Hammer Mill Days

Man, it's hot on Aldebaran. (How hot is it, Joe?) Well... it's hot enough to make the man-sized tuber sprout new branches. (W.t.f., Joe... that's hot and a half!) Damn right. Hi, there. Got a little sick of the monologue, so I thought I'd throw a call and response deal in the old blog. (Got to keep entertained somehow.) Big Green here, and I'm here to tell you that everything you learned about red giant stars is wrong. Sure, I know - they always told you that red giants are big, fat, overly cooled-down stars, right? Not so hot as those blue dwarfs, right? Well... looks like they was wrong, as they say in the old neighborhood (when somebody was wrong, that is). It's hot as all get-out up here. It's so freaking hot, Mitch Macaphee had to invent a sno-cone machine out of available materials... materials that included Marvin (my personal robot assistant), I regret to say. (Sorry, Marvin. I owe you one, man. Actually... I owe you a dozen, if memory serves.) I ...

All right, already. The general election is Tuesday next, and I hope you're all planning on voting. Unless of course you're voting for Admiral McCain - if so, please just stay home. There, that's done it. Election over. Not quite. Would that it were that easy. Of course, as is usually the case, people generally to the left of the political center have to overcome themselves as well as the legions on the right - legions of pre-organized churchgoing Republicans who march out to the polls each and every election and pull the lever or punch the card or touch the icon next to the biggest caveman's name. (We've seen the results.) The liberal-left does not come in simple, pre-organized packages like this - neither do the folks in the natural constituencies for leftward political appeals, such as the poor and working class. We're constantly carping at one another. We splinter in so many different ways. A lot of people far to the left, like me, are disgruntled with Obama...