Strange phenomena surrounding the rock group Big Green.
The thing is.
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Just settling in here. Man, but it's good to be back home! If by home, you mean ... something a little more congenial than this dank, drippy, drafty old mill.
It is winter in the northeast, after all. (This just in.) And Big Green, being made up of at least 40% sentient life forms, 35% mammalians, tends to be a tad sensitive to the extreme cold. We experience this on our space voyages, of course. Deadly cold in outer space! Just go there and see for yourself. (Bring a jacket... and some oxygen.) It's a real problem for our friends and spokesvegetable, the mansized tuber, whose sap has a decidedly higher freezing point than our own human blood. That means he needs to stay close to the fire... but not TOO close. It's a delicate balance for tubey, let me tell you.
So, yeah, it's snowing, soon as we get here, and the freaking place is cold as a polar bear's ass. Basically we're confining ourselves to indoor activities. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is on the treadmill. Hour after hour he pedals away. What's the point? Perhaps in his robot mind he is actually going somewhere interesting. (Actually, Matt thinks he's road testing some new kind of lithium battery.) The Lincolns are catching up on their reading. Carl Sandberg is the selection this week. (Last week, too, as it happens.) And Mitch Macaphee? Off to the lab, creating something that may enable him to (dare I say it?) rule.... the world...! (Or perhaps making a club sandwich. Turns out it's a very similar process.)
How am I wasting my time? Well... usually it's my job to waste OTHER people's time. But this week, bored, I opted to do a little video New Year's greeting for all you folks out there. Just a brief tour of the Cheney Hammer Mill basement, a little look inside our "creative process" - what it looks like when we're making the sausage we call "music" - and so on. I have posted same for your edification on our YouTube site and other internet haunts bearing our likenesses. Marvin was of some help, though.... his attention was divided, as per usual.
Man, it's cold. Maybe I can get Mitch to try some kind of fusion reaction to generate a little heat in here. Not too hot, you understand.... (he measures everything in Kelvin scale).
Well, anyway... why do we have to do the same thing every time? I mean, I know safety is important, but frankly we can't afford a spaceship at this point. Can't we just hitchhike to Neptune? Good god, man. Whatever happened to the spirit of adventure? We never used to be so risk averse. We used to bear to the left and take chances. Now look at us. (You can use a smoked glass lens, if you prefer.) We're worried about lack of gravity, lack of oxygen, exposure to radiation - what a bunch of wimps! The only one who's really not intimidated by any of this is the mansized tuber. (At least he hasn't said anything about it to me.) Fact is, we have to do these tours on the cheap, what with a recession on and all that. Money's tight, and our corporate label is even tighter. They don't even want to budget for us , let alone a ship to carry us in. Looks like we'll be relying on comped meals again. Ever try to get a free lunch on Uranus? Hah. Take it from me - it...
Okay, what have you got? Mildred... Fitch . Mildred Fitch, 1429 Mulberry Lane, Aurolias, NJ. Got it. Who's next? Get... Get... Stuffed . Get Stuffed. And where does "Get" live? Up... my... HEY!! Oh, hi. Okay, good enough, how are you? Great, great. What are we doing? Funny you should ask. We're working on our mailing list. In fact, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) and I were just compiling names when you logged on. Frankly, it could use a little work. We haven't released a full-length album in almost nine years - that's NINE YEARS to those of you who are hard of hearing - and our list has kind of gone to seed in the interim. Truth be told, we sent out a little teaser message to the folks on our 2000 Years To Christmas list, and it bounced back so hard the sucker hit me square in the face. (I think it loosened a tooth or two, actually.) It's been a rough nine years on our constituency, friends, and a lot of them have moved on to bigger, greener pasture...
Okay, ready? On three ... one, two, THREE! Arrrgh. I meant, on the count of three LIFT the freaking thing, not wave your hands in the air. What the hell's the matter with you? It's like you just don't care. Yeah, I guess you could say we're having a little moving party here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, Big Green's adopted home for the last two decades. (I think we technically have squatter's rights, but what law is there in a place such as this?) No, we're not vacating the premises - far from it. I just wanted to move my piano from one room to another. No particular reason. Maybe that's why I can't get any cooperation out of this crew. I KNEW I should have done one of those leadership retreats! Curses. Sure, there are useful things we could all be doing, but who's got the time for that? I mean, I've been putting off restringing our borrowed electric guitar for about two weeks now. That sucker isn't going to string itself, righ...
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