The Serial Begins...

Trapped in an abandoned sawmill, Dictionary Man racks his brain for a way out. Usually, these situations called for Thesaurus Girl’s supple strength. Regrettably, she sat tied behind him still unconscious from the knockout gas.

This time, he would have to rescue them from a dastardly demise. By his calculation, they had about 15 minutes before the incendiary device ignited. Dictionary Man couldn’t help but admire the simplicity of his nemesis’ plan. Fire, accelerated by the aged sawdust and wood scraps, would burn quickly. The ensuing inferno would consume their superhero costumes, the wooden chair and ropes holding them; leading investigators to assume the charred remains were just an unfortunate homeless couple.

He thought back to the time before he donned his mask & cape. Had it been only five months ago? Life as Billy Driscoll, the meek, shy clerk at Webster’s Bookstore seemed a distant past. Located in a run-down section of town, the store was as old and decrepit as its octogenarian owner. Mr. Webster lived upstairs and allowed Billy to stay rent-free in the basement.

Billy didn’t mind the pittance he earned for he got to spend his time surrounded by books. At night, he’d descend into his subterranean den with his only valuable possession, a compact Oxford English Dictionary. All 20 volumes condensed into one book. Nine pages combined on a single page with print so small it could only be read by a magnifying glass.

One fateful, stormy night, he had the bright idea to splice into some free, though illegal, cable. Under the cover of darkness, he climbed the pole outside and surreptitiously ran the cable through the basement window. As he spiced the cable onto the connector, it happened.

From what he pieced together later, lightening hit the pole, traveled through the wire and threw him onto the magnifying glass sitting atop the OED. He awoke hours later with a blinding headache, the cable still tightly grasped in his hand, an egg-shaped blister on the back of his neck and a similar-sized burn on the cover of the OED.

Over the next few days, he began to notice the change. An electrical charge had traveled through him. Enhanced by the convex glass, it somehow transferred the information in this massive tome through his medulla oblongata to his cerebellum. All the knowledge of that voluminous lexicon was embedded into his brain creating Dictionary Man.

The rat’s chittering snapped him out of his woolgathering. This genus of the family Muridae could be their salvation…that and Thesaurus Girl’s sweet tooth. Scraping his wrists raw against the taut ropes, he wriggled into the hidden pocket of her cape finding the morsels he sought. He flung one gummy bear towards the rodent and began rubbing others on the ropes.

As the rattus norvegicus began his feast, several other furry friends appeared. Dictionary Man’s confidence in their acute olfactory sense was not misguided. Within seconds several climbed over Thesaurus Girl and began gnawing the ropes. Billy couldn’t help chucking, knowing her aversion to rats. Thankfully, she remained unconscious.

Dictionary Man broke free, and dragged Thesaurus Girl towards the door. Just then the incendiary engulfed the entire structure in flames.

Can our heroes elude the infernal inferno? Tune in again for the further adventures of the periphrastic pair!

Yodel Banana Boy!

Originally, this blog concerned palindromes, those playful phrases which read the same forward and backward. I labored for minutes bringing to mind palindromes from my past:  Lager sir is regal, In it ram a martini, and others. The title was to be Yo Banana Boy. I would end this wealth of word play with a Riders in the Sky video, The Ballad of Palindrome.

Off the the Interweb I went. The first video found was How the Yodel Was Born. My razor sharp mind dervishly whirled in a new direction. Some would attribute this to Attention Deficit Disorder, others to my innate laziness. I pay no heed to those detractors as yodels echo through my empty cranium. Mmm, yodels, those delicious chocolate-covered tasty treats..oops, there I go again.

Yodeling - the melodic modulating of the voice between the chest register and the falsetto. The sound brings to mind majestic peaks, Swiss milkmaids and secret numbered bank accounts.  Musicologists trace the yodel not to Alpine meadows, but to Africa and the dawning of animal domestication. Pygmies (a somewhat pejorative term for a myriad of tribes including the Aka, Efe & Mbuti) have yodeled for millennia. Today, it is still part of their culture.

How did yodelling migrate from the African continent to the Alps. Perhaps its embedded deep in our musical memory like Jung's collective unconscious. I prefer to imagine Pygmies sharing their polyphonic performance during a mountain-climbing excursion to Switzerland. - as ever BB

"To handle a language skillfully is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery." - Charles Baudelaire

Click below for the Riders in the Sky music video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4Kx2sRe5l8&feature=related

Bless My Stars

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings”. – Cassius from William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar

The earth’s axis wobbles; its position under the constellations that govern our lives has changed. The gravitational pull of the moon and the earth’s equatorial bulge cause this wobble. Looks like terra isn’t so firma. To lose that bulge, the earth needs to do something other than sit around on Atlas’s shoulders. Maybe get an Ab-Coaster, or a Crunch-Pro.

So, Cancer’s are really Gemini’s and Gemini’s are really influenced by Taurus. Or is that a lot of bull? This star-shattering news is shooting across the Internet sky, but why? It’s nothing new. Scientific publications have written about this for years. Slow Farmville day, I guess.

The discrepancy goes back to those Mesopotamian mischief-makers, the Babylonians. They formulated the original zodiac on the position of constellations. This is the sidereal zodiac, which originally had 13 signs including Ophiuchus. The Babylonians didn’t like that number, so they fudged the figures and viola – 12 signs.

