Tag Archives: Kuiper Belt

Usual Rubbish

Cloud nein.

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Okay, so what are you saying, Mitch? I thought you knew how to drive a space ship. This is a hell of a time to tell me you were just pulling my leg. No, I don‘t have any prayer cards on me. What a stupid question!

For crying out loud, why … why does this happen every time we go out on tour? We map out an itinerary, we hire a spacecraft, we commandeer a space commander of some description, we set off with confidence, and then BOOM – everything goes to hell. Before we know it, we’re bobbing around uselessly in intergalactic space, light years beyond the outer reaches of the Kuiper Belt, hoping some alien freighter takes pity on us and trains a tractor beam on our pathetic, rusting hull. And I ask myself, is this why I got into this business?

Right, so … now that I got that out of my system. Someone (could be anybody … but probably was me) suggested that as part of our Ned Trek Live Springtime Extravaganza Tour 2019 we play this gig in the Small Magellanic Cloud, some 200,000 light years out yonder. Now, necessarily, such a journey would require the development of technologies previously unthought of by humankind. Recall the challenges NASA faced when JFK charged them with putting a white dude on the moon within the course of a single decade. Christ on a bike, they had to invent miniaturized computing, develop advanced rocketry, perfect the concept of staged spacecrafts, and the only help they got was untold billions of dollars in public funds and the advice of retired Nazi ballistic scientists.

At this rate, we should get there by the end of time.

They did it, though. And what have we got? Well …. one mad scientist. (Actually, right now I would describe him as just a little grumpy.) One supercomputer – Marvin (my personal robot assistant), who has a Pentium processor from 1995 humming away in his little brass noggin. And a second-hand flying saucer, salvaged from some boneyard on the outskirts of Roswell, NM. Pull all of those resources together, and nothing can stop you … from getting about three feet off the ground. We’re still working on that first light-year, so we’ve signaled ahead to the promoter on the Small Magellanic Cloud that we may be a little late. Unfortunately, our message is traveling a bit more slowly than us – I can just about see it through the rear window.

Did NASA say uncle when things went wrong? Hell no. But then … maybe they should have. UNCLE!

Usual Rubbish

Get ready.

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Electrodes to power. Turbines to speed. Our sorry asses to perdition. Prepare for launch sequence start. Roger! Roger! Stay away from that engine nozzle! Man, that guy’s an idiot. I don’t understand how he ends up on every mission.

Well, we’re about to launch our spring Interstellar Tour, which we’ve dubbed the Ned Trek Live Springtime Extravaganza Tour 2019.  Not a moment too soon, I should add. It’s getting pretty strange down here on planet Earth, and we’d just as soon watch the various developments from a safe distance of maybe 75 light years. From that remote prospect, all of the cares and woes of human kind are reduced to a mere point of light. A sobering thought … unless you’re drinking that basement hooch Mitch Macaphee has been working on recently. Not one of his better experiments. Speaking as someone who’s about to embark on a perilous deep space excursion in a ramshackle craft, I can say I’m more afraid of imbibing that noxious beverage.

Yes, we did secure transport. It’s a used saucer someone abandoned in exchange for something much, much better.  Mitch picked it up from some used car dealer, caulked up all of the gaps, and it appears to hold air pressure for the most part. Then there’s the engines, and well … they’re a little vintage. There are some rudimentary sleeping quarters, a kitchenette, strangely one of those snack fridges where you get charged five bucks for a Snickers bar. (It shows up on your bill.) There appear to be navigational controls, some direction-finding devices, a few dozen flashing lights, and an old reel-to-reel machine done up to look like a computer. We’ve loaded our gear in and we’re going through a list of final checks before liftoff. (Hey … I never saw that check before!)

How about this little Jewel, Mitch? Just one owner ...

