Shipboard tales.


Bit of turbulence. Nothing to worry about. Just large hunks of jagged rock hurtling through space at blinding speed, missing our paper-thin titanium hull by feet (if not inches). So pull up a bamboo mat and relax.

Yes, we’re still bobbing our way home at sub-standard speed in our partially-disabled rent-a-spacewreck. Our ENTER THE MIND: THE ULTIMATE BIG GREEN EXPERIENCE interstellar tour now shrinking in the rearview mirror, we have managed to limp as far as the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, where we are now dodging larger than average planetoids, popcorn-like fragments, and other assorted celestial debris (including some familiar looking stuff I last saw in the crawlspace above my old garage from seventeen rentals ago…. always wondered what became of that).

Since there’s precious little for any of us to do out here, and since Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has taken it upon himself to do all the cooking for our merry little band of wanderers (frozen waffles again??), I will take this opportunity to regale you with some tidbits of Big Green back story. Way more than you want to know about us…. here it comes.

Why Hammermill Days? Well, when we started this blog back in 1999, it was actually called “Notes from Sri Lanka” – check our deep archive and you’ll see. We changed it to Hammermill Days a few years ago. As you know, every band needs a back story. You know the deal – raised by wolves, dropped by martians, etc. Frankly, we didn’t have an actual personal history, so we invented one, using the old (and now long-since demolished) Cheney Hammer Mill (in Little Falls, NY) as our mythical home. (Because all bands live together, right?) The rest is obvious (or is that oblivious?).

Who is “The Mayor” in “Sweet Treason”? Okay, well… none of you would ask this question, but the man-sized tuber just asked me, so here’s the answer. There’s this stanza in Matt’s song “Sweet Treason” that goes like this:

Joe, the mayor’s systematically going through your mail
He’s sifting, but not finding
He’s searching for some west end sandwich
Ten years good and stale

Well, this was a song written as a birthday present to me (best ever!), which explains my being addressed several times. When Matt and I lived in Castleton-On-Hudson, NY for a couple of non-contiguous years (1981, 1984-5), there was this tall, fuzzy-headed kid that used to hang around town, apparently eating out of dumpsters. We referred to him as “the mayor” of Castleton. They could have done worse.

Whoops – need to take drastic evasive action to avoid an asteroid. Got to go. Happy new year, earthlings.

Year 10.

Wtf, what a year, eh? At least those of us who made it through… made it through. Just a few closing thoughts before that ludicrously pointless ball of Christmas tree lights falls, signaling the arbitrary beginning to another great year.

Economy. At the end of a tumultuous year, we are still at nearly 10% unemployment as it is currently calculated, meaning that it’s probably closer to 16% in real terms, maybe higher. I can tell you that, of the family members and close friends who have lost a job in the past year to 18 months, 2 out of 3 are still looking for work. This is probably a familiar story across the country. And yet, some seem to be doing quite well. American businesses – and I mean BIG businesses – have amassed huge piles of cash over the past year. The stock market – and therefore, investors – are doing better. And on Wall Street, the bonuses were fatter than a Christmas goose once again. (They’ve got a tax cut on the way, too.) Even with all that, they managed to take a swipe at Obama, who has done little more than wag a finger at them. There’s gratitude for you.  

War. Our glorious victory in Afghanistan was about nine years ago, one of the darkest winters I can recall, and the start of a long, bloody chapter in the history of American empire. Anything like the bloodiest ever? Likely not. It is just as well that we remember how many lives were lost in Korea in the early 1950s, in Vietnam in the 1960s and ’70s, in Central America and southern Africa in the 1980s, and elsewhere. Even individually, they make Iraq and Afghanistan seem like relatively minor catastrophes, though either of our most recent wars would put  us into Milosevic territory (and probably beyond). Still, Afghanistan has the distinction of being our longest war, as well as one we should have known better than to ignite (happy as we were to help strand the Soviets there during the 1980s).

Social Programs. Despite (and partially because of) the new health insurance reform bill, this has not been a good year for the social safety net. Political players are positioning themselves to implement massive cuts in Social Security and Medicare/Medicaid over the coming two years. They’ve ginned up fear of the deficit, sapped the federal budget with Obama’s tax compromise, and set up the hurdles in advance, the first being the continuing budget resolution that will run out in March. Watch – that’s when they will bring out the long knives. We’d best be ready for them.  Read Dean Baker’s excellent blog as well as Ezra Klein’s interview with James Galbraith, and start talking to your friends about this … yesterday.

Here’s to a better year next time around.

luv u,

jp

Home for the helladays.


We’ll be home for Christmas? Only in your dreams.

Yes, I know… we should do the decent, right? Be with our families, etc. Alas, technology makes clueless monkeys of us all. This horrible rust-bucket leftover from some forgotten interplanetary invasion we rented as transport during our interstellar tour has blown yet another gasket or some such thing, per our mad science advisor Mitch Macaphee. He used a lot of big words, none of which I’d ever heard before (though Matt was familiar with several of them… strange…). The upshot is, we’re chugging along at subnormal speed, making our leisurely way back to Earth from the Kuiper Belt – last stop on the ENTER THE MIND: THE ULTIMATE BIG GREEN EXPERIENCE interstellar tour.

So… like my cat Macky, we’re making the best of it. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has fashioned a Christmas tree out of whatever was available. The mansized tuber has been coaxed out of his terrarium to serve as the aforementioned  “whatever was available”. John’s playing “Oh, Holy Night” on his four-string banjo. (I keep singing “Oh, Holy Shit!” to annoy him, but still he is not annoyed.) Lincoln and Anti-Lincoln are dec’ing the halls with clumps of Neptunian seaweed, considered a delicacy on Titan and a form of currency in the Kuiper Belt. (If you’re wondering how we were paid for all those performances on those tiny asteroids, wonder no more.) Yes, it’s quite festive out here in deep space.

Me? I’m telling holiday stories to anyone who will listen. Thing is, no one will listen. Actually, as rock bands go, we’ve got a lot of holiday related material. There’s our first album, 2000 Years To Christmas, of course, featuring 13 songs that use Christmas as raw material for songs that are about other things entirely. Few people know that that is the tip of the iceberg. During his salad days (i.e. back when he was rich enough to afford salad), Matt wrote and recorded about 60 or 70 songs themed on Christmas as cassette gifts for friends, relatives, etc. 2000 Years To Christmas is a sampler from that body of songs. Trust me, there are a lot more where that came from.

Fact is, we finished 16 songs for that project, so there are 3 unreleased numbers. One day … maybe next Christmas … you may find them under your tree. (Or under indictment.) In any case… have a happy.

Weird ass music since 1986