Cover-ups and conspiracies embroiled the entire administration in Stargate. (Not the TV series with MacGyver)  No surprise as Hammurabi was a reprobate. He sent dirty cuneiform to many of his female staff, history’s first sexting scandal, but I digress.

Along comes the Greek, Ptolemy, who revised the zodiac based on seasonal equinoxes, or the tropical zodiac. Western astrology bases its signs on this and that hasn’t changed. Or am I being a starry-eyed optimist? Living in the 2^nd Century AD, his calendar was different that ours. Are the dates the same? What about the figs?

It’s enough to make this stargazer bang his head against an astrolabe. The ensuing swelling affects my cytoarchitecture. I should have it checked out, but the relationship with my phrenologist is kind of bumpy. As ever – BB

“I don't believe in astrology; I'm a Sagittarius and we're skeptical.”  ~Arthur C. Clarke

Présentez La Fee Verte

Translation: “Introducing the Green Fairy.” 

The Green Fairy will make her presence known at The Wharf Rat in Fells Point on Thursday, January 20. Here is their website with details in the Events section: http://thewharfrat.com/ 

This colorful sobriquet for Absinthe arose during La Belle Epoch. It derived from the muse attributed to this potent liquor and its allegedly hallucinogenic effect. As a fan of exotic potables, I will share some information about La Fee Verte and hope to share a glass of Absinthe with you on the 20th.

The name, Absinthe, comes from Artemisia absinthium, the Linnaean classification of the plant, grande wormwood. It does contain thujone, which is psychoactive. Only trace amounts exist in Absinthe. Depending on the brand, the liquor is between 130-140 proof. You would succumb to alcohol poisoning long before imbibing enough to ingest any significant amount of thujone.

The liquor’s ban in the early 20^th century involves a conspiracy theory. During the last quarter of the 19^th century, France’s vineyards experienced blight. This caused a drop in wine production, an increase in the cost of wine and an upsurge in the sale of Absinthe.

During France’s military incursions in Algeria, doctors advised putting Absinthe in canteens to fight malaria and other tropical diseases. Veterans developed a taste for the Green Fairy and returned about the same time as the dip in wine production.

As the 20^th century began, wine production was back, but many Frenchman preferred the effect of Absinthe. Temperance campaigners, supported by the wine industry, railed against the Green Fairy. The case of Jean Lanfray was a demagogue's godsend.

Lanfray’s murder of his wife and two children became a sensation in the press. Absinthe madness was blamed and generated headlines. He did drink two ounces of nefarious nectar before the murder.  However, prior to that he’d had seven glasses of wine, six cognacs, coffee with brandy and two Crème de Menthes, but the press never let facts get in the way of good copy. Absinthe was soon banned.

After a century, La Fee Vert has arisen. I look forward to seeing you at the Long Green Hour at Wharf Rat on January 20 – as ever BB

"Absinthe is the aphrodisiac of the soul. The green fairy who lives in the absinthe wants your soul. But you are safe with me." – Gary Oldham to Winona Ryder in Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula

Baptism in the Blues

The title of this blog comes from my friend Rudedog's album, Baptism in Blue. Like Rudy, the British bands of the 60s introduced me to the Blues.  I was 10 when the British invasion began. My sister was a Beatles fan. That made the Fab Four personae non grata to this younger brother. I gravitated to the Rollings Stones, the Animals, and the Yardbirds.

Tempus fugit and by 1967 the hippie scene burgeoned across the river in Philadelphia. Most weekends,  I'd take the bus (by 1969 the Speedline) into Philly. Hanging out in Rittenhouse Square watching hippies throw Frisbees and play guitar, I tried to look cool. Not easy since Bishop Eustace Prep forbade your hair being over the collar or touching your ears.

Up on Samson Street was a head shop, my first experience with incense outside of church, black lights and other things I refuse to mention on the grounds of self incrimination. Between Chestnut St. and Rittenhouse Square, either on 17th or 18th, was a little record store. I don't remember the exact address or its name, but I'll never forget Amos.

As an inveterate liner note reader,  certain names kept popping up. One was Ellas McDaniel. Walking around the store, looking for his records, I found nothing. Amos watched me the entire time. Finally he asked what I wanted. Upon mentioning McDaniel, his face lit up with a huge smile. He laughed and said, "White boy, don't you know Bo Diddley?"

Thus began my tutelage under Amos. I'd save up what money I had and even began hitchhiking to Philly saving the $1.50 round trip fare. It started with Bo Diddley, then Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf and John Lee Hooker. After Chicago, came Memphis and then the Mississippi Delta. Amos talked about different styles and influences. All of it soaked up by this young, white sponge.

Since then, my tastes have become eclectic from Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys to Sun Ra, from Louis Prima to Captain Beefheart. But thanks to Amos, I was baptised in the Blues. Res Ipsa Loquitor - as ever BB

"If you can't play the blues...you might as well hang it up." - Dexter Gordon

Premiere Post

Like a fledgling venturing from his nest, I have started my own blog. I will attempt to entertain and elucidate. Comments are welcome. No agenda, but as the name says just musings and doggerel that pour forth from this perverse pate.

I look forward to sharing my weird worldview with you- as ever BB

“Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.” - Emily Dickinson


"The answer is never the answer. What's really interesting is the mystery. The need for mystery is greater than the need for an answer." - Ken Kesey