Electromagnetic Retaliation – No one knows my plan

Did I ever tell you about the time I subverted a cathedral?

I was seventeen. My Aunt Shirley (Dad’s older sister) and Uncle Doug had flown out from Ohio to see us. This was the trip where they rented a minivan so we five could all travel in one vehicle. The glove compartment inaccessibly had a three digit combination lock on it (by which I mean a permutation lock), and I spent the week trying to crack the code. After numerous attempts, the thought surfaced: “ha ha ha, it won’t be this”, and I scrolled in 666. The damn thing opened. Ha ha ha! True story. This minivan also came equipped with a copy of Achtung! Baby in the tape deck, courtesy the previous renters, to which I gave a loving home. (The cassette, not the renters. I think I still have it…)

One day we drove up to Spokane to visit St. John the Evangelist, which is a pretty swank Episcopal cathedral. We’d been nosing around quietly for awhile until my aunt said proudly and confidently to one of the vergers, “Oh you have a pipe organ! My niece plays the piano!” and before I knew it, I found myself sitting on the organ stool. “Play something!” they encouraged, nodding and smiling.

Now, I had taken a few years of piano lessons when I was younger, but I’d never built a repertoire. I couldn’t play Für Elise. I certainly couldn’t remember anything I did learn. But pause a minute here to consider the situation laid out before me: I’m a teenager. A teenager sitting in front of a beautiful keyboard. The keyboard of a huge ass pipe organ. A pipe organ in a church. A vaulted, reverberating church. Not just a church but a gen-u-ine cathedral.

What an opportunity!

So off I went, vivace e fortissimo:

I made it halfway through the next section before the verger made me stop.

He gave me quite a telling off. I can’t remember now the particulars of what was said. Something something “inappropriate”, something something “disrespectful”, I don’t know. He was pretty upset.

In hindsight, I wished I’d been able to Michigan J. Frog it with a solid round of Hello! Ma Baby. But this is the nature of impromptu situations: you can only work with what you’ve got.

How it started

Hear the scream that the turning subway made
Hear the screams of the people in your way

(Backstabbing Liar, It’s Fun To Steal, Mono Puff)

Flash back thirteen years ago this summer. I’d taken myself out for dinner at a nice restaurant. Got halfway through my meal, casually ignoring the background music, when suddenly the speakers erupted with pop hiss POP screEEeeeeEEEEeee and adamant squeaking followed at considerable blare by tuntTUNTtunttuntTUNT tuntTUNTtunttuntTUNT DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA, DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA… . Yelling crescendoed over an almighty crashing of pans and smashing of crockery. I leapt to my feet to see a black rat streak out of the kitchen, slide to an abrupt halt, cast about in desperation, and beeline up my jeans leg. I shrieked. He eeked, dug into my shin, and yelled something muffled to the effect of “for gods’ sakes, lady, run for it!!” I ran for it. We’ve been together ever since.

Portland, OR 6 June 2025. Zeke in rapture at the feet of John Flansburgh — Portland, OR 6 June 2025 ~ Zeke in rapture at the feet of John Flansburgh

Portland, OR 6 June 2025. Zeke dangerously close to getting stepped on — Portland, OR 6 June 2025 ~ Zeke dangerously close to getting stepped on

Does Zeke Rat get the zoomies?

I got tired of pacing the floor
Sick of it all, I’m done with the floor
Walked away ever since I got a new job climbing the walls

(Climbing the Walls, The Else, TMBG)

Yesterday on Bluesky, Kat Baumann posted a fantastically endearing sketch that resonated with Zeke. She asked us whether he also gets the zoomies. Oh my life, does he. I have to be so careful when we’re out and about. Here’s one of countless examples.

Last December, Zeke and I had a day out at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C.. We signed up for the tour, which takes you all around up and everywhere. Super neat! Here we are on the mezzanine balcony at the west end, looking down the nave. I’d let Zeke sit on the rail for a snap, but no sooner had I taken it than zoom! — off he went. A minute later, I heard an echoey “squeak squeak squeak!” I looked up, and there he was, trying to scale the tracery on the rose window.

