Advice
- JanetJuly 10th, 2003View
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Hi!� I am hopig you will be of service to me.� I am trying to find out what something is made of.� I get hair extentions and my stylist has a new medthod for the extentions. however the new treatment is extremetly costly. too costly. ( even for her to buy the hair..� ( if she knew what the piece that holds the hair strand together was made of, she could have it made herself.� Do you know of such a company that will analyze this piece for her / us?� or can you do it?� Please let me know.� It is very important to her to find put just what this is made of. it feels like the thin part of a horses nail. sounds weird I know.� thank you for your help [)) -ed.]
Janet ____
847-256-____
Holy shit, Janet!
Holy shit, we would love to do the analysis you require. Please give us the contract! (How will you beat our bid on this contract? Our bid of “free”?) Frankly, analyzing mystery compounds is something of a passionate hobby for us; we are a band first, yes, but most weeks our time sheets would probably show more man-hours spent on analyses of enigmatic substances than on anything related to music. In fact, we spent much of this morning analyzing a disgusting grey/green ball of nastiness that we found in the bathtub drain…(beat)…turned out it was Amanda Peet’s career!
But seriously, Janet, we take this job very seriously. Let’s put our thinking caps on and take a look at the clues. Now, you say that this new method of extending hair relies on a “piece” that “holds the hair strand together”, something like “the thin part of a horse nail”, apparently. There are three major methods of hair extension: Heat-sealed synthetic extensions (the ‘Dome’ method), Pinch-braided synthetic extensions (the ‘Hairpolice’ method), and Temporary loose extensions. I think we can throw out Temporary loose extensions for obvious reasons — that’s clearly not what the hell you’re talking about! Since Pinch-braided extensions rely on the use of a single length of thread or string incorporated into the 4-way plait at the top of the hair, it’s ulikely we’re talking about that shit right there either. No, we’re almost certainly looking at the Dome method, in which your own hair is braided with synthetic hair for about half an inch with a 4-way ‘box’ braid, which braid is then wrapped in more synthetic hair and heated to create a seal that can last months (hot tip: don’t have a Prostyles C2 heat clamp handy? Try applying rubber cement to the braided/seal area and lighting it on fire–save time by doing all the hairs at once…works like a charm and it’s fun! Make sure a friend has a camera and a tape recorder!)
So your stylist has some sort of new material that she can use to seal the extensions, but it’s very expensive and she’d like to circumvent the middle-man and buy straight from the supplier? We know exactly the stuff you’re talking about, and it’s expensive for a reason: it’s horse nail. Needless to say, horse nail is singularly difficult to harvest, especially the thin part, which is what you need. The fact is that the prices your stylist is probably looking at (somewhere in the neighborhood of $1000/bucket is standard) aren’t the result of a greedy intermediary, but rather because horse nail is super, duper rare. We recommend that you just pony up the cash — the stuff is worth every penny. Advantages include:
Strength: extensions will last years and are so strong you can tie pool balls to the end of every strand, if you want. You can tow cars or swing from bridges.
Smell: a pleasant scent, musty, powerful, evocative of chestnut or horse.
Taste: mouth-watering flavor; sharp, well defined, with a robust finish and plankton-y aftertaste.
What else can we say? Get out there and get some horse-nail extensions!!! Get a few of ‘em!! We’ve all got ‘em and love ‘em!, did we mention that? C’est vrai!
Bon soir,
we are scientists, the - LeahApril 23rd, 2003View
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hey kids, i just woke up from an awfully bizzare (yet i believe somewhat telling) dream about you all. so it started out that we were in california and were heading back to the east coast. well intersetingly enough we were all on the same flight into BWI. well it ended up that chris never made it on the plane but keith and michael did. and i felt somehow responsible for this, but keith kept reassuring me that it was solely the fault of an old lady who had way too many bags. the plane ride started innocently enough, the three of us talking,�perhaps about keith’s�nappy mullet like hair extension. and then they landed the plane on the side of a mountain because some people were being roudy and the flight attendant was all “we’re not going to start this plane again till all of you settle down”. so everyone went back to their seats but when the plane started again a few guys got up and started fighting and somehow everyone knew it would end up�escalating to�guns and bloodshed so they landed the plane again and in chaos and panic instructed people to leave through the emergency exits. of course i assumed i was all alone from this point on, every man for himself type of thing, but keith grabbed my arm and together we all escaped.
�
sounds like a good ending, but there’s more. so we hopped a plane to thailand.�after a very awful and bumpy ride (we were flying so low we were next to the cars on the freeway) we ended up in thailand where there was a homeless begger and keith instructed me to give�the thai woman�a dollar because he only had a five. so i did. and then i woke up.
