Today's illustrious band:

Ping Potty Ping

Brought to you by Mother Media.

Once upon a time, Mother Media and a guest were having coffee at Mother's kitchen table. The guest, a lady of generous proportions, excused herself to use the restroom just down the hall. All of a sudden Mother heard "Snap! Ping ping ping!" Then silence. What has that woman been eating? Mother wondered.

Pretty soon came the sounds of flushing and hand-washing. The guest returned to the kitchen and resumed conversation. Although Mother awaited an explanation for the noise, none was offered. As it became clear that none was forthcoming, either, she grew very curious and anxious for her guest to leave so she could inspect the facilities.

At last the lady said her farewells. Mother hurried to the bathroom and looked around, but at first glance she could see no source for the racket she had heard. At last it occurred to her to check the wastebasket for evidence, and sure enough, there it lay. You know those little stopper-things that hold the toilet seat ring up off the rim of the bowl? One of them had snapped off under pressure and ricocheted around the room before landing. The visitor had simply thrown it away. Mother would later notice a ding in the tile around the bathtub that indicated the speed at which the little missile had been traveling.

Sometimes you just have to shake your head in amazement.

Today's illustrious band:

Year of the Fork

Brought to you by the now-defunct (real) punk band Cancer Bunny, via the Chicken Step Lady, whose spouse was one of the bunnies.

"Year of the Fork" was actually the title of a song on the Cancer Bunny playlist. Regrettably, I don't know how the lyrics went, but I sure do like the title. Too bad they didn't produce a trilogy including "Night of the Knife" and "Season of Spoons."

NOTE: Vote early, vote often!! I'm still soliciting opinions on your favorite five band names from the past year or so. Can't remember all the gems? Visit the Band Name Archives.

Today's illustrious band:

The Ragged Sword

Brought to you by the late Master T.T. Liang, my T'ai Chi teachers' teacher. Master Liang passed away last week, and we had our local memorial service for him at our studio yesterday evening. It was performed by Vietnamese Buddhist priests/monks, because Vietnamese Buddhism is similar to the Chinese version Master Liang would have known. They conducted the rites entirely in Vietnamese, with singing/chanting sometimes punctuated by low bows and chimes from a singing bowl. It was very dignified and elegant. (I, however, was not after sitting cross-legged on a hardwood floor for an hour.)

The formal ceremony was followed by informal storytelling. While I didn't speak last night, I thought I'd tell this one anyway.

I have an old practice sword that used to belong to Master Liang. Our instructor Ray gave it to me many months ago, I suspect because he was tired of watching his advice on my form fall upon deaf ears and decided to turn me over to a higher authority. It’s kind of a Big Deal to receive an item that used to belong to the Master, so I was a little disappointed by the lack of wonder it inspired at first.

This sword is not a glamorous weapon, to say the least. Pretty much the opposite, really. It’s just a single hunk of cast metal — no finely crafted blade fitted to a polished hilt and carved wooden grip. No slip-proof wrapping of cord on the smooth grip, either. No carefully weighted pommel to counterbalance the blade.

The blade itself is nicked and scratched and not even straight. It’s certainly not sharp. The surface is a listless silver except for the grip, which my sweaty palm has tarnished to a dark grey, and it won’t take a good shine no matter how hard I try. The blade bears no etched dragons or Chinese characters, no blood groove or artisan’s signature.

The only ornamentation is a hole drilled in the pommel end for the attachment of a tassel. There’s no scabbard that I know of, no painted or lacquered wooden home. No shiny brass fittings, no oiled sheath. The sword is kind of . . . ugly.

And yet . . .

And yet, for an inanimate object, it’s been one of my greatest teachers.

A line in the Tao Te Ching says "Those who speak do not know, and those who know do not speak." I begin to see what it means. With just a few words, Ray handed me this sword; with none at all it has told me things I didn’t understand when he said them aloud.

