THE NATURAL STRANGER :: BOOK 2, "MAD DOG in a SILVER FOG" :: CHAPTER 3, EPISODE 5

The Hollywood character was, of course, Harry Joback, whose vexatious prejudices, indirectly, led to the naming of the Rambles in the very kitchen where lead continents flaked from the ceiling and Lorraine's bread swelled, throwing off fragrant clouds of phosphorous...

Brendan now occupied a studio in the 'Loin, downtown with the hookers, pensioners and junkies - he wanted nothing from the Haight but its spare change. But Harry, having been sent north by Wally to chat up this no-name band whose tapes I'd sent down, wanted the meeting to take place in the Haight because, well, if the band plays "It's a-Happening!" but isn't where it's happening then it's bogus, uncool, man... like bad trip, Harry says, bad vibes, all that shit.

Darnell Mukh was there, but not talking much, Matty wasn't... might have been off in a fog somewhere, with Bloomfield maybe, or else the shade of Lenny Bruce. Jeff. Me. One of Deanne's political friends and some crashers who kept coming through to pilfer from the refrigerator so, while I remember most amazingly most of what was said that night, I have to guess at who said what.

It was easy, at first, because Harry lay down the law - the name ought to subconsciously call to mind John, George, Ringo and Paul - so the first wave was all Beatles acronyms. "Teables?" someone said, "Tables?" another, less seriously, "Tittles". "Battles?"

"No beginnings with B's," Harry said. "Wally's trying to convince important people to front money for public relations and clothes... it's the first letter that draws lawyers. Keep it T or an L."

So I naturally thought Labels... it would have made sense, since everything was labeled and punched, spindled, mutilated in those days... everywhere you heard punchcards chunking and riffling... "re-CALL, re-CALL". Lincoln had a big old Petra... Mr. Tead's operators always went mad after a couple of weeks, trying to extract the intelligence from its IDEA (its Integrated Differential Electronic Analyzer, which was supposed to sort out contacts into lists of those who'd buy the brooms and lightbulbs out of guilt versus those just dog-stupid). Now that I think of it, Spindles would have been good, also Spandrels, Spaniels... a dog can't be any worse than any bug. But both Jeff and Brendan just looked at me like... "oh, the chick said something, how cute!" and kept rattling along... Rattles, come to think of it, wouldn't have been half so bad, either, for this venomous playpen of grown-up infants.

"Lambles, Lambats?" where the hell did "M" come from. "Teapots!" No, Harry said, "stick with the program... those L's, B's, T's and Es, no P's." In fact, none of the band dared take a bathroom break lest something be decided in their absence... Harry's an early believer in what's to become the motivating principle behind the sessions of one of the Grandmaster's most pernicious (and most wealthy) competitors!

"Alright, Labatts," that was Brendan, and smugly. There are Canadian musicians... Neil Young and Leonard Cohen, Judy Collins, Joni Mitchell, one of those... even Steppenwolf and Guess Who, but was there such a thing as Canadian music? Harry jots down notes, might be marketing tie-in potential. "Bactals?"... too medicinal, implies disease, and DJs would take anything suspicious off Southern playlists. "Well, I like it," Jeff said, "bacteria implies the sickness of diseased societies." Ten years prematurely! "Tractals!" What? "Well... there is irony in that," observes Deanne's friend, "the blandness of suburbs." "Treacle?"... no, too English... only thing more sales-murdering than irony is British irony.

Unless... "Tactiles?" "Latkes?" Too ethnic. "What about keeping the program, but with additions," Jeff suggested as crashers roamed the kitchen, circling Harry's warm liquid from which to suck nutrient, like mollusks.. "Enhancement! Like... Tractiles!"

"Tambles," suggested one of the crashers, "Terrors" said another. Everyone, it seemed, had a thought for the asking, headlosophies to pass on. "Rumbles", "Mumbles", "Rambles", "Bumsucks!"... "like, man, why not Beedles, but with D, not a T," one snaggletoothed crasher suggested.

"Clear out, huh?" Harry invited, "we're trying to get business done in here." He took five dollars out of his pocket, gave it to the tall, loopy wraith who'd suggested Beedles... "here, take the gang out for pizza and don't hurry back."

"Hey... like, thanks man."

"Don't mention! Amateurs!" Harry said when they'd gone. "Not only would Beedles get us sued, it's English besides, phony English. Who said Rumbles? That's American... too bad the AM stations won't play it, they'll think it promotes delinquency. Guess we're back to Tables, at least that has the advantage of containing the necessary three elements, B, L and T."

"What about Rambles?" Brendan suggested. "It's American too, speaks to the open road, cars... not very fast cars, but maybe you can make a deal..." and he smiled wetly, as Harry nodded and jotted down another note in his notebook, "...like Dion, the wanderer. A Rambler, but without a motorcycle, or the gang fights..."

"Implied," Harry gnaws his possibilities, "not stated."

"Boodles?" Jeff suggests, and that more or less cinched it for Rambles because all the following suggestions were in the vein of ridiculosity... Poodles, Puddles and several others, patently obscene. "Hippias Polyester!" Jeff finally pronounced.

"What?" Joback shot back.

"It's real, historical... almost... actually there was this Sophist, Hippias Polyhistor, back in Old Greece, one of those wandering gurus who went round giving speeches for pay; performers, like vaudeville, but with more pretentions. Socrates hated their Sophisticated butts."

"Interesting, but obscure," Harry vetoed. "OK, let's take this thing to a vote, how many for Tables?"

Darnell put down his soft drink. "What are the choices open to us?" he says, adjusting his glasses.

"Tables, Rambles..."

"Rabies!" Jeff suggests.

"Be serious," Harry scolded. "Anything else? Evie?"

"Rambles is better than Tables," I venture.

"I think so too," Harry said, "but we're not going to have to live with the consequences. Brendan?"

"Damn if I'm named after a piece of furniture!"

"Darnell," Harry asked.

"We be Rambles, I think," putting down his 7-Up again. "Does that mean we are to ride motorcycle and dress like Marlon Brando?"

"No-ooo," Harry said, "Mr. Martyn has a better idea!"