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 The Archduke, pouting like a child whose mischief has been interrupted, did not offer comment.

* * * * * * * * * *

The stinger on the entire episode, painting Archduke like the babysittee he's been this whole time. Maybe this entire scene was a parody of Adventures in Babysitting that I didn't recognize because it's been way too long since I've seen the movie. Or maybe now I'm just making connections between various words that I've used in sentences previous because I don't have much to say about any of this! Or maybe I've just been traumatized by knowing and hanging out with a guy just like the Archduke! A guy who, every time you turned around to see what he was up to, you'd wind up muttering, "For fuck's sake." The kind of friend you've never actually punched but fucking hell it was a close call at times! And the worst part is that all those feelings of fun with that guy tinged with feelings of annoyance and irritation and anger are now stained with grief as well since he killed himself about a year ago! Fucking hell, Larry. You were a wild ride of a human being.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 49: Line 79 (872)

 "Soon's I learn to waltz, I'm on my way."

* * * * * * * * * *

This could be Lew's way of saying, "Don't hold your breath." Or it's his way of saying, "Sure, I'll take you up on that, though I'm not sure I'm fancy enough for Vienna." Or it could be any number of other meanings I'm not smart enough or imaginative enough to come up with!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Pages 48-49: Line 78 (871)

 As they were speeding along dodging grip cars, private carriages, police patrol wagons with their gongs banging, and so forth, Khäutsch casually offered, "If you're ever in Vienna, and for any reason need a favor, please do not hesitate."

* * * * * * * * * *

Are we almost done with this section? It's my least favorite section. It must be satirizing some genre of story telling of which I'm not a fan. Noir detective stories, maybe? Although I do like the sort of interdimensional, science fiction, Philip K. Dick weirdness of Lew's life. Maybe if I were a bigger fan of world history and World War I, I'd be really into it. I'd probably be all, "Yeah! Teach that arrogant bastard Ferdinand a lesson! Man, I wish I didn't already know he dies in 1917 because I want him to die so badly in this story! At least I know he'll eventually get his comeuppance! Good riddance!"

But this story might be really important! Because Lew has become close with an assassin who now owes him a favor! And since this novel is going to span a couple of decades, Lew has plenty of time to wind up in Vienna and finding he needs somebody killed!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 77 (870)

 Outside they found Trabant Khäutsch ready with a two-horse hack poised for instant departure, and the Archduke's own double-barreled Mannlicher resting nonchalantly but visibly on one shoulder.

* * * * * * * * * *

Obviously the Archduke is known for the violent troubles he starts among his own people. He's the kind of guy you have to pay people to protect him because if he even had any friends, they'd all just let him get his ass kicked rather than have his back. I've mentioned it before because it sometimes needs saying. Friendship and loyalty only go so far. They aren't a free pass to have somebody defend you when you act like a complete asshole. A good friend shrugs and thinks, "You reap what you sow," preferably in a Maine accent while sort of miming Herman Munster. A bad friend thinks, "Oh boy! I get to beat up on some people who are totally within their rights at being angry with the moron I'm backing up!" I guess, in this world, there are more bad friends than good ones.

At least the assassin Khäutsch seems to be on Lew's side in trying to keep violence to a minimum. Otherwise he wouldn't have pulled up just displaying the rifle, he would have tossed it to the Archduke and cheered him on as he went on a shooting spree. Which he'd totally be forgiven for in 1893. Hell, Stand Your Ground Laws being the horrendous thing they are, he'd get away with it today. Get a bunch of people angry at you and then you get to shoot them in the face if they approach you because you can declare that you feared for your life. And white on black murders like this are what cops call "Open and shut stand your ground cases" because they're mostly racist pieces of garbage.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 76 (869)

 Sure enough, just before sliding out the door, Der F.F. with a demonic grin screamed, "And when Franz Ferdinand pays, everybody pays!" whereupon he disappeared, and it was a near thing that Lew got out with his keester intact.

* * * * * * * * * *

What did Thomas Pynchon have against Franz Ferdinand that he would libel him so? Being that I'm not one of those people who pretends to do their own research in the belief that it will make their subjective opinions seem more authoritative, I'm going to simply assume that Pynchon read a biography of Ferdinand and realized, at the core of the book, was the revelation that Franz Ferdinand was a gigantic asshole. Which then allows Pynchon to portray him, in a speculative fictional piece, in a way that says to the reader, "This never happened. Don't even for a second imagine this ever happened. But knowing Franz Ferdinand and how huge an asshole he was, it could have happened!"

At least this final sentence to the scene puts all of my confusion about Franz's previous actions to rest. He never intended to make peace with the locals. He never intended to make a gesture of goodwill. He never intended to do anything except be a huge disruptive prick.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 75 (868)

 Lew, however, noticing the way the Archduke seemed to keep inching stealthily but unmistakably toward the street door, thought it wise to do the same.

* * * * * * * * * *

Looks like the Archduke is still interested in causing trouble; he just didn't want to cause trouble around his bodyguards or his American watchers. Now that everybody seems to have forgotten his upsetting behavior, he's off to find another bar in which to start a fight.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 74 (867)

 After a while somebody started singing, "All Pimps Look Alike to Me," and half the room joined in.

* * * * * * * * * *

I'm surprised that's a name of a song from 1893. But what's more surprising is the rabbit hole it leads to. Pynchon is an expert at dropping a reference that will mean practically nothing to a modern audience but if they dig into it, they're usually well rewarded. In this case, evidence for the song "All Pimps Look Alike to Me" doesn't seem to exist on the Internet. It may not have even been a song. But it was a line from a song which Ernest Hogan, a Black American songwriter, heard one evening in a back room bar in Chicago in the 1890s (perhaps this very one on this very night!), which he used to create a song of his own. Being that "pimp" was a bit too harsh and derogatory, Ernest decided to change the song to "All Coons Look Alike." In one fell swoop, he pretty much invented the horrible practice of coon songs and ragtime. It was a curse on him for the rest of his life, and one of his greatest regrets. Not because of the ragtime! He was elated about the ragtime and seemed to forgive himself for the negative aspect of his song and what it created because it brought ragtime to the masses.
    That's a pretty short synopsis of this history, mostly because anybody can find lengthy discussions of Ernest Hogan online. I just want to point out Pynchon's control of cultural references from the past and how he seeds them subtly into his narrative for anybody wishing to dig a little deeper. I'm not sure how deep he'll get into, plot and theme-wise, race relations in America in this novel. But he'll always have time for a little nudge of the elbow. He just makes a slight nod to the tiny rock about to start an avalanche of racist pop culture and says, "See that rock? Follow it if you want. Watch how it cascades into more and more boulders over time. It's gonna be a fucking disaster. Or, you know, just keep reading."

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 73 (866)

 Which helped to restore a level of civility in the room, and soon even of cheer, as smart neckties were soaked in suds, the piano player came back out from under the bar, and people in the room resumed dancing syncopated two-steps.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Alcohol heals all wounds" is a saying, right? Or is it "Alcohol has charms to soothe the savage breast"? Maybe "An alcohol in time saves nine"? These all seem pretty apt for this moment so maybe they're all sayings, probably by Benjamin "I Love Alcohol" Franklin.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 72 (865)

 Turning to the room, "When Franz Ferdinand drinks," he cried, "everybody drinks!"

* * * * * * * * * *

I'm not sure why the Archduke went so quickly from wanting to start some shit to trying to smooth everything over. Maybe the Archduke was insulting a little guy and the large, dangerous-looking man took the brunt of the insult, causing Ferdinand to back down when he realized he actually could get killed. Starting shit with everybody in a bar is a bit different than shooting a rifle at unarmed workers just getting off their shift at the Stockyards.

I must say, after the way the Archduke has been acting, I'm kind of seeing Gavrilo Princip's side of things.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 71 (864)

 "Ah, I understand," murmured the imperial scapegrace.

* * * * * * * * * *

"scapegrace"
"A mischievous or wayward person, especially a young person or child; a rascal." "Mischievous" is being kind. "Wayward," definitely. "A young person or child," no . . . but, as I kept pointing out, outrageously immature. "Racist," yes, but that wasn't part of the definition.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 70 (863)

 "Hopelessly insane," he announced, waving a thumb F.F.'s way, "escaped in his time from some of the fanciest bughouses of Europe, very little remaining of the brains he was born with, except possibly," lowering his voice, "how much money you bring with you, there, Highness?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Whenever a white guy displays terrible social skills or goes on dangerous rants or just makes a complete and utter ass of himself, he's always got a Get Out of Jail Free card (that he doesn't even have to play; it just gets played for him by all the other white guys defending him): mental illness! But God forbid you're a Black American who once got caught shoplifting when you were eight years old because that shit will be with you for the rest of your life to prove what a burden you were on society, and it'll be used to justify any violence perpetrated on you by some GD cop.
    And, of course, if the "This guy is crazy!" bit doesn't get Franz out of trouble, there's always the second option for rich folk, which Lew partakes in here: buy your way out of trouble! If you're a rich white guy, the only time you're going to pay for your crimes is if you might implicate other rich white guys. And then you won't see justice in the courts; you'll be swinging from your jail cell.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 69 (862)

 Lew, supposed to be disciplined in the ways of the East, would not allow himself the luxury of panic, but at times, like now, could've used maybe a homeopathic dose, just to keep his immunity up.

