Let's Play Pretend

We’re trying to get your opinion on something here (yes, you!). Let’s say you’ve never heard a We Are Scientists song. Pretend, we said already. Can’t you pretend? Let’s pretend you’ve never heard a We Are Scientists song, OK? OK. If you could hear only one We Are Scientists song, which song would it be? Please answer based on what you know the songs to sound like. In other words, don’t pretend that you don’t know what any of these songs sound like and therefore choose based on the title or something like that. We want you to choose based on the sound of the song, like which song would you like, not which song title would you like. You feel me? I mean, we don’t even have to say you’ve never heard a We Are Scientists song, although that’s kind of why we’re asking the question. We’re just looking for what song you like the most. And can we keep it limited to the recorded version? So, if you really like, say, the way, say, Mothra sounds live but think the recording of it is quite rank (this is hypothetical, of course), then don’t choose that song. Unless, of course, you’ve only heard us live, in which case it is perfectly appropriate for you to vote for that song that struck you so deeply in the live setting. Is this clear? Let me say it another way: Choose a song (one song only) that represents for you the song that sounds best to you. Sonically. Not just production-wise, though. The song itself. So that will include the words and the beats and the music and the other sounds in there. The whole thing. What song just gets you going, revs up your innards? Maybe it makes you cry or even seethe with anger. I don’t know. Whatever you like. We’re looking for that one song. So we’ve come to you because we thought you might know. If you’ve never heard a We Are Scientists song, then please go listen to a We Are Scientists song before you vote. (There are some mp3s on the songs page, or you can order a CD from our merchandise page. Those are a couple ways you could listen to some songs. Maybe there are other ways. Those are fine, too.) That’ll help with the reliability of the data set. We’d like to restrict the data set to reliable data only. That means, then, that we’d also like you to only vote once. That’s just fair, too. But don’t let all these restrictions and clarifications keep you from voting. Please vote! We need you! If you’re going to err, please err on the side of voting rather than not voting. But, you know, just try to be honest and all that. We’re just wondering what you think. For our files. Doing research. No big deal or whatever. (But beware that this voting opportunity will only be up for a limited time! Not long! Vote now! Vote now!) So, yeah, you can vote by choosing one of the songs on the right by clicking in the little circle next to the song’s name and then clicking the Submit Vote button. It’s pretty straightforward, we think.
Thanks,
Your friendly, neighborhood We Are Scientists

Sometimes there just isn't news,

Sometimes there just isn’t news, you see. Not official news anyway…
(cue eerie 60’s horror film music, the sort that might play over a black and white scene in which the camera slowly pans over the contents of an evil scientist’s laboratory, shelves overcrowded with dusty beakers and graduated cylinders, cages with lonely little test animals (monkeys and rats, possums, in cages cruelly small, allowing no room for tae-bo; the animals’ gazes, their eyes, betray beneath a studiously calm exterior incredible frustration borne of an inability to come to terms with the necessity of their death in order that the mad doctor might come one step closer to completing this or that formula, this or that equation). Over this creepy, damnably eerie scene dissolves in the title: WAS at Home)
Today we’d like to offer you a glimpse into the dreary, fashionably shabby basement that is our private lives. Many myths will be shattered. Others… oh friends, others will quite likely be confirmed.
Let us begin with a typical morning at the Sci-Cave. Having more often than not spent the previous evening raising ire and expectations among New York’s male and female – respectively – film acting community, and that being a thing that requires one staying out til the early morning hours, we allow ourselves uncharacteristic slack when it comes to waking up in the morning. Our feeling is that the body is going to wake up when it’s ready to wake up; waking it any sooner than that will just result in a low-energy day, which none of us can well-afford. So no real rules concerning wake-up time – no discipline. As long as we are all up before sun’s first rays kiss morning darkness, all is well, is our one dictate.
Breakfast is usually steak, fruit, milk ‘n’ eggs, larder, fresh-made tortillas, health shakes, coffee, and darkling thrush. Watching us eat is not pleasant; it is, we’ve been told by teary-eyed maidens experiencing for the first time true disillusion, a real turn-off. For instance: we do not use proper silverware services, with the appropriate number of forks and so forth. Nor do we pay particular attention to which side of our plates the beverage sits on. Nor do we close our mouths when we chew, ever, nor pay particular heed to keeping various chewed things from tumbling down our shirtfronts, into our laps; or down other’s shitfronts, for that matter, into their laps, for that matter, you see.
It is at this time, in this post-prandial, high-fuel state, that we think about good things to invent: what they might be, what color they might be, how big, et cetera. How many we should make in the initial batch. That sort of thing. Thinking about inventions: 30-45mins. Carrying out the plans we decide on: up to an hour. Seeing the smiling faces of the children we save or the baddies we put behind bars for life: priceless, you know what we mean? Priceless.
Ka-smack. It is late afternoon at the Sci-Cave, and elsewhere. All is tranquil and steady as a pet parrot’s rage. Or is it . . . ? Yes, for the scientists are in Research Mode. During Research Mode, we bone up on various useful data such as the current happenings in the field of physics; also in the field of gastronomy, we bone up, for without gastronomy, what is man? What truly is man, at his essence? Possibly his gastronomic instinct? Surely it’s at least possible. And without that essence, without that certain something, that – as the French say – neckerchief, what is man? Merely a caricature? A fresh-shorn sheep stumbling through verdant dewy fields of heather and whimsy? That sheep rounding a massive decayed tree-stump and being frightened by an abandoned hand-puppet lying desperate in the grass? Because the puppet resembles – distantly – the sheep’s nephew? Or the sheep’s pillow? Or the sheep’s handpuppet’s pillow’s nephew? Which makes him think about his handpuppet? That he lost? Or left back at the hut that day, stuck with the shit-work while he, the sheep, wanders the nice fields? But then he got shorn, or something along those lines? That is a typical chain of thought for us during Research Mode Hour Time. In fact, that exact chain of thought has had us talking a lot lately, talking, that is, to various world leaders about addressing the issue in some sort of co

