Tag Archives: tour

Usual Rubbish

At the pad.


Packing the ship. And not a moment too soon, I might add. Anyone seen my slipper socks? Ah, yes. Thank you kindly. Can’t go to Neptune without those.

Well, we’ve attempted to do everything that needed to be done in preparation for our trip to the stars – readying Big Green for our upcoming interstellar tour ENTER THE MIND 2010: THE ULTIMATE BIG GREEN EXPERIENCE. We’ve dotted every “t” and crossed every “i” (or every eye, perhaps). So many details to be considered. Much of it, on this type of outing, is best left to the scientists. Questions like, “There’s no air in space. How do we breathe?” Not sure we’ve got that little detail worked out yet, but sometimes you can’t solve every problem prior to lift off. Sure, I’d like everything to be perfect and set out in a straight line. But that’s not always possible, my friends. Sometimes, good enough has to be good enough. Good enough?

Right. How do we know we’re in “Go” condition? Complicated formula. Once again, the scientists… they have to earn their keep. But to give a rough idea, I fed the question to Marvin (my personal robot assistant), and he came up with the following criteria:

  • ITEM: Sandwiches. Space is a very inhospitable environment, full of hostile creatures, obstinate club owners (same thing), and the total lack of sandwiches. That’s right – Space is chock full of no sandwiches whatsoever, so you better just pack yourself some… and pronto.   
  • ITEM: Rubber souls. No, not the Beatles album, though it’s a personal favorite. I’m talking shoes here, people. (Hence my obsession with slipper socks earlier.) There’s questionable gravity out yonder; in some venues, virtually no gravity at all. We need extra traction to keep our feet on that stage. (Can’t tell you how many horn players we’ve lost to unaccommodating footwear choices.) 
  • ITEM: Robot polish. I ask you, how is a band going to keep its brass plated robot shining like the sun if… if… HEY… HOW DID THAT GET IN THERE? MARVIN!!!

Okay, so it’s not a perfect list. As I said before, if we were to wait for things to be perfect, we would be waiting our whole lives through. So… we’re past perfect.

Usual Rubbish

Last minute waltz.


One-two-three, one-two-three, JUMP-two-three, one-two-three… Good, good – you’ve got it! Now try it again, from the top. And a-one-two-three…

Greetings from the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, a combination squat house, launch pad, recording studio, interstellar refugee center, and – now – dance studio! You heard me right. Sure, sure – no one in Big Green can dance his way out of a paper bag; this much is true. But needs dictate actions in this corner of the universe as well as in yours, and damn it, we need money to get this tour off the ground. So….. dance lessons. Administered by Marvin (my personal robot assistant), as it happens.

Oh, sure, laugh. You may laugh, but actually… he’s not as bad a dancer as you might imagine. In fact, he’s far worse than that. To observe that he is mechanical is less than surprising, I suppose. Actually, he’s kind of mechanical even for a robot. (He doesn’t do that robot dance any justice.) Fortunately, we live in an area where no one can dance, apparently (precious little reason to do so, as well), so Marvin can, simply by dint of his willingness to claim expertise, seem like an expert. Oh, the lengths money will drive a man (or an automaton) to. Sad.

Why are we so short on cash? Please! Aren’t we always? Think of the expenses we need to bear. Just keeping ourselves in Cheesits and crepe paper is enough to bankrupt any tycoon. And then there’s Anti-Lincoln’s odious absinthe habit. (Now I know why he spent so much time at the theater.) We’re just pouring money down the rat hole every day of our lives. And those rats are living pretty large, my friend, pretty large. Of course, now they have to share with our tour manager, Admiral Gonutz (ret.), who needs cash (and lots of it) to provision our ramshackle interstellar space craft.

So… I don’t care how poorly Marvin teaches the waltz. So long as his students pay their bills, we’re bleeping golden. ‘Nuff said.

Usual Rubbish

Out with it.


Yeah, put it out to the curb. Don’t complain. We could live in a lousier neighborhood. At least here, we have curbs. Think about it, man. No, really…. THINK.

Oh, hi. Glad to see you were able to take the time to stop by and read my little screed. Always edifying to see what your friends in Big Green are up to, eh? Perhaps edifying is not the right word. How about, better than cleaning toilets? If so, I would have to agree. (Of course, I have a proprietary interest here, I declare.)

You caught us in the midst of a little house cleaning. As you may know, we are preparing for our upcoming interstellar tour, which we are calling ENTER THE MIND 2010 – THE ULTIMATE BIG GREEN EXPERIENCE. Actually, I just tagged that last piece on at the request of Admiral Gonutz, our tour promoter. He seems to think we have a tendency to undersell. (Personally, the fact that we’re selling at all feels like overselling to me. But I digress.) Gonutz is just full of ideas, like a freaking jelly donut. (Actually, Matt’s taken to calling him Donutz, owing to a certain fondness on his part for Cumberland Farm fried cakes, but again… I digress…) Anywho, the admiral hopes a little hype will sweeten the deal on some of these remote venues. I am unconvinced.

Another thing he’s gotten under his ludicrous headgear – he wants us to jettison all non-essential stuff. I don’t mean from the spacecraft we have yet to rent. I mean pretty much everything around this old hammer mill that doesn’t have some kind of nautical theme. [Note to Marvin (my personal robot assistant): that hideous mantle clock of yours is safe.] So we’re carrying all manner of junk out to the side of the road for eventual pickup… very eventual, since we haven’t paid our garbage collection fee in about three years. In fact, on the suggestion of Marvin, we’re even carrying my tendency to digress out to the curb, in a basket.

More than likely, there will be a few leftover discs in the castoffs, so feel free to drop by the Hammer Mill and sift through the dross for… I don’t know, more dross. I think Gonutz is trying to get us used to the idea of traveling light. Not sure he gets the electronic music equipment concept, since he mostly lives in the first quarter of the 19th century.  (Matt noticed that he ordered some oversized rowing megaphones, perhaps for sound reinforcement. Someone needs to speak to him… as long as it isn’t me.)

Junk at the curb? Sounds like a yard sale. Come on down. Tell them Gonutz sent you.