* * * * * * * * * *

What would a homeopathic dose of Eastern philosophy look like? Just kidding! It would look like every other homeopathic dose: non-existent except for whatever the imbiber decides to imagine. I imagine a homeopathic dose of Eastern philosophy would feel like the fluttering of a moth's wings. It would cause you to take a deep and steady breath and raise one hand up to your chest, flat, palm facing the opposite side of your body. Then you'd exhale slowly and crane kick some motherfucker in the face.

Should I be apologetic that my only knowledge of Eastern philosophy comes from The Karate Kid, both the original and the sequel?

Actually, that's not true. It's a dumb joke. I also learned all about Taoism from Steinbeck's Tortilla Flats. And I probably learned a bunch about the I Ching from reading nearly every Philip K. Dick book but in a way where I didn't realize I was learning about it at all. Kind of like a homeopathic dose of the I Ching, I suppose.

When was Lew disciplined in the ways of the East? Was this part of his training while gaining redemption with Drave and his cult? Hopefully it wasn't something that was mentioned previously or else I'm in serious trouble reading Against the Day one line at a time. I can't be 48 pages into it and already forgetting things I've read!

Is it racist to assume that people born in the Eastern part of the world are always calm and collected? Isn't that Orientalism? Was Mr. Miyagi a racist stereotype or just a terrific character? I enjoyed how angry he would get at the stupid teenagers when he was named Arnold and ran a malt shop.

I've never been disciplined in the ways of the East but I still rarely panic. I've just got a naturally Taoist attitude. It's probably part nature and part growing up on the beaches of California nurture. Sort of the Jeff Spicoli version of Taoism.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Lines 64-68 (857-861)

 "It is all right! I know how to talk to these people! I have studied their culture! Listen—'st los, Hund? Boogie-boogie, ja?"

* * * * * * * * * *

This sounds more racist than it actually is (which is very racist). But I think Archduke is saying, in his attempt at Black American vernacular (again, quite a racist attempt. I'm not defending this jerk! We established he was a racist monster a few pages ago. This is just racist icing on his racist cake), "How is going, dog? Are you dancing?"

I mean, maybe I'm wrong about the translation of "boogie-boogie, ja" to "Are you dancing?" He might simply be voicing gibberish in his attempt to mimic some tribal language.

I mean, what am I even doing?! Discussing the degrees of racism of the Archduke Ferdinand? A man who, by the way, is a known racist monster and 19th century hipster, according to all of the historical documents I've read on him (this one. Against the Day. It's the only one I've read. And, again, I know it's historical fiction. But it's Pynchon which means anything he says must be proven untrue after I've already accepted it as fact. Which means I probably won't be convinced. It's how human logic works. He got to me first so I'm more apt to believe him than some Johnny-Come-Lately supposedly trumpeting the truth. I'm sorry. It's just the rules of American rationalization).

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 63 (856)

 "Um, Your Royal Highness?" Lew murmured, "if we could just have a word—"

* * * * * * * * * *

It's Lew's job to protect the Archduke so I get why he's trying to calm the situation. But if this were a friend of mine (and he wouldn't be a friend of mine after this, I assure you), I would just sit back and chalk this beating up to "He deserved it." When people say they have somebody's back no matter what, it usually means they value loyalty over justice. Fuck that. Loyalty is like faith: its worth is only in how people can use it to control other people.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 62 (855)

 "Whatchyou doin, you fool, you can get y'ass killed talking like that, what are you, from England or some shit?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Even though the Archduke is purposefully trying to anger this man by insulting him in the most immature and hostile way, he still realizes, as I noted before I knew he would actually think this way, this guy is a foreigner and, first and foremost, tries to help him out. "You can't act like that in America, buddy." I mean, people can and still do. But we all know they're assholes. And while they probably won't get killed for it, it's likely they'll kill somebody because they feel threatened by anybody not like them and our country has decided that stupid ideals like killing somebody you think was threatening before they kill you is some kind of defense. Actually, it's the perfect defense because the defender is dead and can't defend themselves so I sort of see why the worst assholes in America are for that kind of law. If they assault somebody, they have to face them in court and the jury might be sympathetic to the victim's story. But if they kill that person, they completely control the narrative! And when you're spewing that narrative to a bunch of racist assholes, it's pretty easy to get away with murdering the right people in America. Especially if you're a dumb jerk violent cop.

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 "Something about . . . your . . . wait . . . deine Mutti, as you would say, your . . . your mama, she plays third base for the Chicago White Stockings, nicht wahr?" as customers begin tentatively to move toward the egresses, "a quite unappealing woman, indeed she is so fat, that to get from her tits to her ass, one has to take the 'El'! Tried once to get into the Exposition, they say, no, no, lady, this is the World's Fair, not the World's Ugly!"

* * * * * * * * * *

How'd Archduke Ferdinand become familiar with the game of dozens? He pulls some pretty standard dozens insults here: your mom has a masculine job, your mom is fat, your mom is ugly.

I never understood that this sort of adolescent behavior was a contest so I always lost because I'd walk away upset after being insulted. Here are a few that were used on me in junior high school:

"Your mother wears combat boots." (Pretty standard in the era in which I grew up. I don't think it was just a local Bay Area traditional dozens move to indicate your mom was a lesbian. But maybe?)
"Your sister jerked me off in the bushes behind the school." (This one was too specific to be a random insult and maybe it was just some kid my sister jerked off catching me up on some local facts.)
"How many skinny people can fit in a shower? I don't know; they keep slipping down the drain." (No, wait. That was a Garfield strip.)
"Your cousin Jason is the son I never had." (I don't know why my mother wanted to play the dozens with me but it kind of hurt.)

Normally, a game of dozens takes place between two people who understand that they're engaging in some mutual ball busting. What Archduke Ferdinand is doing here isn't really a game of dozens. It's being a racist asshole. He's being the guy at the bar who purposefully bumps into other guys so that when they mouth off, he feels he has an excuse to beat their ass. Archduke is just looking for an excuse to kill somebody, and he's doing it among the local Black population because the Chicago police probably won't give a shit.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 59 (852)

 His mouth began to open slowly as the Austrian prince continued—

* * * * * * * * * *

As Huckleberry Finn once said, "As long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole hog." Which maybe isn't an apt quote to use on a man who is going whole hog in being racist where as Huck Finn was kind of doing the opposite. He was going against what he had been told was right (being a racist prick), presuming he'll go to Hell for his actions, to do a thing that was actually just. But see, the point is that he did the right thing not because he thought it was the right thing but that he did the right thing thinking that doing that thing would condemn him to Hell. See how that's more important? A whole lot of people who claim they're patriots should maybe take a long weekend to read Twain's book. Although they'll probably just take the opportunity to read it out loud so they can justify saying that one word. You know the word. You're thinking it right now, you monster.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 58 (851)

 The insultee, a large and dangerous-looking individual, could not believe he was hearing this.

* * * * * * * * * *

Even living in a country full of racist pricks, it's probably still surprising to hear somebody actually give voice to a stupid stereotype. Also, can I point out, Pynchon, that one of the systemic problems we have in this country is cultivating this idea that large black men are "dangerous-looking." I don't want to suggest that you're part of the problem, Mr. Pynchon, so I'll assume the man being insulted is wearing a huge chain around his arm with a large hook dangling from the end and one knee pad shaped like a skull and huge biker boots and long hair and face make-up like a clown. And for some reason, he's surrounded by penguins and telling somebody about his pet space dolphin.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 57 (850)

 "Ooooo," went several folks in earshot.

* * * * * * * * * *

Pretty standard reaction to a 7th grade level insult. If the Archduke wasn't being cut some slack because he's so obviously a foreigner, he probably would have gotten his face punched. Maybe he'll still get his face punched. Lew's got to be in this scene to drag him out of a scrape, after all.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 48: Line 56 (849)

 "What here are you looking at, you wish to steal eine . . . Wassermelone, perhaps?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Oh shit. Where did my opinions about soda go?! I wasn't expecting the Archduke, no matter how racist and sociopathic he's been described up until this point, to go so hard so fast! I mean, technically, it's not the worst thing he could have said. It's a pretty immature stereotype. It's also kind of dumb because doesn't everybody love watermelon? I suppose like the story I once heard about a mother who refused to buy their child a rainbow sticker because rainbows mean gay, there must be racist assholes out there who refuse to eat a delicious watermelon because of this dumb stereotype. I can't imagine how hard it must be for a Black American to simply enjoy some watermelon in public without a bunch of stupid assholes making some kind of racist joke about it. I'm white and I bet even if I were eating some watermelon in public, some stupid asshole would make a racist joke about it. And that stupid asshole might be my father! And probably just two minutes after going on some rant about not being able to make jokes anymore!
    Anyway, the point is that Archduke Ferdinand is a racist asshole looking for trouble. You might have learned that earlier if you'd been paying attention to how he wanted to hunt Hungarian immigrants for sport.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 55 (848)

 Something about the neighborhood drew him, maybe the food—surely the only place in Chicago a man could find a decent orange phosphate—although right at the moment you could not call the atmosphere welcoming.

