Tag Archives: Mitch Macaphee

Usual Rubbish

Yo mama.

Okay, so what are we inventing this week? Ten gallon sippy cups? Anti gravity yo-yos? It’s worth asking.

I hate to be the one always checking up on our mad science advisor, Mitch Macaphee. For one thing, the hazmat suit doesn’t fit me very well. And I can’t speak very clearly through that portable blast shield, particularly with the welder’s mask on. Suffice to say that you enter his lab at your own risk, so we only do it when absolutely necessary. Very often I will send Marvin (my personal robot assistant) in with a note clutched in one of his claws.

Not that Marvin is expendable, you understand. It’s just that he has wheels and can roll backwards. If I sent Anti-Lincoln or the mansized tuber in there, they could end up on melba toast with a caper in their eye. (That’s the caper.)

Fact is, the only reason I’m venturing into Mitch’s wing of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, our now-permanent squat house, is that the neighbors have been complaining. You know what I’m hearing about, right? Loud noises in the nights. Mad cackling. Subtle but noticeable shifts in gravitation. Midnight sunshine and black skies at noon. All those little things that tend to put the retired plumber next door in a bad humor. We don’t want to hear from the authorities, of course. We might get the Ammon Bundy treatment, after all. That is … they will ignore us until we pull guns on them more than twice or three times. (Since we’re white, we would probably get the Bundy mulligan, so to speak.)

You know what to do, Marvin.Mitch has been in poor humor since they found his coveted dark planet beyond the orbit of Neptune. He had been clinging to the vain hope that it would remain the undiscovered country for another generation, at least … plenty of time to convert it into a black hole or neutron star. In any case, now he’s drowning his sorrows in experimental work, and it’s got all of us on edge. Hard to work on music when the laws of physics are collapsing all around you. Last Monday morning, for instance, he temporarily suspended the third dimension within the immediate boundaries of our hammer mill. It was like being a ColorForms character for the day – very distressing!

Okay, well … I’m going in there. If you don’t hear from me soon, send Marvin in.

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.

Usual Rubbish

Distant demi-world.

What the hell, Mitch. That’s just a little speck. No way that’s big enough for us to play on. No way in frozen hell.

Ned Trek, the podcast
Ned Trek, The Podcast

When astronomers stumble upon some new deep space option, like that dwarf planet recently detected some three times more distant than Pluto is to the Sun, they think, “eureka!” To us, it’s just another potential gig. We’re that proverbial hammer, always looking for a nail. Appropriate metaphor for a band that lives in an abandoned hammer mill.

I know, I know … all the planetoid-huggers out there are going to accuse Big Green of being money-hungry, selfish twits. Not true. We are crazy motherfucker selfish twits, in point of fact, and when we see another ice world out there, we can hardly wait to pile into some poorly designed space craft and slip the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of our cold hard money god. So, yeah … on second thought, I guess we are money hungry selfish twits as well. It’s the crazy motherfucker part that kept me from seeing it. (I see now … )

Nice place.How can we be sure there are music fans on XZ9-Marvin 14? (Note: Before I get flooded with angry messages from disgruntled astrophysicists who have never had an opportunity to name a planet, consider this a planetoid pseudonym just for the purposes of this conversation.) It’s what Mitch Macaphee, our mad science adviser, calls the fourth principle of astrophysical convenience: Any planet or planetoid large enough to land on has to be home to some kind of sentient life form, preferably one that speaks English. (The third principle is about breathable air.)

Now, why on earth (or in space) would we name a planetoid after Marvin (my personal robot assistant). Well, let’s just say that Marvin has been name-checked as our advance man on this endeavor. That is to say, Mitch has plans to send him up in whatever spaceship is handy and point the nosecone towards that icy little spec in deep space. Then it’s drive forward until you hit pay dirt. Or pay ice. Same thing. Marvin has done this sort of work for us before, and there’s not a thing for him to worry about … except that it’s EXTREMELY DANGEROUS and that none of us is willing to go in his stead.

Hey, what are personal robot assistants for? We’re setting him up with a fax machine so that we can get first hand accounts, retro style. Should be interesting.