So … we’ve got two days to get to Neptune. And really, we shouldn’t merely arrive on time. It’s awfully hard to find the venue down in that mass of impenetrable atmosphere. Oh, and the Neptunians don’t appreciate tardiness. Come to think of it, they don’t appreciate much of anything … including our music. Why they keep hiring us I could not say. I think it’s because we’re cheap and we provide our own transportation. As you can imagine, being one of the outer planets, they go to great expense to import just about anything, and that includes music. In any case, just a short stop there, then it’s off to the next solar system over … Proxima something or other. Can’t miss it. Just take a right at the Kuiper Belt.

Usual Rubbish

Thule fool.

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For the last time, Mitch, I said no. No, damn it! Isn’t it cold enough in upstate New York? And you want to go way the hell out there? Forget it!

Ah, right. I’m typing all this as we speak. My apologies – we were just having a band meeting and, well, things were starting to get a little contentious. You see, our mad science advisor Mitch Macaphee got it into his head that we should book a performance or two on Ultima Thule, that snowman-shaped object in the Kuiper Belt recently photographed by a NASA space probe. “You’d be the first,” he said. “Don’t you want to be first in something?”

You see what we have to put up with around here? I mean. Matt and I were just asking for ideas about new venues, new opportunities to connect with a broader audience … preferably a terrestrial one. That’s when Mitch piped up about the planetoid. Sure, we’ve played planetoids before. But honestly … you want to go someplace warm during the winter months, right? Somehow an open air concert on the shore of a sea of frozen methane is not my idea of a plum gig. In fact, I’m shivering already. (The Cheney Hammer Mill is kind of leaky, as you might expect.)

It's a freaking snow man, Mitch!Now, it’s no secret that we’re not super fond of live performances. Our battles are fought in the laboratory, not the prize ring! I mean … we make music in the studio, for the most part. Hell, it’s easier, and you get do-overs. So the notion of traveling billions of miles in some dodgy rent-a-spacecraft with a mad man at the helm is not particularly appealing. At the very least, we would need to send Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to do the advance work, which on a gig like Ultima Thule would involve checking the gravitation (too strong, too weak) and doing an atmospheric analysis. I’m guessing the lab work could be finished maybe nine months after his return, which given current technology, might take 40 years.

We could just shoot a line up to the snowman-shaped planetoid and yank it a little closer so that Marvin can do his work. Frankly, he doesn’t need to check its temperature – you just know the sucker is cold, right? It’s shaped like a freaking snowman, for chrissake.

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Up the creek.

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What the hell, Mitch. A week ago you didn’t care whether we went on this tour or not, and now you’re acting like the mill is on fire. What’s the matter with you, boy? And don’t point that deadly laser at me – you know how nervous I get about that kind of thing.

Well, it seems like Mitch is in kind of a hurry now to get off this miserable pimple of a planet known as Earth. Not sure what’s behind the sudden change of mood. He woke up in a bit of a mood Wednesday afternoon after a long night of what I assume was mad science experimentation, and now he’s all about planet KIC 8462852. That’s fine and good, right, but if we’re going there in the Plywood 9000 rocket we rented from SpaceY, well … we may have trouble breaking out of Earth orbit. In fact, we may have trouble clearing the treeline. The truth is, that thing isn’t getting off the ground at all.

Nah. That'll never work.What’s our plan B? Not sure we have one. There’s plan 9 from outer space, but hey … that’s a movie. Plan B might be to hunker down in the Cheney Hammer Mill, record some more songs, and venture out only to retrieve nuts and berries from the nearby Adirondack woodlands. Or pizzas from the nearby Adirondack Pizza Parlor. Or beer from the nearby …. well, you get the idea. I’m not at all sure why we opt for these interstellar tours in the first place. They’re not profitable. They’re long and pointless. They’re occasionally dangerous to the point of being life-threatening. But then, a desk job will kill you after 20-25 years, so … it’s probably just as well.

I told you last week about the latest episode of THIS IS BIG GREEN, our podcast, which should be posted soon-ish. We’ve done rough mixes of all 7 songs, and it’s a strange lot, I will admit, but you be the judge. Hey, be the jury as well. What the fuck, go ahead and throw our sorry asses in music jail. At least THAT would keep me from having to climb aboard a Plywood 9000 rocket with a madman at the helm. P.S. …. HAAAALP!