The blade’s weight pulls me forward when I would hang back, slows me when I would rush. I must move it with my whole body; it won’t listen to my puny hand alone. It doesn’t distract my eye or my ego by being the prettiest weapon in the class. It does demand my full attention, or it will drag on the floor and take my balance with it. In short, it doesn’t let me get away with much. I’m still years away from doing the sword justice with my form, but that’s OK. The important thing is that I’m paying attention and improving, albeit slowly.

The more important thing, though, is that I have the chance to do so. I have this chance because Master Liang chose to share his knowledge and his tools with his students, and they have chosen to share with me. Every student who has borrowed the ragged sword has learned from it. I promise I won’t be the last.

Today's illustrious band:

String of Pearls

Brought to you by the late Master Tung-Tsai Liang, who passed away last Monday at the age of 102. It was Master Liang who taught my T'ai Chi teachers, and through them teaches me.

Master Liang never confined his lessons to the training hall, or even to T'ai Chi in general. One of my favorites is "small loss, small gain; big loss, big gain." What this means is that a small setback can teach you a small lesson that will enable you to make a small stride forward. Similarly, a big setback can teach a big lesson that leads to great strides forward. (The trick, of course, is to figure out what the lesson is and then do the work of moving forward.) Hand-in-hand with this view goes the philosophy of learning to yield, or accept losses small and large, in order to attain the greater benefit that lies beyond. Of all the lessons of T'ai Chi and of life, this is the one I find most challenging by far.

My other favorite is the saying that one's T'ai Chi form should be like a string of pearls, each posture distinct and complete and seamlessly linked to the next. What he means is, finish what you're doing, and do it thoroughly, before moving on to the next thing. Give your attention to the present moment; the next will arrive whether you hurry toward it or not.

Many, many pearls made up the strand of T.T. Liang's life. He was a customs officer, prisoner of war, interpreter for Master Cheng Man-ch'ing (his own teacher) when the latter was a cultural liaison to the U.N., ballroom dance champion, martial arts teacher, scholar, calligrapher, author, father. This life was a thing of great beauty, complexity and value. He leaves a rich legacy to his students, and we thank him.

Today's illustrious band:

Game of Tag

Brought to you by now-tech and then-tech.

Now-tech: I'm going to learn to use a new system at work to tag the text we editors send to the layout/design staff so that it already looks more like the finished, print-ready product when it gets to them. This should mean less work for the layout/designers because they won't have to waste time trying to figure out what we want to be bold or italic or a sub-head, etc. It won't really mean extra work for me because I'd be marking the text for those things anyway; now I'll just use a different system for marking. It will be sort of like using HTML tags to specify how text should look on a web page. This may seem a bit techie for an editorial Media Sensation, but it really appeals to the geek in me.

Then-tech: The person who is "It" chases other people in the group and tries to tag them through physical contact. If It succeeds, the taggee becomes the new It. So it's the same as above: a quick touch to designate the new role or behavior of the taggee. Relatively simple and usually fun.

One version of the game is likely to be noisier and sweatier than the other, but which it's to be is up to you.

Today's illustrious band:

Butterfly Rumble

Brought to you by the Chicken Step Lady, who witness a scuffle between two large butterflies who wanted to feed at the same thistle. You don't think of butterflies as being combative, but apparently they can be.

Yep, it's the little unexpected things that make life interesting. It could be the minute manipulations that make a jujutsu technique work, or the way a carpet looks different if you vacuum the fibers at a 90-degree angle to how they lay before. Maybe it's suddenly noticing a brief echo of harmony in a song you've heard a dozen times before or catching a whiff of Polo cologne and remembering all the frat boys who wore it in college, the legs of their Levis tucked and rolled constriction-tight to their ankles in a Midwestern stab at late-80s fashion.

Whenever I see Taco Flavored Doritos, I'm reminded of the candy store that used to occupy a corner a couple blocks from our house. My friend Ann and I would take our quarters inside and buy little bags of the chips, or we'd spend the money playing air hockey. Ann was partial to the two-tone pressed-powder suckers that rubbed the tongue raw; I liked $100,000 bars and Marathon bars.

