Scenes from the Boda Dome: Neighborly Disturbance (personal log, cit. 511-61Je, AUG/28/33)


Scenes from the Boda Dome: Neighborly Disturbance (personal log, cit. 511-61Je, AUG/28/33)

I knock twice.

No answer.

I knock five times, rest, then deploy a prolonged two-handed roll.

The door opens. “Yes!” She’s annoyed; probably the knocking was too enthusiastic.

“Um, yes. Can you turn your TV down please?”

“I can, certainly. Whether I do or don’t is a different issue.”

“Emm, right. So do you think you’ll turn it down?”

“Are you asking me to?”

“Well, yes. I am.”

“I see. In that case it’s not a TV.”

“Do you mean that in the case where I ask you, and only in that case, it’s not a TV? Or is it actually not a TV.”

“The latter, obviously.”

“Obviously. Do you mean that sound is not coming from a TV?”

“Correct.”

“Aha. And…do you mind my asking what it’s coming from? I mean, is it coming from a radio, or, or a … portable TV or something?”

“No. Neither.”

“Right. And yet it’s quite loud.”

“That means it’s working. It’s a noise maker.”

“Do you mean perhaps that you use your TV as a noisemaker? Or is it in fact a small box with no picture that makes TV sounds to block out other noise.”

“I should say it’s the latter except that it’s not really very small, considering noise-makers, which tend to be quite small.”

“Do you mind if I see it?”

“No. Follow me.”

Indeed, as noisemakers go, it is huge. It looks like a TV without a screen; exactly like that, actually. And it’s emitting TV sounds, but muffled, heard through a wall.

“My god, so you like that sound, that droning TV-though-the-wall sound?”

“Yes. Well, it relaxes me.”

“My god.”

“Would you mind much leaving now?”

“Oh! Of course not, no. I’ll just… I’ll just be going.”

“Thank you. I’m expecting someone.”

“Of course. Coming over to watch a little TV, is he?”

Glaring. “She. And no, we’ll be going out.”

“A wonderful idea. Do you, emm… Do you think you might turn off your noise maker when you go?”

“I take it you’d like me to.”

“Very much, yes.”

“I should think not, then.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“I see. You know that’s really quite rude.”

“I think so, anyway.”

“I see. So long as you realize it, then.”

Smile.

“Emm… right. I’ll just be going, I suppose.”

“Marvelous. I’ll show you out.”

I return to my appartment and notice that the sound is indeed that of a TV through a wall, through a wall, as opposed to just the former.

Ladies and gents, In preparation

Ladies and gents,
In preparation for the release of our new EP, we took a few moments over the weekend to shoot some photos of ourselves, to be included in CD artwork, press packets, and People Magazine’s 100 Sluttiest Men Alive pictorial issue (Michael: #12; Keith and Chris, not at all coincidentally: tied at #3). But and so anyway: we are among America’s most photogenic manchildren, and we can hardly wait to share the fruits of the weekend with you. Unfortunately, our management maintains that it is simply bad business to share all of our sweet photovisual gold with the masses before they’ve been implemented in their ultimate capacity. The best we can do, right now, is to offer small – small, but satisfying – snippets of some of the shots taken during the photoshoot, which essentially chronicles a chunklet in the life of the We Are Scientists. We were simply followed closely around Brooklyn for 23 minutes by a camera crew, who, in the brief amount of time alloted by the band before we retreated back into our temperature-controlled hideout where there are snacks and the Josie and the Pussycat’s Collector’s Edition DVD, managed to capture the photos from which the following, cropped images have been culled, offering what we feel is a pretty accurate depiction of our daily routine.






What to Beat Them With

Dear you little nymphs, Since

Dear you little nymphs,
Since we last spoke, there was a blackout here, and elsewhere, but most importantly of course here. This was not actually that bad, all things considered. Considering, for instance, that among certain species of walrus and seal it is apparently a way of life both rote and annual for the adult males–all but the single alpha–to “bugger” the tribe’s children, the blackout was not actually that bad. One nice thing was that New York City, which is a very lovely town, was being lighted exclusively by candle, which is a good light. It may be that man’s population growth has far outstripped that of other terrestrial species for the simple reason that until a hundred and fifty years ago all lighting was mood lighting.
Strolling the very dark streets, a friend of the band’s wondered aloud whether there might be, nine months from now, an appreciable pop in birthrates in the powerless, t.v.-less cities. The answer is of course that no, before the blackout people were already making babies as fast as they possibly could.
On the subject of darkness, were you aware that Pluto is so far from our (and its) sun that, were a person to stand on Pluto, said sun would appear to him or her as nothing more than a bright star in a star-filled sky? Is that not the very picture of loneliness, somone standing there on icy Pluto trying to pick out from among thousands of others the star to which they belong? Luckily, it wasn’t like that in New York. It was dark, but there were lots of us here, and candles.

Did we forget to tell

Did we forget to tell you about our show tomorrow? Did we? Forget? We’re not willing to believe that such a thing is possible, especially considering the import of this show, which is in Boston. Which, like, automatically lends a little weight to the whole affair, right? I mean, wow: Boston. Home of some history, or something, are we right about that? Didn’t something historical happen there at some point? Like something was signed, or someone took a tumble, or something? We don’t know, because we’ve never been there. And it looks like we’re going to find out the hard way, unless you people show up, or at least tell your Boston-area (Hey, Newton? Wassup, Cambridge? How’s it hanging, um, East Cambridge? We don’t know.) friends to do so. Don’t you think that your Boston-area friends deserve a little heads-up on this sort of thing? They live in the Boston area, for crissakes.