�
any suggestions about what this might mean?� by the way, rockin’ show at the grove house. i’ll definitely see you when i’m back on the east coast.
fondly, leah
Leah,
Telling, indeed. We think it’s safe to say that this dream represents an unwillingness on your part to face up to a harsh reality you’re currently dealing with — possibly disease has put a crippling wrench in your plans to hike the Appalachian trail; or your dog has died and you can’t quite bring yourself to stop playing frisbee with him. There is obviously something that your consciousness is having an awful time coming to grips with, and the turmoil has manifested itself in this escapist fantasy. Let’s do a blow-by-blow.
First of all, Chris loves few things more than plowing through old ladies in the manner popularized by offensive linesmen. So much the better if they’re huffing around a bunch of bags, because this produces a nice bowling-pin effect — bags everywhere, contents of bags everywhere: dried flowers, lipstick, chocolates, pewter jewelry, napkins, fossil molds, candle holders, origami swans. All over the floor. Fake teeth splashing across the floor like ivory skittles. Verily, the notion that an old lady laden with bags would be an obstacle to Chris (and not a target) is absurd. It’s absurdist, really.
Next: Keith’s nappy mullet-like hair extensions? That’s just… that’s just ridiculous! Who…who told you Keith has hair extensions? I mean… did someone actually tell you that, or or or, uh, or was that just you being, y’know, uh, fanciful. Or what. Okay so but not that it matters! At all, uh… cuz, yeah, the point is that obviously — OBVIOUSLY — Keith doesn’t have hair extensions! Or hair plugs, mind us. Let us emphasize that: Keith doesn’t have hair plugs. Nor has he ever had them.
Moving on! Planes do not land on the sides of mountains when people are rowdy! How many times will we have to make that point on this web-page before people get it? PLANES DO NOT LAND ON THE SIDES OF MOUNTAINS WHEN PEOPLE ARE ROWDY! That would be way too dangerous to even attempt! The fact is, the only way a pilot would ever attempt to set a commercial jet-liner down on the side of a mountain would be if everyone on board were being just totally calm and well-behaved. Not only does it require intense concentration to pull off such a landing, but also, landing on a mountainside is a reward, you follow? As in, for top-shelf behavior only. A pilot would no more do a mountainside landing for a rowdy passenger than one would hand over some nice fresh poison to a misbehaving rat.
Finally, your fevered reverie ends with a scene that flies in the face of reality with a carelessness that makes the rest of the dream seem downright plausible: Keith tells you to donate a buck to a homelss thai woman? The idea that Keith would give or cause to be given to a beggar some measure of comfort — whether monetary, culinary, or even verbal… wow… that’s, like, an insult to the assumption that the universe is anything more ordered than a haphazard collection of random actions dictated by some totally chaotic anti-will. An anecdote: during our recent tour, we stopped over in San Francisco, where, while strolling the lovely, spring-scented streets, Keith was approached by an old homeless fellow who asked for a nickel toward buying a sandwich. Keith silently walked past, and minutes later related to Michael and Chris that he had refrained from gushing vitriol at this “filthy urchin” only because he had feared that opening his mouth would result in his stomach unleashing its recently consumed contents, so horrified had he been by “the demon’s unforgivable trespass.” Michael and Chris sort of grudgingly agreed that to vomit in public like that would have been unfortunate and embarrassing, to which Keith replied that he didn’t give “two homeless kids” if people saw him throw up; what would really upset him is if “the knave” had got at his lunch. Michael and Chris had to ask for repeated clarification, but they finally came to realize that, indeed, Keith had felt that unfurling his lunch would be tantamount to offering the beggar food, a possibility which Keith abhorred even more than withholding verbal abuse.
And so, Leah, your subconscious mind has woven this intricate tapestry of lies. But it’s crucial to note that they are obvious lies. Everybody knows Chris loves to trundle the elderly; everybody knows mountainside landing is a privilege, not a punishment; and certainly everyone knows that Keith hates the homeless more even than he does French film. And why is your subconscious doing this fabricating? Why is it allowing itself to be caught red-handed? Because it wants you to know that it knows; it knows about how you’re failing to face that difficult reality (dead dog, no trail hike, not going to law-school, etc.), and it is doing it’s best to shame you into being a bit braver with things.
