never thought this day would come

Sadly, Marble King's powers of lofting and angling were deemed insufficient to earn him a place in the Legion of Super-Heroes.

While I've never had the (dubious) honor of knowing a bona fide "Marble King" (as my childhood peers were more inclined to view marbles as ideal slingshot ammunition), I am on friendly terms with the former Exchequer of Pogs.

The Troggs - Marbles and Some Gum (from Mixed Bag, 1968) - Thematically similar to the J. Geils Band's "Centerfold," but minus the softcore overtones. Is it just me, or does it also sound like a lost Davy Jones track from the Monkees?

Friday Night Fights: Cannon Spike!

In this week's contribution to Bahlactus's never-ending battle, Cammy White, the Shadaloo assassin turned MI6 operative, demonstrates to a couple of thugs that wanting something and getting something are entirely different things.

(from the Super Street Fighter II: Cammy graphic novel by Masahiko Nakahira)
Of the diverse roster of characters in the Street Fighter franchise, Cammy is one of my favorites (tied for first place with Final Fight alum Cody Travers from Street Fighter Alpha 3). Maura attributes my fondness for the character as another example of this supposed "thing" she's convinced I have for petite blondes, but I would like to go on record as stating that Cammy's speed and Cannon Spike move make her ideally suited for carrying out the cheap corner traps and hit-and-run attacks that are the lynchpins of my winning SF strategies.

Then there's the whole Kylie-as-Cammy thing from Street Fighter: The Movie, which is the only reason I could ever bring myself to sit through that steaming cinematic turd...


Okay, so maybe there is some truth to the wife's "petite blonde" theory...

Kylie Minogue - On a Night Like This (from Light Years, 2000) - I make no excuses nor offer any apologies.

Kylie is, and that's that.

that rises above

Actor John Phillip Law passed away last Tuesday at the age of 70.

In honor of his memory, let us pay homage to his unparalleled cinematic legacy, specifically the trio of 1968 films that cemented his place of high esteem within my personal retrological pantheon...

Danger: Diabolik
Ennio Morricone - Deep Down (from the Danger: Diabolik OST, 1968)

Barbarella
Bob Crewe and Charles Fox - The Angel Is Love (from the Barbarella OST, 1968)

...and Skidoo.
Harry Nilsson - I Will Take You There (from the Skidoo OST, 1968)

Farewell, Mr. Law, and thank you. May a flight of blind space angels sing thee to thy rest.

"It's not unlike ancient dental equipment on Earth - not that you'd know anything about that!" - John Phillip Law (as Kalgan) in Space Mutiny, 1988

ghosts of a dead future

I remember when the future was orange, set to the tune of blip tones and the whirring of tape reels in sterile, climate-controlled rooms.

It was a time when utopian fantasies took a back seat to dystopian nightmares engendered by the collective anxieties of a society trying to find its footing after a period of immense political and cultural upheaval. The only way to escape, if escape was even a possibility, was to return to the green world's ecological alternative to dehumanizing technological processes.

Yet, for all the lip service paid toward a life lived in harmony with nature and the rejection of the synthetic, it was an era marked by contoured plastic, earth-toned polyester, and Brutalist architecture.

It was an interesting time in which to be a kid, that's for sure...



See what I mean?

Raymond Scott - Baltimore Gas & Electric (from Manhattan Research, Inc. 2000) - From the dawn of ambient electronic music.

Gerhard Trede - Technischer Bewegungsablauf (from Electronic Toys: A Retrospective of 70's Easy Listening, 1996) - That's "technical course of motion," for those of you not fluent in deutsch.

Electric Moog Orchestra - Space Symphony (from Music From Close Encounters, 1977) - Ever summer, Maura makes a point of watching Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I'd rather watch paint dry.

ain't gonna give anybody any slack

Surfin' the zeitgeist with my homies! Woooo!
...which is why I need your help in getting my old lady's car out of here. I'll pay you ten bucks.
Making the Wu-Tang Clan look like The Lettermen...
Tough, yet with a tender side that yearns for the embrace of a pair of firm, 'roided-out arms...
Of the many words that come to mind when I think "cat," "tall" is not one of them.
So come up with a comprehensive community policing plan, a source of decent-paying jobs, and a midnight basketball program, quick!
...and I won't stop until you get enough! Ooooh! That goes double for you, Martin Bashir!
PROTIP: When pursued by Nigel, take cover behind the sloppily-rendered streetwalker.
I'm (not really) sad to say that I wasn't able to re-establish law and order in Center City's BAD part of town, as the game's shoddy digitized graphics, piss-poor collision detection, and painfully lame attempt to exploit popcult trends were too much for me to bear. Honestly, though, any town that allows itself to be conquered by the Gloved One probably isn't worth saving in the first place.

