Man, it’s hot today. Maybe we should make some tea. Like a whole pot of tea. Perfect day for it. Just fill the pot with water, put it on the counter and watch it come to a boil. No problem – lovely pot of tea.
Well, it’s August, and it’s hot enough to boil a monkey’s bum in here, as the sages of Monty Python once said (with a cartoonish Aussie accent). It will come as a surprise to no one that there is no air conditioning here in the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. In fact, the closest thing we have to air conditioning is some holes in the roof – holes that let the air in. Sometimes the air is cool, sometimes not. It’s conditional, on account of the changing weather …. air conditional.
Things my comic books taught me
Summers like this remind me of my misspent youth. I say “me”, because no one else here remembers my misspent youth. Even Matt, who misspent much of it right alongside me, doesn’t care to remember, and who can blame him? If you remember the 1970s, you probably weren’t there. That said, I remember quite a bit of it, particularly around the middle. Like an Oreo or Hydrox cookie, the ’70s had a creamy center, with crunchy wafers on either side. Ask your mother.
We had a roof over our heads and three squares a day, but not a lot of spending money. So we took to entertaining ourselves the cheap way. You know what kids are like – they’ll whittle a canoe out of an old birch tree. I was like that. Hell, I fashioned a bong out of old cardboard paper towel tubes and tape. Got the plans out of the back of a Zap comic book. It might have been Dr. Atomic or something like that. And yes, it was made of combustibles, but it didn’t catch fire …. right away.
Red sales in the sunset
Another summer tradition: we’re in the red. There’s a lot of reasons for this. One is that we’ve never really been a beach band. I think you could count on one hand the times that we’ve collectively been to the beach for something other than bird watching (Matt) or metal detecting (Anti-Lincoln). In other words, our music is not synonymous with summer fun. We’re never likely to write the big hit of the season, despite all the trying. That’s okay. I’m not sure what we would do with riches at this stage. (Tell me more about those riches …)
You know, it’s a pity comic books aren’t as universal as they used to be. If they were, we could move a lot of music through those suckers. I can see a Big Green ad tucked into the back pages, between the Charles Atlas fitness course and the patented Onion Gum. Just clip out the coupon and mail it in with a nickel taped to the little circle. We’ll send you Big Green’s latest album, plus a publicity photo signed by yours truly. The thing practically writes itself.
Get yours someplace else
Hey, while we’re sweating to the oldies, this is probably a good time to mention that we’re now on BandCamp. We’ve uploaded our first two albums there, will add more in the near future. Check it out, friend us, share our page, throw us a bone, hey will you?
Okay, so let’s assume the weather has nothing to do with Mitch’s cloud bazooka. This is effed up, man! Remember now – we are squatters in this here hammer mill, see? And, well … the heat in this place is a little unreliable. Most of the winter we depend on an old wood stove in what used to be the shipping office. It’s the mansized tuber’s job to stoke the thing, and sometimes he falls down on the job a little. But most days we manage to keep the ice off the dishwater … though I don’t suppose you’re aware of how effective ice can be as a dishwashing medium. It scrapes, it emulsifies, it …. okay, I’m exaggerating. You have to look on the bright side when you’re freezing your ass off.