* * * * * * * * * *

Is saying the Black neighborhood has the only decent orange phosphate racist? Or, being that Pynchon has written it, so obviously true that I can't believe I hadn't realized it before. My belief that Pynchon time travels to write his novels makes me believe that Pynchon experienced the orange phosphates from the south side of Chicago in 1893. I can practically taste it myself right now even though I don't exactly understand what a phosphate is. I think it just means carbonated beverage. So he's basically talking about Orange Crush. That was always my uncle's favorite soda to get at McDonald's and I used to think, "Gross! That's like the worst choice!" But I've come to decide it's actually a really good choice. Not at McDonald's, mind you! The only real choice there is the Coke because McDonald's Coke is better than all the other Cokes somehow. But if you're at a truck stop or something, Orange Crush is a great choice.

See how good I am at ignoring racial tension in the text? All I have to do is discuss soda instead! I bet I'd make a good Republican!

Ouch. Why'd I have to insult myself like that?

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 54 (847)

 Lew kind of enjoyed it himself in this part of town, unlike some of the ops at White City, who seemed skittish around Negroes, who'd been arriving lately in ever-increasing numbers from down South.

* * * * * * * * * *

Uh oh. This is getting into discussions of race relations in America! Being a dumb white guy living in Portland, Oregon, I don't have the sensitivity, historical understanding, cultural awareness, or—let's face it—intellect to discuss this stuff. But I do know that cops are worse than I am at this kind of thing and Pynchon sort of points out one of the problems with why cops are so terrible at it (other than the outright racism). I mean, "seemed skittish" really is about the kindest euphemism you can use for a person not comfortable with leaving the bubble of their world in an effort to understand some of their fellow American citizens who maybe haven't lived the same American experience that you've lived for, being blunt, some seriously fucked up systemic reasons. Not that I'm suggesting their American experience is negative simply because it began as completely racist! Black Americans created their own culture outside white American culture because they absolutely had to; what else were they going to do? Whites wouldn't let them experience "American culture." So if somebody feels "skittish" around Black culture, the cure for that skittishness isn't by avoiding it; it's by immersing yourself in it and learning about it. The cure is leaving your bubble rather than suggesting everybody who has left your bubble to actually live in a multicultural America is living in a bubble.
    Dammit! I already admitted I don't have the elegance to discuss race in America! But being a white guy in Portland, I just can't help myself! I have mediocre opinions that I have to share!

"some of the ops at White City, who seemed skittish around Negroes"
Look at how perfect that statement is. Pynchon's pretty good at this writing thing.
    Imagine being one of my professors in college having to read this kind of explication from me. They loved scribbling all over my essays: "How so? Expound on your thoughts?" And I'd just read those notes and think, "How?! It's all right there in the text! Does 'expound your thoughts' simply mean 'rewrite in your own words what Pynchon just said so eloquently'?!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Lines 52-53 (845-846)

 "Squalid!" screamed the Archduke. "I love it!"

* * * * * * * * * *

Apparently Archduke Ferdinand was a hipster. This is the kind of Pynchonian historical fiction revelation which I instantly incorporate into actual history. From this day forward, whenever I see a picture of Archduke Ferdinand with that huge hipster mustache, I'll think about what a scenester he was based on actual historical evidence. You can try to tap me on the shoulder and clear your throat and say, "You do remember Pynchon writes fiction, don't you?" But I'll only slap your hand away and scream, "I live in my own reality just as we all do but the only difference is that I embrace it, you fool of a Took!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 51 (844)

 Barrelhouse piano, green beer, a couple of pool tables, girls in rooms upstairs, smoke from two-for-a-penny cigars.

* * * * * * * * * *

For a modern audience reading this and thinking, "What a terrific bar in Portland, Oregon! I can't wait to see all of my other fellow citizens dying to be seen in a bar like this!", you should try to remember that this story takes place in 1893. This is scandalous! A piano?! Playing live music composed by Black Americans?! Pool tables?! With a capital P! Prostitutes! Cheap cigars! Beer that's green on a day that's not the one that racistly celebrates Irish history by everybody getting completely shitfaced! In 2021, this sounds like a great time! But in 1893 . . . well, it still sounds like a great time! Plus it's way more authentic in 1893 Chicago. If this bar were in 2021 Portland, it would be appropriative and gentrifying and full of truly terrible people.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 50 (843)

 After a lengthy search including obvious favorites like the Silver Dollar and Everleigh House, Lew found the Archduke at last in the Boll Weevil Lounge, a Negro bar down on South State in the Thirties, the heart of the vaudeville and black entertainment district in those days, hollering his way into an evening which promised at least a troublesome moment or two.

* * * * * * * * * *

Being that this is a Pynchon novel and I'm extremely lazy, I'm not going to research 1893 establishments only to discover that the Silver Dollar and Everleigh House were a famous saloon and a famous brothel, both frequented by Mark Twain and Anna Elizabeth Dickinson. I'm especially not going to try to research the Boll Weevil Lounge only to have to scroll through dozens of Internet search results that simply refer back to Against the Day. One thing I've learned after 49 years of existing is that existing itself is hard enough. Why bother making it harder?

We've already learned the Archduke is a racist sociopath. And now he's ditched his bodyguards and wound up in a Black bar on the south side of Chicago? That's trouble brewing!

This is the kind of astute explication of literature that I learned to do in college. And you can bet this was A+ material being that half of the other students were dumber than me. That's not called being smart. It's called being average! And I fucking excelled at it!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 49 (842)

 "I'll go have a look," said Lew.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lew's going to go have a look. Unless there's some kind of lookie loo joke here, I think it's a pretty straightforward line.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 48 (841)

 One night when it seemed Franz Ferdinand had dropped off the map of greater Chicago, Khäutsch got on the telephone and began calling around town, eventually reaching White City Investigations.

* * * * * * * * * *

It's sometimes difficult to follow Pynchon's narrative, at least in a linear manner. So far, Against the Day is easier to follow than Gravity's Rainbow because it has, so far, confined itself to reality (or near enough to reality). Without warning, Gravity's Rainbow would skew into somebody's fantasy or dream or the narrative would sidestep through time or be taken over by an outside perspective of the book as seen through some other medium, like a musical or comic book or news reel. Then you'd have to re-read that section two or three times to figure it out. I imagine some people, being against re-reading the same book they're currently reading, just powered through until they felt they understood it again. Maybe that's a good recommendation to feel you've gotten a foothold on the narrative but I'm completely against it. Don't move on until you feel you've got a grasp on what just happened! Except that bit where Slothrop climbs into the toilet and winds up in some world where there's only one of everything and some cowboy with his sidekick. That was weird.

What I'm getting at is that this line feels like Max is remembering how he came to be dealing with White City Investigations even though it just pops up as if it's a recent story that goes along with Max's revelation of being too clever to keep an eye on the stupid Archduke. This just seems like the beginning of the origin story of how Max and Lew began working together. Although that theory will probably get blown apart by the next line where Lew covers the call to Max and we already know that Lew learned about the Archduke job when he was given the Austro-Hungarian dossier.
    What this sentence reveals, I think, is Max's hesitancy to admit that he's failed at his only job. Only after he realizes that he's getting nowhere, he calls up his "opposite number" at White City Investigations in the hopes that his familiarity with Chicago will get the job done.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 47 (840)

 "Perhaps I am too clever to deal efficiently with Habsburg stupidity," mused Khäutsch.

* * * * * * * * * *

This is nearly identical to what I think whenever I lose a game of Magic the Gathering in a tournament. "My decks are just designed too cleverly to beat these stupid idiots!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 46 (839)

 Despite young Khäutsch's police skills, somehow the Archduke kept giving him the slip.

* * * * * * * * * *

Earlier, Khäutsch was described as being a skilled assassin. Pynchon didn't really go into much detail about his other skills. So now that Pynchon just casually mentions Max's police skills, in a way that implies they are quite exemptional, I have to assume Pynchon is saying cops are assassins. I know he's not but you can't stop me from inferring what I want to infer! Anyway, if Max is good at policing and protection (and killing!), the Archduke must be even better at giving people the slip. It's a skill that saves his life in twenty years when he gives a bunch of assassins the slip. Except later that same day, he's driven back toward one of his assassins who takes advantage of the traffic mix-up and murders him and his wife. I suppose the ability to give one the slip only works when you actively realize there's somebody nearby who needs to be slipped away from.

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 "So? in Austria it is widely remarked upon."

* * * * * * * * * *

The residents of other countries love to categorize the people of other countries by the kinks they're assumed to have. So of course everybody in Austria, whenever they hear somebody mention America, always glance at everybody else around them and smirk and wink and make the international sign of a hot dog going into a doughnut.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 44 (837)

 "Well we . . . we try not to talk about that."

* * * * * * * * * *

If Max's statement, "pastry-depravity," was as innocent as I'm assuming it was even though it sounds like American detectives love to stick their dicks into doughnuts then Lew's response (this sentence) politely explains to me that I made a terrible assumption and Max actually was referencing how American detectives love to stick their dicks into doughnuts. If the topic were just about certain people's affection for devouring doughnuts, I'd imagine Lew would readily discuss it. I know I would. If somebody were all, "What do you think about doughnuts? Love them? Hate them?", I would reply, "I rarely eat doughnuts because I find that if I eat one doughnut, I always want a second doughnut. And if I eat two doughnuts, it makes me wish I hadn't eaten any." Then I'd wink flirtatiously at the Boston Cream.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 43 (836)

 "And this might be of particular interest to you, Mr. Basnight, considering the widely known Kuchenteigs-Verderbtheit or pastry-depravity of the American detective. . . ."

