Odds Without End
by Ed Zahniser

Thor & Thar Spar
in Bar
A moderately sober patron of the Mecklenburg Inn Pub—a.k.a. The Meck—recently asked me who the major influence on my prose style was. I said that wouldn’t be a who but a what.
Waxing Eloquent
The major influence on my prose style has been the particle accelerator. You may know that device from physics. The original particle accelerator was modeled after the old Halloween Fun Nights at the Shepherdstown Elementary School—a.k.a. The Cardinals’ Nest.
Think of your head as full of hundreds of sugar-crazed kids unwittingly driven by a pagan festival and rushing from room to room to do cake-walks and to bob for apples.
Then you simply write whatever shows up between your ears.
That’s why my style of prose is known as “waxing eloquent.”
Or as Truman Capote once said of Jack Kerouac’s prose, “That’s not writing, that’s typing.”
Naming a Band: It Don’t Come Easy
Speakeasy Boys mandolinist Matt Robinson and banjoist cum washboard percussionist Jesse Schultzaberger, with two other musicians, have formed a new band. The band recently played a gig at the Meck to rousing response.
During the sound check for a Speakeasy Boys June gig at the Meck, Matt was telling me about the progress of the new band’s name—if you can characterize something that didn’t exist yet as making progress.
“We’re thinking about ‘Axis,’” Matt told me.
Immediately thinking about our lame duck president, I said, “How about Axis of Boll Weevil?”
Matt was thinking more along the lines of Axis Mundi, “But that name’s already taken,” he said.
Do NOT Do the Math
“How about ‘Axes Monday?’” I offered.
I then heard Jesse, seated on the other side of Matt from me, repeat that aloud, “Axes Monday.” It was like Jesse was swishing it around in his mouth at a wine tasting. I kept waiting for him to expectorate into the jar, but no.
Actually, if someone Axes Monday we could be down to a four-day work week and the number of gigs for bands could expand by as much as 33.3 percent, maybe even 33.33 percent or 33.333 percent.
“Or if you’d like to sound more effete”—this is a rock band they’ve formed, not an exurban bluegrass band like the Eakspeasy Yobs—“you could call it ‘Axis Lundi,’” I interjected.
Mais Oui
Lundi, of course, is French for Monday, so the band name would be a punsterish homophone—Mundi Monday Lundi—great for the Latin-Franco-Anglo bi-lingo set, by golly, who haven’t yet had more than three or four beers.
The matter of band nomenclature went unresolved, however, because Jennifer May walked in. Now the Boyz had their numbers One and Two fans present (Jennifer is One and I’m Two), so they had to think about actually playing the gig. Shortly they did, because Scott Schmied showed up with his wash-tub bass.
Also, pretty soon it started raining cats and dogs, so the Meck Garden emptied into the pub’s backroom music venue. The gods had delivered an audience.
But that’s not all.
A Duet Made in Heaven
One of the Boys’ two guitarists, Ryan Guererra, is nicknamed Thar. As the band got to playing full-tilt, a very close bolt of lightning caused something in the ceiling of the Meck to crackle and sparkle most ominously.
But the band, ever the professionals, just exchanged worried looks and played on.
I could see the headline in next month’s Shepherdstown Observer:
“Thor and Thar Spar in Bar.”
Rumor has it that Thar is commissioning the Boys’ house artist and graphic designer Lindsay Guild to print up T-shirts that say “You’re just jealous because all the little lightning strikes bounce off me.”
Arnold Smith Hosts Open Mic
Virtuoso singer-guitarist Arnold Smith hosted a regular Tuesday night open mic at the Meck last month. He opened with a spiel about his guitar, a plugged-in acoustic gem with sheeny dark finish and built-in automatic tuner.
Pretty soon you’ll be able to drive your guitar—and it will get fantastic gas mileage. (Nor am I just stringing you along.)
Arnold recently switched to this new concert guitar—a.k.a. Spanish guitar—but in true Arnold fashion, he manages to make its softer strings still sound like a carefully controlled boom box, one of those six-foot-long radio-tape player combos with built-in woofers and tweeters, which kids used to carry on their shoulders like cavemen once did cave women, or so the governor of California told me.
This was back in the very early 1980s, when everything was miniaturizing except radios, sports shoes, and Ronald Reagan’s national debt.

Next Month: More Letters from the Meck
P.S. The new band decided on “The Axis.” Go hear ‘em.