Did you get through it okay? Good. We did, too. Kind of annoying, but it’s over. What’s that? You were referring to Christmas? No, no – I’m talking about the blue-hot sun. Whole different kind of annoying.

So, yes… a bit the worse for wear, our second-hand Soyuz spacecraft (personally checked for soundness by Yuri Gugarin himself) did actually carry us through the burning sun without major incident. The man-sized tuber had to turn up the humidity in his special space terrarium, but that’s no biggy. We have asked our pilot, Urich Von Braun (son of a rocket scientist, I’m told) to take us home via Proxima Centauri, where we may just stand to make a few extra bucks playing on their equivalent of Austin City Limits (which they call “terusdanorf girundolph huzzah” … not real catchy) before slinking home to the Cheney Hammer Mill and whatever housekeeping nightmare awaits us there. Hey – we couldn’t afford domestic help, okay? And that place sure as hell won’t clean itself. (Not yet, anyway. Mitch is working on a device right now…)

So, yeah… we’re pock-pock-pocking along through interstellar space once again, ringing in the new year as has been our custom; with a toast of Zenite cognac (thoughtfully provided by our sit-in guitarist, sFshzenKlyrn) and a demonstration of zero-gravity juggling by Marvin (my personal robot assistant). Very impressive. Somewhat less impressive was Marvin’s rendition of Dylan’s “Maggie’s Farm”… his high, reedy voice seeming a bit thin even to posi-Lincoln (who himself has a high, reedy voice) and his recollection of the lyrics a bit less than perfect. (Since when does Maggie’s brother “hand you a pickle”?) Still, way out here, you have to take what entertainment you can get, no matter how bad it sucks. What the hell – it beats zero-gravity rehearsal, right? (Just try to hang on to those drumsticks, boy. Just try.)

We had plans to open our terusdanorf girundolph huzzah gig with a rousing performance of our new mp3 single, “High Horse“, which we’re currently handing out for free on our Web site. Thing is, that is a song that requires context. Out on Proxima Centauri, they don’t keep up with Earth-bound politics. Hell, they would never have even heard of Dubya if we hadn’t brought him out there back in 2000 as part of our glorious first-ever interstellar tour. Contextualizing “High Horse” would require our filling them in on everything that’s happened over the last eight years, and that might take… well… eight years. The show’s only 45 minutes long, for chrissake. Let’s face it – they just won’t get the irony. And they don’t take well to country music out here, even if it’s gag-country. We’ll need another opener. (I was talking to Marvin just then – he’s trying to open a can of soup with a letter-opener. But yes, we’ll need to open with some other song.)

Wish us luck. Not so much with the gig, but with the getting there. Urich is becoming strangely obsessed with yet another celestial object. I’m hoping it’s Proxima, but my luck hasn’t been so good lately.

Sing along with me (to the tune of Jingle Bells)… Oooooh! Christmas freak, Christmas freak, flying through the sun! Burn your charges to a crisp, your work is almost done… Oh!

Hi, folks. Just celebrating the holiday the best way we know how… gasping for breath as our maniac pilot drives our sub-standard spacecraft through the center of a blue-hot star. Sure, I know what you’re thinking – that’s not the kind of Christmas I remember, right? Not the kind you used to know back home in Sheboygan. Well, I’m with you on that, as it happens. I just mean that we’re celebrating as best we can under the circumstances… specifically, those of flying headlong through a burning sun. We try to think of it as a slightly hotter version of “‘over the river and through the woods” … though Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is quick to remind me that that is, in fact, a Thanksgiving song, and Thanksgiving was a month ago. Right again, Marvin. Where would we be without you?