* * * * * * * * * *

See? They're telling each other stories! Or maybe Max is just introducing Lew to an Austrian doughnut. He's also making a cops love doughnuts joke which is probably the main point of this sentence. The second main point of the sentence is that Lew and Max have regular conversations over coffee and doughnuts at the start of each day. They're becoming quite chummy.

"Kuchenteigs-Verderbtheit"
Pynchon defines it for the reader, this time. He could have used the word for pastry but instead chooses the word for cake batter, I guess? I'm relying on Google translate because the only German part of the phrase I recognize is Kuch and the Non-Certified Spouse, who's practically fluent in German, is currently sleeping. She'd usually give me some insight into the less literal meanings and uses of the German phrases Pynchon loves to stick in his books.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 42 (835)

 They got into the habit of early-morning coffee at the Austrian Pavilion, accompanied by a variety of baked goods.

* * * * * * * * * *

"They" being Lew, the disgraced interdimensional hopping private dick, and Max, the young Slavic assassin given an American assignment to get him as far away from Austria as possible. They seem to have hit it off, just one banished Joe to another. Caffeine and baked goods seem to symbolize comfort, camaraderie, and story telling in a Pynchon novel. At least in two Pynchon novels, this one and Mason & Dixon. It's also possible there was a scene with coffee and baked goods in Gravity's Rainbow but it evaded my perception being that it wasn't something that was on my radar while reading it.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 41 (834)

 Lew found him sympathetic . . . the oblique planes of his face revealing an origin somewhere in the Slavic vastnesses of Europe as yet but lightly traveled by the recreational visitor. . . .

* * * * * * * * * *

"Lew found him sympathetic."
An ambiguous statement. Was Lew sympathetic toward Max or did he note that Max expressed sympathy toward others? My guess is that Lew felt drawn to Max, probably due to Max being, in a way, banished from his life in Europe, just as Lew had been banished from his past. Both were jettisoned from the previous arc of their life to crash land here in Chicago and had found themselves working security detail on the Archduke Ferdinand.

"Slavic vastnesses of Europe as yet but lightly traveled by the recreational visitor"
Max was born in either a rural or dangerous place, perhaps a bit of both. Anyway, somewhere off the beaten path, some place tourists either wouldn't know about or wouldn't dare wander for safety concerns. As for the "Slavic vastnesses of Europe," I suppose that just means he was born in one of the various Slavic populations spread across Europe. You'd expect the Austro-Hungarian Empire, being that's where he's now employed, but who knows, right?
    Perhaps this mystery of Max's origin, at least to Lew's estimation, also causes Lew sympathy toward Max, being that Lew also comes from a mysterious past, albeit less geographic and more amnesiac.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 40 (833)

 Sending him to America seemed appropriate.

* * * * * * * * * *

I don't know if I should feel insulted by this paragraph concluding sentence or I should break out in a patriotic cheer! "This guy is too nuts to keep around but he's also too nuts to get rid of. Where could we send him where he wouldn't stand out?" Um, go America, I guess? It's like if Waldo from Where's Waldo? was just a drooling maniac in a torn up straight jacket with a smoking gun in one hand and a bloody cleaver in the other. You'd need a picture with similar looking people to hide him well. And, apparently, that scene is Chicago, U.S.A.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 39 (832)

 Despite his youth he was said to give an impression of access to resources beyond his own, of being comfortable in the shadows and absolutely unprincipled, with an abiding contempt for any distinction between life and death.

* * * * * * * * * *

Max Khäutsch is the Darth Maul of Against the Day. That means he's both a tremendous bad-ass and, I'm predicting, he's defeated in a humiliatingly brief battle.

I'm just talking about The Phantom Menace Darth Maul and not all of Darth Maul's subsequent appearances and build up of his character simply because some marketer was all, "Wait. The most loved character in this movie died immediately? What are we going to do about that." And somebody shrugged and was all, "Not much we can do! Kenobi cut him in half!" And then a mahogany table full of suits sat around brainstorming, mostly going, "Um. Uh. Duh?" Then one of them was all, "Wasn't Darth Vader, like, 85% robot?" And somebody snapped their fingers and was all, "Yes! Darth Maul can be half robot! Now, which half should we make robot?" After that they worked out the details and stuck him in some cartoons.

Just in case my comparison with Darth Maul doesn't mean anything to you, let me say that Max seems like a savant when it comes to criminal activity and assassination. Everybody says, "He's so young! But his contacts with the underground and his knowledge of the 1893 dark web are astounding! Unparalleled! This boy can do anything he wants, especially since he's unconcerned with how many people are standing between his target and the wildly erratic sword he's swinging!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 38 (831)

 Standard Hapsburg procedure would have been to put him out of the way at some agreed-upon point of diminishing usefulness, but nobody was willing to try.

* * * * * * * * * *

If I'm following, Max Käutsch was seen as too dangerous to keep around, based on his deadly assassin abilities, which would normally mean he'd be sentenced to boring bureaucratic jobs far from urban centers of any importance. Perhaps that's the kind of thing you do with a government employee who was used to murder rivals or dissidents, an employee you just can't have in the public eye, or being seen associated now with the heads of government or members of royalty. It would be like if the photographers who chased Diana's car down, causing the crash, had been working for the royal family. They'd immediately want to distance themselves from them, for propriety's sake. Also for the sake of they obviously hired them to hound Princess Diana to death but they didn't want it to seem that way, so best send them to the Isle of Wight to take family portraits of the locals instead.
    More probably, I'm misunderstanding this sentence. Pynchon is sometimes difficult, especially for somebody who has trouble with the concepts in Clifford books. Why is that dog so big? How does the family afford feeding it? Do they need a pick-up truck for his doody when they go for walks? How hard is it to ignore Clifford's lipstick when he's giving himself a good lick?

If I've got the gist of this right then that means I understand the usual procedure for dealing with somebody like Max in your ranks. But since Max is such a scary bad-ass, nobody has had the nerve to push him out of close proximity to the Hapsburg family. And that's why he's become the captain of the unit in charge with keeping Archduke Ferdinand safe during their overseas travel. Sure, this job gets him "out of the way" of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But he's still in close proximity to Ferdinand, and he still retains major responsibilities.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 37 (830)

 Young Max Khäutsch, newly commissioned a captain in the Trabants, was here on his first overseas assignment, as field chief of "K&K Special Security," having already proven himself useful at home as an assassin, an especially deadly one, it seemed.

* * * * * * * * * *

Now I'm really confused by what Lew meant by his "opposite"! Maybe he just meant the guy leading the protection detail on the Austrian side, just as he was leading the protection detail on the American side. That take seems to be justified by the evidence here, where Max Khäutsch is the captain of the Trabants. The evidence against Lew looking for somebody like-minded is that Max is a proven assassin who has apparently killed multiple targets. What has Lew done? Divorced his wife and gone through Interdimensional AA? I suppose Lew has done something else super terrible but it's not like Pynchon is ever going to reveal what that was!
    Max being "an especially deadly" assassin probably means he's as excited about hunting Hungarian Stockyard workers as the Archduke and Nate Previtt. Come to think of it, I can't think of a single person in 1893 America who would have been against it aside from the Hungarian Stockyard workers and who was going to listen to them?! Maybe suffragettes? But then they had their own problems!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 47: Line 36 (829)

 Curious himself about who might be his opposite number on the Austrian side of this exercise, Lew nosed around and picked up an item or two.

* * * * * * * * * *

What does Lew mean by his "opposite number"? Does he mean some Trabant on the Archduke's team who thinks like he does? Who thinks this whole "hunting humans" idea is not just grotesque but so absurd that it shouldn't even be regarded? That's my guess. Lew's looking for somebody who isn't completely insane and/or racist to back up him up if the "hunt" should even begin to move forward as a possible thing.

But the word "opposite" could also mean one who has completely contrary thoughts to Lew's. Which could mean he wants to find the guy most gung-ho for this idea so he can beat him to within an inch of his life and leave him in a garbage can in an alley. I'm not sure Lew is capable of that but he's become a noir detective and I'm fairly certain those types are capable of that.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 35 (828)

 "With more them damned anarchistic foreign-born south of Forty-seventh than you could point a Mannlicher at," chuckled Nate, "sure'd be a few less of em to worry about, wouldn't it?"

* * * * * * * * * *

This is the kind of thing every conservative American who stridently claims they're not racist when accused of being racist would eagerly say in one of their "safe spaces" (a space with a bunch of other white faces, all of whom they automatically believe are as "not racist" as they are). This quote by Nate could easily have been lifted off of right-wing Twitter just this morning, with a few minor substitutions.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 34 (827)

 "How's that, boss?"

* * * * * * * * * *

This is the question more of us should have been asking over the last twenty years to every seemingly coded phrase spoken by a conservative. Get them to state their position as plainly as possible. No more fucking dog whistles, guys. If you're proud of your beliefs and ideas then you should have no qualms stating them plainly!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 33 (826)

 "Well, not that he wouldn't be doing us a favor."