Usual Rubbish

Last one out.

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Try moving it to the other side of the tail fin. No, not that one! The dorsal tail fin! Okay, now hit it with a hammer a few times. Nothing? Hmmm …. how about if we light it on fire. Sometimes that helps.

Oh, damn. I didn’t realize I was typing this all into our blog. (I think that’s called auto-typing.) Well, as you can tell, Big Green is working furiously to get our rented Plywood 9000 space rocket ready for launch before the election on Tuesday, when all hell is likely to break loose. At least, that’s what the little voices in my head tell me. There are times when you feel compelled to stay and fight the good fight, and then there are those other times when you … well … decide to take a rented rocketship to another planet. That’s a hasty decision, I know, but again … those persistent little voices!

Seriously, I am looking forward to a perhaps non-remunerative jaunt out to the Kuiper belt if only to free ourselves from the pressures of terrestrial life. You have no idea how much maintenance an abandoned Hammer Mill requires. If you’re wondering why we haven’t put out a new episode of our podcast THIS IS BIG GREEN in nearly two months, there’s part of your answer, my friend. At least on planet KIC 8462852 we might find time to finish a project here and there. And my guess is that Marvin (my personal robot assistant) won’t have to worry about being apprehended by Trump’s ICE deportation force. (He has nightmares about that stuff.)

Is that really where the fin goes on this thing?Sure, we’ve had our head down with music production just lately. Matt and I are working on 7 songs for release on the next episode of Ned Trek, the Star Trek political parody that comprises the core of our TIBG podcast. You might say, 7 songs! That’s practically a freaking album, man! Why don’t you just put out another album, freak!? Well, first of all …. don’t call me “album freak”. I don’t deserve that. After all, we haven’t put out an album in three years. (And our LAST album was Cowboy Scat: Songs in the Key of Rick, so technically we haven’t put out a sane album in eight years.) What was I saying again?

Right. Spacecraft maintenance can make your mind wander. Check back a little later this week when I don’t have a monkey wrench in my fist. (That’s what I’m doing wrong! I need a rocket wrench!)

Usual Rubbish

Home for the helladays.

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We’ll be home for Christmas? Only in your dreams.

Yes, I know… we should do the decent, right? Be with our families, etc. Alas, technology makes clueless monkeys of us all. This horrible rust-bucket leftover from some forgotten interplanetary invasion we rented as transport during our interstellar tour has blown yet another gasket or some such thing, per our mad science advisor Mitch Macaphee. He used a lot of big words, none of which I’d ever heard before (though Matt was familiar with several of them… strange…). The upshot is, we’re chugging along at subnormal speed, making our leisurely way back to Earth from the Kuiper Belt – last stop on the ENTER THE MIND: THE ULTIMATE BIG GREEN EXPERIENCE interstellar tour.

So… like my cat Macky, we’re making the best of it. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has fashioned a Christmas tree out of whatever was available. The mansized tuber has been coaxed out of his terrarium to serve as the aforementioned  “whatever was available”. John’s playing “Oh, Holy Night” on his four-string banjo. (I keep singing “Oh, Holy Shit!” to annoy him, but still he is not annoyed.) Lincoln and Anti-Lincoln are dec’ing the halls with clumps of Neptunian seaweed, considered a delicacy on Titan and a form of currency in the Kuiper Belt. (If you’re wondering how we were paid for all those performances on those tiny asteroids, wonder no more.) Yes, it’s quite festive out here in deep space.

Me? I’m telling holiday stories to anyone who will listen. Thing is, no one will listen. Actually, as rock bands go, we’ve got a lot of holiday related material. There’s our first album, 2000 Years To Christmas, of course, featuring 13 songs that use Christmas as raw material for songs that are about other things entirely. Few people know that that is the tip of the iceberg. During his salad days (i.e. back when he was rich enough to afford salad), Matt wrote and recorded about 60 or 70 songs themed on Christmas as cassette gifts for friends, relatives, etc. 2000 Years To Christmas is a sampler from that body of songs. Trust me, there are a lot more where that came from.