But enough about our problems. How is your holiday season going? We don’t hear nearly enough about you and yours… it’s always just about us and ours, right? For all I know, you too are spending this holiday out in the farther reaches of our galaxy, being flown around in an obsolete spacecraft by a maniacal pilot named Urich. Or perhaps not. The thing is, when we of Big Green elected to go on a brief tour in support of our new album, International House, we hadn’t considered the possibility of spending the entire Christmas week in-between stops in deep interstellar space. We’d pictured more of a pleasant series of performances in relatively small extraterrestrial venues, where people flash little lights instead of applauding and show their appreciation by dropping a little extra cash in the man-sized tuber’s little tin cup. (He typically uses it for plant food, but it makes a good tip jar as well.) That was not to be, alas. Just some rip-it-up type thrash-fests on Aldebaran and the mysterious planet Neuton, then stuck in transit. And it’s dull out here, man! Even the Lincolns are bored – both of them. And they never agree on anything!

Still, you find ways of keeping busy, even cooped up in a tin can like this. As Urich has navigated his erratic path through the center of this burning star, we’ve taken advantage of the relative quiet to put the finishing touches on a new song. It’s called “High Horse”, and it’s something of a farewell number for George Dubya Bush, who will soon be leaving the Oval Office for blessed obscurity. Some of you may remember that the president was kind enough to accompany us on our very first interstellar tour. (For details, check out our blog archive for May and June 2000.) We thought it only appropriate to offer up a big country goodbye for Tex, which we are posting as a free mp3 on our site. Be the first to download it at www.big-green.net/highhorse/. We whittled it out of cleared-away sage brush in our spare time. (You can still smell the burning timber…. or is that our re-entry parachute on fire? Not sure. Not sure at all.)

So anyway… We’ll be seeing you on the other side of the annual divide (known as New Year’s) and hopefully on the other side of this burning sun Urich is driving us through. Til then, happy krimble and a very goo year. (Apologies to J. Lennon.)

Don’t see it? Well look again. That flaring star. That’s the sun… our sun. The sun the earth orbits. Its temperature is so high it can turn this ship’s hull to butter… and we’re heading straight for it!

Yikes… didn’t know anyone was listening, there. Just rehearsing my lines for the upcoming Lost In Space favorite episodes playoff. Haven’t heard of it? Not surprised. Oh… did you think I was talking about our own interstellar travels just then? Heh heh heh…. No, no. Not a bit of it. The flaring star we’re headed straight towards is not the Earth’s sun. It’s another star, far hotter than our own… a blue dwarf, as it were. And it won’t reduce our hull to butter. Oh, no… just vaporize it entirely, along with everything inside. So there’s a difference between television melodrama and the real thing, my friends, and don’t you forget it. Hollywood is the land of butter hulls. In real life, the term of art is “vaporization”. Write it down, underline it. Now, what was I going to say? Ah, yes. ARRRRGGGHHHHHHHH!!!

Okay, I’ve caught my breath. Here’s the thing. Our pilot, Urich Von Braun, was able to get us off the mysterious Planet Neuton all right. Trouble is, he’s obsession prone. Recall that his obsessive behavior is what put us on that clownish little globe in the first place. (Still can’t get that freaking ceremonial hat off my head. I’ve put a call in to our agent to complain.) So… he spotted what looked like a little blue marble in the firmament… a deadly blue marble, as it turns out. Hot as blue blazes. Before we could say “Urich, Nooooooooooooooo….!” he pointed that nosecone towards the blue dot and stepped on the “gas”. And hence… trouble.

Not that everyone on board is all that worked up about the imminent prospect of being seared to a crisp. (Or vaporized to a wisp.) Take Marvin (my personal robot assistant) … please. Marvin’s gotten more spam from that financial planner guy named “Remington Tagget”. He really thinks this guy is his personal investment counselor! I’ve tried to explain to Marvin that you really need to have investments if you’re going to retain one of those, but he doesn’t hear my words. Not a syllable. This Tagget guy keeps giving him reinforcement, though. He sent him a holiday message on Friday:

Hi Marvin,

Best wishes for a happy holiday & successful New Year from the entire team here at Direct Capital!

Please click here to view a special mes-sage for On Time Van Trans In.

Warm Wishes,

Remington Tagget

I’ll tell you, man. That wireless router has got some serious range. (Or should I say, Sirius range.) Anyway, here comes the sun…. The one pleasure we’ll get out of this is to watch Smith fry.