* * * * * * * * * *

I think I've covered this elsewhere but for those who may have missed my responses to nearly everything Nate Privett has said: Nate Privett is a complete and utter dickhead.

We know Nate sees his clients at White City Investigations as the rich and powerful and the jobs he does for them mostly oppressing union behavior. He's a union buster so, of course, he sees the murder of exploited laborers, mostly immigrants, as a tool to help his bottom line. He could probably even make double the money letting Ferdinand hunt Chicago's immigrant population: once from Ferdinand himself and once from the industrialists and capitalists who would see it as union busting at its most extreme and, possibly, most effective. Who's going to risk showing up at a picket line when roving bands of rich gun-wielding Austrians are roaming the streets looking for a little immigrant blood?

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 32 (825)

 "Like there ain't enough Hungarians back home to keep him busy?" Lew was wondering.

* * * * * * * * * *

Come on, Lew! Even you know that's not realistic! If Archduke Ferdinand began hunting Hungarians back home in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, it might cause him to be assassinated by Hungarian malcontents. But if he comes to America to hunt them, nobody is going to bat an eye because if there's one thing America has never actually given a shit about, it's immigrants! Even the Statue of Liberty had nothing to do with immigrants when it was gifted to America but about abolishing slavery. It was only later after it became associated with Emma Lazarus's poem, and because it was pretty much the first thing European immigrants saw upon arriving by ship to the United States, that it was thought of as a symbol for America's willingness to accept foreigners.

Imagine that! People hated immigrants but they hated the abolition of slavery even more so they'd rather think of the Statue of Liberty as a symbol welcoming immigrants rather than a symbol of the freedom of Black Americans.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 31 (824)

 "Gonna be Emperor one of these days, can you beat that!"

* * * * * * * * * *

Oh, okay. That's the part Nate found knew-slappingly funny. That the soon-to-be Emperor of the Austro-Hungarian Emperor was a homicidal madman with ethnic cleansing tendencies. Now that I get the joke, it is kind of funny!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 30 (823)

 Nate Privett thought this was just a knee-slapper.

* * * * * * * * * *

Okay, I was wrong. Lew did tell somebody; he told Nate. But Nate found it just as ridiculous as Lew did. Maybe not "just as ridiculous" in that Lew found the idea insane and Nate found the idea hilarious. So both found it ridiculous but in different ways. One was horrified at the thought of treating other people like game animals and the other thought, "That's a great joke! Ha ha! Hungarians as hunted swine! I've got to remember that one for the boys down at the bar!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 29 (822)

 "Your Royal Highness, I'll sure ask about that, and somebody'll get back to you."

* * * * * * * * * *

Lew is not asking anybody and nobody will be getting back to Ferdinand.

In other words, "That's a crazy request but you're too insane to dismiss it outright so I'm just going to let you think the process is in limbo for the moment. At the very least, it will become somebody else's problem."

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Lines 27-28 (820-821)

 "Hungarians occupy the lowest level of brute existence," Francis Ferdinand declared—"the wild swine by comparison exhibits refinement and nobility—do you think the Chicago Stockyards might possibly be rented out to me and my friends, for a weekend's amusement? We would of course compensate the owners for any loss of revenue."

* * * * * * * * * *

I know this isn't a historical novel (sorry, "an historical novel," for all you "an before every single H word no matter how dumb it sounds" freaks) but until somebody proves to me that this isn't an actual quote by Archduke Ferdinand, it's canon, at least in my mind. People in fandoms usually refer to that kind of canon as "head canon," meaning "it's only canon to me, really." But isn't that what all history is? It's all head canon. That's what I'm learning from reading Mason & Dixon which, also, isn't history. But it has a lot to say about history and how we remember things. And now I'm going to remember that Archduke Ferdinand thinks swine are more noble and intelligent than Hungarian immigrants. I mean, it's just a fact! Not that swine are smarter than Hungarians! The fact is the Archduke thinks that! I'm not the racist here! Probably!

"We would of course compensate the owners for any loss of revenue"
Capitalism! Where the industrialists and railroad tycoons own their employees, and where rich people and royalty see those employees as objects to be bought, sold, or destroyed at their whim.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 26 (819)

 Lew's ears began to itch.

* * * * * * * * * *

Is this the feeling Lew gets when he's about to sidestep reality?!

"Itching ears" has a Biblical meaning but I don't think that's what Pynchon is going for here. To have itching ears, according to The Bible, is to seek out a religious teacher or religious dogma that supports the lifestyle you've already chosen. So a religious teacher who will scratch the itch of your desires, one who will condone the way you're already living.
    Lew's ears seem to itch because he's getting increasingly nervous about what this clearly insane man is suggesting.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 25 (818)

 He beamed at Lew, as if mischievouly withholding the final line of a joke.

* * * * * * * * * *

That's not my typo. That's how it's spelled in the text so get off my case.

I don't know what the final line of his joke could be. "In Austria, there is plenty of game. So much game in the forest that men are hired to beat the bushes with sticks, scaring the game toward the men holding rifles. When the game reaches the men holding the rifles, they slaughter the game indiscriminately. Ha ha ha!"

Was that the joke?

Oh, I get it. The joke is that Archduke Ferdinand is describing regular hunting but with a sly wink and a nod about how he wants the "game" to be "Hungarian immigrants."

I still say he should just drop this whole conspiracy to hunt the world's most dangerous animal schtick and just become a Chicago policeman.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 24 (817)

 "In Austria," the Archduke was explaining, "we have forests full of game, and hundreds of beaters who drive the animals toward the hunters such as myself who are waiting to shoot them."

* * * * * * * * * *

Having lived in a capitalist system my entire life, I can see why the Archduke thinks hunting people will be something easily accomplished in America. This statement about the way he hunts in Austria may as well be an analogy about capitalism, the beaters being the capitalists and industrialists driving the labor force toward the poverty, incarceration, or death by police. America is full of labor so why not treat them as expendable? Especially since it would be a loss of significant profit to treat them any differently. And if they disagree with the way they're being treated, well, they can be driven out because the forest is full of replacement workers desperate enough, due to low wages and ill treatment of workers, to accept the job in your place. And if you're driven from the labor force because you're an "agitator," you're of no use to anybody and may as well be shot by the cops as an anarchist.

Or maybe this is just an example of how lazy the rich are and how, when they hunt, they just want to stand there and wait for the game to come to them. That's a good capitalist analogy too! I suppose the Archduke wants Lew to know that he doesn't want to run around Chicago shooting Hungarians; he wants Lew to run around driving Hungarians into Ferdinand's rifle's sights.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Lines 22-23 (815-816)

 "Y— maybe. I'd have to go look up the figures," Lew trying not to get into eye contact with this customer.

* * * * * * * * * *

Definitely more Hungarians in the meatpacking district than bison in the wild. But I guess that's not Lew's point! He's just trying to extricate himself from the horrid turn this conversation has taken. How do you dissuade royalty from seeking to hunt other human beings?! Probably like this. You pull away, slightly ignore, express awkward discomfort, and create imaginary roadblocks, like looking up figures, to make the entire request seem implausible.

Of course Lew could have also suggested the Archduke join up with the Chicago Police or the Pinkertons if he really wanted to go about killing poor immigrants with impunity and no public backlash.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Lines 20-21 (813-814)

 "Ah. But, at present, working here in your famous slaughterhouse district . . . are many . . . Hungarians, not true?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Ah. Here we go. The question about the bison was just to lube Lew up (Lew Basnight. Lube Ass Night) for the real meat of the discussion. Human meat. Obviously, if he wanted to hunt bison . . . if that were the thing he were "really looking for in Chicago," he wouldn't have come to Chicago. But Chicago does have a large immigrant class of immigrants from a place where the Archduke would probably like to kill a few of them. He was probably annoyed that the Hungarians retained as much power as they did in the Austro-Hungarian union but he couldn't just kill them over in Europe. But here in America, where they've fled to? Oh ho! Vengeance!

Or maybe Franz didn't have any problem with Hungarians. You'd have to read historical texts to know if that were true or not and I only read Xanth novels. Maybe the Archduke simply thought, "Americans are pretty racist to ethnic minorities. I've seen how they treat the immigrant laborers. It would be daft if they didn't want me to hunt down a few!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 19 (812)

 "Not around Chicago anymore, Your Highness, I'm sorry to say," Lew replied.

* * * * * * * * * *

Nor anywhere else, really. Maybe a few in Western Nebraska? I don't know! What am I? A wildlife historian? Oh, you don't know what I am. I assure you I am not one. The only Bison I ever knew was named Casper and he lived at Casa de Fruta when I was a kid. He was quite friendly and loved being pet on the nose. Or he hated it and was just waiting for a good opportunity to chew a kid's hand off. You could take a small train from the gift shop/RV parking area through a little tree-shaded park to the place where he lived behind a gate. He'd often come up to check out visitors. He was both soft and bristly.

