Naming a band is an act of concentrated creative expression. Square Pig in a Round Hole exists to reward five favorite band names each week. Winners are (usually) listed alphabetically. Selection is wholly unscientific and subject to whim, with a bias toward wordplay, humor, and local flavor. In most cases, I won’t know anything about the bands at the time of selection. Thanks to the Seattle Times club listings for abundant source material!
What a week it’s been! A mix of musical, literary, and family experiences: on Monday, Your Mother Should Know (my two-piece garage band with my brother) played out for the first time since early 2015; on Tuesday, I met with a book club for lively discussion of my novel The Gospel According to St Rage; on Friday, my first-born turned 26 and got booted off our insurance (don’t worry, he’s got it covered, as it were); and today, Paws and Claws, a charity anthology in which I have two stories and a handful of haiku, was set loose on the world. Meanwhile, my novel is a finalist for a Wishing Shelf Independent Book Award; winners should be announced today. While I wait, my fancy turns to thoughts of band names. The listings this week gave up these treasures:
Why do we always assume extra-terrestrials have advanced super-weapons? Then again, maybe it’s a laser knife.
Love the internal rhyme, and how it could be a shoestore clerk or a retiring English professor.
Contributing to the delinquency of a beloved children’s book. Goodnight noises, everywhere.
An example of a favorite band-name genre, it turns the spotlight on a mundane household object that allows us to lift lids and let cats in and out. (And of course I always want to support another music duo.)
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean you can’t also be dapper.

At heart, SuperGuy is a workplace comedy, albeit one that takes hilarious advantage of every superhero cliché in the toolbox. The story opens with the hero already in dire, ridiculous peril, then makes use of an extended flashback to convey SuperGuy’s origin story. And what a story it is, a workplace comedy in its own right. Through the alliances, petty rivalries and small-scale power struggles in the offices of city government, overeducated but unemployable intern Oliver Olson accidentally becomes SuperGuy when the mayor decides to fill a budgeted hero position in order to secure re-election. As a real if low-budget and modestly-powered (but not modestly-costumed) hero, Oliver has to quickly adjust to his new position, which has its own set of rules, alliances and rivalries. While still
I grew up in the high desert of Central Washington, where we regularly experiences wraparound sunsets. Difficult to photograph, but this painting by my neighbor captures some of the depth.
Going Green by Heather S. Ransom (