The Jump Jivin' Whale Room Lives Again!

One of our chefs, Pierre Eclair Mon Frere Doancayr, has called in to the Room tonight since Downtown Melville just got socked in with a foot of snow and couldn't get a tow or catch the ankle express. So his debut with the Boys, fellow bakers who really know how to cook, collectively known as the Petty Fours, will have to postpone their set until a bit later.

But one of our booking managers who's overseeing the installation of the new pool table in the Annex, Arthur Rackum, set up Little Jack Little in his apartment a couple floors down in the Pequod, so we will have music tonight in spite of the white blight, Katz and Kittenz. So grease up those galoshes, metamorphose those mukluks into snappy slick-souled sneakers and get ready to limber up those limbs on the dance floor, 'cause Jack is back picking up the slack on the straightback.

And in celebration of our new ice maker in the Snowdin Lounge just to the right of the moose head, the Firesign Hot Chocolate Malted Falcons are on the house tonight--just don't slip on the roof when you go to fetch one.

But at my back I always hear, Little Jack Little scurrying near. . . Here 'tis. . .Next Five to help Jack Jive (October and November 1930)
Enjoy.
Jeff

I'm still sitting under the ever increasingly unsteady Moosehead, watching patrons checking out the new ice maker and making jokes about the fact there's no way to plug it in as the wiring is all fried. I'm mused about bringing in a piano man to try and play the decrepit device gathering dust in the (Lord) Snowdin Lounge, and remembered what a stir our last major piano playing guest made back in August '44 when he recorded this show for the Beeb as part of Glenn Miller's European Entourage. The title of the opening song sounds like something Ghemrats has dreamed up, but I kid you not, it's real. Mel Powell, accompanied by Ray McKinley on drums, playing the Wigan Pier Wiggle.

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CDMan, we don't have a moosehead. RUN!

As you all know the generator under the Club was designed and installed by Tesla and Einstein and still hums along to this day. Lately we have been tracking down some quantum fluctuations so don't be alarmed if you are on one of the many levels or rooms in the club and time is getting a little fluid and wonky. Downstairs the pool is now in the 1920's F. Scott and the flappers are having a ripper of a party with Hemingway, I would make like a tree and get down there as quick as you can to enjoy the fun. Roof garden is in the 1950's and currently a doo wop band are serenading what seems to be a prom party I am at a loss. Any other time lines please report to the front desk and feel free to participate.

Let the good times roll.....Its jumpin and a jiving all night long... and that night ain't likely to end anytime soon....

Boss, please tell me Ya didn't flip that covered switch behind the bar. Don't Ya remember what happened to the neighbor up the street the last time? That's the reason we had to start keepin' a law firm on retainer.

Folk's, if Ya ever need a high class shyster, I'd like to recommend the firm The Cobalt Club uses, Dewey, Cheatum and Howe. The best $49.95 you'll ever spend out of desperation.

Oh, THAT's what that weird sucking sound was when I tried plugging in the Iludium Q-36 Exploding Space Modulator Switch on my electric Stratos-Fearcaster. . . .

I was going to accompany Little Jack Little, but now I'm having second thoughts. . . .
Jeff

Space Cadet wrote:CDMan, we don't have a moosehead. RUN!

You are correct Space, we don't. Because as Mel and the boys were playing their number, the dance floor became a heaving mass of wiggling bodies. Where did they all come from I wondered. And then, with almost no warning, the moosehead finally gave up the ghost, detached itself from the wall and crashed into the ice-maker causing it to explode. The ensuing chaos resulted in the lounge having to be closed from the rest of the night. Management apologizes to all the wigglers for the inconvenience.

Speaking of wiggling, Ina Ray sprang to mind:

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Last time I said these words we had 7 days and nights of complete chaos in the club. "We have Pirates marauding in the 7th floor Library" I repeat Pirates in the library. Anyone handy with a sabre meet me up on 7th pronto. They are swinging from the chandeliers. Lock up all the booze I have alerted the front desk. Concierge bots from Capt's cave are bringing up the rear for reinforcements. This should be a laugh and a half. Warning there is the front end of a galleon sticking through the library wall stay clear reality is a little spongy over there.

And Space I may or may not have flipped "some" switches and toggled some knobs. I think.....

What between the wriggling dance floor bodies and the sawdust swirling to beat the band, not to mention the moosehead slipping down to sink a little drink from Punky Brewsky's mug--and now the pirates poking holes in the floor upstairs with their peg leg proclivities, I'd say The Whale Room is almost back to normal.

But before I join Seamus upstairs to swash a couple of buckles (I'll always have your back, Boss, and your turban in case it unravels in the fracas), let's settle things down here in the Room Proper with our last offerings from Little Jack Little.