Evidence of me on the Casa de Fruta train. Apparently it was quite an exciting ride.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Lines 17-18 (810-811)

 "What I am really looking for in Chicago," the Archduke finally got around to confessing, "is something new and interesting to kill. At home we kill boars, bears, stags, the usual—while here in America, so I am told, are enormous herds of bison, ja?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Seems odd that the Archduke is looking in a city for something "new and interesting" to kill. He's obviously just looking for sex, mostly, and something to kill, leastly. Unless, of course, "heard of bison" is a euphemism for "man" in the way "learn about foreign peoples" is a euphemism for "fuck them." In America, anything can be bought or sold (up to and including people until just a few decades previous) which means somebody, somewhere, in this great land is selling the opportunity to hunt the most dangerous animal (which is man and not bison). If he really wanted some exotic game to kill (that wasn't obviously people), Ferdinand would have gone to Africa or India. Go kill a tiger or an elephant the way tacky rich Americans do when their hearts (and their penises) are incredibly small and/or dead.

According to the Internet, less than 100 bison were left by the late 1880s. That's probably why Archduke Ferdinand has a boner for killing one (also his boner is because he's horny but this is a different kind of boner).

What do you think happened to the guy who killed the last Passenger Pigeon? Do you think he felt remorse? Excitement? Apathy? I like to think he was excited at first but then as the years went by and nobody else bagged a Passenger Pigeon, he began to realize what he had done and he extincted himself with the same shotgun.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 16 (809)

 Lew slid like a snake from one architectural falsehood to the next, his working suits by the end of each day smudged white from rubbing against so much "staff," a mixture of plaster and hemp fibers, ubiquitous at the White City that season, meant to counterfeit some deathless white stone.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lew becomes reminiscent of some creature out of Greek mythology, some giant serpent-like creature, perhaps Medusa or large Naga, hunting its prey through marble arches. But the illusion is destroyed by the cheapness of his surroundings, obvious false fronts of buildings built with cheap material that transfers its color and fibers to anybody brushing past.

"counterfeit some deathless white stone"
Possibly an allusion to mankind's denial of their own mortality. All ambition of civilization is to ignore its own mortality, to pretend that the end of everything is the ultimate ending. Civilization in its entirety is a grand counterfeit of eternity, a play at pretending to build something that can outlast time.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 46: Line 15 (808)

 Uniformed handlers, fooling elaborately with their whiskers, gazed anywhere but at the demented princeling.

* * * * * * * * * *

"fooling elaborately with their whiskers"
Archduke Ferdinand's Trabants are embarrassed by their employer's behavior, I suppose. Or they're hipsters hanging out in a dive bar in Portland trying not to look like they're pretending to not want to be noticed.

"demented princeling"
I wonder if I looked up the etymology of "demented" I would find it literally means "crazy from blue balls."

Chapter 1: Section 6: Pages 45-46: Line 14 (807)

 The Archduke had put in an appearance at the Austrian Pavilion, sat through Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show with a certain amount of impatience, and lingered at the Colorado Silver Camp exhibit, where, imagining that camps must necessarily include camp-followers, he proceeded to lead his entourage on a lively search after ladies of flagrant repute that would have taxed the abilities of even a seasoned spotter, let alone a greenhorn like Lew—running up and down and eventually out into the Midway, accosting amateur actors who had never been west of Joliet with untranslatable ravings in Viennese dialect and gesticulations which could easily be—well, were—taken the wrong way.

* * * * * * * * * *

I speculated that "learning about foreign people" was just innuendo for "fucking as many different ethnicities as possible." This line provides the evidence to back up my speculation.

"put in an appearance at the Austrian Pavilion"
This suggests that he dropped by only long enough to proclaim he was there. Ferdinand wasn't interested in doing a presser for Austria to the people of Chicago.

"sat through Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show with a certain amount of impatience"
Who could sit impatiently through a show purported to be this exciting?! That was a rhetorical question because the answer is "a really horny guy from out of country eager to put his dick in some Americans."

"lingered at the Colorado Silver Camp exhibit, where, imagining that camps must necessarily include camp-followers"
He lingered here because it was the first place Ferdinand suspected he could find some poontang. "Camp-followers" can mean many different things but the meaning that most matters here is "women providing sexual services." Ferdinand, being foreign, doesn't quite get the idea of the exhibits at this World's Fair. Or he simply assumes the Fair would be portraying the various exhibits as accurately as possible and where miners on the frontier go, so do women who can make money via sexual transactions. And even if they're just actors, actors like to get laid too! And what young American actress could pass up the opportunity to fuck a European Archduke? That's a rhetorical question too because the answer is probably "loads of them" but the more important point is that at least one of them is going to be some kind of star fucker.

"accosting amateur actors who had never been west of Joliet"
See? Actors! But these are probably the male actors pretending to be silver miners whom Ferdinand and his men will not stop bothering with questions in a foreign language while putting their index finger of their right hand through the circle made by their index finger and thumb of their left hand.

"gesticulations which could easily be—well, were—taken the wrong way"
The "finger in the hole" gesture probably garnered a lot of responses of "Oh, you want the fried doughnut cart just past the reindeer show up on the left!" That was a joke! The actual response was probably, "What do I look like? A fancy English author overflowing with bon mots?! Get your pick away from my dirt mine!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 45: Line 13 (806)

 How Chicago fit the bill was about to become clearer.

* * * * * * * * * *

Why would the Archduke choose Chicago as a place to learn about foreign people, other than people foreign to the Archduke live there, I guess? I could speculate or just stick to this sentence whose sole purpose is telling the reader, "This sentence is only here to prepare you for the revelation of this future fact! Get ready! It'll be here soon!" So, you know, this sentence is sort of worthless on its own. It's a little bit jokey, pointing out that the Archduke is looking to learn about the world's people and this sentence is all, "Yeah, but in Chicago? Ha ha! Good luck, dumb-dumb!"

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 45: Line 12 (805)

 F.F., as he was termed in his dossier, was out on a world tour whose officially stated purpose was to "learn about foreign peoples."

* * * * * * * * * *

"learn about foreign peoples."
I once wanted to "learn" about foreign peoples but then I was called gross for "fetishizing" race. I'm sorry that I had an unhealthy obsession with Sailor Moon during college! F.F. isn't gross though because he's not describing an unhealthy attraction for certain people based on their race; he just wants to go around the world and try a little bit of everyone.

Some of you might also be thinking, "You weren't just gross for fetishizing race! You were also gross for sexualizing young girls!" But in my defense, the Sailor Scouts were cartoon characters. Also in my defense, I was being facetious. Yet still more in my defense, I did have an unhealthy obsession with Sailor Moon but it wasn't because I was sexaulizing anything; it was all about the nostalgia of being young and discovering love for the first time and the ease of making lifelong friends. There also may have been a hint of desiring to be a young, attractive girl. Like maybe 10% of my infatuation with the show was nostalgic rewriting of my past in which I was a girl fantasy roleplay.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 45: Lines 10-11 (803-804)

 "Somebody get Rewrite!" Lew pretended to cry, affably enough.

* * * * * * * * * *

I'm counting this as two lines even though, given the peculiarity of language and punctuation, it is arguably one sentence. I feel like Lew has yelled, "Somebody get Rewrite!" (apparently Quirkel's nickname) and then pretended to cry about Nate's choice of partner for him, although in an obviously good-natured way.

Since we're in some kind of magical realist Chicago where Lew Basnight can "step to the side" of space and time, it's not outrageous to believe that somebody with the nickname "Rewrite" has some special abilities of his own. Or maybe Lew just made up this nickname, riffing on Nate's mention of somebody hiding in an alley attempting to rewrite history. Perhaps Lew is saying Quirkel is so bad at the job that this "rewriting of history" is all but assured by putting him on the case!

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 45: Line 9 (802)

 "I can spare Quirkel."

* * * * * * * * * *

I don't know who Quirkel is but he's probably not going to be much help if Nate can "spare" him. Also his name is reminiscent of "quirky" so he's probably going to be a loose cannon, which also fits the laws of Buddy Cop Movies.

Chapter 1: Section 6: Page 45: Line 8 (801)

 "I get any backup on this, Nate?"

* * * * * * * * * *

This is a fair question. Only a maniac like Arnold Schwarzenegger or Dolph Lundgren would think, "I am capable of defending this man from hundreds of potential assassins." And they only think that because the script usually says something like, "John Matrix is the kind of man who never runs out of ammunition and never gets hit by a bullet while murdering hundreds of opponents simultaneously."

It's also possible that Arnold does think he could pull a John Matrix in real life. But I doubt it because if you've got that kind of confidence, you don't fuck your maid. You fuck everybody else's maids.

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 "Sure do, they call em 'Trabants' over there, but have a lawyer explain civil liability to you, Lew, I'm just an old gumshoe guy, all's I know is there's a couple a thousand hunkies down to the Yards come over here with hate in their hearts for this bird and his family, maybe with good reason, too. If it was just the wholesome educational exhibits on the Fairgrounds and all why I wouldn't be too concerned, but the book on young Francis Ferdinand is, is he prefers our own New Levee and high-life neighborhoods like that. So every alleyway down here, every shadow big enough to hide a shive artist with a grudge, is a warm invitation to rewrite history."

* * * * * * * * * *

"'Trabants'"
The word means "companion." That's a pretty euphemistic term for a bodyguard. "These eighteen large men are my companions." I wonder if Tolkien was using the term "companion" in this sort of way in The Lord of the Rings? Frodo didn't have eight companions; he had eight bodyguards.