Seen any butterfly rumbles lately?

Today's illustrious band:

Elbow Licker

Brought to you by Mother Media, who forwarded me yet another e-mail on the subject of Weird Things You'd Never Know.

I always read every line of those trivia-filled messages making the electronic rounds. Did you know that a duck's quack doesn't echo, and no one can figure out why? That elephants can't jump? Or that it's physically impossible to lick your elbow? Were you aware that women blink nearly twice as often as men, or that nothing rhymes with "month"? Polar bears are left-handed, you know, and snails can sleep for up to 3 years at a time.

I've had the trivia bug for as long as I can remember. I read encyclopedias and dictionaries for fun in grade school and leafed through big books of facts wherever I could find them. I lettered in knowledge bowl in high school — was team captain, in fact. Trivial Pursuit became my favorite board game as soon as it hit the shelves in the mid-1980s. The other mouthy know-it-alls I hung around with loved it, too. Is it any coincidence that "Revenge of the Nerds" ranked among our favorite movies? The Internet was made for information dilettantes like me.

You tried to lick your elbow, didn't you. Me too.

Today's illustrious band:

They Eat Books

Brought to you by writer Gregory Whitehead in a story he wrote titled "Hungry for God." The people he writes about take their desire for possession of unique and precious texts (often religious texts) to an extreme: they eat them. It's a desire to become intimately one with the text, especially the word of God, to take it into oneself completely. The term for this behavior is bibliovoria, or bibliovoria sacra for the ingestion of sacred texts. One who "eats book" is a bibliovore.

This story includes the recounting of a bizarre meeting with the fellow who claimed to have stolen — and eaten — some notable sacred books in England. The man described himself as an addict who, once having tasted quality word, had to have more and more to satisfy his hunger. A friend of Whitehead's describes the compulsion thus: "Since the flesh is the Word, all you have to do is eat a few chunks of holy writ and you're in." Eat God, live forever. (This friend, incidentally, is described as a dealer in celebrity body parts, another spin on the theme of possessing a piece of history through consuming, or purchasing.)

Now, I don't believe this story is intended to be interpreted as a factual news report, but it fascinates me nonetheless. "Bibliovore" is a word sometimes used to describe people — people like me — who devour books in a more figurative sense, by consuming their contents through the eyes. I often refer to my own reading material in terms of food: the cheap mass-market paperbacks that adorn the book stand on my Nordic Track are my candy books: fun and tasty, but not necessarily good for my intellect. At the other end of the scale is dry academic prose, or spinach reading. But in all my years of avid literary consumption, it never once occurred to me to actually tear out a page of Jane Austen, pop it in and chow down. Never once. I've heard of having to eat one's words, but really . . . !

Today's illustrious band:

Square Soup

Brought to you by the salad bar Skeeter and I visited at lunch yesterday.

One of the regular features of that particular salad bar (besides mini-corn dogs) is the soup offering. I wasn't sure what was in one of the tureens, so I dipped the ladle and pulled up a sample. The ladle contained amber water and cubes. The meat had been diced into near-perfect cubic centimeters. Carrots, onions and celery: ditto. Nothing in there but square corners and flat surfaces, like a cauldron full of soggy mosaic tiles. No doubt the broth had been flavored with a bouillon cube, too.

Culinary addendum: According to Skeeter, whose Scandinavian tastebuds are so finely attuned to the nuances of pale foods that he can tell the difference between chicken and turkey without seeing the menu, it was smoked turkey soup.

Today's illustrious band:

Barefoot, Accompanied by Dogs

Brought to you by Salon.com columnist Terry Greene Sterling, in an article about being an aging hippie chick who breaks down and decides to get a facelift (http://www.salon.com/mwt/style/2002/08/19/facelift/index.html). Among Sterling's memories of being an educated free spirit in the 1960s: leading campus protests about the lack of organic food in the cafeteria and attending classes barefoot, accompanied by dogs.

