That’s it. That’s it. Keep your eyes on the horizon. Don’t look down, for pity sake. Never look down… or up, for that matter. Good man. Or should I say, good robot? Good robot.
Oh, hello. Didn’t know you were standing there behind the lintel. You caught me in the middle of talking Marvin (my personal robot assistant) out of his mechanical version of sea-sickness. He’s been up in that bloody Zamboola-powered observation balloon for the better part of two weeks now, and the constant rocking is more than even a rock band hanger-on can easily stand. Sure, I know what you’re thinking — He’s a mechanical man, isn’t he? Surely Mitch Macaphee installed some gimbals in that bloody thing! Well, Marvin was one of Mitch’s most ambitious experiments up to that point in time. He hadn’t yet gotten all the bugs out of his theories on automaton equilibrium. Long story short…. Marvin’s turning green up there, and now we’ve got to do something.
Good christ in himmel. Remember when being in this band meant playing music in some fashion? (Though some might take issue with the fashion part.) Interruptions and more bloody interruptions! I can tell you, Matt and I had a good long talk with Mitch Macaphee about 
commandeering our help (i.e. Marvin) in the middle of a session (i.e. waste of time), and Mitch gave us a relatively firm scientific reply (i.e. fuck off), so that was that. Next thing we know, he is working with Trevor James Constable on some kind of alchemy experiment, seemingly having lost interest in the atmospheric probe on which he had sent not only Marvin but Big Zamboola (who may be needed to assist in the remix process, like adding a little gravity here and there to the “lighter” songs). Back only a few weeks and this lousy abandoned mill is… well…. virtually abandoned again. And that’s just plain unnatural. (And you can quote me on that.)
Still, even with the loss of Marvin and the man-sized tuber (still in numismatic heaven), we’ve plodded on with our mastering sessions, doggedly putting the bits of these songs together like Mitch trying to knit toaster waffles into blocks of solid platinum. (I told him it’s never 
going to work. He isn’t even using the ones with Hanson on the box.) How’s it going? Well…. sometimes the magic works, and sometimes it doesn’t. But we’re getting there. Sure, I know — you’ve heard me say that so many times before, what the hell does it mean, right? Well, let me just say this to you. Ask not what your Big Green can do for you… ask what you can do for your Big Green. Moral support — that’s what we need. Think good thoughts. Put our names in your little book of wishes. (Not your little book of fishes, thank you very much.) And hope someone… someone comes along to twiddle these bloody dials in the right direction.
If that’s going to be Marvin, I’d better get back on the line. My apologies. Marvin? Is that you hanging over the side of the gondola? Eyes on the horizon, boy!
