All posts by Joseph

Usual Rubbish

Woodshedding.

Ah, this is the way to do it. Just unpack your axe, shut the ramshackle wooden door with a little loop of string, and get down to it. No distractions, no inconvenient intrusions on your privacy … no interruptions, like those times when you take nutrition in some form. Nothing like that.

Hi, folks. Yep, we’re woodshedding. Not the kind you’re thinking about, you musician types. No, we’re actually just living in a wooden shed – specifically, the garden shed in the courtyard of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, our erstwhile squat house in upstate New York, a region known for bands making do with very little and making it big on something small. Bands like The Band, Rusted Root, uh …. and others. We’re sort of following in the tradition of clubhouse recording … not out of choice, you understand, but out of necessity. This place is barely big enough to be considered a club house. And frankly, I’m not sure what club would want us as members at this point.

Our hammer mill has been taken over by belligerent squatters – not the nice kind, like us – so we’ve retired to the garden shed where the mansized tuber keeps his watering can and fertilizer. He’s a little put out, I should mention. After all, he’s had the place to himself for about nine years, and all of a sudden five disheveled refugees crowd into his space, knocking things over and generally putting his life into disarray. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has graciously agreed to stay outside of the shed, where he’s doing service as a scarecrow. (Not real good at it. The crows laugh at him … or at least it sounds like they do.)

Go hang out with Tubey, Marvin.

If Anti Lincoln pushes over a bit, I have just about enough room to set up my throwaway electric piano. In return, though, he insists that I only play songs that remind Lincoln of the war. It’s all about give and take in this place – everybody looks out for everyone else. Everyone except Mitch Macaphee, who looks like he’s ready to go to one of his mad scientist conferences in Madagascar or Belize or someplace less well-known. I’m expecting an ultimatum any day now – either let him have his basement lab back or it’s off to hyper-scientific crazytown. Who can blame him? (Another week in this woodshed, and I might just tag along with him.)

Political Rants

Their man.

It’s been a summer of discontent, to be sure, and the signs aren’t good for this fall. Internationally we appear to be on the brink of major upheavals, from India’s escalation of the conflict in Kashmir to uprisings in Hong Kong, Russia, and elsewhere. India-Pakistan is particularly worrisome, as these now nuclear armed states have already fought three wars over founding disputes like Kashmir; with Modi in control, this could end very badly. What a great time to have Donald Trump as president, right?

As much as pundits have tried to paint Trump as an atypical GOP politician with regard to foreign relations, his administration is doing about what you might expect a president Rubio to do; bellicose rhetoric, imperial policies, and arrogant attitude. The only question about Trump is whether, at any given moment, he may be pursuing his own narrow self interest or following the directions handed to him by his neocon national security team. It is hard for TV commentators to hold both administration positions in their heads at the same time.  Trump speaks nicely about Putin, while his cabinet officials tear up arms control agreements signed by Reagan. Trump exchanges notes with Kim Jong Un while is Pentagon plans military maneuvers in South Korea. Trump appears to resist the march to war with Iran, but the confrontation continues. The net effect of all of this is basically a mainstream Republican foreign policy, with a few fewer diplomats.

Trump, King of Greenland? Nice.

The fact is, I would far rather Trump and his administration start having a dialog with Russia over nuclear arms and nuclear materials. The mishap they had in the northeast of the country, at the Nenoksa test site, this past week underscores that need. Putin’s proposed nuclear-powered cruise missile is a tremendously destabilizing and toxic program. Think of it: even if it works as planned, you would have a missile with a conventional payload spewing radioactive fuel all over the place when it strikes its target, rendering it basically a dirty bomb. We are playing a similarly dangerous game with the development of low-yield nuclear “bunker busters”. Both of these weapons amount to a backdoor introduction of nuclear isotopes into common use in a conventional war. We need to put nuclear disarmament back at the top of the agenda … and right now, we’re heading in the opposite direction at full speed.

When the Trump administration is finally over, no doubt the GOP will attempt to distance themselves from this dumpster fire, claiming Trump was, at heart, a lifelong Democrat. Nothing doing. We need to hang this around their necks for as long as they remain the party of right-wing extremism, climate change denial, serial invasion, etc.

luv u,

jp

Usual Rubbish

Backyardvarks.

Did you bring a blanket? No? Nah, neither did I. Never think of these things when you’re in a hurry. Fortunately, it’s the middle of the summer, and it’s freaking eighty degrees. So … eff the blanket.

Yeah, I’m sure you expected this. We met our ornery neighbors upstairs in virtual battle – a war of words, let’s say – and they prevailed … because they’re just bone mean. So we have been temporarily expelled from our beloved abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill and have taken up provisional residence in the mill’s backyard. Humiliating, yes, but it’s not the worst kind of humiliation we’ve had to endure. Nothing near as bad as what we experienced on Neptune some years back, nor the depredations of Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc., our erstwhile corporate record label. Still … not good.

Hey, we’re pushovers – what can I tell you? When neighbors say jump, we jump. When they say run, we jump, mostly because we’re not real good at running. Our encounter with the obnoxious bunch on the third floor did not come to blows, thankfully, but it was contentious enough to convince us that we should spend a few nights in the courtyard with the mansized tuber. If you’re wondering why we didn’t set Marvin (my personal robot assistant) after them, the answer is simple … he’s just too simple to be effective in a situation like that. Though his claws should be registered with the local police department as near-lethal weapons. When he clacks those suckers together, you could literally laugh yourself to death.

Hey, Tubey ... is there room for a few more in that shed?

This could be worse, of course. We can pitch a tent or two, start a little fire, maybe play the banjo. We can roast marshmallows over the flames and toss them, molten, at our enemies. Our mad science advisor Mitch Macaphee can whip up some kind of force field that will keep us safe from predators and bailiffs. (Anti-Lincoln claims he’s being followed by a bail bondsman, but I think he’s forgetting that the 1860s ended more than a century ago.) I’m actually surprised at how easily Mitch is taking this eviction. Typically, he goes ballistic on people long before any dispute ever reaches this level of action. (Not sure, but I suspect he may be taking something to calm his nerves. High strung, these mad scientists.)

For the time being, if you want to reach us, use the comment form on the blog or send your notes to: Big Green, Behind the Potting Shed, Central Courtyard, Abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, Little Falls, NY. (Or just address it Joe / Potting Shed – I’ll get it.)