Hammer Mill Days

Thursday night is still good for me. What about the rest of the week? I'm busy, that's what. Man's got to sleep sometime, you know. Blame it on the diurnal rotation of the earth and the fact that my ancestors evolved on this miserable pimple of a planet! (Oh, crikey ... now I'm borrowing throwaway phrases from minor characters in Lost in Space .) What do you say to someone who sleeps six and a half days a week? WAKE UP! That might work. I've got a little problem in that direction, I admit. It's prompted me to ask Mitch Macaphee to install some kind of alarm clock function in Marvin (my personal robot assistant). He gave me a look that would melt iron, but w.t.f. - why shouldn't I expect a sophisticated robot to have a level of functionality one might expect from a ten dollar wristwatch? (Mitch told me to go out and buy a ten dollar wristwatch, actually. He has a point.) What's this got to do with Big Green, the larger world of indie music, and the fa

Did you hear it last week, over the noise emanating from the London Olympics? That collective groan from points east? That was the world reacting to the man who might be president next January. There are, I'm sure, millions in Europe and the Middle East thinking, Really, America? So soon after Bush, you're going to elect yet another ham-fisted idiot? Really? In many respects, our president is president of the world, if only because he (and thus far, it's always been "he") wields enormous power - military, economic, and diplomatic - over virtually everyone else. (They should probably get a vote in the matter, but then here in America we're not even guaranteed that right, depending upon which state we live in.) Though his spinmeisters have been working overtime to put a positive gloss on it, Mitt's softball trip to friendly nations was an unmitigated (or un-Mitt-igated, perhaps) disaster, from the crypto-racist tone of the adviser referencing our shared &q