We hope we’ve helped, Leah. We know we’re right; we just hope you’re ready to hear the truth. The awful truth.
gaily,
WAS - TawnyJanuary 28th, 2003View
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dear scientists,
in less than 72 hours i will be on a plane for tanzania (NOT tazmania) for an entire semester, away from the bubble that is the claremont colleges. i’ll learn to speak swahili and have a homestay with a tribe. i’m getting a wee bit nervous. they made me buy all of this camping equipment, and let’s just say that i am not known for my “roughing it” capabilities. being the world-travelers that you are with all of those big, multi-billion dollar tours, do you have any advice for me on how to survive such a long trip and not step on any cultural toes?
a devoted fan,
tawny
p.s. if i can get a picture of a tribesman wearing a we are scientists t-shirt, will you guys play a show between the 16th and the 19th of may when i will be in new york on my way back to sunny san diego? i’ve never been to NY and that would be really cool…
p.p.s. some of your songs will be travelling with me on my pitiful low-memory mp3 player. feel honored.
Tawny bo-Bawny,
Tazmania, eh? We�ve heard good things. Good things about Tazmania, boy. Yes sir. Seriously, rest easy. Consider yourself blessed not to be going to Beirut or Tanzania or something.
First, foremost, most important thing to remember: put people at ease. And how do you do that? In the manner demonstrated by this little note�s salutation: append a rhyming �nonsense� version of your foreign buddy�s name to the end of her actual moniker, bridging the real and the rhyme with �bo�, �fo�, �lo�, etc., depending on how you�ve spelt (rhymes with svelte) the invented portion of the new nickname. Let�s try a few together.
Exercise A. You meet a man, name o� Pierre. He is a Frenchman of almost boundless romantic appeal. ALWAYS, the right thing seems to be coming out of his mouth at the right time (you get the feeling that if your sleeve caught fire, he would produce a generous outflow of flame-quenching French spittle, so reliable is his right-thing-at-right-time characteristic). You are seduced and �lain to the satin�, as the French say (there is no meaningful English translation). After a fortnight of intelligent, gallic lovemaking, you are at the breakfast table with Pierre and his mother and father, who are roughly your age. For whatever reason, a moment of awkwardness � unprecedented in your short history with Pierre � drifts over the McCroissandwich-littered table. Perhaps dad makes a pass at you. Perhaps you accept. How to engineer a d�tente? �Oh, we�re all being so silly! Let us laugh again, as we have so often before this moment done! [Note that you should speak in the tone-deaf grammar of a foreigner, that they might feel at ease with you.] Let us rejoice in the company of each other, in the wealth of familial comfort that is here! Oh, Pierre bo-Bierre, never would I assent to the laying of me by your father to the satin! Do not be silly, Pierre Robespierre [go ahead and freestyle on the rhyme at this point, and if you can bring in popular cultural references relevant to the addressee, all the better].
Exercise B. During a layover in Lisbon, en route to Transylvania, where you are studying abroad, you meet a young woman who fits, at least superficially, into your demographic. After nearly 12 hours of lonely travel – if you include the drive to LAX – and a hermetic, friendless two and a half years of dereliction at college in Claremont, you are CEO-greedy for a little conversation. How to break the ice: �Excuse me, but would you mind my asking your name? � Ah, Janet, is it? Janet. Janet lo-Lanet. Janet � stop me if this bothers you � Janet fo-Fanet. Heh heh. Funny. That�s funny, huh? Janet fo-Fanet. Funny. How �bout this one: Janet cro-Cranet. Heh heh. Janet� Janet splo-Splanet. Gah-haaa! That�s rich.� Voila. You�ve got her attention, guaranteed. Now make friends. �Janet� is a good example because it shows how you can do some pretty interesting permutations. �cro-Cranet�, for example, or maybe �bro-Branet�. We don�t recommend straying very far from �bro-Branet�, however. At �bro-Branet� you�re already pretty far afield. For example, �splo-Splanet� was obviously too out-there. You saw how Janet reacted to that one. She looked like a very controlled person who can usually supress her emotions, who has just got a big gulp of expired, tofu-chunky milk and, though she�s trying to be polite and control any showy gagging or vomiting, is nevertheless pretty obviously experiencing tremendous revulsion. Janet sto-Stanet.
Other than that, Tawny, we�re not sure what to tell you. Except, maybe, that you will be going into this adventure with a distinct advantage over the average neophytic traveller: your admiration for and familiarity with the we are scientists. WAS, you may not realize, is the basis for a surprisingly extensive, predictably heart-felt global fellowship, a fellowship that, frankly, we never intended. Because we�d be lying if we told you this fellowship has increased the value of our defense contracts. WAS has always suggested and practiced violence as the best way to derail a conflict. But the point is that wherever you go, you�re going to find WAS fans, as sure as you�ll find wind, fire, and Coke brand snack drinks. On arriving in your semi-permanent new home, consider joining the local chapter of the WAS fan club (note: in many areas of the world, words resembling �worship� liberally pepper the meetings of such clubs; don�t let this seeming extremism, which is actually just a cultural difference, bother you � what they mean by �worship�, Americans and Europeans tend to describe more casually as a powerful sexual lust). Volunteer for one of the less-desirable offices, such as Purely-Platonic Friend to The Band; you will thereby immediately gain the respect and gratitude of your new community.
