What’s this summer been about? I’ve got nothing. What’s happening in your world, mansized tuber? Finally taking root, are we? At least someone accomplished something this summer.
Look at me, talking to a plant. What is this world coming to? Though I suppose a lot of people talk to their plants. Though that kind of makes it sound like the mansized tuber is my property, and he is most certainly not. He is totally his own plant, a sovereign creature of the universe, a law unto himself … a … an oversized sweet potato riding around on a dolly. At least up until recently. The tuber planted himself in the courtyard, so you could say it’s “goodbye, dolly!” for him.
So, it has been an uneventful summer, to say the least. I’m not sorry to see it go. Probably the high point was when Mitch practically self-immolated over the news that his planet orbiting Proxima Centauri had been discovered. That broke us out of our stupor for a few days, at least. Just recently he was getting a little hot under the collar about the news that scientists were planning to send out a spacecraft to do some soil collecting on an asteroid Mitch took some interest in. Given his expression, I refrained from asking for details. I know that look. It’s usually followed by a sickeningly bright flash and some deep rumbling. (We just replaced the windows in that side of the hammer mill, for chrissake.)
Marvin (my personal robot assistant) tends to get a little busier in the Autumn months. I think he may have volunteered for one of the political campaigns, actually. He seems to be taking an awful lot of phone calls just lately, and one of our friendlier neighbors (i.e. the guy without the pitchfork) told me Marvin was handing out flyers in the town square. (Fun fact about this little burg: the town square is round. So why don’t the cars have square wheels? Riddle me THAT, Batman.)
What are we planning for the Fall? Glad you asked. In fact, this conversation would be just perfect if I had an answer for you. You know Big Green well enough to know that we never plan anything. We’re rebels, we’re loners, we’re iconoclasts. And in addition to that, we’re … broke. So, maybe that means work. A new thing ’round these parts.
That said, we do have uses for our time. Matt is chasing birds around most of the week, though he does show up regularly to continue our glacial-pace production on the next collection of songs. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has been taking an automaton sabbatical these last couple of weeks. (His battery pack has been removed and put on a deep charger. We may end up having to jump start him like a ’95 Buick LeSabre.) Mitch Macaphee has taken off to check on his property in orbit around Proxima Centauri (Proxima b) – he’s gotten very jumpy now that the astronomers have stumbled onto that little piece of celestial real estate. Not sure what he’s been doing up there.
You see, THIS is why we never go on vacation. We can never freaking decide what we want to do or where we want to go. The only time we travel is when we’re on interstellar tour (or when we time travel, which is disorienting, frankly, and I have discouraged Mitch from dragging us along through the time/space portal he keeps in his office). It’s like we’re just visitors on this, our home planet. Though come to think of it, the weather has been ungodly hot just lately. And Louisiana is under water. And California is on fire. Maybe this ISN’T our home planet. It does seem kind of inhospitable. Hmmm…