Tag Archives: Matt

Toast terrific.

Damn it. Misplaced my breakfast again. Third time this morning. I definitely need more sleep. If anybody trips over some cold toast and a half-empty mug of tea, drop me a line.

We keep odd hours here in the cohort of collectivists known as Big Green. Matt, the naturalist in the group, is up at all hours chasing after critters, feeding them, changing their diapers, keeping them safe from the elements. That’s a slight exaggeration, but only slight – the guy is attempting to single-handedly make up for all of the injustices meted out by god and man. Kind of time-consuming. Me? I am the unnaturalist in the group. When I am outside, I think to myself … “This is too strange for us, Hanar. We are creatures of outer space. We long for the comforting closeness of walls.”

Okay, if I’m paraphrasing classic Star Trek, I must be a little groggy. (Too much grog, perhaps.) I’m up late at night in the lab, sometimes. Did I say lab? I meant studio. Cranking up the keyboard, jamming along with drum loops, listening to old recordings and occasionally committing something to disc. Then I’ll climb the stairs to my bedroom and get halfway through a decent night’s sleep before Mitch Macaphee detonates some weakly controlled “experiment” in his lab (yes, lab), shaking the walls of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill to their very foundations. We’re not so different, Mitch and me. Profoundly sleep-deprived. Trying to make loud noises using sophisticated instruments. Nearly bringing the house down on our heads.

Lincoln, did you steal my toast?One of my obsessions of late has been rebuilding our YouTube site. That’s my hobby, if you will, until Matt returns from Peregrine Falcon watch. (To catch up with him, see his Falcon Watch blog.) We don’t have a lot of video to post as of late, but we do have archival material that may be of interest to those who have limped along after Big Green for lo these many years. I will drop a note to all and sundry when I launch the new YouTube channel. There will be a few takes from an old video demo in there, most likely, along with our usual compliment of strange videos.

Okay, down goes the toast. Turn the keys up to eleven. And Mitch is back in the lab, so … boom goes the dynamite.

Summer reverie.

Say, do you remember when we took that bicycle trip up the side of Mt. McKinley?  Nope, neither do I. Well, now I’m guessing it never happened. Another false flag operation in brainville.

Oh, hello, reader. I’m afraid you’ve caught me in the midst of an early summer reverie. I don’t want to give anyone the impression that I’m going to spend the entire season looking backward, but I will admit that I put my tee-shirt on backwards this morning. Harbinger of things to come? Of course not. Nevertheless, when you’ve got an abandoned hammer mill full of accumulated junk from more than a decade of habitation, every day is a bit like an archival bin dive.

Does that sound like a summer project to you? Well, it does to me … sort of. I told you about the demo video from 1993 that I’ve been resuscitating these last couple of weeks. Last weekend I remastered the audio and I’ll do some editing over the next few days. My summer report will be about resurrecting our YouTube channel, which is, essentially, my personal YouTube channel rather than an official Big Green video hub. Right now it kind of resembles the Cheney Hammer Mill – a big pile of unrelated videos about music, politics, linguistics, philosophy of mind …. whatever the hell I spend my free time watching and (mostly) listening to. Hey … my phone is my entertainment center, okay? That’s how you know I’m American. (Want a candy bar? Cigarettes? There’s a bodego across the street.)

This could take a while.Just the other day (don’t ask me which day) I stumbled upon some old promo shots of Matt and me back in our Big Green duo days, in the late 80s. (I can tell when it was because I was wearing a sports jacket with the arms rolled up. Hey … it was comfortable, like the fuzzy slippers.) I think it was right after Ned Danison left the group and I moved back to the Utica area. In a couple of shots we were consciously trying to lampoon a Rolling Stone magazine spread about U2’s current album at the time, Joshua Tree. (They had a shot of U2’s drummer looking admiringly at Bono from about five paces away. I think there was a cactus in the photo somewhere.)

What’s next … the handlebars of my first tricycle? Never fear … we will get back to making new things rather than digging up old ones. Just give us a little interval. Ah yes.

Bloody script.

Where are my thumbs? Without my thumbs, I can’t type. Or at the very least, make spaces between what I type. Wait … did I say that? Is someone speaking?

You can start pulling your weight any time.Sorry. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m hip deep in finishing the script for our next episode of Ned Trek, as featured on the THIS IS BIG GREEN podcast. And though I write for a living, writing has always been a teeth-pulling process for me, resulting in sleepless nights, even more sleepless days, and other trepidations too numerous to … to enumerate. Am I making sense? (Possibly not.)

I know what you’re going to say. (Either that or lack of sleep is causing me to hear voices in my head.) Why the hell am I concentrating on a script for a stupid, knock-off podcast horse ballad instead of spending my time working on new songs, producing an album, preparing for another interstellar tour, etc.? My response? Meh. No man can say. I do it because I do it. And because Matt tells me to, which should be enough for anyone. (Or not.)

I would parcel this work out to Marvin (my personal robot assistant), but he really does not have any thumbs, so typing is merely an impossibility for him. Otherwise, he is amply qualified to churn out the kind of poorly constructed melodrama / farce you have come to expect from yours truly. Maybe I ask to little of him. Maybe I shouldn’t let him hang about all day, talking to the electronic stapler, getting machine oil on my vegetables, and so on. Maybe it’s just time he PULLED HIS WEIGHT AROUND HERE. (This is how we communicate with one another. It’s cheaper than texting.)

Anyhow, I expect I’ll see Matt for another recording session this week, then return to my keyboard for another tortuous night of scriptwriting. Oh, the pain of creation! Where is my bourbon, my absinthe, my pain killers, my … I don’t know. I like cat videos. WHERE ARE MY CAT VIDEOS?