All posts by Joseph

Usual Rubbish

Not another one.

Play it again, Marvin (my personal robot assistant). Hmmm… doesn’t quite have the right ring to it. Add a bit more ring. Brass ring is okay; gold is even better. That’s right — a GOLDEN RING. Don’t say we’re not worth it.

Of all the cheap gin joints in the world, she had to pick THIS one to stumble into. No, I’m not doing imitations. Far be it from me to attempt such a thing in a blog. I’m referring to our financial advisor, Geet O’Reilly. I’ve been hiding from her because she has this list of overdue accounts that need immediate attention and, well, I don’ wanna. I jus’ don’ wanna. There’s also the small matter of resources. Not a small matter, actually — a large matter of small resources, more to the point. Simply put, we ain’t got no money to pay dem bills. After almost four years of production and one disastrous interstellar tour after another, the bank is broken, the piggy shattered, the sock empty, the mattress disgorged… you think of a metaphor. (I’m fresh out.) So here I am, sittin’ in a bar, knockin’ em back…

Yes, yes… we are broke again. Break out the violins. (Hmmm… violins. We could use more violins on that track.) Right, well, you’ve certainly heard me complain about money before. I’d be the first to admit that we have a kind of chronic problem in that area. It’s like that old Italian proverb — money she’s-a hard to hold onto. Okay… that particular proverb is only moments old, in actuality. But it’s true, nonetheless. Sure, we live in an abandoned hammer mill in the middle of nowhere, paying no rent, no property taxes, no utilities, no nothin’. We’re off the grid, man. How do we keep the lights on? Innovation. One week it’s plugging into Marvin’s ion generator. The next week it might be running an extension cord from Trevor James Constable’s orgone generating machine. What will it be next week? Only next week can say (and it’s not talking).

You see, that’s why we’re all about the music and Geet O’Reilly is all about the cash. We cloister ourselves into our makeshift studio in the basement of this drafty mill and chip away at the project of the day, never giving a single thought to what everything costs. Isn’t that what you expect of us? I mean, you don’t want a bunch of bean counters serving up your music, do you? Of course not! You expect us to be clueless about finances; to drink away the profits and smoke away the savings; to burn through the night’s take before the night has even begun. Not only that, but you want us to be lazy, shiftless, self-destructive, and random in every endeavor. And the last thing we want to do is disappoint you.

What the hell — I think she’s spotted me over here. I need a bigger drink to hide behind, that’s the thing. Marvin! Get me a large draft. No, bring me the whole bloody barrel, there’s a good chap. Damn… Busted!

Political Rants

Wrong again.

The Bush has spoken and — surprise! — we’re sending more troops into the hell-hole of Iraq. Where have I heard this before? Hmmm… sending more troops… sounds vaguely familiar. Much has been made of Bush’s admission that, yes, there have been mistakes, and to the extent that mistakes have been made, yes, the responsibility falls to him. My hometown newspaper actually put that striking news into its headline. Okay, someone explain to me why it’s news that Bush is acknowledging what the rest of the nation has known for several years now — that his Iraq adventure has been one massive fuck-up after another, and that it’s obviously his fucking fault, thank you very much. And what is it worth for him to backhandedly admit errors at the same time as announcing yet another massive one, the “surge” tactic? I mean, one would assume that if he regretted the errors, he might make at least a feeble attempt not to repeat them. But that’s not the Dubya way. What the hell does he have to lose now?

Actually, the story that didn’t get a lot of play was the one about the U.S. attack on the Iranian consulate in Irbil, deep in the relatively quiet Kurdish area. It apparently took place around when Bush was making his comments about Iran having some kind of undue influence over the chaotic nation just across their long western frontier (the country that invaded them just two decades ago, now occupied by an openly hostile superpower). Anyway, our boys reportedly busted up the place and detained six Iranians without even telling the Kurds. This seems particularly odd since Irbil is a long way away from the principal conflict zones, and the Kurds have been the group most amenable to the U.S. occupation. (There was a standoff in Irbil between U.S. and Kurdish forces that almost came to shots fired). What is the objective here — to piss off the last remaining group of people in Iraq that doesn’t utterly despise us? Or, as Juan Cole suggests, to provoke a reaction from Iran?

