Loserville.
It's the last train to Loserville and I'll meet you at the station. Wasn't that a Monkees song? No? Okay ... that earworm crawled away decades ago.
Well, here we are, kicking around the mill, just me and my shadow ... and Marvin (my personal robot assistant). Brother and bandmate Matt Perry has taken up residence in some other abandoned structure. We get together for recordings, podcast sessions, etc., then he goes home to his shack and I to mine. The mansized tuber has planted himself firmly in the courtyard; I bring a bucket of swill out to him every couple of days. Livin' the life, as they say.
As you can imagine, the utility costs here are fantastic. The abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill is, as I have said many times, a drafty old barn of a place, and most of the heat goes straight out the window (the same window, incidentally, that the rain and snow comes in through). Whoever is paying the fuel bills must be ripping his/her hair out by now. And then there's the occasional rap on the door by, I don't know, the bailiff, perhaps? U.S. Marshalls? If I looked more like Cliven Bundy's militia crew, I wouldn't worry about it much. But I yam what I yam, as the sailor said.
In all honesty, I'm considering moving back to a lean-to type housing arrangement, like what we had back at the beginning of this current chapter in the history of the Big Green musical collective. That's probably more appropriate accommodation for the collective as it currently stands, which is to say ... big enough for me, Marvin, and anti-Lincoln. A little tight for my taste, perhaps. And then there's the question of plugging Marvin in for the night. (We need at least one outlet for his AC power supply and a second for my electric piano. Oh, right ... and one for my amp. Shit ... my Mr. Coffee! Make that four.)
See what happens when you try to simplify? That's when things start to get really complicated. Now pardon me ... I have a podcast to finish, for chrissake.
Well, here we are, kicking around the mill, just me and my shadow ... and Marvin (my personal robot assistant). Brother and bandmate Matt Perry has taken up residence in some other abandoned structure. We get together for recordings, podcast sessions, etc., then he goes home to his shack and I to mine. The mansized tuber has planted himself firmly in the courtyard; I bring a bucket of swill out to him every couple of days. Livin' the life, as they say.
As you can imagine, the utility costs here are fantastic. The abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill is, as I have said many times, a drafty old barn of a place, and most of the heat goes straight out the window (the same window, incidentally, that the rain and snow comes in through). Whoever is paying the fuel bills must be ripping his/her hair out by now. And then there's the occasional rap on the door by, I don't know, the bailiff, perhaps? U.S. Marshalls? If I looked more like Cliven Bundy's militia crew, I wouldn't worry about it much. But I yam what I yam, as the sailor said.
In all honesty, I'm considering moving back to a lean-to type housing arrangement, like what we had back at the beginning of this current chapter in the history of the Big Green musical collective. That's probably more appropriate accommodation for the collective as it currently stands, which is to say ... big enough for me, Marvin, and anti-Lincoln. A little tight for my taste, perhaps. And then there's the question of plugging Marvin in for the night. (We need at least one outlet for his AC power supply and a second for my electric piano. Oh, right ... and one for my amp. Shit ... my Mr. Coffee! Make that four.)
See what happens when you try to simplify? That's when things start to get really complicated. Now pardon me ... I have a podcast to finish, for chrissake.
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