And, folks, you'll find an extra swing in the dance floor tonight as it is extra slick with a shiny sheen since the ice machine snaked a fresh finish in its deconstructed glory. (Now confidentially, I won't name who it is, but I'm secretly smiling because when the moosehead fell and splintered the cubes in the old Norge, an icy spray jetted out and hosed one of our patrons. Good thing, too, 'cause his bad case of Mesohornyohmee was flaring up, and he was a moosehair's width away from hitting on Hey Barbara ReBop. And anyone who remembers the Melville Meltdown of Ought Seven (now known as Ought Not If You Know What's Good For You) can testify, Hey Barbara is not one to messed with--unless she's up for it. Newbies to the Whale Room can still make out the skid marks against the ceiling if you look hard enough.

So while we're taking care of business, . . . here 'tis. . . . Shows 11-13 and a special engagement bypassed via ground wire to The Green Room. Little Jack Little Last shows and 1939
Enjoy.
Jeff

The pirate invasion's under control Boss. I told em' about the open auditions up the street, for the revival of Pirates of Penzance. And I pointed out that it's nickel beer night at the Hooters across the street from that place. So, they busted out of here (literally) and now there are two holes in the wall. One currently plugged by the bow of a galleon. What we could use, is somebody who knows the difference between a binacle and a barnacle who can drag that frimpin' boat outta here.

And please tell me Ya didn't flip any switches on the Univac. That thing is self aware (Name's Mike and speaks broken English with a cheesy Russian accent) and controls virtually everything in the place. Think of HAL, but with the sense of humor of a rude 14 year old. And likes to play pranks. That could be a bigger problem than a pirate raid.

Crisis averted...phew. Bonus feature the 7th floor library now has a galleon. I am out on the back deck as its inside the 16th century Bahamas. Loving the Sun...... can hear the fracas down there from up here. Bots are serving sea food all day long... drinks are on me... flagons I tells ya Flagons...

Uhm switches were flipped... yeah flipped....

I was going to wait until tomorrow morning but couldn't resist.

Chaos you say? What chaos? Everything is perfectly under control. After a big push from 200 of our patrons, along with Barnacle Bill the Sailor, the galleon has floated away into the evening sky in search of Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. Barbara Black Sheep has just come in the front door carrying three bags full of wool to pull over everyone's eyes.

Some pirates are still running amok, eating and drinking everything in sight as Hooters is closed for the day. One fellow, dressed as a captain, is standing on one leg with a glass of rum in one hand and a cutlass in the other, greeting new customers with a hearty "Captain!". He is dishing out a shiny Piece Of Eight with his teeth to anyone who ventures near. I'd play some Johnny Kidd & The Pirates music but that would be illegal in the lounge. In any event a brand new nickelodeon is now being installed near the dance floor so let's see what the selections are in the morning.

Vivat Whale Room!

I move that we rename the 7th. Floor Library, One Eyed Willies Collage of Cabotage.

Space Cadet wrote:I move that we rename the 7th. Floor Library, One Eyed Willies Colage of Cabotage.

Stupid autocorrect...

Up here off the back of the Galleon is a real live Whale and its jumping just got soaked. It ain't jiving but it sure looks like it might... flagons of Romulan ale are flowing like, well,  ale also take a look over by the fireplace in the Whale room it now connects to the Galleon by a portal that just formed you can pop up and down instantly though do not and I say do not drink anything fizzy before you portal you will pop out the other end and belch so loud your teeth will rattle. Little side effect but sure is fun.

You guys keep it up and the puns are gonna start poppin'. Or even worse, limericks.

There once was a pirate named Jane,
Who was only slightly insane,

Instead of treasures in her chest,
She liked to keep politician's heads there best . . .

Well, maybe she's not that hard to explain!

I figure if I get the band going it'll drown out the bad puns. So, here's Harry James from Southland Cafe (Boston) 03-19-40

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The audience bleeds through on a couple of numbers but that's only because they're having a great time. The great depression is mostly in the rear view mirror and they haven't put the headlights on the War yet.

My father (14 years old) has no idea what's coming for him. In a little over a year he'll be catapulted to the war in the pacific to serve on the USN South Dakota. He won't escape the war unscathed (he was strafed by a Japanese fighter) but as the director of several US Zoos he'll overcome the lack of a complete High school education. You did alright dad. Miss you.

Well said Jazzman and welcome to the wackiest place in the Annex, where truth and fiction constantly compete.

I awoke this morning to find that the good news is to say that the nickelodeon made it safely through the night without mishap. The bad news is that some of the pirates who were left behind when the galleon sailed, have surrounded it and are in the process of changing out the coin mechanism to only accept pieces of eight and golden doubloons.

