from Fush Yu Mang (T.L.A.M.)

Objective SCHWEDEN
I took a brisk walk around my neighborhood today, a route that I'd ballpark at being two-plus miles. This should be much better preparation for Objective SCHWEDEN (the Crim) than running on a treadmill, as I need to break in my new shoes & acclimate my legs to pounding the unforgiving pavement, not the treadmill's springy conveyor belt. The first day is always easy, the real test is if I'll repeat the exercise tomorrow, that second day having so oft proved to be my bugbear. My hope is to arise early & put in the distance first thing tomorrow, before the day's promised heat descends. If I can commit to this routine, gradually extending the distance & increasing my pace, this August's Objective SCHWEDEN should be far less physically damaging than was Objective FINNLAND in August '10.

This Week in Motorsport
Indy Rock
The São Paulo Indy 300, so named because the race distance is a little over three hundred kilometers, was fun & interesting. The course had a pair of uncommonly long straights & more passing opportunities than most street circuits. For the first time in the race's three-year history the race was not shortened by excessive rain. Yellow-flag caution periods are endemic to street circuits, with their limited to non-existent runoff areas, but the Indy 300 featured five, far too many, consuming approximately one quarter of the racing laps. As one of the N.B.C. Sports Network (formerly Versus, originally the Outdoor Life Network) commentators commented, "Yellow breeds yellow," in this case because the post-caution restart procedure had the race cars line up two-by-two, as opposed to single file, a formation almost guaranteed to cause trouble as the DW-12s headed into the tight Turn 1. Three of the five yellow-flag periods happened back-to-back-to-back, as each restart resulted in shunts necessitating a new caution period.

For all that, the racing was tight & interesting, even though Will Power of Team Penske (Chevrolet) won from pole & lead every lap for all practical intents & purposes (the only other leaders being those who benefited from Power's pit stop rotation). Power was closely pursued by Ryan Hunter-Reay of Andetti Autosport (Chevrolet), who finished second ahead of third-place Takuma Sato of R.L.L. Racing (Honda), who started the race from the back of the grid & drove like a man possessed almost all the way to the front. One of the oddest differences 'twist Formula One & IndyCar is that in F1 each team fields two cars in identical liveries, whereas in IndyCar the teams field between one & four cars, each with a unique sponsorship livery. Reigning four-time series champion Dario Franchitti of Chip Ganassi Racing (Honda) started from the front row, second alongside pole sitter Power; was knocked to the back of the field by a shunt with another car; & fought his way back to finish fifth, his highest finish of a disappointing 2012 campaign. Team Penske cars have won all four of this year's races, & championship points-leader Power has won three in a row.



As I've said before in the context of the F1 Grande Prêmio do Brasil, Brazil is a wonderful country with a wonderful people. Hello, ladies.

IndyCar now enters a more worrisome phase of its schedule, as four of the next five races take place on oval tracks, the only exception being the Belle Isle road course at the Detroit Belle Isle Grand Prix in early June. The next race is the Indianapolis 500 Mile Race, which I have twice watched & twice found as dull as watching paint dry. The appeal of oval racing continues to elude me, yet I will try again this year.

A big problem with American racing in general, & the IndyCar Series in particular, is the inconsistent naming of the races. The last race was the São Paulo Indy 300, the next is the Indianapolis 500 Mile Race, & the next after that is the Detroit Belle Isle Grand Prix. "300" meaning kilometers; "500" meaning miles; the Firestone 550, "550" meaning kilometers even though it is to be held in the U.S.; & here & there the Grands Prix of Saint Petersburg, Alabama, Long Beach, Detroit Belle Isle, Baltimore, & Sonoma. Consistency is all I ask!

Grand-Am (title pending)
Over in Grand-Am, the Grand Prix of Miami was a waterlogged fiasco. Rain happens, it is a fact of being outdoors & often adds an exciting element to automobile racing, but sometimes it rains too much to race. Such was the case on Saturday, when qualifying for Sunday's race was rained out, & such should have been the case for Sunday's race. The race started in rain, continued in rain, often ran under the yellow flag due to the hazard of rain, & was ultimately red-flagged about two-thirds of the way through the scheduled two hours forty-five minutes of the race. Yes, all the drivers faced identical conditions, & an argument can certainly be made for the awarding of full championship points for the positions at the time the red flag was shown, but I hold with those who would argue that the race should not have been run in the first place; better to postpone to a day featuring less of a deluge than the risk men & machines in the too-treacherous conditions.

An additional problem with Sunday's race was the track, the Homestead-Miami Speedway, a N.A.S.C.A.R. oval. As is the case with Grand-Am's marque race, the 24 Hours of Daytona, the Grand Prix of Miami was run on Homestead's "roval" configuration: the cars drive around three-quarters of the track's oval, & then veer off into an infield road course section before returning to the interrupted oval. Road course & oval, "roval." As previously stated, I don't understand the appeal of oval circuits, but I do understand road courses, & the conclusion I reach is that a roval, not providing the same thrill as a true road course, must also fail to match whatever excitement there is to an oval, making a roval the worst of all possible worlds. Blast!

