Erie-ness.

Low bridge, everybody down. Low bridge, 'cause our driver is a clown! Man, don't you just love those old work songs! Just the thing to take the ache out of my sorry ass.

Oh, yes... greetings from your friends in Big Green; keepers of the flame of slovenliness, protectors of the weak-minded, masters of procrastination, and the one and only cereal that comes in the shape of animals. (Yes, we're Crispy Critters, all right.) When last you saw us, we were chugging along the New York State Thruway on foot, pulling disdainful glances (and more than one determined scowl) from those who wear the state's uniform and carry the state's water. (Yes, our state has water, too.) Admittedly, we must have made quite a sight, pacing down the center of that august and still-not-paid-for thoroughfare, making our way somewhat nervously over the Schoharie Bridge where several travelers lost their lives some years back (subject of Matt's song Just Five Seconds, a recording of which I will post at some point in the not so distant future). Hell, if we were to let fear stop us from doing what we need to do, we would have stopped doing anything meaningful years and years ago. So....wait a minute... maybe we are a-feared after all!

Well, heck... that's a revelation. Anyway... yes, we were conspicuous as hell trooping down the Thruway, and, yes, we got kicked off by the Thruway Authority, the State Police, and some engineers from the DMV who thought Marvin (my personal robot assistant) was some kind of automated road surveying device or a white-stripe painter or something. (Actually, if you dip his casters in paint, he can do a passable job of the latter function. Regarding the former... I just don't know.) We were unceremoniously dumped off onto the public roads in an area of upstate New York with which none of us are terribly familiar -- somewhere near the Auriesville Shrine, I believe. Not a red cent between us. No credit cards. No luncheon vouchers. And hell, Big Zamboola hadn't eaten a single thing since that last cup of overpriced tea down on the island of Manna-hatt-a-hun. (Don't travel with a hungry planet. Just. Don't.)

Well, geez-Louise, or as Mitch Macaphee's grandmother used to say, "fuck a duck, Gertrude," how the hell do you get over land with a motley band if you don't have conveyance? (Perhaps with a séance?) We puzzled over this for quite a while before fortune smiled down upon us (as it always does) and placed the means of transport within our grasp. The Barge Canal! (formerly known as the Erie Canal, eighth wonder of the world... back when there were probably only about seven wonders). We made our way to the nearest marina and negotiated passage on a somewhat tired looking riverboat. (That's right, that's right... we didn't have any money, so the negotiation mainly involved sneaking on board while the crew was below deck drinking their wages. Don't look at me like that.... I'm freaking sensitive, okay?) It's not the kind of barge you would expect to see on this superannuated waterway, but.... it'll do, and it's headed in the right direction.

Before you ask, let me just disclose that, yes, we did get caught and were compelled to renegotiate the price of our passage from "free - stowaway" to "free - galley slave". Didn't know those paddle-wheels were driven by brute force, eh? Well... now you know. Just remember - poor Zamboola doesn't even have arms!