Scratching an itch to add fresh music -- jazz -- to my collection, I was upstairs at HMV.
Silently, I cursed the pounding bass and screeching treble from downstairs, drowning out our first floor jazz. It's a long time since I felt welcome and comfortable in the rock section, I mused, perusing the sparse collection of jazz, mostly old, except for a couple of Melody Gardot albums already ensconced in my collection.
I have the kind of ears that listen. Downstairs had found something quiet to play, and HMV were treating us upper atmosphere souls to a woman's voice I didn't recognize, delvering a gutsy mix of jazz and rockabilly.
SpacePort Master Smith radioed Lewis. "Your ship just came in," he said. "She's worse than rudderless. No Captain, no crew. Derelict."
"Have the rats deserted her? What are you waiting for? Find the Captain's log and read the last entry to me."
"Okay, Mister Lewis. Wait while we find it."
"Hurry up, man. I haven't got all orbit," said Lewis. "What do I pay you for? It's not like abandoned spaceships visit your miserable port every day. Run a tight ship, dammit."
"Okay, Mister Lewis, here's the log. The last entry says, 'We discovered a virgin planet. We wiped the ship's memory. Neither ship nor you will ever find us. At last we are free.' " Smith paused. "It's signed, Captain, Retired, Lewis Jr"
Dada was an art movement that protested against the artistic establishment of the turn of the century with absurdity. In addition to art shows they would hold poetry readings where, much to the consternation of establishment types, each poem consisted solely of the word 'dada', repeated.