Distant demi-world.
What the hell, Mitch. That's just a little speck. No way that's big enough for us to play on. No way in frozen hell.
When astronomers stumble upon some new deep space option, like that dwarf planet recently detected some three times more distant than Pluto is to the Sun, they think, "eureka!" To us, it's just another potential gig. We're that proverbial hammer, always looking for a nail. Appropriate metaphor for a band that lives in an abandoned hammer mill.
I know, I know ... all the planetoid-huggers out there are going to accuse Big Green of being money-hungry, selfish twits. Not true. We are crazy motherfucker selfish twits, in point of fact, and when we see another ice world out there, we can hardly wait to pile into some poorly designed space craft and slip the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of our cold hard money god. So, yeah ... on second thought, I guess we are money hungry selfish twits as well. It's the crazy motherfucker part that kept me from seeing it. (I see now ... )
How can we be sure there are music fans on XZ9-Marvin 14? (Note: Before I get flooded with angry messages from disgruntled astrophysicists who have never had an opportunity to name a planet, consider this a planetoid pseudonym just for the purposes of this conversation.) It's what Mitch Macaphee, our mad science adviser, calls the fourth principle of astrophysical convenience: Any planet or planetoid large enough to land on has to be home to some kind of sentient life form, preferably one that speaks English. (The third principle is about breathable air.)
Now, why on earth (or in space) would we name a planetoid after Marvin (my personal robot assistant). Well, let's just say that Marvin has been name-checked as our advance man on this endeavor. That is to say, Mitch has plans to send him up in whatever spaceship is handy and point the nosecone towards that icy little spec in deep space. Then it's drive forward until you hit pay dirt. Or pay ice. Same thing. Marvin has done this sort of work for us before, and there's not a thing for him to worry about ... except that it's EXTREMELY DANGEROUS and that none of us is willing to go in his stead.
Hey, what are personal robot assistants for? We're setting him up with a fax machine so that we can get first hand accounts, retro style. Should be interesting.
When astronomers stumble upon some new deep space option, like that dwarf planet recently detected some three times more distant than Pluto is to the Sun, they think, "eureka!" To us, it's just another potential gig. We're that proverbial hammer, always looking for a nail. Appropriate metaphor for a band that lives in an abandoned hammer mill.
I know, I know ... all the planetoid-huggers out there are going to accuse Big Green of being money-hungry, selfish twits. Not true. We are crazy motherfucker selfish twits, in point of fact, and when we see another ice world out there, we can hardly wait to pile into some poorly designed space craft and slip the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of our cold hard money god. So, yeah ... on second thought, I guess we are money hungry selfish twits as well. It's the crazy motherfucker part that kept me from seeing it. (I see now ... )
How can we be sure there are music fans on XZ9-Marvin 14? (Note: Before I get flooded with angry messages from disgruntled astrophysicists who have never had an opportunity to name a planet, consider this a planetoid pseudonym just for the purposes of this conversation.) It's what Mitch Macaphee, our mad science adviser, calls the fourth principle of astrophysical convenience: Any planet or planetoid large enough to land on has to be home to some kind of sentient life form, preferably one that speaks English. (The third principle is about breathable air.)
Now, why on earth (or in space) would we name a planetoid after Marvin (my personal robot assistant). Well, let's just say that Marvin has been name-checked as our advance man on this endeavor. That is to say, Mitch has plans to send him up in whatever spaceship is handy and point the nosecone towards that icy little spec in deep space. Then it's drive forward until you hit pay dirt. Or pay ice. Same thing. Marvin has done this sort of work for us before, and there's not a thing for him to worry about ... except that it's EXTREMELY DANGEROUS and that none of us is willing to go in his stead.
Hey, what are personal robot assistants for? We're setting him up with a fax machine so that we can get first hand accounts, retro style. Should be interesting.
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