52nd City

McClelland Mystery Revealed

Here is me with a Schlafly in one hand and another hand on the keyboard saying I hope that you have power, wherever you are. I know that if you are in St. Louis, though, there's only a 66.4 percent chance of that. Our power came on late Friday, and Thom opened the freezer only to find what he described as "a grotesque, fleshy mass with exploded red things all over it." He was ready to scream and run away until he realized it was an exploded Christmas stollen that had sat and sat in our freezer since Xmas because we didn't have a baking pan large enough to accomodate it. The pizzas, too, had grown in size. But I guess monster carbs are one of the less horrible things to find in your three-days-dead freezer after a heat wave.

Anyway, like a lot of folks, we liquidated the contents of the fridge into the trash, so I had no coffee this morning; I zipped down to Bread Co. on Grand to see if I could beg, borrow or steal some java and happened to park behind the power box in the lot, noticed the "Bill McClellan, Motherfuckers!" stencil on it and started to ruminate once again upon its meaning. Googling revealed nothing. And then, serendipity intervened; and I'm an idiot. I guess because I first saw the McClellan stencil during the spate of boneheaded blue spraypaint slogans (BURN DOWN THE PRISONS etc. on Schoemehl pots and houses) I was thinking it was just some sort of political comment on McClellan's choice of tie, or choice of words ... but as I was checking out the Lemp's sched for the next several weeks I discovered that BMMF, as I should've known from day one, is a band.

Don't seek, and you shall find.