You can see there’s a passageway along another balcony right under the window. The tour traverses it. It’s pretty high up. I don’t like heights. But when do you ever get to walk directly under the rose window of a huge and gorgeous cathedral? More to the point, now I was obliged to fetch my rat.

As we crested the stairway and gathered in the antechamber, the guide advised us that the balcony railing would feel lower than we’d expect. I peered out and yes, it looked about level with my waist. I’d been taking deep breaths, and now I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans. “You’re good,” I told myself. “Zeke climbed this. You can cross it.” (breathe breathe, wipe wipe) Without hesitation, the other tourists and the guide blithely stepped out. I held back, waiting for them to finish, knowing that if they stopped midway and I had to wait behind them, I would not keep it together.

Finally, my turn. As I stepped out from the doorway, the acrophobia kicked in full-force, and I began to cry. Couldn’t help it. Straight from the brain stem. Tears streaming. By this point, the tour guide had noted my absence. “Do you want to go back down the way we came up?” she called. “No!!” I replied a little too emphatically. I squeezed my eyes shut and flattened my right palm against the wall. As I inched along, I recited: “You’re listening to your local independent public radio station, The Maverick, KMSU FM and HD Mankato, KMSK Austin, at 89.7 FM in Mankato and 91.3 FM in Austin …” This is my all-purpose prayer. “I love it!” encouraged the guide. “You’re doing great, keep going!”

When I eventually reached the far doorway, everyone greeted me with, “Are you okay? Do you want to sit down??” After a few deep breaths, I managed, “NO thank you very much I’m fine YES HONESTLY” while unconvincingly wiping streaks of mascara off my cheeks. Although I felt proud of myself for walking across and not backing out, I also felt thoroughly physiologically let down. I super very much had wanted to look out at the cathedral. Before I moved on with the group, I braced myself in the doorway and turned my head to sneak a glimpse back. My brain immediately went NOPE! and failed to imprint a visual memory. Thanks, brain.

As for Zeke Rat … I finally caught him in an exhibitionary roof space, and Plaster Jesus had a word with him.

Jesus, judging by his expression, looks extremely put-upon. Zeke looks extremely unrepentant.

I love you, Zeke! You’re the ketchup on my ketchup cake.

Here’s the brand-new KMSU-made Zeke jingle!

And here’s the story.

In June 2024, I made my second pilgrammage to KMSU in Mankato, MN as a Program Director For The Day. A pledge drive swag item–you can join Shuffle Function and play your own music on air for two whole hours. (Amazing! best use of early o’clock evar!!) I’d played a few songs by OK Glass, and then Shelley, Shyboy Tim, and I chatted for a bit. I told the story of how I met Joe and said how everybody knows Zeke but never me. Elizabeth who??

This prompted Shelley to say one of the nicest things anybody has ever told me: “Could you earmuff Zeke for a moment? We think of you first. Zeke is like the ketchup on the ketchup cake.”

Here’s the clip.

As part of the swag on offer this year in the KMSU Spring Pledge Drive, Shelley offered to sing a customized “sleep deprived jingle”. She gets sing songy when she’s underslept–there’s a history on air of this. (see: What’s the color of Tim’s cardigan) (… what color? is he wearing?) Of course I pledged for one, and when she asked for a prompt I said ketchup!

And today, I finally baked Zeke his cake. This is the recipe from Heinz; apparently they created it in 2009 to celebrate their 100th anniversary in Canada.

I guess there’s a whole history of this kind of thing.

The Heinz recipe made enough frosting to cover an entire aircraft carrier. In the process, I got cream cheese in my hair, and my kitchen is lightly blanketed in powdered sugar, as some kind of tribute to the 45th anniversary of Mt St Helens blowing up. Also, let’s not talk about how I failed to put the cake bottoms together in the middle to avoid a giant gap around the sides. (In my defense, I turned them out upside-down on the rack, and they looked flat.)