"civil liability"
Why would Lew have to concern himself with civil liability if Ferdinand gets hurt? My guess is that Ferdinand must have hired White City Investigations as extra protection. Your Trabants, being in foreign territory, might not know what kinds of dangers to watch out for. So it's always best to hire a local guide as a bodyguard. I should have remembered this advice, having heard the song "You Can Call Me Al" at least ten thousand times.

"couple a thousand hunkies down to the Yards"
This is the first time I've heard the slur "hunkies." It's a disparaging term referring to a person from East-central Europe, especially, like those hunkies down at the Yards, laborers. I guess East-central Europeans really fucking hated Archduke Ferdinand. They aren't going to kill him on this trip though, probably because Ferdinand's got a good driver this trip and not a stupid driver who makes a stupid wrong turn down the stupid wrong alley to wind up face-to-face with a stupid assassin who previously stupidly missed his chance to kill the stupid Archduke.

"maybe with good reason, too"
In high school, you learn that World War I began because Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated but they really lay off all the ethnic cleansing that was behind it. Maybe that was just my high school. To be absolutely fair, maybe it was just my attention span.

"he prefers our own New Levee and high-life neighborhoods"
The Archduke wants to explore places other than the World's Fair. Places where—gasp!—anarchists might be lurking!

"So every alleyway down here, every shadow big enough to hide a shive artist with a grudge, is a warm invitation to rewrite history"
This is pretty good foreshadowing of Archduke's eventual demise! I wonder if Gavrilo Princip thought, when he saw the Archduke's car trying to make a three point turn in a tight alley, thought, "A-ha! An invitation to rewrite history!", set down his coffee, and casually strolled into the history books.

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 "Fellows like that don't have bodyguards of their own?"

* * * * * * * * * *

I guess Lew thinks like me. Why shouldn't this assignment be about protection? It would be sort of slimy and underhanded and totally within the boundaries of capitalism to spy on the guy in an attempt to make a little cash off of any information gleaned.

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 "Austrian Archduke is in town, we need somebody to keep an eye on him."

* * * * * * * * * *

Since Lew is known for being invisible, does this mean Nate wants Lew to spy on a foreign leader? My first thought was the Archduke needed protection while in the city but that was probably prompted by my knowledge of what happens to the Archduke twenty years later. But what kind of protection can one lousy detective promise? I'm sure Nate is interested in selling any secrets his company can manage to rustle up.

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 "Not me," Lew edging away.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lew knows a bad assignment when he sees a thick folder with a royal emblem on it.

"Lew edging away"
I'm going to assume this means Lew tried to move away from Nate and not that Lew was very slowly jerking off. Although the one thing Lew is known for is his sinful reputation, so maybe?

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 Nate showed up at Lew's desk one day with a thick folder that had some kind of royal crest on it, featuring a two-headed eagle.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Internet informs me that the double-headed eagle crest was being used by the Austro-Hungarian empire at the time of the Chicago World's Fair. My memory from having read this chapter previously was that Franz Ferdinand is coming to visit the Chicago World's Fair and needs better protection than he's going to get in two decades in Sarajevo.

It's an ancient symbol found in various places in the ancient world. I suspect the ancients, knowing that they didn't have full knowledge of their entire world, could easily believe in two-headed creatures. Some Greek jerk out tending to his sheep probably saw two eagles sitting in a tree but from his perspective, it looked like a two-headed bird and he shrugged and thought, "I guess those exist." Then he kicked the grass and turned back to look at his sheep where two of them were off in the distance at the top of a hill. But from his perspective, it just looked like a sheep with two asses and no head. So he shrugged and thought, "I guess those exist."

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 Not exactly invisibility. Excursion.

* * * * * * * * * *

So he doesn't go invisible. He takes a short trip. One definition of "excursion" is "a deviation from a regular pattern, path, or level of operation." In other words, Lew is leaving his furrow which, as we learned, was the etymology of the word "delirium." He is delirious and it is his delirium that allows him to become "invisible."

I'd also like to point out that sometimes an excursion can become a long-term or permanent change of location. I experienced it myself when I left my hometown to go cross country in my VW bus, winding up leaving California to live in Lincoln, Nebraska, for two years. Meaning, of course, that Lew could have arrived in this Chicago by accidentally performing an excursion that became permanent.

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 Wherever it was he stepped to had its own vast, incomprehensible history, its perils and ecstasies, its potential for unannounced romance and early funerals, but when he was there, it was apparently not as easy for anyone in "Chicago" to be that certain of his whereabouts.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lew is describing another timeline. Probably, by the suggestions of things that could be happening there, a different one each time. Perhaps he even steps into other novels, exiting this one for a slight amount of time while still being able to observe what was happening. So he keeps a connection to Against the Day (or, at least, the Chicago of Against the Day). One can see how he arrived in Against the Day by this method as well. He stepped to the side of wherever he was, entered Against the Day, and then lost the connection with his original world. Perhaps in that moment, he lost both his original past and the past he should have known that was built for him here in this novel. Or, as I've speculated, he simply came over from another Chicago, lost the tether in the same way, and became stuck here.

"it was apparently not as easy for anyone in "Chicago" to be that certain of his whereabouts"
It's as if he still exists as a known character in the book but, for a few moments or so, he is outside the boundaries of the novel, and thus unfindable by other characters in the book. But still observing. Hmm, I guess I said all this in the previous paragraph! I'm pretty sure I've explained myself fully already!

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 He had learned to step to the side of the day.

* * * * * * * * * *

Look, I was just kidding about him stepping into some other dimension. In my heart, I knew that was a possibility because this is a Pynchon novel. But my head, which absolutely rules my heart, kicked my heart in the teeth and yelled, "No! That is dumb, heart! Go to Hell!"

So Lew does have a magic power and it absolutely has enough similarity to him crossing over from another timeline to this one to be seen as evidence to the theory of Lew's past life being that of a different Lew from this dimension, and Lew a strange traveler from another having replaced him. He had simply stepped too far to the side of the day one time and wound up here, perhaps filling the vacuum of the sinful version of himself who purposefully stepped too far to the side of the day to leave his sinful past behind him.

"learned to step to the side of the day"
This is perfect phrasing for keeping this seemingly magical ability in the realm of science. First, Lew had learned the technique. And while, sure, you can learn magic, one's first reaction to the verb "to learn" is educational and scientific. Secondly, "stepping to the side of the day" sounds technical. He is performing a feat that can be summed up in simple words, although it could definitely use some clarifying. And we are invoking "day" which syncs up with the title and the theme of light. It also suggests "invisibility," as if he's avoiding light somehow, and thus becoming unseeable by those around him.

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 Lew enjoyed wandering around, trying on different rigs, like every day was Hallowe'en, but he understood after a while that he didn't have to.

* * * * * * * * * *

Poor Lew! He loved to play dress up but ultimately found there was no need. Because he could hide among the sighted as surely as if he weren't there. Could he make the light around him shift? Could he side-step into another dimension, perhaps the one from which he came, the one in which he hadn't sinned so profusely that it ruined his life? Or was he just such a plain looking jerk that nobody gave him a second thought?

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 At White City Investigations, invisibility was a sacred condition, whole darn floors of office buildings being given over to its art and science—resources for disguise that outdid any theatrical dressing room west of the Hudson, rows of commodes and mirrors extending into the distant shadows, acres of costumes, forests of hatracks bearing an entire Museum of Hat History, countless cabinets stuffed full of wigs, false beards, putty, powder, kohl and rouge, dyes for skin and hair, adjustable gaslight at each mirror that could be taken from a lawn party at a millionaire's cottage in Newport to a badlands saloon at midnight with just a tweak to a valve or two.

* * * * * * * * * *

Okay, okay! I get it, Pynchon! I understand what you meant by "a keen sympathy for the invisible" now! This follow-up sentence explaining the "invisibility" line just goes on and on, as if Pynchon knew I personally was going to be confused by what he meant by "a keen sympathy for the invisible" and would have to wade deep into the minutia of clarification.
    "A keen sympathy for the invisible" just means Lew Basnight could really blend in to a crowd. He could eavesdrop anywhere unnoticed. He was a master of disguise and demeanor.

Pynchon loves long paragraphs like this that list lots and lots of things for the reader to visualize. Usually he throws in a bunch of things that the reader probably needs to look up. But not this time! It's all pretty standard costumes, props, and make-up.

I don't know if Pynchon is referencing any specific "millionaire's cottage" in Newport that a detective agency might have cause to investigate (in general, of course, the reference is just because it's where the richest tycoons had vacation homes and the rich are always good for a scandal or two) but I'm pretty sure the "badlands saloon" is Nuttal & Mann's Saloon in Deadwood where Wild Bill Hickok was murdered. Or maybe, again, just a general reference to a place that was likely to host an unguessable number of scandalous incidents.

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 His office and field skills weren't the worst in the shop, but he knew that what distinguished him was a keen sympathy for the invisible.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lew was a mediocre detective who had an ability to see that which others could not. More importantly, with the use of the word "sympathy," he probably had some empathetic bond with the people of Chicago whom the rich and powerful would rather not notice. This is absolutely speculation on my part and probably a healthy dose of projection. But I feel like we're learning Lew was not what Nate Privett actually wanted in an employee. Sympathizing with the less fortunate will cost Nate money since, it seems, Nate's main business is harassing them for the rich and powerful.

