Tag Archives: Marvin

Usual Rubbish

Air break.

All right – give it back. It’s my turn to use the gas mask. More than ten minutes counts as a “bogart”, right? Fifteen minutes? All right…

Yes, more strife here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, place of our birth, land of our fathers, and all the rest of it. What is Big Green up to this week? Gasping. Lots of gasping. As some of you may know (and many, I’m sure, don’t), May is the time of year when mad scientists tend to roll out all of their new world-destroying experiments. It’s in anticipation of the upcoming CrazyCom Mad Science Convention they hold in Madagascar every August. Everybody wants to show boat the new death ray, the improved zip gun, the killer robot, now with more sparks. Kind of a pissing match for high-tech cranks. Attend at your own risk. (The last one ended badly, I hear.)

Seriously, I hate this time of year. Mitch Macaphee always goes way over the top, trying to one-up the other mad scientists on the block (by “block”, they mean solar system… they’ve got a different name for everything). Last year it was an anti-gravity machine. I spent the better part of April sleeping on the ceiling. (And that was the better part.) The year before, some kind of trans-dimensional salad shooter, I believe – not his most ambitious endeavor, I must say. Close to ten years ago, he actually got an honorable mention for Marvin (my personal robot assistant), who Mitch built from odds and spares in his one-room lab back in old Jakarta.

It’s a bit hard to get into the spirit of this competition, especially when Mitch’s obsession is sucking all the air out of the room. That’s not a metaphor: he has invented a machine that sucks all the air out of a room. Don’t bother trying to work out the practical applications for such a device – he is a mad scientist. What part of mad scientist do you not understand? He’s cobbled together some kind of contraption that’s belching black smoke as we speak. John thought to tap our old militant neighbor, Gung-Ho, for some surplus gas masks, but he could only spare one. Hence, the ensuing competition.

Hmmmm… what do you think? Can we hold our breath until August? We shall see.

Usual Rubbish

Open season.

Whoa, was that a week from hell or wasn’t it?  Spring is here, after all, and the planet’s wrecked. Time to cultivate another one. Any preferences? Neptune, perhaps? Or…. maybe we can just open the mail bag.

Here’s one from a local:

Dear Big Green,

I think I saw one of your number tagged in a photo on Facebook, dressed up in a ludicrous leprechaun get-up. What’s up with that? Are you going to start playing traditional Irish music now? Should I look for you on Thistle and Shamrock any time soon?

Best,

Rich Taggert
Toad in the Hole, NY

Well, Rich…. that does seem to be my name, so perhaps it’s me. I may be a secret leprechaun, or perhaps I fell asleep at a St. Patrick’s Day bash and simply don’t remember what happened next. (Distinct possibility.) Then again, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) may have put me in the ludicrous outfit while I was sleeping and then invited local children in to have their photo taken with the funny, funny elf. I’m guessing here.

The closest we’ve come to Irish music is a Christmas number Matt wrote some years back called “McBridy”, which later segues into a country song called “Evening Crab Nebula”. Written around the times of the troubles in Northern Ireland – now thankfully past – the McBridy lyric went something like this:

Well, hiddly- hi, in the Christian World, it’s eye for eye
And hiddly-hi, we’ll get another try
It’s the same dear thing McBridy sang
before he caught up with the plan
that threw him on his back one Christmas ‘morn

McBridy, McBridy! You lived in a wholly Christian world
But still you blow your brother away
McBridy, McBridy! You lived in a holy Christian world
But died another link in the chain.

And no, not Thistle and Shamrock… but possibly Pagan FM, if you listen regularly.

Next missive…

Dear Big Green,

I don’t exist, and you can’t make me.

Yours truly,
Chester Ether

Thanks for writing, Chester. A lot of our listeners are in much the same condition. It’s a sign of these difficult times, as I’m sure you – a non-existent person – can truly appreciate.

Now back to work, damn it.

Usual Rubbish

Plugging.

Another Web bucket to fill. Good grief, tubey! How many Web sites am I supposed to maintain? I’m the one with the arms, remember… and the cerebral cortex.

Oh, hi. Yeah, I was just in the process of dressing down the mansized tuber. Why? Well, it’s simple – he keeps making more work for us bipeds, signing us up for these aggregator sites like Reverbnation and the like. I can’t keep up with it, man! And my bandmates want nothing to do with it. I’m the janitor here in Big Green land. (My brother Matt is the cinematographer, I should mention.) But what the hell, I’m complaining again, aren’t I? I should be grateful to have a roof over my head, three square meals a day, two round ones, and a couple of hexagonal snacks. That’s more than most can say these days.

As always, money is a challenge. Copies of One Small Step are not exactly flying off the shelf on this planet (though I hear it’s moving quite briskly on Kaztropharius 137b, that nasty little planetoid that hosts us every year or so). It’s predictably hard to repatriate profits from other planets – that’s not surprising at all. They use a whole different kind of currency up there… not to mention a whole different kind of gravity, air, and background radiation. Hell, funds transfers are the least of it. If you’re a bank courier, you’re lucky to get out of there with your skin. Word of warning.

There are ways we can maximize our budget down here without the help of space aliens. One way is to eat less. I’ve been trying to get by on bread heels and brick fragments, but yesterday I broke down and got some Chinese food. Not that cutting back on nutrients is the best way to save money – far from it. We’ve been trying a host of innovations. Mitch Macaphee, for instance, came up with these little power generation gizmos he calls “Nano Mills” – tiny windmills that adhere to your clothing and generate enough power to … well … to make an LED glow dimly for a few seconds. Not much, but it’s a start. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is now covered with the little contraptions. 

Note to Mitch: Your next invention should just be money. Just invent some cash, there’s a good chap.