NOTES FROM SRI LANKA.
(September '00)
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9/3/2000
Did somebody say something?
Oh, yes. That was me. My apologies. With all the activity around here lately, I'm starting to get a little confused. (Who am I again? What's today? Sunday...already?)
Gung-Ho's been riding me pretty hard at that ludicrous exercise class of his, and I'm starting to reach a point of total exhaustion. Pretty soon, I'm going to tell him and his fanatical drill-thralls to stuff it, Mortadella be damned. I only half believe that stuff sFshzenKlyrn told me about the "agility side-step" being my only path to a higher raw score, which would in turn lead to a higher achievement level, which would allow me to withstand ordinarily lethal doses of radiation from the Mortadellans. Matt and John seem skeptical as well, though they are responding to training a bit better than I. Still...it's fucking hard work to get that raw score higher!
I
asked Gung-Ho why we seem to be having so much trouble, when his death squad trainees are
all doing famously. He gave me an explanation that, while entirely bogus,
actually explained a lot about our lives in general. It seems that we members of
Big Green have to work harder than most people to get the same amount in return.
Gung-Ho provided us with this handy chart to illustrate how
this principle works. (Just click on the chart for a closer look.)
For instance, we (of Big Green) have to work almost two and one-half hours to earn enough to buy a dozen eggs, when it takes most people only about 17 minutes. And nylon stockings? Eight freaking hours...for one pair! (Ordinary people need only work a measly 37 minutes.) Strangely enough, the difference isn't that great when it comes to potatoes (7 minutes vs. 2 ) or loaves of rye bread (9 minutes vs. 6). Gung-Ho says it has to do with our specific gravity; that items of basic nourishment require relatively little exertion, while the more complex consumer commodities are almost unobtainable for wimps like us.
Sure,
I know what you're thinking. That Gung-Ho...he's taking advantage of us. He's
puttin' us down. Well now, I was thinking the same thing. Then I
remembered where we were back in July when the roof came crashing in. That
feeling of total hopelessness, of senselessness...of nesslessness (we were
missing our Eliot Ness comics very much). Gung-Ho was the only one to step
forward and help us in our hour of need. He and his flame thrower brought the
sunlight streaming back into our shattered little world, and I am eternally
grateful...even if he is an irritating, back-biting, muscle-bound weasel.
So the training must continue. And we'll still be running our fingers around the inside of discarded soup cans for a while longer. At least until sFshzenKlyrn comes through with an advance for this Venus gig. Christ -- just look at that chart and try to figure how long we would have to work to buy passage on an interstellar transport! The universe should only last so long.
Judgment
for the Defense. Speaking of irritating, back-biting weasels, the
illustrious American President Wild Bill Clinton has announced his long-awaited
decision on deployment of the national "missile defense" system...and he's
decided not to decide. Which means the program continues as it has up to
now -- lots of lucrative research contracts, punctuated by the occasional
fraudulent test/PR event. "We need more tests against more challenging
targets," says Bill, throwing the floor open to Al and Dubya, who are
currently engaged in a bidding war for the love of the Pentagon and assorted
"defense" industry lobbyists and contractors. You know -- the people
who get the newspapers to call what they're working on a "missile
shield," even though it can't even hit a dummy warhead fired on schedule
from a known location with plenty of tracking clues thrown in, just to make it
easier.
Dubya
may be ahead on this one. He wants the "missile defense shield" to
protect all 50 states, as well as U.S. troops abroad...and our allies, as well.
That may take more than the 4% of GNP figure defense industry hacks have been
floating lately as a reasonable portion for the Pentagon. Sounds like a plan.
Thanks, Bill. Thanks for your integrity. We'll...miss...you.
Spray You, Spray Me. The Oneida County Health Department dropped the pesticide Anvil all over my neighborhood last week. The next morning, I went out and saw mosquitoes. Live ones. Buoyed by their success, they're spraying other communities apace. The erstwhile Health Department also has to deal with a massive sewage spill that made its way into Oneida Lake's resort areas by accident this Labor Day Weekend. Oops. The Commissioner says she's "starting to feel like Gumby." I can see why.
God be with ye.
jp
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9/10/2000
Another Sunday. They're coming fast and furious.
We're under a storm watch here in Sri Lanka. It's a bit more of a concern once you've found yourself without a roof over your head, as Big Green has in the recent past. Let's just say that paranoia has a way of changing your habits. So when the weather goes septic, for instance, it takes on a whole new level of significance.
You
start taking more than the obvious precautions, for one thing. I myself have
taken to stuffing our spare light bulbs into socks and placing them in the
refrigerator. John tells me this isn't strictly necessary, but it does give me
an added feeling of security. If there's enough warning of a storm, Matt starts
taking the fruit off the mango trees and burying it in the back yard. John, for
his part, will
either give Matt a hand, or put his time to good use smearing spackling compound
over all the electrical outlets. Hey -- it's just our way of avoiding that
terrible feeling you get when you're away from home and you think you've
forgotten to do something important. Believe me -- it can spell disaster!
