The station is large and well-appointed, has entertainment resources and adequate supplies. Sam communicates frequently with the home office ... and so does Gerty. Sam doesn't do any actual mining, but his human hands and brain are needed for repairs, maintenance and inspection. One day he's outside checking up on something, and his lunar rover smashes up. He's injured and awakens in the station's medical facility. And that, I think, is all I need to say. A spoiler warning would mean secrets are revealed -- and you'd look, wouldn't you, no matter what you say?
The album's first single, "Left Behind", was nominated for the 2002 Grammy Award for Best Metal Performance at the 44th Grammy Awards .  The second single, "My Plague", was nominated in 2003 for the same award at the 45th Grammy Awards .  The single "Left Behind" peaked in the top thirty for single sales the United States and the UK.   In addition, "My Plague" reached the 43rd position on the UK charts.  Iowa was ranked sixth in the "50 Albums of the year" by NME in 2001.  The album reached the top position on the UK Albums Chart ,  and the second spot on the ARIA Charts in Australia.  The album reached the third spot on the Billboard 200  and Finnish Charts.  On October 10, 2001, the album was certified platinum in the United States.  In Canada, the Canadian Recording Industry Association certified the album as Platinum, on September 5, 2001.  The British Phonographic Industry has certified the album as gold in the UK.  In 2009, Iowa was rated 3rd in UK magazine Kerrang! ' s "The 50 Best Albums of the 21st century" reader poll.  Loudwire listed Iowa at #2 of their "Top 11 albums of the 2000s" and #6 of their "Top 100 albums of the 21st century".  
On alternate weekends, he plays cricket on Staten Island, the sole white man in a cricket club that includes Chuck Ramkissoon, a Trinidadian wiseacre, whose outsize dreams of building a cricket stadium in the city represent a Gatsbyesque commitment to the American Dream/human possibility/narrative with which Hans himself is struggling to keep faith. The stage is set, then, for a “meditation” on identities both personal and national, immigrant relations, terror, anxiety, the attack of futility on the human consciousness and the defense against same: meaning. In other words, it’s the post–September 11 novel we hoped for. (Were there calls, in 1915, for the Lusitania novel? In 1985, was the Bhopal novel keenly anticipated?) It’s as if, by an act of collective prayer, we have willed it into existence.