One thing is clear — our leaders are totally unscrewed. They have opened a disastrous “third front” in their war on terror by encouraging and supporting the Ethiopian invasion of Somalia, handing that sorry nation (another long-term recipient of U.S., um, assistance) back the same warlords that mis-ran it before. They are actively positioning themselves for an attack on Iran that will make the “catastro-fuck” of Operation Iraqi Freedom seem mild by comparison. And now they are planning to send another 21,000+ American troops to Baghdad and al-Anbar, a fool’s errand heartily endorsed by “straight talk express” conductor and presidential hopeful John McCain, who in fact wants to send even more troops. (My guess is that, if sent to the White House, McCain would want to re-invade South Vietnam in the belief that that war is still winnable.) Buyer beware.

So yes, Bush may be the stupidest man ever to occupy the oval office. But don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s the only one likely to drive us into endless, pointless warfare. Plenty of options for that distinction.

luv u,

jp

Usual Rubbish

Brain, brain, what is brain?

Raise the spirit temperature 17 degrees. Good. Now, engage the magneto drive. Switching… switching… got it. Got the diamond drill ready? No? Just the cubic zirconium drill? That will have to do.

Ah, hello. Wasn’t aware there was anyone within eyeshot of our little corner on the Web. One never knows, does one? Caught us all in the middle of an experiment, or as our Italian scientist friend Dr. Hump calls it, an experimento. (My Italian is a little rusty.) Actually, the experiment is being conducted not only by the good doctor, but also on the good doctor. Does that sound unethical? I certainly hope so, or your moral compass is way out of alignment. Better get that sucker looked at, little fella. But I digress… As I’ve mentioned earlier in these pages, we’ve been on a bit of a science kick here at the Cheney Hammer Mill. I’m not just talking about the esoteric stuff, like “how much does the moon weigh?” I’m talking practical, too, as in, “how do you keep the rain out of my bedroom?” The science of roofing, as it were.

Anyway, the redoubtable Dr. Hump — a brain in a jar, as you may be aware — has talked us into helping him acquire something akin to super-powers. Granted, he has no body with which to leap tall buildings in a single bound. He’s concentrating more on mental agility and parapsychological powers of the kind that our friend Trevor James Constable masters through various contrivances, like his patented orgone generating device. In fact, Trevor James is acting as an expert consultant on this procedure… though the actual bull work is being done with great precision by Marvin (my personal robot assistant). Why Marvin? Well, Mitch Macaphee did not want to get directly involved — something to do with professional ethics, I believe — so he asked his invention to serve as a stand-in. (Mitch took the trouble to program the requisite skills into Marvin before the procedure began. Good thinking. Good thinking.)

How does this bear on our ongoing recording / mixing / mastering project, now in its fourth glorious goddamned fucking year? Well, I’m gon’ tell yuh. If we can help Dr. Hump (the brain) to acquire fantastic para-psychological powers, he can be of enormous help in marketing whatever finished product comes out of the other end of our endless recording / mastering sessions. The way I figure it, the good doctor can project an irresistible impulse into millions of people the world over to buy or download our album. Oh, then the money will come rolling in like hay bales in September. By that time, of course, we will need telekinesis just to get the CDs into the shops, as none of us will have the energy to do it ourselves (and, of course, our distributors have long since abandoned us). Good things come to those who wait… and to those who are particularly receptive to telekinetic suggestion. Pass it along, will you? There’s a good chap.

Rest assured, we are drawing closer and closer to the day when our new album will be released into the wild. And you will know it has arrived when you see a strange image of a disembodied brain in your mind’s eye… and hear a sound that goes WOOoooWOOOOoooWOOOooo. That’s called marketing, friends. Ear muffs won’t help you. Neither will Rice Crispies.