Why am I not treating this sentence as literally as possible?! It's a Pynchon novel! He might actually mean that Lew can see invisible things! He already seems to be a dimension-hopping traveler of space and time! Why couldn't he also see invisible things? Remember, this book (or chapter, at least?) seems to have something to do with light! And light has everything to do with making things visible. So perhaps we're going to encounter some invisible beings later, maybe the ones whom Penelope Black and the Bindlestiffs of the Blue encountered over Mount Etna!

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 By the time he got that pleasantry all decoded, Lew found he was more than able to shrug it off.

* * * * * * * * * *

So Lew had to decode that shit too? That's good to hear. Hopefully he came to the same conclusion I did or else I'm off to a really bad start in trying to figure out this book. I suppose as long as I'm consistent in my artistic interpretation of the novel, it's valid! It might not be correct! But my critique still probably has something valid to say about the work.
    At least some of my critique does. Ninety percent of my critique is just plain stupidity and stories about some occasion when I was tripping on mushrooms.

"more than able to shrug it off"
This phrase leads me to believe that I was more or less correct that the statement was office place propaganda to inculcate in Lew a sense that Chicago was becoming increasing lawless and dangerous to the average person. And by the time Lew figured that's what they were trying to do, he was pretty much immune to it. That probably means he'd seen enough on his own, during investigations, to know it was bullshit. Which continues to match my Facebook analogy from the previous entry. If only our conservative friends and family could get outside their propaganda bubble, and actually venture forth into these communities that represent to them lawless anarchy, they'd experience for themselves how untruthful all of those Facebook posts truly are.

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 Next thing he knew, he was on the payroll, noticing how every time he entered a room somebody was sure to remark, ostensibly to somebody else, "Gravy, a man could get killed out there!"

* * * * * * * * * *

I'm guessing "Gravy" was an exclamation around the time and not the name of every ostensible somebody else in the room. Aside from that Nobel Laureate brain sized realization, I'm at a loss for what this means. Does Lew mean every time he walked into a room at White City Investigations, somebody said that? Or does he mean everywhere he went now, people recognized him as an investigator and, for some odd reason, made this exclamation?

Is it possible the people around him are trying to paint Chicago as more dangerous than it is, the way Fox News propagandizes Portland and Chicago and Baltimore and—welcome to the club, I guess?—Minneapolis? So now that he's a part of White City Investigations, Nate Privett wants to make sure Lew absolutely believes what they're doing is making the city safe? "A man can get killed out there with all those anarchist slash labor unionists running around bombing everything!" is the sentiment Lew's supposed to hear, just like all of our terrible relatives constantly hearing those messages on Facebook.

That actually feels right. Lew is now experiencing what our friends and family in right-wing bubbles experience on Facebook constantly. People on every message board constantly saying, "Gravy, a man could get killed out there!"

"Gravy"
Gravy is the name of my cat:

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 Lew nodded and took him up on it.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sure, why not? The man pointed out this job wasn't as morally objectionable as a job with the Pinkertons. Unless what Nate was really saying was that a job with White City Investigations was just as morally objectionable but just didn't pay as much. Remembering how Nate ate his pancakes in a capitalistic fervor, I'm going go with the latter interpretation.

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 "You think working for the Eye's a life of moral squalor, you ought to have a look at our shop."

* * * * * * * * * *

I don't know if Nate meant for this line to be ambiguous or not. I first read it as, "You think you'd be lowering yourself working for the Pinkertons, well, just imagine how much you'll have to lower yourself working for White City Investigations!" I'm sure he means it as "We're more morally upstanding than those jerks so maybe come work for us." But I'm sure Pynchon meant it as, "This guy is telling the truth accidentally. Working for White City Investigations really isn't going to be any different than working for the Pinkertons."

Also, "working for the Eye" has some real Illuminati vibes going on. So that's not as good as a boner joke but a good enough They/Them paranoia reference (unless the Eye is a one-eyed trouser snake joke which I suspect it isn't but if it is, well, then, kudos? I guess?).

Chapter 1: Section 5: Page 43: Line 200 (782)

 "Well, give me a few minutes with that one."

* * * * * * * * * *

This actually isn't a bad response by Lew. Mostly because when somebody wants to debate you on something you just expressed freely in conversation, it's usually because they have some "intellectual trap" ready to spring on you. A lot of "debate" mostly relies on some person hating what other people think and learning to parrot arguments that are difficult for a person who has reached their conclusion through empathy and compassion and not abstruse legal precedents or distorted historical facts. Bombarding somebody with standard pundit arguments well-learned from propaganda and misinformation isn't meant to engage in fair debate; it's meant to get the person with actual feelings and belief in justice off their footing, hounding them with unanswerable questions because the facts the questions are based on are either lies or purposeful misunderstandings of the topic. Even saying "give me a few minutes" probably makes the other side feel justified that the person, like themselves, is simply parroting some political figure's beliefs.

I learned a long time ago that the only way to win a debate with a jerk that wants to debate is to not debate at all. Thanks, WOPR! Although WOPR didn't teach me the skill of mocking them mercilessly. I learned that on my own.

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 "Oh? What?"

* * * * * * * * * *

This is the most insincere follow-up to "There's more to life than wages." "Oh? Really? Please explain some of them so that I can reply, 'And guess what you need to do that? Money and/or security which money provides so just money, I guess!'"

It's like every Twitter conversation with some Devil Advocate loving Libertarian.

"I believe this thing!" somebody who cares about something declares.
    "Oh? Please debate me, right now, on this topic I don't give a shit about because I, being a free thinker, have certainly thought more about the subject than you have, a person who I have only seen declare this belief this one time, a belief you've surely come to by not thinking at all."

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 "Don't know. Too much of the modern economics for me, for there's surely more to life than just wages."

* * * * * * * * * *

Oh shit, Nate! Look out! Lew might be one of them artist types and you know how socialist and communistic they can be! Something more to life than wages?! Holy Revelations, Reverend Batman!

Imagine choosing a job based on other criteria than wages? Like whether or not by taking the job you're causing more harm than good? And then imagine taking a job that causes harm in the world, not explicitly done by you because you were, I don't know, filing or something, and being judged by the rest of the world afterward and thinking, "But I was just filing papers for the guy who exterminated six million Jewish people!" Imagine not having a backbone or the sense of justice to refuse to take a job that pays well if the place of business is harmful to the world in some way? Sure, I can see filing for Hitler for a bit, thinking maybe a change is needed, and possibly letting your optimism cloud the reality before you. But to stay in that job the entire time, probably just thinking, "Well, my family and I are safe and we're doing pretty good by Adolf!"

Just imagine that! Now imagine the final sentence of that last sentence but replace "Adolf" with "Donald."

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 "Can't believe you haven't been approached about Pinkerton work, pay over there's almost too good for a man not to sign up."

* * * * * * * * * *

Whew. Nate was only smirking slyly because he nabbed Lew and his incredible perception skills before the Pinkertons could. He's simply proud of himself, I guess. I really thought he was going to go on one of those "I'm not racist but . . ." rants.

One time, a bunch of college students from Chicago joined up with other new recruits from all over the place when the Pinkertons needed people to protect a factory in Pittsburgh during the Homestead strike. What Nate says here was definitely true at the time: pay was so good people who didn't have any experience or knowledge of what the Pinkertons did signed up. What they found themselves engaged in was an actual battle where seven people lost their lives. The Pinkertons, being composed of mainly raw recruits and college students, surrendered. Because here's the thing: money can buy you soldiers for the short term but people fighting for rights and ideals will stand for as long as they need to.

The only reason Lew hasn't been approached, and Nate should fucking well know this, is that nobody has the power to simply realize somebody has great observation skills! Except Nate, I guess. Which means Nate should totally well know it even more!

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 Nate's mouth went sly for a second.

* * * * * * * * * *

Oh no. A mouth going sly doesn't sound like the kind of way you describe somebody who isn't about to say something racist.

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 "You appear qualified, I should say."

* * * * * * * * * *

"I need a guy like you who doesn't have any preconceived notions of justice, concerned with only himself, and who can spot an immigrant in a crowd so we can shake him down!"

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 "No experience with any of that."

* * * * * * * * * *

Lew is one of those people who avoid having to care by always saying, "I'm not political." When politics means caring about only certain types of people, you'd better fucking get political real soon. I'd rather not say I'm political either! I'd love to say, "No experience with any of that," when somebody talks about cops killing Black Americans! I just want to play The Temple of Elemental Evil computer role-playing game for the eighth time and not worry about systemic racism and authoritarian movements to entrench the ideas of old white wealthy men! I have enough to worry about! But guess what? I do care about that shit! I care about making the world a better place. And guess what that means? It means change. So if you care about changing the world for the better, you are against conservative and traditional values that want to keep the world the same, with all its advantages for some and disadvantages for others. So fuck saying, "No experience with any of that." That's libertarian speak for "The individual is responsible for themselves and I'm just going to ignore how, in my ideal world, that would mean we're all fighting for survival against anything corporations choose to do for profit, or how systemic racism rooted in the founding of this country still has its tendrils in equality today. If I'm okay and successful and I never got shot by cops, everybody can do it too!"

Now I'm all worked up just because Lew was all, "I keep my head down!"