What of that gig on planet Venus with Mortadella? We're getting closer to being able to do it. sFshzenKlyrn has kindly fronted us the travel cash, since our label Hegemonic Records & Worm Farm, Inc., unceremoniously crapped out on us. Typical. When it comes to cold, hard cash, it doesn't take long to find out who your friends are...and who they aren't. You know the drill. (I told Matt we could do better than a 50-year no-royalty contract, even with the lifetime supply of Swedish Fish. But would he listen? Huh? Are you listening?)
It's
true, we've made our share of mistakes through the course of Big Green's
meteoric career. And listening to sFshzenKlyrn's
advice is a path fraught with danger, as past experience has shown. But where
would we be if we didn't take a few chances? If
success requires keeping counsel with oddly misshapen space aliens, so be it.
Call it an occupational hazard -- if so, it is one we of Big Green proudly
embrace. Besides, money is money. And it just wouldn't do to let Mortadella
down. The only escape clause in their
performance contract sFshzenKlyrn!
It's Debatable. Dubya and Al are sparring over this thing they call debates, which has really evolved over the years into something more like "Dueling Banjos" -- two politicians, usually from the American south, who agree on virtually everything except which empty suit should have the job. Look at these jokers! Both Dubya and Al have deep and broad petroleum industry interests. They're both for more military spending and a more pervasive (and perverse) police state mentality at home. Even if they spend the debates talking about something they don't agree on -- abortion policy, perhaps -- it shouldn't take long to discover that, not so long ago, they were in full agreement on that issue, as well.
Still,
I think Dubya's a little more nervous than the other one. Scriptless in front of
a national audience, not one, not two, but three times. (Eeek!) No
teleprompters. (Double eek!) Even total corporate underwriting of all three
events won't make him feel at home on that stage. But, hey...if looking
smart counts for anything, I don't think there's any question that Dubya will
pull ahead. So what if he doesn't know who's president of Kenya, or what the
capital of New Mexico is? He's got boyish good looks and a winning way about
him. And he's got real ideas for real people. Really he does. (At least for
today.) Just look at the flag behind him! Just look!
The enemy among us. Well, well, well. When protesters apprehended at the Philly Republican Convention claimed that there were police infiltrators in their midst, the Philly police chief called it "propaganda." Turns out there were undercover cops planted as union carpenters. The clandestine playbook on this little operation read like something from the old Cointelpro days of J. Edgar Hoover's FBI, referring to the young protesters as communists and Soviet sympathizers. And apt exercise of extra-constitutional power in advance of the more brutal performance in Los Angeles, where riot police hammered away at demonstrators indiscriminately, including attacks on those who were attempting to obey their commands to withdraw. A little look at things to come, friends.
Take my advice. Start wearing a helmet.
luv u,
jp
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9/17/2000
Hola,
Hope all is well with you and yours. (Your what, you may ask. And well you may.) Those madcap, zany, laugh-a-minute funsters you know as Big Green are doing just fine, thank you. We remain in possession of all of our major faculties and our zillions of tiny Big Green molecules are still cleaving to one another. Nice.
This last fact is essential as we
are (as some of you may remember) closing in on the big spotlight gig our
occasional guitarist from the planet Zenon sFshzenKlyrn
booked for us -- opening for the terrifying band
known as Mortadella at
a hopping little venue called the Venusian PleasureDome. (They're planning some
pretty dramatic promotional stunts, I hear.) In fact, our much anticipated trip
to Venus is now only about ten days away, and we are entering the final phases
of training for the process our drummer John refers to as "interplanetary
transitory insertion."
You see, this is where having a solid molecular structure always comes in handy. Not only will we be called upon to withstand the tremendous g-forces of attaining escape velocity, the enormous heat and pressure of the oppressive Venusian atmosphere, and the withering barrage of neutrons emanating from the show's headliners, but we'll have to manage all of this without the benefit of pressure suits. Though sFshzenKlyrn has generously agreed to underwrite the costs of this venture, his budget does not allow for the shortcomings of our Earthbound biology. (He and his fellow Zenites get a real kick out of our peculiar addiction to air, atmospheric pressure, and moderate temperatures.)
With this budgetary reality firmly in
mind, we've called upon some of our old friends for help in finding a solution.
Trevor James Constable offered some useful advice: increase molecular cohesion.
That sounded good to me, but Trevor was a little short on details. For further
scientific insights, 
Matt
tried to get in touch with Dr. Hump (who had moved back to his villa in
Tuscany), but could only get his answering machine. Ultimately it was Gung Ho
who stepped into the breach. He agreed with Trevor's assessment, and said that
our molecules needed intensive indoctrination to achieve what he called
"critical density." Only then would they stay in line under attack by
subversive elements, like plutonium. He called in his old instructor from
Langley to get started on us right away.