Not a bad way to spend some summer hours — barefoot, accompanied by dogs. I did a little of that yesterday. The annual Lantern Lighting Festival and celebration of Japanese culture took place in Como Park this weekend. My jujutsu club was invited to do a short demo in the martial arts area (along with karate, judo, aikido, kendo and a couple other -dos). Though I'm extremely short on experience, Sensei encouraged me to take part because . . . well, because none of the seasoned students were available. So it was just me and Sensei and a guy who's new to jujutsu but at least has a strong background in judo and could execute some good throws.

The demo consisted largely of Sensei and our new friend throwing me and one another while Sensei explained the techniques. We got lots of "ooh" from the crowd, mostly for hitting the ground hard, loudly and often. Also, our designated section of mats had for some reason been set up on a slight slope, so we tended to slide toward the low end after impact — aided by the fact that they were firm, smooth mats rather than the cushy kind you sink into. I'm sure the "distance" throws were quite impressive. The skid and slope factors also contributed to my doing an unexpected breakdance spin after receiving some sort of spiraling propulsion. It's hard to pass that sort of thing off as self-defense, especially when Sensei is snickering from the top of the hill.

As for the dog aspect, there were quite a few dogs in the park enjoying the perfect weather with their people. Japanese martial arts are practiced barefoot, so you can bet I watched where I stepped until I was able to reunite with my sandals. No mishaps occurred, and I enjoyed the teriyaki beef and the kite-flying until it was time to go home.

Today's illustrious band:

Lap Fungus

Brought to you by Ken (he's a doll).

No, Lap Fungus isn't something you get from consorting with loose women. It's Ken's nickname for his dog (whose real name I've forgotten), who, contrary to the habits of his terrier breed, likes to sit on people's laps. Once ensconced, he's hard to dislodge.

The image sort of grows on you, doesn't it?

Today's illustrious band:

Buttered Mercury

Brought to you by the astonishingly swift passage of time, which has started to slip through my fingers like buttered mercury.

It's mid-August already. The year is nearly 2/3 over — and I'm still not entirely finished with last year yet. I can already smell summer drawing to a close. I've held the same job for 5 years now all of a sudden. This month marks 9 years since I moved to the Big Cities (and since The X-Files hit the airwaves), but I remember my first post-school apartment with perfect clarity. It's 11 years since I finished college and drove to Georgia with some friends for a sleep-deprived week of humidity and hanging out. My high school class had its 15-year reunion this Fourth of July (or so I heard), even though we seem to have graduated just a few months ago. And those are just a few of the milestones quickly accumulating behind me.

Can't say I mind, though. This brisk passage of time sure beats the second-by-second creeping that stretched social studies classes halfway to forever. I'm just curious to see how fast it really gets. Not that I'll necessarily be able to tell; I haven't worn a watch in 10 years.

Today's illustrious band:

Hütenanny

Brought to you by Hedningarna, with special thanks to the Chicken Step Lady both for lending me one of their rockin' CDs and for coining this term.

A hootenanny is defined by Webster's New College Dictionary as "an informal performance by folk musicians," so the word seemed a particularly apt description of Hedningarna. The umlaut makes it complete.

Hedningarna is a Swedish ensemble that plays Finnish and Swedish folk music. The group uses instruments such as the fiddle, bagpipe, hurdy-gurdy, bowed harp, keyed fiddles, synthesizers, willow flutes, kantele, lute and electric guitar. Rhythm are key features of their sound, with many songs built around a heavy rock-like drum foundation. It's a unique blend of the traditional and the modern, both in the pieces and the instruments played. For a percussion lover like me, this is fat-bottom city.

