Hammer Mill Days

Bailiffs to the left of me, lawyers to the right; judge straight ahead. Half a league, half a league, half a league on. (Whoops... sorry, your honor. Went half a league too far.) Yes, well... greetings from the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill on this blessed week of giving thanks. Thanks for what? Nothing, that's what around this dump. Forgive my ill humor... it's just that the man-sized tuber - our own beloved root vegetable companion - has embarked upon a virtual reign of terror as our municipality's new mayor. I'll tell you, friends, you never really know a person (or a sweet potato) until you've a.) had them over for holiday dinner, or b.) elected them village mayor or town supervisor. The maxim about absolute power corrupting absolutely may well be ascribed to the extremely limited power conferred upon the executive in charge of the little hamlet that has heretofore reluctantly tolerated the presence of Big Green . Silly me - I thought with one of our very own in...

Hey, what can I tell you? For a few days, it almost smelled like Obama would resist the call to send tens of thousands more U.S. troops into the hell-hole that is Afghanistan. That cloud of wispy optimism has surely passed, and while the announcement, as of this writing, has not yet been made, it's clear that something like 30,000 to 35,000 more American bodies will be placed between the religious fanatics, drug smugglers, blood-stained warlords, and underworld entrepreneurs that dominate both sides of the Afghan struggle. To what end? Well, we've been promised that Obama will explain his strategy in a nationally-televised address this coming week. My guess is that it will be somewhat reminiscent of Bush Jr.'s address announcing the surge in Iraq - a change of strategy concentrating on the fundamentals of securing and holding territory, investing more dollars in reconstruction, and promoting regional cooperation. Bush's speech was in the wake of the major disaster that ...

What is this - another citation? Third one today. What? You mean there's a stack of them downstairs as well? Jesus H. Jumping Christ! What kind of a squat house is this, anyway? Yes, friends, we're back home in Indiana... I mean, in upstate New York again. Back at the fabled and storied (actually, three stories, plus the roof and basement) Cheney Hammer Mill. We arrived on the redeye late last night... and by "redeye" I don't mean an overnight flight from Andrews Airforce Base; rather, an eye-popping super-light speed journey through the outer solar system with a drunken mad scientist at the controls, half-empty quart of redeye clutched in his left paw. Weaving? Yes, we had that. Sudden drops in altitude? Most def. And what about those dramatic gravitational variances? Well, we endured our share, clinging to the exposed plumbing of the upper deck (some of which emitted an eerie green glow - uuuuhhhllll), rolling with the turbulence as our inebriated navigator snak...

I am probably the millionth blogger to comment on Major Hasan's alleged massacre of 13 people at Fort Hood, Texas, and I'm sure it won't stop there. I have to say, though, that the rhetoric I've been hearing over the past week has made it impossible for me not to toss my screed onto the growing pile. Commentators pretty much across the mainstream spectrum of opinion have latched onto this idea that Hasan was given the chance to do this heinous act by virtue of a culture of "political correctness" within the military, i.e. the Army being over-sensitive to Muslims within their ranks and overlooking Hasan's failings. This strikes me as wildly off the mark and - worse - an attempt to utilize an unspeakable act of murder to make political points. It's also part of the very common practice of mainstream commentators to avoid the elephant in the room when discussing matters related to our two simultaneous wars; namely, the true costs of such extended conflict...

Here in the situation room, no one speaks in muted tones. Everything is shouting, all the time, shouting. Oh, the noise! Can't we all just get along? Oh, hi, you-all. Hope everything is well back on Earth. We will see you there soon, I trust, as we appear to be heading in that general direction, assuming Mitch Macaphee's navigational skills have not gone seriously downhill in the last month or so. (We walk by faith, not sight.) Rolling to the end of another outer-limits tour - this one a bit more ad hoc than previous outings, apropos of the severe economic recession back home. Couldn't even afford to brand this tour, and that typically doesn't cost much more than a couple of beers at the local pub. (We quaff them until somebody emits a decent idea... or something a bit less savory.) As you know, Big Green always operates on the cheap, but this time was the worst yet. As someone who's used to dry Soy Slice sandwiches, it took some time getting used to sandwiches mad...

Don't know if you have credit cards with major TARP-rescued banks. I certainly do, and this week I received a notice from one of them telling me that they were summarily changing the terms of my credit agreement. In essence, they said they were raising the interest rate on my card to 23%. Yes, that's right - 23% on a balance well below my credit limit, on a card I've had for at least a decade without missing a payment. You don't seem surprised. Perhaps they've done the same to you... and, in fact, they are doing the same to everyone, as far as I know. It seems CitiGroup, the recipient of $45 billion in publicly funded bailout dollars, has settled on a business model that empties the pockets of American taxpayers a second time. Charging 23% and more on credit in an economic environment such as this, when people are losing their jobs, their homes, their shoes , for chrissake... and when institutions like Citi are drawing money from the Federal Reserve lending window a...

There it is again. Hear it? That creaking noise. Yeah, yeah... that one. Is that your astronaut couch or one of the main support beams holding this clunker together. Don't be in a hurry to answer that. Oh, hi, Web-based readers, listeners, and curiosity seekers. It's your old pal Big Green , out here in deep space, fresh off a thrashing series of gigs on Kaztropharius 137b - one of the few places in the known universe where our music gets played, bought, and reviewed - and headed in the general direction of home. Yes, we've had it for the time being. After all, the holidays are coming, daylight savings time has ended (spend all that saved-up daylight yet?), and darkness is falling across the northern hemisphere of our tattered planet. It's at this time of year, more than any other, that the sojourner's thoughts turn to hearth and home, and certainly we of Big Green are no exceptions. Many's the time I've repaired backstage (what the hell, you can hardly re...