Fact is, we finished 16 songs for that project, so there are 3 unreleased numbers. One day … maybe next Christmas … you may find them under your tree. (Or under indictment.) In any case… have a happy.

Usual Rubbish

Lost in found.

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That looks like my first pair of Chuck Taylors. Always wondered what happened to them. And there’s that bike that got stolen when I was twelve. And some pocket lint that looks very familiar.

Oh, hi, friends of Big Green. Glad this is getting out to you. WiFi is a little unreliable out here in the midst of the Kuiper Belt… all these particles and planetoids cause a boatload of interference, as you might well imagine. Yes, we did manage to navigate our way through the black hole that had parked itself next to that annoying Goldilocks Planet our label talked us into playing. (We now know why the Gliesians call the black hole “Papa Bear”). The advice we’d been given took us right into the old vortex. Turns out it’s just a transdimensional expressway back to the Kuiper Belt. Bit of good luck, that.

So, yeah… we’re here for the final leg of our somewhat anti-climactic ENTER THE MIND: THE ULTIMATE BIG GREEN EXPERIENCE interstellar tour 2010. Why anti-climactic? No climax… Why else? We’ve gone something like 60 gazillion miles in the last seven weeks and what the hell do we have to show, eh? No cash, no kudos, no nothing. Bloody flop.  Still, we’re indefatigable (except for the man-sized tuber, who hasn’t been out of his terrarium since three stops ago). So we’ve already spent a couple of days on Pluto, the big brass buckle of the Kuiper Belt, jamming out to a frozen house, making the icicles shake, rattle, and crack. (No rolling on Pluto. They have a code, you know.)

There are three things you need to know about this Kuiper Belt place. The first is that it’s bloody cold. I think you might have guessed. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has tanked out his battery half a dozen times since we got here. The second is that this place is like the solar system’s lost and found. Apparently everything that gets lost on Earth (and everywhere else in Sol’s neighborhood) ends up here. For instance, there are literally billions of odd socks floating around and between the asteroids. Explains a lot. That stuff they call “dark matter”? Socks. Just socks. I think it’s just centrifugal force, spinning everything out to the rim. Now you know.

The third thing is that… some of these venues are so small, it’s almost impossible to perform. Right now, I’m straddling two of these Kuiper Belt objects, my keys parked on a third, playing to an audience perched on dozens more within earshot. Keee-razy.

Usual Rubbish

Rabbit hole.

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Well, I haven’t seen it. What kind of belt is it? Nothing of the kind. What am I, your valet? Damn it, man – use your eyes! Oh…. the Kuiper Belt. Right… nope, haven’t seen it.

Then there’s that third reason. A little known fact about the “Goldilocks Planet”: it lives right next door to the mother of all black holes (I believe that’s referred to as the “Three Bears Neutron Star”). Before we took off, we asked the Gliseans how best to navigate back in the direction of our home system. They gave us what was, for them, some pretty typical advise – go left, but not too far left; then take a right turn at the asteroid… not the BIG asteroid, not the LITTLE one, the JUST RIGHT one… and so on. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) took all this down in his memory banks, then plugged himself into our spacecraft’s navigational computer and passed the directions along. (It may have been my imagination, but he always seems to have a self-satisfied smirk when he hooks up with that terminal. Nevertheless…)

Okay, so we follow these asinine directions, and we find ourselves being drawn off course by some unseen force… a mysterious power beyond the understanding of man or machine. Mitch Macaphee called it … “gravity”. Yes, the black hole just to the right (not too far!) of the Goldilocks Planet was drawing us in relentlessly. Next thing, everything goes dark. It’s like driving through the Holland Tunnel. All the way to Holland. Need I draw you a picture?

So, okay, we’re supposed to be at a gig in the Kuiper Belt by Tuesday of next week. Care to start a pool on whether or not we make it? I’m betting no. Cover me?