As for the cake itself … it’s fine? I mean, it tastes mostly like a spice cake, it would be more red if I’d used a less-dark brown sugar, and I can’t really detect any ketchup flavor. But Zeke loved it, and that’s the important part. Good rat, Zeke.

(permissons granted to post clips and mention friends)

On the face of it

o/~ There’s a passport here
But it could disappear
Tarmac to landing pad
Don’t look so sad …

(Black Ops, Nanobots, TMBG)

Today I learned that the post code for the United States Embassy in London is SW11 7US. In related news, I’ve finally managed to post off my passport for renewal. The photo is terrible. But not as bad as a few passports ago when I wore a peach-colored scoop neck top and consequently appeared to be completely starkers.

I was 12 when I got my first US passport. My parents and I went to Italy the following year. I still acutely remember standing at the Immigration desk, where the young (very trim, very uniformed) border guard spent enough time examining my passport to make me start worrying whether my current-face looked enough like my photo-face. I had braces at the time, and I couldn’t remember whether my photo showed them, so I flashed him a quick toothy smile just in case. The guard stared at me for longer than was comfortable, presumably recomposing himself after the shock of a 13-year-old’s flirtatious overture. Then he gave me the briefest tight-lipped smile in return, handed me my passport, and waved me through.

My third US passport photo managed to look like a criminal’s mug shot. Which was a damned shame, because, to date, I hadn’t even been cautioned by the police. It was that passport which I managed to leave behind on a flight. I didn’t realize until the next day and, after ripping the house apart to no avail, I rang up the airline only to be told “Oh, we would have sent any found personal documents to our headquarters where, because confidential information, they shred them.”

After some expressive hysteria and insistence on the points of “but you know who a passport belongs to, that’s its whole point” and “isn’t shredding government property illegal”, the customer service agent said she would look into it and call me back. One day later, the airline couriered my passport to me via a cargo flight. I have not misplaced a passport since.

My fourth US passport photo was really good. Great hair, fab choice of top (rainbow tie-dye), I even wore small dangly earrings. Fantastic! Except for the distinct look of deer-caught-in-the-headlights.

When I renewed my British passport three years ago, I threw myself into subversion: bleached my hair, dyed it blue. A bright, vibrant blue. My hair was almost shoulder-length, and it was stunning. I wore my black TMBG Flood t-shirt for the photo. (Not that you can see the logo in the snap, but I know it’s there.) And then I had a huge fight with the UK’s automated online renewal service which, inexplicably, kept rejecting the damned photo. Finally, through sheer force of will, I won. I felt proud and smug. This photo is going to last ten years! I thought. Blue hair! I thought. You can suck it, convention!

When the passport came back, the photo page was in black and white.

So, in this latest US renewal affair, I did not bother to re-dye my hair. And I did not bother to fuss the photographer into taking sixteen frillion shots to find the least-worst one. I did try to make a neutral-but-on-the-verge-of-smiling expression. It came out as this-does-not-pass-for-pastrami-and-I-am-disappointed-you-even-suggested-I-pay-for-it.

Ah, well. Passport photos are supposed to look awful. As Erma Bombeck reminds us, When You Look Like Your Passport Photo, It’s Time To Go Home.

Tuesday 30 August 2022

we thought we were just thinking about john linnell >squeak< >squeak< >squeak< but it turns out it was 82 f with 76 % humidity >eek< >eek< >eek<

Zeke and Elizabeth on the loose in Asbury Park, New Jersey. What to do? “Historic carousel at the seafront!” promised Google Maps. “OooOOooh!” we replied, hopping a bus to the transportation centre and feeling proud of ourselves for only spending $1.50 to do it. From there, we faced a 19 minute walk or a 19 minute wait for another bus. Heck!, I thought, we’ll just walk. What a choice to pick. By the time we reached the promised spot, we were half dead from swelter. And there was no carousel! just the empty, graffiti’d shell of an one-time fancy building. Turns out it was all dismantled years ago. How rude! We were so let down that I refused to take any pictures.