Do yourself a favor: Look up Hedningarna on www.cdnow.com, click on an album title and listen to a few sample tracks. Then buy a CD or two. I'm listening to the album called Trä right now, and while I can't understand a word, I'm loving every Scandinavian minute of it. If this band plays at the Nordic Roots festival here in the Twin Cities again, you'll see me right there in the front row.

Today's illustrious band:

Box of Wigs

Brought to you by Mr. Reasonably Hairy Shin.

In a long-ago conversation, Mr. RHS described a party at which the primary entertainment had been a box of wigs. The partygoers (mostly men) put on entirely new personalities with each wig they donned: blonde cutie-pie, sultry seducer, flaming rock star, etc. It was like having several times as many people in the room as were really there, he said, because everyone had brought a friend or two.

Today I'm wearing my blonde bubble-head wig, the one that tells everyone I'm a space cadet. After a restful weekend away at the annual T'ai Chi retreat, I find myself plunged back into the day-to-day routine while my mind is still elsewhere. My thoughts seem to have stalled under the shady trees of the retreat campus, or shooting baskets and trading stories with my friends, or wrangling with the less-than-handy handyman who came to call at Sensational Acres yesterday. Perhaps my brain got lost along the Path to Mastery (the theme of the retreat) and hasn't made it back to town yet, or maybe I'm just in feels-like-Monday mode.

Whatever the reason, color me blonde for the day, and don't assign me to operate any heavy equipment. By tomorrow, however, expect the return of the Editor with Serious Hair.

Today's illustrious band:

Water Juggler

Brought to you by my literary hero James Lileks, www.lileks.com. He describes the childhood task of trying to climb the rope in gym class as impossible, like trying to juggle water.

Speaking of childhood memories and liquids, remember bug juice? I don't mean the kind that decorated the windshield on all those long, hot car trips to Mt. Rushmore. I'm talking about the feebly flavored but brightly colored Kool-Aid-like sugary drinks that seemed to be popular only in the summer. The kind of stuff we slurped at camp to dye our lips and tongues colors that never occurred in nature.

I had a bug juice flashback (not a bad band name itself; care to vote on it?) at lunch today when I succumbed to marketing hype and purchased a bottle of Pepsi Blue. It's like Pepsi, only it's blue — X-treme blue!!! In trying to figure out what the beverage tastes like, the Chicken Step Lady finally pinpointed it as blue "raspberry" bug juice with fizz. That describes it perfectly. It's a little too sweet and a little too fizzy and a little too blue. So I predict that it will enjoy great favor among young people, especially preteen boys, for whom bodacious blue belches are the finest summertime entertainment.

All this summer camp talk is making me crave a water balloon fight. Do I get extra points if I can juggle the water balloons before launching them?

NOTE: The Media Sensation is taking tomorrow and Monday off for the annual T'ai Chi retreat. Band naming will resume next Tuesday.

Today's illustrious band:

Chess Pie

Brought to you by Recipes from the Belle Fourche Community.

This reminds me of a great joke from one of the Addams Family movies, probably Addams Family Values. Wednesday Addams, the original Goth girl, observes other girls taking part in conventional preteen activities. One duo is selling lemonade. "It's made with real lemons!" they chirp. Wednesday passes them by in disgust. Later, when she is invited to buy some Girl Scout cookies, she deadpans, "Are they made with real Girl Scouts?"

Your first question about chess pie, of course, has to be "Is it made with real chess?" Apple pie I understand; pecan pie I understand; Key lime pie, after a moment's consideration, I understand. But what the heck is chess pie? I envision a cream pie studded with black and white chess pieces, the green felt on their bottoms singed and soggy. Mmm, crunchy.

Chess Pie

1/2 c. butter
1 c. sugar
3 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1 c. chopped walnuts
1 c. raisins

Cream butter and sugar together; add eggs and mix well. Stir in vanilla, walnuts, and raisins. Pour into unbaked pie shell. Bake at 350 until knife inserted in center comes out clean.

Today's illustrious band:

Just Joe King

Brought to you by Señor Editor.

