Plan it.


Okay, I've got the case open. Sixteen screws and what do you get? The bottom of your keyboard falling out, that's what. What's next, Mitch? Mitch?? MITCH!!

Great. I'm working on this freaking Roland A-90 of mine - the one with the broken key(s) - and my technical advisor just wanders off. Probably getting a drink somewhere, even as I type this excoriation of him. (Trouble is, he's even less reliable when he drinks.) Just trying to get our shit together in time for the next interstellar tour, which should begin sometime around Stardate 3425.6 ... which, for those of you still on the Gregorian calendar, is approximately August 27th. Give or take. (Probably a bit more take than give.) Not sure why I chose to drop this sucker down a flight of stairs, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. (Note: On the advice of my analyst, I've been treating all of my accidents as intentional lately, just so that I feel more in control of my life. And damn it, it works.)

Where are those pliers? Probably in Mitch's hip pocket. Walking toolbox, that man (in more ways than one). It will likely surprise few of you that Big Green's performance infrastructure is in such poor repair. After all, we only book interplanetary and interstellar engagements. That means very few opportunities to travel first class. Trust me, between here and Betelgeuse, it's coach all the way. And if there happens to be an overstuffed sofa in the freighter we stow away on, it's couch all the way. We're talking 247 parsecs of space travel between stops, dodging asteroids all the way. That can be kind of a bumpy ride. Hence the broken gear, the distressed travel cases, the bad hair days. (Actually, I'm having a bad hair life.)

Just look at Marvin (my personal robot assistant) and you'll see what I mean. He may be the most sophisticated piece of equipment we take on tour with us. (I of course mean technologically sophisticated, not intellectually.) And yet close inspection will reveal an automaton held together with glue and bailing wire - a rolling, talking, gesticulating patch-job of tarnished brass and repurposed circuit boards, wanting for everything from new fasteners to replaced CAT 6 cable to the proper grade of machine oil. One would think the presence of his inventor, Mitch Macaphee, would contribute to a better state of being for old Marvin, but alas, Mitch quickly loses interest in his inventions. Look at that planet killer death ray he built last year. Back then, it was the poison apple of his eye. Now it sits in the courtyard like a motherless puppy. (Maybe some nice neighborhood mad scientist will adopt it...)

Ah, the depredations of life on the road! Well.... when no pliers are available, tweezers will do. Back to it, then.

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