To deal with our sweaty dismay, we indulged ourselves in a restaurant along the beachfront that looked expensive but also capacious and empty. “We will order,” I informed the greeter, “but first, we need to pee.” (A constant theme of solo travel …) Once we were settled, I ordered a beet stack salad as counterbalance to pizza, and Zeke asked for the largest bottle of sparkling water available. It was lovely. The wait staff were enchanted with Zeke.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the Silverball Retro Arcade. I’d wanted to noodle around on the beach, dip my feet in this side of the Atlantic, and so on, but a $6 beach access charge plus ambient weather made that a hard nope. I’m sorry for it now, but my gods, the humidity, coupled with my tendency to catch fire in direct sunlight.

But hey, I can play pinball all afternoon. No problem. It was fun! All decades and styles of pinball plus a few arcade games. Tetris. Frogger. Pong! Pac-Man!! (Pac-Man was my game in the 80s. Nintendo lost me completely.) Turns out Zeke and I are both terrible at pinball, but I’m still highly respectable at Pac-Man. Zeke laughed at my Etch-a-Sketch attempt to play Pong by myself. We even got to see one of the staff opening up a pinball machine for repairs. It was so nerdy that I forgot to ask the guy if he’d pose for a snap with Zeke. (Damn it.)

Asbury Lanes, tonight’s concert venue, advertized doors at 6.30pm. Zeke and I made our way around 6pm and found a line already forming. Aaaaaaaaaahhh!! the excitement! I’ll pick up that story in the next post. Meanwhile, please indulge yourself in some retro arcade photography.

o/~ Now I’m telling the truth
I’m finished with lies
Lies …

Finished With Lies, Mink Car, TMBG

Banzai Run pinball machine. It was neat bc the ball can be kicked up to play in the vertical!

If my Kobayashi Maru scenario were this pinball machine, we’d all be dead

Old style pinball gives you 5 balls bc the paddle tips are feet apart. Also, they are made from lots of mechanical in contrast to modern machines’ electronics.

Medieval Madness pinball table top tipped up, revealing mechanics underneath. Neat!!

The grubby innards of ~~the middle ages~~ Medieval Madness

Medieval Madness table top (D, there’s a dragon in there! Sorry for crummy exposure.)

If Bruce Boxleitner had walked by, I would have fainted

Pac-Man is better than Ms Pac-Man bc Pac-Man can outrun the ghosts

Monday 29 September 2022

o/~ I’ve got speed (that’s how fast I am moving)
I’ve got velocity (that’s my speed and direction)

(Speed and Velocity, Here Comes Science, TMBG)

Zeke and I caught a 5am flight from Spokane to Newark (change SeaTac).

Looking north from Seattle over the Cascade Mountains. Mt Baker on the left, and that might be Glacier Peak to the right?

Manhattan skyline from descent into Newark airport

Now that I’ve been to Newark, I understand why so many people were all, “You booked internationally via JFK? Why?!” Newark is so much more conveniently located. It was super easy to figure out the New Jersey Transit train down to Asbury Park. And I should have hopped off at that station, but Google Maps led me to believe that the next stop of Bradley Beach was better for my Airbnb location in Neptune City. It was dusk when we pulled … alongside. I can’t say in, because when the train doors opened, there was no platform. I climbed down the steps, the train pulled away, and there I was on the street. Fortunately, I was able to summon a taxi, whose driver promptly told me off for not alighting at the real station of Asbury Park.

The Airbnb though was lovely. Friendly family, open communications about covid, and they recommended a local pizza parlour for delivery. I ordered what I thought was a small, but, this being America, it fed me and Zeke for dinner and two subsequent breakfasts.

Zeke tucking into a pizza from Dominic’s Pizzeria & Trattoria

By the way, CGP Grey has a great video explaining runway numbers. I recommend.