The guy uses a lot of strange metaphors, but I guess my molecules must be getting the idea, all right. I've put on about six pounds, and lost nearly 4 inches off my waistline. Similar readings on Mssrs. (M.) Perry and White. Critical density, here we come.
High Five. With liberals lining up
behind Eisenhower and Goldwater Republicans like Al Gore and Hillary Clinton,
one wonders where "lesser of two evil-ism" will ultimately lead us.
Look at where we've gotten so far. This has to be the first "open"
election year I can remember where there 
wasn't
a credible liberal-left challenger to the anointed Democratic Party
front-runner. (Don't say Bradley. He and Gore are like two sides of a reversible
suit.) Traditional left issues have gotten no attention in the DLC-drafted
platform. My guess is that, next cycle, they'll just run Republicans (hey,
beware of imitations).
The only thing that might inject a little interest into this moribund political season would be to insist on having Green Party candidate Ralph Nader attend the corporate-sponsored, bi-partisan endorsed "debates." To garner an invitation, Nader (and others outside the bi-partisan political hammerlock) would have to poll 15% or more nationally. But hey -- why don't we all write/email the Bipartisan Commission on Debates and insist that they lower the bar to 5%? That's high enough for talking rights.
After all, if crucial political events like Presidential debates are to be reduced to mere entertainment, we should at least make them interesting. And what would be more interesting than a few frank Nader-esque challenges to the bi-partisan corporate consensus? Now, that's entertainment!
Be free.
luv,
jp
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9/23/2000
Testing, one...two...okay, got it.
How are you? No, really -- I want to know. I'm sure you get that sort of question from non-corporeal musical entities all the time. But this one really means it -- how the hell are you? And what about the bladder trouble? Has that awful fungus killed the Gingko tree yet? And that battered bowling ball someone left on the highway median -- is that still lying there? Send the answers to these questions and more to jperry@biggreenhits.com
Back to Sri Lanka for a moment. These are heady days here at the Big Green family compound. We're undergoing final training for our performance on planet Venus with Mortadella, now less than a week away. Trevor James Constable has generously agreed to lend us his services as head of our molecular conditioning program. With the aid of his amazing Orgone generating device, he has regimented our molecules in such tight little rows that we have become impervious to radiation, heat, light, sound, and advertising. We can't seem to stop grinning, either, but I consider that a minor drawback (though I'm getting a little tired of eating broth).
The
reason we're subjecting ourselves to this punishing regimen, of course, is that
our colleagues from the Megellanic cloud Mortadella
exhale quantities of plutonium generally
considered (outside the US Defense Department) lethal to human types like us.
Also, our friend sFshzenKlyrn,
who is underwriting this venture, has neglected to provide us with environmental
suits, which earthlings normally employ when participating in open air concerts
on the planet Venus. Incidentally, sFshzenKlyrn
so far has been unwilling to arrange a meeting between Big Green and the members
of Mortadella,
but he did provide us with this snap of the group's lead singer. Kind of a fiery
performer, no? Ouch! This was when we called Trevor James in.
So, if all goes well, we'll be winging our way to sunny Venus in 3 or 4 days' time, depending upon which rotational interval you reckon time by. Matt has already painted over all the windows in our new lean-to in preparation for our absence. John's outside staking down all the trees -- especially the ones with smaller root systems. I've just about got enough time to entrust our supply of rice chex to the neighbors for safekeeping. (Don't want to keep valuables in an empty house, you know.) I'll write you from interplanetary spaaaaaace!!
Election?
It's neck and scrawny neck for the White House. Isn't everyone excited? Sure
you are. That's because there's such a dramatic difference between the
candidates this time 'round. I mean, they're going for such diverse
constituencies...and they represent such different points of view. What a horse
race! Who will win? Who will be the last one on the island? Who wants to blow a
millionaire? (I think we've got a lot of takers on that last one.)
If the two mega-corporate parties succeed once again in compelling everyone with better instincts to either stay home or pick the lesser of two weasels, next time they may complete the merger they've been contemplating for the last twenty years. What the hell -- if most people see no point in voting (because there's no meaningful choice), why continue the 2-party charade? Why not merge the two majors, then downsize most of their staffing to increase efficiency and leverage the synergies between them? Do we really need two corporate parties? I think not. And having just one would free up some time on Oprah, that's for sure.
Who
Wants To Be A Billionaire? The results are in, and Bill Gates is the big
winner again this year, with $63 billion to his registered trademark...I mean, name.
Sadly, this is $22 billion less than last year (things are tough all over), but
still enough to top runner-up Warren Buffet's $28 billion. Now Bill Gates is
worth as much as the bottom 40% of Americans (buncha losers). But then, this is
America...where the top 1% own as much wealth as the bottom 95%. Bill's got a
ways to go before he approaches numbers like that. At least he's got something
to aspire to. Before he votes us all off the island.
Make trouble. I'll call you from the icy void of space.
luv u,
jp