Beast Machines

Three days ago, we returned home from tour to the screaming, jet engine-like sound of many large machines running at top volume in our busted house, as if cyber-creatures had colonized it in our absence. There’s this very impressive pulmonary system of sorts in place, running tubes full of dry air from the giant robot king into our damp walls and floors and what is left of the ceiling. There are lesser, but still impressive, cyber creatures positioned around the house, all screaming in different tones, most of them clustered in the basement. The basement, from the way it sounds, is a place into which I will never venture again. Something like having your very own 747 in a basement hangar. Neato!

We have been instructed to keep the heat at 75 degrees in order to help the drying process along (we usually keep it at 55…We don’t thrive in temperatures higher than that). Factoring in the heat that the screaming robots and the stressed out humans are generating, I figure it’s about 85 or 90 in here. We wear shorts and t-shirts in the house, then drape ourselves in winter gear to go outside where it’s like…20. Then we pelt each other with snowballs ’til we feel better.

I briefly entertained the idea of keeping my sense of humor about this: covering the beast machines in Christmas lights and pine boughs, maybe having the kids draw faces on them. As it turns out, that’s not very funny. Or maybe it is; I just can’t THINK with all this NOISE!

So a few hours ago, Billy and I looked at each other in the shimmering heat of the kitchen and something in my expression made him mouth instructions to dress the kids in their outside gear and put them in the car. He then drove us to a civilized restaurant where we shared civilized conversation over a civilized dinner and decided to make a run for it.

The upshot being, I get to go back to Rizzo’s and go back to work on my record! Score! That’s a million for Kristin, ZERO for the dumb ass home invading cyber-creeps! Now I won’t forget the new song I wrote at the beach (it’s called “The Thin Man”, in case I do forget it — then you tell me), now I won’t forget the piano and guitar overdubs I wrote on tour, now I can point at Elizabethan gourds hanging on Rizzo’s wall and say, “Steve! Tune it, I think I can play it!”.

Just like old times…


Posted in: words on December 5, 2005