Back of Tha Neck - Hangin' Tough (from the Rock Vegas Boston compilation, 2004) - In which the local hardcore lads pay homage to Beantown's proud musical legacy.

The Uniques - You Ain't Tuff (from Uniquely Yours, 1966; collected on Nuggets: Original Artyfacts from the First Psychedelic Era, 1998) - Yer grammer an spellin iz two gud fer you two be a reel tuff cooky. Mebbe this slyce uv Louisiana garage rok will stiffn yer spyne.

Fluke - Hang Tough (from Puppy, 2003) - But never forget the importance of staying chill. Let Fluke show you how to do so in style.

now they're hunting around

Looking for love in all the wrong places? Perhaps this will help:

(Click to find what you are truly looking for.)
If you can't trust Debbi's Dates #2 (June-July 1969) for help with your love life, who can you trust?

The Bay City Rollers - That's Where the Boys Are (from Ricochet, 1981) - In which the the unbridled euphoria of "Saturday Night" gives way to a whopping Sunday morning hangover.

Karen Kamon - Manhunt (from the Flashdance OST, 1983) - A bit of Benatardian (or Blondiesque?) pop rock fluff with a vaguely empowering gender role reversal message. I would not, under any circumstances, suggest that one take dating advice from the Manhunt videogame, as most people do not respond well to woo pitched via a rusty knife stealthily inserted between their ribs.

The Revillos - Where's the Boy for Me? (from a 1979 single; collected on the reissue of Rev Up, 1980) - What difference does swapping a single consonant make? Not much, in the case of The Rezillos/Revillos, apart from some minor line-up changes and a slightly poppier tenor to the band's retro sound.

all of these things I do

Poor Mr. Tawky Tawny.

As I've mentioned before, you'd think that a talking tiger (no explanation given or needed) that managed to overcome the laws of plausibility and learn how to walk upright and wear plaid suits would be quite pleased with himself, but despite his impressive accomplishments Mr. Tawny has a deep seated sense of personal malaise. His discontent manifests itself as a gnawing hunger for wholeness, perhaps rooted in subconscious guilt over abandoning his "tooth and claw" predatorial roots in favor of a sedate suburban existence. (It also doesn't help that his more traditional relatives on the subcontinent refer to him as a "Creamsicle" -- orange on the outside, white in the middle -- at Tawny family get-togethers.)

Though Tawny does have a strong (and quick to reprimand) source of moral guidance and support in his friend Billy Batson and Batson's superheroic alter ego, Captain Marvel, it doesn't prevent the rather restless jungle cat from backsliding into problematic (or outright idiotic) behavior, as chronicled in numerous issues of Captain Marvel Adventures (the greatest comic book series ever).

"Mr. Tawny Seeks Happiness" (Captain Marvel Adventures #117, February 1951) finds the "civilized tiger" lamenting the tedious upkeep rituals that comes with homeownership, despite the hassles he experienced in finding his home...

Meanwhile, a dozen of Tawny's Chinese cousins have been slaughtered so that their genitals can be ground up to make aphrodisiac powder for desperate idiots.
While Tawny wrestles with the patch of stinging nettles that keep coming back by the base of the fence, his neighbor stops by to announce his return from a grand tour in which he sampled all the earthly delights the Catskills had to offer. This leads Tawny, being an incurably impressionable feline, to put together an impulsive plan...

Branson, Missouri, here I come!
The first stop in Tawny's vision quest is The Casbah, where he attempts to find true happiness by doffing a cute little beret and hanging out in waterfront dive bars. That's certainly a place to find something, though whether that something is happiness depends on one's attitude toward stab wounds, STDs, and smuggling heroin via one's lower body cavity. (Camus's philosophy made a lot more sense to me after reading this sequence.)

Before Tawny can discover the happiness to be found in human trafficking and poverty caused by colonialism, he runs afoul of a enraged wharf rat who thinks Tawny is putting the moves on his woman...
Tawny catches a whiff of that crazy Casbah jive.
Luckily for Tawny's hide, Captain Marvel crashes onto the scene and rescues his friend from his swarthy stripe-shirted assailant. The Big Red Cheese chides his best in hopes of bringing the Tawny to his senses, but like all cats, once he has an idea in his head, he refuses to let it go...even if he has to knock over all the little statues on top of the china cabinet in the process. Right, Jem?