Grand-Am Road Racing's Rolex Sports Car Series is endurance racing, after a fashion, but it just isn't up to snuff with an A.C.O.-sanctioned series, even one as woebegone as the American Le Mans Series (A.L.M.S.); so, I just can't bring myself to subtitle this post "By Endurance We Conquer." I'm going to continue my flirtation with Grand-Am, & hope for better things on the true road courses that make up the rest of the calendar. Meanwhile, I'll try to devise a fitting subtitle for Grand-Am posts. "Grand Damn" maybe?

By Endurance We Conquer
I might, in a fortnight's time, make one more attempt to watch the Entertainment Sports & Programming Network's coverage of the A.L.M.S.'s next race, from the devilishly tricky Laguna Seca road course (formally, Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca). Dare you to challenge the twisting series of corners known as the dreaded Corkscrew? The Corkscrew isn't the equal of Spa-Francorchamps's Eau Rouge, but it is its own special kind of hell.

Beyond Thunderdome
After the IndyCar race, I caught the back half of a pair of V8 Supercars races from Hamilton, New Zealand. The competition was fierce betwixt the Ford Falcons & the Holden Commodores, but the blue bastards got the best of it, Ford Performance Racing winning both the weekend's races. There is a big push on currently to internationalize V8 Supercars beyond its home in Australia (& New Zealand); there has been a pair of races at the Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi for the last couple of years & there is to be a race in the U.S. in 2013. Expansion throughout Asia & beyond—in India, Korea, South Africa—is in the works, & more manufacturers are being enticed to enter the sport, disrupting the traditional Holden/Ford rivalry. V8 Supercars is so thoroughly Australian, can it expand throughout the world & beyond Australia's two leading marques & still remain the sport its always been? I fear the days of the V8 Supercars as something other than a cheap, international N.A.S.C.A.R. imitation are numbered. I intend to enjoy the Supercars whilst I still can.

Rally Monkey
The highlight of Sunday's racing was the return of (television coverage of) the World Rally Championship (W.R.C.) with the Rally Argentina. Man alive, I missed the W.R.C.! Rally Argentina was, pardon my French, batshit crazy! Sweet fancy Moses, it was nice to again see the Citroëns & Fords battling it out, each pair of driver & co-driver (navigator) flying along at death-defying speeds, sometimes pulling it off brilliantly & almost as often as not dashing the car to pieces on a stone & rolling off the road into the surrounding countryside. As gloriously mad as is the 24 Hours of Le Mans, I know of no other form of racing as proudly bughouse as rallying. Reigning eight-time World Champion Sébastien Loeb of Citroën Total won, because he almost always wins, but he was in a dogfight until '03 World Champion Petter Solberg of Ford Abu Dhabi, the last man other than Loeb to be Drivers' Champion, suffered a mechanical failure & subsequent delay for repairs late on the first day. After that, with substitute Ford driver Dani Sordo falling behind (Ford regular Jari-Matti Latvala having injured himself in pre-rally testing) & team orders keeping at bay Citroën's № 2 driver, Mikko Hirvonen, Loeb cruised to victory. Solberg was fasted in the bonus-points-paying Power Stage, the finale of the rally.

The W.R.C. is third favorite motorsports series, after only the immortal 24 Heures du Mans & the Formula One World Championships. It's back! Hooray!

Bier!
Oliver T.'s has Carlsberg in stock. Yippee! When in Ohio this weekend, I hope to have the opportunity to pick up some Yuengling, which is newly available in that otherwise benighted state.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Skip Bayliss (remix by unknown) "Tim Tebow—All He Does is Win" courtesy The Watergirl (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: A fun little bit of frivolity that I thought would make a nice change of pace away from ska-punk. My thanks to good friend of the blog, The Watergirl!

Also, it should be noted that young Tebow was nigh-unstoppable during his collegiate career, leading his epithetless Gators of the University of Florida to two national championships & three B.C.S. bowl wins in his four-year career. Night-unstoppable, & yet only three bowl wins in four years? What happened during that fourth game? In Tebow's sophomore year, the season betwixt the two national titles, he & his Gators ran into a buzzsaw called the valiant Wolverines of the University of Michigan, playing for the final time under head coach Lloyd Carr. Should valiant Wolverines fans tremble in fear of Urban Meyer, the new head coach of the hated Buckeyes? Nay, for we've beaten Meyer before, even when he had as formidable a weapon as Tebow at his disposal.

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







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

Remember, Lucy, Uncle Mike is your favorite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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







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

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

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

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

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

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

Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Explorers' Club
№ CCLXXXIII - The Rosetta Stone.







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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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