Bit rushed at the moment. Be with you in just a tick. One, mississippi. Two, mississippi. Okay… two ticks.
Yeah, I know – we’re all busy, right? Well, until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes. (Or a few yards, even.) Big Green may seem like a bunch of slackers, but let me tell you… we’re…. anything… snxxxxx….. Oh, sorry. Drifted off there. Walking a mile in my shoes can get to be a tiring business. Here’s what we’re up against on a typical day:
6:00 a.m. – Snoring loudly. Man-sized tuber sends his daily complaint email to the codes department; still no response after five years, but… he’s a plant, okay? Takes a little learning to get an idea into his fibrous head. But I digress.
8:15 a.m. – 
Band meeting. Only Marvin (my personal robot assistant) shows up. Which is fitting, because he schedules the meetings unbeknown to the rest of us. As we sleep in our various sections of the mill, Marvin sits at an empty wooden table in the old forge room, making whirring and clicking sounds for about 45 minutes before moving along to his next scheduled duty.
10:45 a.m. – Up and at ’em, as they used to say. At least where I’m concerned. Matt’s been out feeding the birds, beavers, and other assorted creatures since about 5:00 a.m. (Did I leave that out?) John is out feeding the squirrels. I’m feeding myself at the breakfast table, sitting across from a very grizzly looking Mitch Macaphee (resident mad scientist). Another experiment gone wrong, by the look of him.
12:17 p.m. – A quick run around the park. Exercise? Heaven forefend! No sir, it’s me running away from that guy who’s been trying to serve us with an eviction notice for the last five years. This happens almost anytime I nip 
out to the store for Necco Wafers or the like. ‘Round the part we go, several times, until he tires. Now, this wouldn’t happen if they’d merely accept alternative currency in payment…. like, I don’t know…. Necco Wafers, perhaps? Would such a humble offering once again save the Cheney Hammer Mill from the wrecking ball? Can’t say. Out of breath.
3:45 p.m. – Cantaloupes! Hundreds of them left on our doorstep by parties unknown. We were just about to go into our makeshift studio and work on some makeshift songs, and now this! We decide to task the Lincolns (posi- and antimatter) with disposing of them properly. I’m hoping this won’t result in bushel-loads of melon balls. Hate them things.
5:08 p.m. – Writing the ludicrous blog entry for the week. Not sure who reads this shit, but whoever it is… god bless ’em, anyway. Pressing publish…. NOW. Freak-tastic!
Pennsylvania Avenue. And if there were any justice in this world, they wouldn’t have a peg leg to stand on. So short of any proper court proceeding, lets look at who wins the Jolly Roger award this week.
for a moment that the Bush Administration wasn’t trying to elicit false confessions out of people? Am I the only one who remembers the fact that Cheney was constantly running over to CIA headquarters in the run-up to the Iraq war, pressing them to come up with that “smoking gun”? A New York Times reporter I heard on the radio this week dismissed the notion that they were trying to drum up incriminating – if false – evidence about Saddam Hussein’s government; his point was, in essence, why wouldn’t they just make it up themselves? Answer – it doesn’t matter. They obviously felt they needed some evidence to ratchet up the fear factor and build support for the war. That’s why they relied on a drunk like “Curve Ball” and a shyster like Chalabi. That’s the central principle of terrorism, as the name suggests – scare the be-jeebus out of them so that they’ll do what you say.
Add a little cilantro. Mmmm…. probably not THAT much. Jesus christmas, Mitch – you’re kind of extravagant with the spicing, aren’t you. Now, don’t get offended, I…. uh, Mitch….?
What’s happened over the last week or so? Oh, you know… the usual stuff for a virtual rock band. Practice. Recording. Personal appearances. Listening for that fateful knock on the door from the codes department. (Shhhhh…. Don’t tell them we’re here!) Scraping up loose change wherever we can find it. How is the vacationland scheme going? Ah, we let that one drop. Pretty typical for us, really. Get an idea first, then think about it and realize how stupid it is. (Story of our lives.) The only one of us that was truly into doing it was the man-sized tuber. He had polished up all of his customer service skills and was ready to man that front desk. It took a while to break it to him, frankly. I certainly didn’t have the heart for it, and we didn’t want to delegate it to someone outside of the band proper (particularly since that might end up being anti-Lincoln, who would take delight in tubey’s misery). In the end, it was Matt who handed him the clue. (Scribbled on the back of an empty book of matches, as it happened.)
(Luckily, John lent me his banjo… though I had to blacken in a few teeth before hitting the record button.) Matt tried his hand at mandolin and washboard, and we both tracked a jug-band accompaniment. What’s the song? Let’s just say it’s a little number about some friends of ours. No, it won’t be stuffed with inside jokes… just a little topical humor (i.e. only to be taken externally). There are a few others in the works, and we’re following the usual production schedule, so don’t pop the earbuds in just yet (unless you’ve got other things to listen to). In the meantime, we’ve been trying our hand at developing recipes for something we plan on calling the “Big Green Cookbook”. Hence the extra cilantro. (An atypical ingredient for blueberry muffins, I will admit.) Another little money-making scheme that’s sure to….