Tawny's next stop in his pursuit of inner bliss is the Himalayas, where he sets out to be the first man (tiger?) to reach the summit of the then-unconquered Mount Everest. Showing the well-considered attention to detail and foresight for which he is renowned, Tawny decides to attempt the feat while wearing a short-sleeve t-shirt and carrying a small backpack containing only Zagnut bars (which are tasty, but no substitute for proper climbing gear).

Needless to say, it doesn't go well for Mr. Tawny...

Dude, I told you to take the shortcut through Mordor...
...but once again Captain Marvel is there to haul Tawny's prehensile tail out of danger. Realizing that nothing he says will penetrate Tawny's thick skull, Marvel instead decides to play along with his friend's delusional behavior and flies Tawny to his next stop on the road to bliss, a tranquil island in the South Pacific.

A cheap holiday in other people's misery...
Not all of the local residents are as eager to be exploited by a talking tiger, however. Sharing the island with the docile, attractive light-skinned natives are a tribe of (surprise!) grotesquely drawn, (surprise!) dark-skinned head hunters eager to add Tawny's fuzzy orange noggin to their collection.

Do the Offensive Racial Caricature! It's the dance craze that never seems to go out of style!
Contrary to Tawny's statement of panic, Captain Marvel does happen to be around, using the risk of ritual decapitation to shake some sense into his delusional friend. Marvel's excessively tough love approach pays off, the headhunters are chased off, and a dispirited Tawny asks Marvel to return him to his cottage in the suburbs.

Upon returning, Tawny finally discovers the happiness he'd been looking for -- a heady mix of schadenfreude and platitudes cribbed from the school of "positive thinking."

What's the name of this neighborhood again? Dipshit Heights?
Tawny then pounced upon the hapless songbird, battering it with his paws for a half hour before finally tearing off its head with his jaws and depositing the bloody carcass on Marvel's front step.

On the subject of bliss and the pursuit thereof, we have a musical point-counterpoint prepared for your edification. Representing the optimistic view is this fine piece of Scottish new wave:

Altered Images - I Could Be Happy (from Pinky Blue, 1982) - Fronted by the original Kristine Kochanski (a.k.a. singer-actress Clare Grogan).

...and articulating the negative position is this exceptional nugget of L.A. power pop:

The Beat - You Won't Be Happy (from The Beat, 1979) - The reason the Wakeling/Roger/etc second wave ska outfit had to add "English" to their name on American releases. The American incarnation of The Beat, along with the more Byrds-ean Plimsouls, emerged from the ashes of The Nerves. Power pop meiosis!

and wider and brighter

I'm going to take a break from the class war today in order to pay tribute to Armagideon Time HQ's resident feline matriarchs...

...Little Baby Setzer (the gray and white tabby) and Nubby (the tuxedo cat). They started visiting our house in the summer of 2005 as part of a quartet of feral kitten sisters. When we brought the entire group to our vet to be fixed that following spring, we were informed that both Nubby and Setz had already been knocked up and that they were too far along to safely abort.

(Maura and I have since been told that was bullshit by someone from the local feral cat spay and neuter group, but what's done is done.)

We took the pregnant pair of felines into our home, and they gave birth -- two days apart from each other at the end of April 2006 -- to two litters of four kittens each. While she carried out her maternal responsibilities to the letter, Nubby wasn't enthusiastic about motherhood and let the more dedicated Setz pick up most of the slack.

Unlike their non-pregnant sisters (Money and Princess) who couldn't wait to get back outside after the post-spay observation period, Nubby and Setz embraced the housecat life style and never looked back. We ended up keeping four of their kittens (Jem, CooCoo, and Carmen from Nubby's brood and Witch Baby from Setz's), the other four (Tyra, Beezo, Ultima Morpho, and Gizmo) were placed in good homes.

The Cure - The Lovecats (from a 1983 single; collected on Staring at the Sea, 1986) - Staring at the Sea being one track and the Atlantic Ocean removed from Standing on a Beach which I own in LP format. It was the first Cure album I bought (at In Your Ear's Harvard Square location, along with a copy of PIL's Album, in the January of 1992), and I picked it up because I thought the girl I was dating (a very strange woman named Maura) was a big fan of the band.

Even though confused my past and present tenses -- she had been a big fan, but became disgusted with them after The Top -- the purchase was a mini-watershed moment that shook me loose of punk purist attitudes concerning music.