The Harry James band so impressed some of the musically leaning pirates that they decided to form a band of their own. They made quite a raucous sound during the rehearsal. Featuring Seasick O'Steen on drums, Peg Leg McDonald on bass, Cannonball Badderley on trumpet, Wilde Hair Harrison and Metamorphic Rocky Balboa on saxophones, Harry One-Tooth O'Toole on trombone and Barbara Black Sheep's hubby Billy Goat Thornton doing the vocals, they took to the stage with lots of baaaaaaaaaing and arrrrggggggghhhing and with sheepish grins on their faces they turned to Barbara and launched into a rousing rendition of "I Know I'll Never Find Another Ewe".

There was such a commotion after the rehearsal finished that someone in the audience called for some calming blues to be played and from nowhere Woody stepped up to the mic and started to whale.
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I walked into the lounge this morning and to my dismay no one was there. Just the janitor, J. Peasemold Gruntfuttock, still cleaning up after the pirate invasion of the other night. Since the nickelodeon was still intact I put my one remaining piece of eight into it and sat down to listen to the BBC Home Service, while I waited for others to show up.

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We are rollicking from emergency to emergency. We now have a Flying Scotsman rolling through the 4th floor gym. Don't ask me how but you can now catch the ten twenty to 1932 Glasgow and London running to all stops in between. I was just down in Essex consulting with none other than Hercule Poirot and his client Cab Calloway. The case of the stolen Jazz Songs....

Please keep the track clean over by the treadmill and weight benches .

In the immortal words of Tom Jones, it's not unusual for The Room to have some quiet time after all the ruckus. But it is nice that the Irate Pirates have walked the Plank over to the Edna Mae Hostile Hostel to sleep off their Flagon With The Dragon Festival (Edna's Hostel is easily accessible via Tooby Forr's Memorial Walkway extending from the Pequod's roof to Edna Mae's across the street.)

Exciting news too: Sim "Solly" Bihm's restaurant, 2 Curry Favorites, will be offering Indian cuisine again after overhauling his cafe in competition with Casey Diaz's Taco Emporium next door. Those two have had a long simmering food feud for months, ever since Casey beat Solly in the Pepto Abysmal Rocket Hot Competition last July with his La HooWah! Hot Sauce Burrito. Solly promises it'll be a hot time in the old town tonight.

So, to ease into the evening's festivities and in anticipation of the fireworks to come, let's mosey over to the bandstand with a special engagement from Eddie Condon.  Eddie Condon's Jazz Concert 440527
Enjoy.
Jeff

I've put in a call the the Gray Lensman on Klovia. I suspect, due to the nefarious goin's on here lately, that we may have a cavern full of Delgonian Overlords under the place again. Director Kinnison has promised to dispatch his best operative in these cases. Ya probably won't see him, since he prefers to work undercover.
But if anyone should run into a seven eyed, armor plated dragon in the men's room, don't panic. That's just Second Stage Lensman Worsel. Some times, even a Velantian Dragon's gotta go.

OK, it's not the typical fare here but it's nearly 100 tracks by The Andrews Sisters.
You're Welcome!

Some Sunny Day Disk 1



Some Sunny Day Disk 2



Some Sunny Day Disk 3



Some Sunny Day Disk 4

Thank you bunches Space. I popped into the lounge tonight to see hundreds of teenyboppers twirling to the music. Those Andrews girls could certainly blast them out. I'm taking a week or so 'vacation' while I try to assist Bulldog Drummond in sorting out the mess he created over the years and listening to that annoying fog horn that sounds like a pregnant whale! It's going to take a lot more of my time than I was expecting.

In the interim, keep us posted regarding the continuing exploits of the Delgonian Overlords. I thought we'd seen the back of them years ago.

Finally, Gene had something to tell all the patrons.
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CompleteDayMan wrote:

In the interim, keep us posted regarding the continuing exploits of the Delgonian Overlords. I thought we'd seen the back of them years ago.

Did I forget to tell you guys? The Dragon Lensman uncovered an evil far greater than a cavern full of Galactic Overlords. He found a gaggle of politicians in store room 47-B on sub level 4. And they were all in the bag, because that's where Frenchie kept his stash of Homemade hooch. Worsel determined that it was the smell of the rotgut that attracted em' in the first place.

He dropped em' on the Dark Side of the Moon. Where the air is thin but the music is incredible. That wasn't a punishment, so much as an experiment. I've believed for a long time, that politicians aren't actually human. My theory is that they're a type of bacteria which cam emulate human form. And when Worsel dropped em' off, they didn't croak. They all went into a dormant state in vacuum. A sort of hibernation. So this deserves further study. And we may not have seen the last of em'.