Category Archives: Usual Rubbish

Usual Rubbish

Taking Thanks.

2000 Years to Christmas

Everyone assembled? Good. What’s that? Marvin, you’re not assembled yet? Okay, hold everything, people. Where’s Marvin’s quick-start manual?

Oh, hello, everyone. Well, the holidays are upon us once again – a very special time in the world of Big Green, I can tell you. It has been said that we know how to celebrate Christmas like no other alt-rock band in history. Now, I don’t know who said that exactly and how they would know, but that’s what I’ve been told, and I’m sticking to my story. In any case, it’s undeniably true that few rock bands have started their recording careers with ostensible Christmas albums, and that we are among that very intimate club of unfortunates. What we haven’t done, of course, is release a Thanksgiving collection, but I don’t think we’re alone there. And I’m not counting albums that were released around Thanksgiving … not the same damn thing at all!

Okay, well … not sure where I was going with that. Let’s just say that, here in the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, we’re all thankful for a number of enumerated blessings, including many that don’t often receive the thanks they deserve, such as:

Our Roof – Often underrated and unappreciated, our roof keeps the rain off of us for the most part, particularly the parts that don’t have gaping holes in them. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) would be a rusting hulk fit for naught if it weren’t for the remarkable weather-defeating properties of this amazing human invention. Indispensable!

Our Floor – Constantly overlooked (largely due to its location relative to our normal line of sight as humans), the floor of the Cheney Hammer Mill is an important part of the supporting infrastructure beneath us that keeps us from falling through the Earth’s crust into the hot, chewy center of our planet. Trust me – after surviving a subterranean tour or two, we fully understand the danger!

Hold on, Granny! Here's what you can be thankful for ...

The Air – Hey, it’s easy to forget the stuff you get for free, right? Corporate capitalism has yet to put a price tag on the air we breathe, and so, for the time being, it is still part of what remains of the commons, in the wake of capitalist enclosure. Sure, they may stick it in bottles and sell it to you by the foot-pound while you’re lying in a hospital bed, but short of that, open your windows wide and help yourself to an endless supply of life-giving gasses. You’re welcome!

Gravity – Who says science has to have a satisfactory answer for everything before we can fully appreciate it? Let’s hear it for freaking gravity – that mysterious magnetic power that keeps us from flying off into space and exploding into a cloud of atomized protoplasm. I know it has its problematic aspects, as those who have hung from a cliff or two may attest, but by and large, it’s a lifesaver, and for that we can’t thank gravity enough. (Don’t forget – without gravity, air, floors, and ceilings are basically useless.)

I could go on, but then you’d hate me for keeping you from your holiday dinners. So let me end by saying THANK YOU for listening. Now, start gorging … and remember – no gravity, no feast.

Usual Rubbish

Missing Pieces.

2000 Years to Christmas

Well, then, where the hell is it? I left it right here. Jesus mother of pearl, everything grows legs around here, the moment you turn your back. I’m living in a den of thieves! An abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill full of thieves!

Oh, hi. Just getting down to our yearly inventory of band equipment; a kind of rejuvenating exercise that keeps us prepped for any performance or recording opportunities that may come our way at random. Are we getting offers? Well …. not as such. in fact, big fat nothing. That phone hasn’t rung in weeks. Sure, that may be down to the fact that I unplugged it from the wall, but hell …. all that was calling us was creditors, looking for cash. Stupid creditors! They should have known better than to lend money to us. We’re just not trustworthy. (Especially that man-sized tuber. He has deep roots in the Genovese crime family. Um … actually, we’re only certain that he has deep roots – it was our assumption that they at some point touch something associated with the Genovese crime family.)

Anyway, our inventory turned up some missing items. Somebody walked off with my stomp-box phaser, for instance. If I still played a Fender Rhodes and needed a cheap organ sound, I would be using that thing. Of course, there are several missing cords and at least one mic stand. Also, our DA-88 8-track digital tape recorder apparently had its insides hollowed out and is now a mere shell of itself. If you stick a Hi-8 tape into its tape-hole, the only sound you will hear will be that of the cassette dropping uselessly to the floor plate inside the unit. You’ve heard of people breaking into houses and stealing all of the copper pipes and wires? Yeah … I think they broke into our 8-track machine. And they stole all eight tracks.

Hey! That's my jumbo country western guitar!

See, here’s the thing about living in a squat house: you’ve got zero security and absolutely no right to complain. I mean, what are we going to do … call the cops? They’ll just laugh at us, then take us down to the station where they can laugh at their own convenience. Now, I would like to think that these actions demonstrate the authorities’ well-concealed determination to house the houseless – a jail cell is, in a certain sense, a roof over your head, right? But that’s Panglossian nonsense. In any case (and I recognize that I’ve wandered a bit), every November we discover that things have gone missing, grown little legs and walked away. What can I say? We haven’t had a steady guitar player for many years, and yet stuff still continues to walk out of here. (Yeah, that was an unfair slam on guitar players. Mea culpa.)

Word to our readers: if you go to a garage sale in this area and you see deeply discounted used band equipment (including my goddamn guitar tuner), call our dumb asses.

Usual Rubbish

Designated shopper.

2000 Years to Christmas

Okay, I know I drew the short straw. Let’s give it another go, shall we? Best two out of three. Ready …. steady … pull. Damn. Short straw again. Best three out of five?

Oh, hi. I’ll be honest – I’ve never been much of a gambler. And yet here we are, drawing straws to see who will go out and do the weekly shopping. Now I know what you’re going to say – “Joe!” you’d say, “You have a personal robot assistant. Why not send HIM out to shop?” Very good question. The trouble is, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is a dead ringer for some rogue ripoff automaton that has been terrorizing the local shops for a good six months. No matter how we identify Marvin as distinctly himself, the store owners around here lack the … um … subtlety to imagine that Marvin might not only be a totally different robot but, in fact, one that shares none of the nefarious habits of the nasty robot. Appearances can be deceiving! Look at us, for crying out loud. You’d think we were a band or something.

Why do we need someone to do our shopping? Pretty obvious, isn’t it? I mean, this whole county has gone COVID crazy. Frankly, I wouldn’t walk across the street in this town without a hazmat suit. Or maybe one of those survive-a-balls the Yes Men came up with a few years ago. It’s getting hairy out there, people – very hairy indeed. Who would blame us for sending Marvin out with a couple of sacks and a claw full of dollars, our shopping list written in grease pencil on his brass belly? That’s what any reasonable people in our circumstances would do, right? I mean, picture yourself in an abandoned hammer mill with a bunch of out-of-work musicians and some oddball hangers-on (including a robot and a man-sized tuber) … what would you do, dear reader? I mean … aside from getting a life?

Wow. I feel safer just looking at those things.

Actually, it turns out that the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill is probably the ideal location for quarantine. Think about it – it’s isolated. Nobody comes here except bill collectors. The place is riddled with holes, so air flows freely throughout the structure – all of the air is replaced every 45 minutes. (Trouble is, it’s replaced by Cool Whip.) Frankly, they should be sending COVID positive people here to ride it out, or folks that have been exposed and need to stay our of circulation for fourteen days. In fact, I’m surprised the local officials haven’t thought of that. Unless, of course, they’re reading this blog. Yikes! FORGET I SAID ANYTHING. THIS IS A TERRIBLE PLACE …. DON’T COME HERE.