Week that was.


Here is the week that was:

Sunday evening, 6:37 p.m. – Mitch Macaphee test-fires the main engine on our ramshackle space craft; the one that will supposedly carry us to many a far-flung rock venue in the galaxy. Based on what I heard, I have my doubts about this vehicle. It took Mitch about fifteen pulls of that rip cord to get the thing smoking, and that’s about all it did… smoke. No lift. Matt just looked on and shook his head. I saw that and shook my head. Whole lot of shakin’ going on ’round here.

Monday afternoon, 12:45 p.m. – Sumptuous lunch of cheese doodles and expired raisins. Did I say sumptuous? I meant nauseating. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is practicing his galley skills. He has volunteered to be our ship’s cook. Lincoln refuses to call him “cookie” (as Marvin has asked to be called). Anti-Lincoln vehemently disagrees with that refusal. We shake our heads, yet again.

Monday night, 10:30 p.m. – Oh, great – now there’s drinking. No, not the band. (I’m on the wagon, for one, after that last tour.) I mean the man-sized tuber. He’s chugging great gobs of Miracle Grow in hopes of making himself too big to fit into his interstellar terrarium. Apparently he has come to despise that thing, as he does any object that resembles a pot. Fortunately, he’s on wheels, so no matter how large he gets, we can push him along. Or pull him behind. Do plants breathe?

Wednesday morning, 3:00 a.m. – This isn’t a legitimate entry… it’s just the name of a Simon and Garfunkel album. Pretend you didn’t read this.

Thursday afternoon, 2:45 p.m. – Fuel shipment arrives from Madagascar. (Don’t ask me. Mitch found the vendor.) Not sure how our spacecraft is supposed to run on compact alfalfa pellets. This shit looks like rabbit food to me. Mitch assures us that this will carry us from one end of the galaxy to the other. And there is much rejoicing.

Friday night, just past 7:00 p.m. – I finally find that ballpoint pen I lost last week. Was scribbling a threatening note to my creditors, and in my incandescent rage, the thing flipped out of my hand and rolled away. Oh… and we started our countdown to liftoff, by the way. I won’t tell you how far we’ve gotten.

Tea totalers.

Fast again, my apologies.

Our friends in the mass media are breathless over the primary elections this past week, particularly with regard to the triumph of certain “tea party” affiliated candidates. This is the big story, we’re told – the tea party conservatives are where all of the enthusiasm is this year. It’s a growing movement, says old Pat Buchanan, as if we’re witnessing anything new. Have any of these people actually lived in the United States over the past twenty years? I wonder.

What is the tea party movement, after all, but the hard core of the Republican party conservative base? Chris (Lambchop) Hayes made this point on Rachel Maddow’s show the other night. Think about it for a minute – even at his nadir of popularity, George W. Bush could count on the unquestioning love of 25-30% of the country. This country is home to more than 300 million people, so that 25% adds up to 75 million people. Based on their rallies and their primary returns, the tea party appears to be a subset of that block – more like Glenn Beck’s 10% vanguard. These are people who loved Bush/Cheney, supported both wars they started, ate up the tax cuts, blamed Katrina on the victims, and called Obama a terrorist during the McCain campaign. “He’s a… an Arab,” said the crazy lady at one of McCain’s rallies, searching for the right epithet.  From the moment of Obama’s election victory, these people have been screaming to “get their country back.” My question is, “back” from whom? The people who voted in the last national election? Screw that.

The simple fact is, these people have only effectively been out of power for less than two years. Sure, the Democrats took control of the Senate and House in January 2007, but they had razor thin majorities and a Republican president to work with. Bush was able to triangulate with the always-useful conservative Dems in both houses to block any progressive legislation and keep the cash flowing for both wars. So they are complaining about what amounts to the last 20 months. Indeed, their complaints would have no traction at all were it not for the horrible unemployment rate and the continuing sluggish economy – due in large part to the consistent blocking action of congressional Republicans and (again) conservative Dems, who cut the vast majority of infrastructure spending from the stimulus package and now whine that it didn’t do enough. I guess Bill Clinton did have a point with “It’s the economy, stupid.” In the absence of a draft or a war tax, nothing resonates with the American voter more than jobs, jobs, jobs. 

To paraphrase the old WWII sign about carpooling – If you stay home on election day, you ride with Boehner. Whatever else poor, working, and left-leaning people need to do to make life better in this country, they need to get out and vote. Need a ride to the polls? Call me.  

luv u,

jp

At the pad.


Packing the ship. And not a moment too soon, I might add. Anyone seen my slipper socks? Ah, yes. Thank you kindly. Can’t go to Neptune without those.

Well, we’ve attempted to do everything that needed to be done in preparation for our trip to the stars – readying Big Green for our upcoming interstellar tour ENTER THE MIND 2010: THE ULTIMATE BIG GREEN EXPERIENCE. We’ve dotted every “t” and crossed every “i” (or every eye, perhaps). So many details to be considered. Much of it, on this type of outing, is best left to the scientists. Questions like, “There’s no air in space. How do we breathe?” Not sure we’ve got that little detail worked out yet, but sometimes you can’t solve every problem prior to lift off. Sure, I’d like everything to be perfect and set out in a straight line. But that’s not always possible, my friends. Sometimes, good enough has to be good enough. Good enough?

Right. How do we know we’re in “Go” condition? Complicated formula. Once again, the scientists… they have to earn their keep. But to give a rough idea, I fed the question to Marvin (my personal robot assistant), and he came up with the following criteria:

  • ITEM: Sandwiches. Space is a very inhospitable environment, full of hostile creatures, obstinate club owners (same thing), and the total lack of sandwiches. That’s right – Space is chock full of no sandwiches whatsoever, so you better just pack yourself some… and pronto.   
  • ITEM: Rubber souls. No, not the Beatles album, though it’s a personal favorite. I’m talking shoes here, people. (Hence my obsession with slipper socks earlier.) There’s questionable gravity out yonder; in some venues, virtually no gravity at all. We need extra traction to keep our feet on that stage. (Can’t tell you how many horn players we’ve lost to unaccommodating footwear choices.) 
  • ITEM: Robot polish. I ask you, how is a band going to keep its brass plated robot shining like the sun if… if… HEY… HOW DID THAT GET IN THERE? MARVIN!!!

Okay, so it’s not a perfect list. As I said before, if we were to wait for things to be perfect, we would be waiting our whole lives through. So… we’re past perfect.

Weird ass music since 1986