Homearriving.

Yeah, there’s some in here, too. Yep, all over the floor. Jesus Christ on a bike. Where are all the freaking buckets? Why don’t squatters have landlords … with buckets?

Oh, hi… Yes, Big Green has made its triumphant return to Earth from its somewhat less-than-triumphant [INSERT NAME HERE] Interstellar Tour 2011, pulling our rental spacecraft into a low, low … very low parking orbit (approximately 100 feet above the Earth’s surface) over the Cheney Hammer Mill, our abandoned mill of a home in upstate New York. And, as will happen when one leaves one’s home for a stretch of weeks, some maintenance issues have emerged to greet us, providing us with distraction even before we’ve had the chance to remove our tour galoshes. They say all roofs leak, but I doubt they all leak this badly. My converted hammer assembly room suite looks like a freaking swimming pool. I think I see fish.

Right, well… that’s the kind of problem you expect. What I didn’t expect was to have to deal with obstinate bandmates after our return as well as throughout the tour. I’m thinking specifically of … wait for it! … Marvin (my personal robot assistant). You may have thought I was going to say the mansized tuber, but really… he’s no trouble, hanging out in his specially climate-controlled terrarium, working his smartphone with both roots, tweeting pictures of himself in a methane sauna on Neptune. (Very therapeutic for cruciferous beings.) No, no… Marvin gets the prize this week. He has refused to leave the circa 2001: A Space Odyssey rent-a-vessel we took on this latest tear through the solar system. He has developed what Mitch Macaphee (our mad science advisor) calls “Hal 9000 Syndrome”. It’s a bit like Stockholm syndrome, except, well, a lot less congenial.

Okay, so Marvin is refusing to open the pod bay doors. This is not a tragedy. We’ve got too much on the agenda to care, frankly, so he can float up there, 100 feet above our heads, and play Captain Bligh to his brass heart’s content. Matt and I have a Christmas podcast to produce, and time is running thin… I mean, short. (Premise is running thin.) Lord knows we want to have an action packed episode of THIS IS BIG GREEN posted before the fat elf flies – an episode full of new recordings, old yuletide favorites, an outtake from our “classic” (i.e. elderly) album 2000 Years To Christmas, and just the sort of incoherent ramblings you expect from us.

No, no…. you don’t have to thank us. Just send buckets. Lots of buckets.

Roger, out.

Again, just some thoughts. I’m overloaded, as usual. Details at eleven.

Cain’s out. No more Herman Cain. That’s disappointing in a way, though I can’t say as I’m all that disappointed whenever a manifestly incompetent right-wing shill is deemed unfit for service as president. He would have been the conduit through which Randy Scheunemann, Phil Graham, and other luminaries would have run the country into yet another deep ditch. Of course, that would be true of practically anyone on the Republican deck right now, save Gingrich, who would likely insist on doing everything (badly) himself. I will, however, miss the Pokeman quotes, the seeming lack of conviction that a president actually needs to show any interest in politics or administrative policy, foreign or domestic. He’s like the cut-out who can’t hide the fact that he’s a cut-out: there’s obviously no other reason for him to even want to be president than to carry out the wishes of corporate America more consistently than even their bought and paid-for politicians of both parties.

Ging-riches. Speaking of corporate shills, our former speaker seems to keep rocketing higher in the polls. Unstoppable. They’ve even started phoning my brother in New York, never a Republican he, asking him to volunteer. (A hilarious recording of this conversation will be included in Big Green’s Christmas podcast, coming up soon.) Obviously they’ve got some cash on hand. Perhaps old Newt is pumping some of his ample riches into the effort, earned cashing in on his government connections and experience. All those riches haven’t softened the old bugger one iota. That thing about nine-year-olds becoming school janitors, cleaning out the can – that is vintage Gingrich. I have to appreciate the way, even in describing such a Swiftian enterprise, he manages to get a dig in about “unionized Janitors.” It reminded me of the classy way his former lieutenant, Tom Delay, described his failure to serve in the military during Vietnam (a war I’m certain he supported) as a case of having been kept out of the army because an illegal immigrant took his place. In any case, I’m expecting unbounded riches from Newt over the coming months.

Drone nation. The Iranians have captured one of our drones, evidently involved in yet another undeclared war by remote control. Aside from morals and ethics and basic human decency, this is the policy downside of all this drone use: it’s just too damn easy. Obama is using them more and more, in more countries – it’s the ultimate mission creep, and it’s going to blow up in our faces, frankly.

Yeah, I know – the G.O.P. will do it too if they take control. That shouldn’t stop us from calling Obama and telling him to knock it off.

luv u,

jp

Back to ground.

Okay, then. Is that a wrap? What? It’s already the holiday season? What happened to freaking October? Okay, then… so it’s a Christmas wrap. Satisfied?

Oh, hi. Yeah, I know. After ten weeks on the road, tempers wear a little thin. What, you got a PROBLEM with that? (Sorry. I’ll start again.) Post Thanksgiving slump. This shipboard life is not for me; nor, apparently, is it for anyone else on board. Speaking of bored … this business of bobbing around the solar system is bloody tiresome. I don’t know how sFshzenKlyrn stands it, year after year, millennium after millennium. It’s just as well that he’s a transcendental etheric life form that ignores all boundaries between space, time, and whatever. (Especially the whatever. The man simply cannot take anything seriously.)

And then there’s Marvin (my personal robot assistant). He’s bouncing around this tin can like… like a robot in a tin can. Of course, he always gets antsy this time of year, when the big robotics convention is taking place back on Earth. He is constantly checking the Web for updates, seeing if any big strides have been made. Always has to be in the vanguard, our Marvin. Get used to it, man – one day, time leaves all of us behind. It’s freaking inevitable. In fact, it’s the great hairy screaming inevitable that is our universe. Who cares if some table-top tractor can solve equations faster than you do? You still can…. well…. lift very heavy things…

And then there’s the marigolds, the marigolds. What? Sorry… there  are no marigolds. Oxygen is running a little thin in this rattletrap we call a spacecraft. We’re somewhere between Jupiter and five miles away from Jupiter, running low on fuel, supplies, and what-not. Ever run out of what-not on an interstellar voyage? You do NOT want to know how awful that can be.

So anyway… it’s back to Earth for us, or the Earth that will be left when we return – an Earth wracked by climate change, war, illness, poverty, and rapacious corporate greed. Home sweet freaking home, just in time to do our annual Christmas Special podcast. Stay tuned!

Weird ass music since 1986