Criss-crossing runways at Newark airport, numbered 24 and 19

A brand new tour for …

Here’s the current Flood tour t-shirt, showing the 2022 dates, which was printed before John F’s accident. I’ve put arrows by the dates I have tickets for. Note that the June shows have been (re-re-re-) rescheduled … Baltimore to 18 December 2022 and the two NYC shows to 13 and 14 January 2023.

o/~ But Mr. Horrible says, “I don’t mind
The thing that bothers me is
Someone keeps moving my chair”

(Someone Keeps Moving My Chair, Flood, TMBG)

No plan survives contact with the enemy

o/~ For everyone who only just arrived
A quick synopsis:
If you came late and missed the commotion
And you wonder what was all that
Here’s the recap …

(Synopsis For Latecomers, BOOK, TMBG)

They Might Be Giants’ album Flood was up for its 30th anniversary in 2020, hence a celebration tour. When dates for the first half of the year went on sale, Zeke and I pounced on a January ticket for NYC. I coaxed my cousin Mike into coming with. It was the best!! Afterward, I was all dismay that I’d gone to only one concert. What was I thinking?! So in February when TMBG announced dates for the second half of 2020, I lost all grip on sanity and restraint. Fan club presale opened right as I was meant to be starting a tutor lesson … and tickets sell out FAST … but Ann and Mark let me sit on their living room floor and buy ticket after ticket. They shook pompoms at me: “Ooh ooh did you get Seattle? What’s next? Oh you should totally go to St Louis!”

(Did I have any idea how I’d get around to all these venues without a tour bus? Not at all. Pah! details, details.)

All told, I ended up with 16 tickets: NYC again for two consecutive nights (Mike roped in again, weeee!) and a plan for a western US road trip in September / October 2020.

Huzzah!
Right??
Such a high!!!

And then the pandemic struck.

TMBG rescheduled all their concerts into spring 2021. And then rescheduled everything again for spring 2022. (Mark that—spring 2022, it comes up again later in the story.) Then the omicron variant hit and They rescheduled a third time: but now building in fire breaks by spreading out smaller clusters of concerts from June 2022 through May 2023.

In a pique of refusal to adhere to reason, I’d bought seven more tickets at the first round of rescheduling (bc inevitably there are refunds), adding in a bunch of New England dates. Now my two-part compact adventure was spread out into four clumps over 12 months.

How many times can I fly to the States in a year?! (Hold that thought.)

You might suppose that that would be the end of the catastrophes, and you would be wrong. TMBG did perform their first Flood concert on 8 June 2022, after two and a half long, ugly, and naked years, and by every account it was a hell of a show! I wish I’d been there. However, on the way home after, John Flansburgh’s car got hit by a drunk driver. The car rolled, and he broke seven ribs. 😱 Thank gods for fire breaks … They had to reschedule the rest of their June shows but by all miracles, John F recovered in time for the end of August.

💙 💙 💙 WE LOVE YOU JOHN FLANSBURGH 💙 💙 💙

Zeke and I had June tickets for Baltimore, NYC, and NYC again. We had just sat down on the bus to Heathrow on 9 June when we saw the news. No way to reschedule our plans, so we rallied in our best tribute to the band as we could manage. More details of that adventure in due course.

But 30 August … !! 30 August, They Might Be Giants played Asbury Park, New Jersey, and Zeke and I were there, and it was GLORIOUS.

We went on to Portsmouth, New Hampshire; Portland, Maine; and North Adams, Massachusetts. We’ll go back to Spokane for a week, then we’re back out to Boston; Boston again; Ithaca, New York … and I think I’ve just managed to find a ticket for Buffalo, NY. Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!

There’s more (!!) but this gets the blog started.

Elizabeth & Zeke’s They Might Be Giants Flood Endurance Tour Extravaganza

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!

Sorry. That’s no way to start a blog.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

(There we go.)

Hello and welcome! This is an off the cuff account of Elizabeth & Zeke’s crazy ass They Might Be Giants Flood endurance tour adventure. I’ll fill in most of the details eventually–stick w me.

o/~ Rock had a baby and they called it “Aaaah” …

(The Fellowship of Hell, Album Raises New And Troubling Questions, TMBG)