Be Warned

If you mess with me,
if you think to mess with me,
if it occurs to you to mess with me
and you do it,
if you step to me
and fuck with me
and try to mess up my hair and ruffle my shirt
or fuck with me with your fists,
or come at me with a broom, bat,
shiv, pole, tire iron, shovel,
rake, garbage can lid, or scooper,
if you invade my personal space with your fat,
dumb head or your fat, dumbass nose,
or should you try to throw something at me
from a few feet away,
like a can or bottle or radio,
or if you should, god help you, try to drop something on me
from above, like a box or cake,
I will use my rabbit attack on your mind.

We really are terrible at

We really are terrible at updating this thing. This is embarrassing.
It’s not as if nothing has been going on in our lives. I mean, the sheer number of films we’ve been attending is newsworthy in and of itself. Keith hates to admit this, but two weeks ago, he managed to see six films in four days, IN THEATER. That’s not including the dozens of DVDs he doubtlessly took in at home, or the hundreds of man-hours of made-for-TV-movies he watched on the banks of TVs set up at the local electronics store. So, really, there is tons to report.
Among the many exciting non-filmic goings-on, there are lots of coming updates to the website. These include, and are probably limited to (but maybe not)
– new photos
– new, upcoming shows
– new songs that we write about each film that we see, which is a sort of project that we’ve thrust upon ourselves as means of making this whole film-going thing pay off in a way not limited to popcorn and Pepsi consumption. We’ll let you know more about this as the project develops.
– a new animated video for “The Bomb Inside the Bomb.”
Why are these things not up now? Mind your own damn business.
In other news, Chris now lives in New Jersey. That is the sort of “fun fact” that will be on our We Are Scientists trading cards, whenever those idiots from Topps actually get their acts together and call us up and propose that we put together a series of We Are Scientists trading cards. The hardest part about being in this band is waiting for everyone else to catch up.

The other day, I was doing some yard work…

The other day, I was doing some yard work (lawn mowing, tree cutting, cat hopping – the whole deal), and (as is often the case) I eventually found myself knee deep in a pile of leaves. When I finally extracted myself from the mess, I happened to glance down and notice that my shoes and socks and the sweet bare patch of ankle-skin that was exposed beneath the modestly-cut cuff of my pants were covered, just COVERED, with ants. Like, really MEAN ants, who were just swarming on the skin and making as if to bite and acting in a generally offensive manner. I can’t remember if they actually bit me. I seem to recall feeling bites, but, as you will see, such an event is suspect. Anyway, I did what any rational man or woman would do in such a situation – I screamed and jumped around and acted like a goddamn baby. That is, until I glanced down and noticed that there were, in fact, no ants on my legs. At all. There may have been one in the grass nearby, but in retrospect, I think that it might have been a grass seed or a nickel.
So, what the hell was going on there? I have a couple of theories, but none seems more plausible than any other. Here they are: here: now:
1) I was momentarily insane, and seeing what I really wanted to see. That is: what I really wanted to see was: ants.
2) The ants on my legs were actually the ghosts of ants I’ve murdered or generally wronged in the past.
3) The ants were placed on my leg by a clever enemy, who then, as i was jumping around, surreptitiously removed said ants. So, essentially, what I’m thinking here is: psychological warfare.

Another tricked-out California show. It

Another tricked-out California show. It feels unbecoming to blather on and on about what a tremendous performance we put on, and how large and vocally enthusiastic the crowd was, and how we really raised the bar on the rock show performance, and how no other band ever will live up to the standard set by we are scientists. So we won’t blather on about that.
But thank you to the kids who showed up and wolfed out on Saturday. If we could play shows like that every night, Chris would almost certainly quit his job at the meat packing plant.
Keith apologizes for bleeding on the first twelve rows of kids. We’ve taken some photos of his guitar, post-show (which was as gory a sight as we ever hope to see) and will post them if they come out well.
We are now going to take a little time and rest while some people in the band go abroad and other people in the band try to find an actual job for once in their miserable lives.