Señor Editor has the enviable job of receiving and deciphering the helpful tips mailed in by readers of a certain home improvement magazine (for which I also used to work). The quality of writing in many of the letters is dubious at best and a poor reflection on the American educational system at worst. And sometimes, well, you just have to wonder what kind of medication it was that the writer obviously stopped taking before sitting down to dash off a note.

This morning, for instance, Señor showed me a letter that promised "7 handy tips." There were 15 tips in all, a group of 8 (with #8 marked not just 8, but 8 squared) and a group of 7. Tip #6 (from the first group, of course): "The old irrigation can beafrigulation in your timed sprinkler system, the one you built for you daughters swing set, just jo king. That broken one can be pointed in the right direction though and could cause faults handy stoker beign. (Use an old hanger insided sprinkler head to readjust the one from your closet) (did I say hanger I meant a slim jim jerk.)"

This is one of the more coherent tips, which also include uses for old coffee cans and notes on putting silicone in your speakers. The letter is written reasonably neatly in pencil, so one can't blame bad handwriting or ink blots for the beafrigulation. It's simply . . . very unique.

Or maybe the writer was just Joe King.

Tomorrow's band: Handy Stoker Beign.

Today's illustrious band:

Carbonated Milk

Brought to you by Salon.com writer Heather Cochran in "I come to bury IAmCarbonatedMilk.com, not to praise it." The article is about Internet domain names that were registered but later allowed to expire. Apparently, someone actually did register IAmCarbonatedMilk.com once upon a time, but for whatever reason did not build a thriving e-business on the site.

Click here to read the story, which contains several "best of the best" examples of defunct URLs — like MyPetFishLikesToastedKiwis.com and IHateAndrewSalkeldTheFatUglyGreasyStarTrekLovingWanker.com. Shoot, if I'd been thinking of it, I could have registered PaulLarsonIsALyingCheatingFinanciallyIrresponsibleTroutFarmerWhoseGuitarPlayingAintThatGreat.com. Well, maybe there's still time.

You can also go to http://www.deleteddomains.com/ to scroll through zillions of newly available dot-com monikers for yourself.

Today's illustrious band:

The Brunching Shuttlecocks

Brought to you by the Brunching Shuttlecocks themselves, www.brunching.com.

The authors of this website describe themselves as essayists and satirists. The site contains movie reviews and other pop cultural musings. Don't miss the Alanis Lyric Generator, which allows you to produce an Alanis Morrisette-like pop dirge on the spur of the moment. Also try out the Cyborger, where you input your name (or any other word) and the program tells you what those letters would stand for if you were a Terminator-like killer robot. KIM stands for Killing and Infiltration Machine — I'll keep this in mind if my pro wrestling career ever gets off the ground.

If you dig a little deeper, you'll find a quiz that asks you to determine whether a cutesy name (like Love Melody or Misty Rain) belongs to a porn star or a My Little Pony (popular girly-girl toy from the late 80s; are these still around?), as well as one that determines whether you're a sinner, and if so, how bad. I'm not going to tell you which of those I passed and which I failed. ;-)

Today's illustrious band:

Praydar

Brought to you by El Queso Grande. Mr. Queso, actually. (Linguistic debate sidebar for Spanish speakers: El Queso Grande is actually a woman. Would it be more proper to refer to her as La Quesa Grande, using the feminine article and noun?)

You've heard of gaydar, right? That's the ability, often possessed by a gay person, to spot other gay people in a crowd. Well, come to find out ex-clergy have a similar sixth sense: praydar. El Queso's husband, once a priest-in-training, claims he can spy other former seminarians at a glance. El Queso also has several friends who are ex-nuns or ex-nearly-nuns, and they say the same. Is there some sort of secret signal or club handshake that only the initiated are trained to recognize? Or do people gain special powers of seeing once they enter holy school?
Has anyone ever belonged to an organization that really did have a secret signal for recognizing fellow members on the street?