Tag Archives: hammer mill

Usual Rubbish

King of the F-ups.

What the hell. Did I get that wrong, too? Jesus Christ on a bike. Just make a freaking list, okay. And no, I’m not making a special effort to be polite today – that’s just the way I talk … every day.

Oh, hello. Didn’t know you were reading what I appear to be typing in my sleep. Yes, just spending a day exploring my human failings, which appear to be depressingly similar to those of other humans. No, I didn’t think of myself as somehow elevated above the herd. It’s just that I can SEE all of them, whereas I can’t see MY ass unless I’m looking in a mirror. And there are no unbroken mirrors in the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. (That should come as no surprise.)

What was I “effing up”, as they say? Well … a couple of things. Last night I left Trevor James Constable’s orgone generating machine running at full tilt. Mitch Macaphee says it came up as a blip on his stellar infrarometer, whatever the hell that is. I apparently  created an anomaly in the space-time continuum that nearly achieved the mass displacement value of the planet Neptune. This hole in the fabric of space might have swallowed the Earth whole had it been allowed to continue. (It’s the kind of anomaly that might do its grocery shopping in the Whole Earth Catalog, if you know what I mean.)

Oh, hell. Did I do that?Okay, so THAT disaster was averted. No doubt there will be other threats to mankind caused by carelessness and listlessness, but they won’t happen on my watch. Maybe on Mitch’s watch. (He’s got one hell of a watch.) But then I had to go and make a pancake breakfast for everyone. We were out of baking powder, but I went ahead and made them anyway, just to show all those snobby cooks that I won’t be ruled by protocol. I have my pride, you know. My pride and a bunch of inedible flapjacks.

Well, you know what they say – stick to what you know. If you’re going to fuck something up, it’s best that you put your whole heart and soul into it. It’s like playing that sour note in the middle of a solo. Just hammer that sucker again and again – hit it like you mean it. That’s the stuff. Now … have some pancakes. (No, really … get them out of my sight.)

Usual Rubbish

Year seventeen.

Aren’t you sick of the Gregorian calendar? I’m thinking we should start calculating time on the basis of how long we’ve been blogging. So hell … call this Year 17. Happy 17! Four more years and we can drink in front of our parents! (Four years of what we’ve got coming, and I suspect we will need to.)

I know you’re all wondering what we’ve got planned for the new year. I know this because I can read your mind like a billboard. Just call me Kreskin. Or Criswell. Whichever works … just be sure to preface it with “THE AMAZING … ” or I’ll have to bring my $3.95 magic set back to the toy store, top hat and all. (Some Christmas THIS turned out to be!) Anyway, as I said, I’m sure you’re wondering, and if you are, well, you’re not alone, because we’re wondering what the hell Big Green is going to do this year, too. Maybe call a contractor to fix the leaky windows in the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. (Question: Is a large, jagged hole in the glass considered a “leak”?)

There’s been talk of another album. I mean, a Big Green album, of course, not just some random album we picked up at the second hand store. (Though there has been talk of that, too.) The next obvious project would be a collection of Ned Trek related songs, upgraded and in some cases re-recorded from the versions on our podcast, THIS IS BIG GREEN. We wrote about 15 or 16 songs last year, maybe more, and re-recorded some older pieces, so there’s enough material, particularly when you consider the 30 or so from the previous two years. Of course, Matt walks in with a new song practically every week, so about all I can do is try to keep up with the fucker. FUCKER!

I think the dictionary is in Smith's quarters. Get it.Hoo-boy, there’s an echo in here. And I’m getting dirty looks from the neighbors, so I should wrap this up. Will we be doing any live performances this year? Don’t know. It’s always a possibility. Matt talks about it from time to time, and I certainly think about it. There’s the logistical issue, of course, and then there’s …. well … making it sound like something more than pure suckitude. But those are relatively minor problems in the grand scheme of things.

What does that mean, exactly? Not sure. I will consult Marvin (my personal robot assistant), whose electronic brain is programmed to interpret the most abstruse sentences imaginable. Hope his batteries are fully recharged.

 

Usual Rubbish

Up to the sky in ships.

Next week? That’s kind of short notice, isn’t it? Usually we have a few weeks to arrange for interstellar transport, provisions, sound company, etc. But five days? Sheesh!

Ned Trek, the podcast
Ned Trek, The Podcast

Let me ‘splain. A newly discovered planet 39 light years from here (and when I say newly discovered, I don’t mean it was discovered by Anthony Newley, because he’s dead and not an astrophysicist) named GJ 1132b has been described as Earth-like. And since we are natives of the planet Earth, we take that as an open invitation to go visit this strange new world, seek out its new life and new civilizations, and boldly try to book a gig there … where no one has gigged before. Tall order? Perhaps. But frankly, we’ve been a little short on tall orders just lately here in Big Green land.

This, of course, means scrambling. (For Mitch Macaphee, it means poaching – he HATES scrambled eggs before a rocket launch, HATES them.) We’re having to pull a major interstellar journey out of our collective asses, and that can be a problem. That said, it is kind of exciting to think that at this point next week we will be venturing forth on the surface of a world no human has ever seen before. (Though why we need to go fourth, I don’t know. If we’re going to see something no one has seen before, we should rightfully go FIRST.) Did I just say that? Yeah … I was afraid so.

Eureka.There is one slight wrinkle, of course. Planet GJ 1132b reportedly has a 450-degree surface temperature. Obviously, we can leave the winter gear behind. I’ve asked Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to pack some extra box fans into the space craft, once we HAVE a space craft. The real problem is going to be keeping our axes in tune. If you’ve ever left your guitar sitting in the sun for a few hours you’ll know what I’m talking about. MARVIN … PACK THE EXTRA GUITAR TUNERS!

Mitch Macaphee assures me that he can rent a suitable spaceship in time for this journey to an unknown world. So, we shall see. If by Sunday afternoon I don’t see him backing that sucker into the courtyard, I’ll start to worry. Til then, take a deep breath.