Lastly, may we suggest that you keep in mind the following helpful aphorisms, which each of us has tattooed both forward (for the world) and backward (for the mirror) on our chests:
SEE IS DO
DO GOOD, BE G.
E-A-D-G-B-A
COKE V. PEPSI
The width of our chests has, to an extent, been a factor in determining the maxims we choose to follow. So has almost total moral lassitude. But that is not to say that we�re anything less than 100% behind the wisdom and usefulness of these four concise and witty prescriptions.
Good luck to you, Tawny. You will be fine. Confidence here at WAS HQ is high. Bets have been placed, and � without putting any pressure on you either way � let us just say that we will make out handsomely if you survive this journey. Again, no pressure, but, so you know, our winnings will be maximized if you return alive, yes, but without your legs. Without either leg, Tawny. Keeping specifics to a minimum, let�s just say that we�ll be generous with you if you�re generous with us, Tawny. So, something to think about.
Sincerely,
we are scientists
p.s. � show us a photo of a tribesman boasting our t-shirt and we will do everything in our power to book a show during the specified period. Should we fail, we�d be more than happy to give you a private show consisting of us popping your favorite WAS album onto the CD turner and lip-synching a couple of songs, maybe even miming some guitar strumming and drum-beating and kazoo-blowing, for those solos. - Elisabeth, Annie, Jessica, and SarahNovember 22nd, 2002View
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Dear Bestest Band Ever (a.k.a. We Are Scientists – that’s you; I aren’t scientist, neither I, nor I),
Driving east on Foothill Blvd, near your old rocking grounds, we wanted to put in a super special cd to brighten our rainy evening. But, we couldn’t find Safety, Fun and Learning (in that order). So we took out our back-up copy of SFL(ITO) next to our flashlight, jumper cables, and flares. Twenty seconds into “Over and Out”, we four Claremont women/chicas were so inspired by y’all, we abandonned our idea to form our own band and decided to play Chinese Firedrill instead. This seemed like a reasonable alternative because
a) we’re lazy.
b) we’re too lazy to list the other reasons.
Now, this was a fun-filled learning activity. Granted, it was not safe. It was especially not safe because it was raining, dark, and we were confused about Chinese Firedrill ettiquette.
Can you tell us whether you should switch seats or return to your previously occupied seat after encircling the vehicle??? Maybe this will help us be more safe next time.
We’ll Chinese Firedrill with you anyday,
Elisabeth, Annie, Jessica, and Sarah
E, A, J, &S:
Let us be the first to recommend that you not engage in chinese fire drilling ever, ever, ever again. Do you want to talk about an incrediby dangerous activity? Okay: ha ha, yay, chinese fire drilling, chinese fire drilling, chinese fire drilling, yeah. Let us go on the record as heartily recommending an evening of unprotected sex, shared needles, and half-odds russian roulette next time you’re looking for a little action and leaning toward a chinese fire drill. The medical journals and the IntroNet (TM) are lousy, absolutely lousy with horror stories:
� The fellow who, during a chinese fire drill, tripped and fell through a sewer grate (he was whisper-thin) � by the time his friends fished him out nearly an hour later, he had missed an important appointment to see about a job. As a result, he did not get that job. He did get another job, but not all of these stories have happy endings…
� The young woman who, during a chinese fire drill, fell into a sinkhole and died.
� The small baby who took part in a chinese fire drill and ended up in a seat other than his car-seat � in the shotgun seat, actually � and who, as a result, kept slipping out of his seat and into the floorboards whenever the car slowed (his diaper was plasticky and slick). He had this to say of the situation, “This is the shits! This is for the birds! Ai mi!”
� The cat who participated in a chinese fire drill and got hit by a passing car.
� The dog who tripped during a chinese fire drill and, tragically, was the object of much ridicule and scorn and even cuffs on the muzzle from an abusive owner.
Here are several things that are safer than chinese fire drilling:
� Walking around in Brando’s living room with pork-chops sewn into the liner of your jacket.
� Time travelling back to The Nam.
� Werewolf jokes if you are a stand-up comedian playing to an audience of the scruffy scoundrels.
Here is a diagram of your typical round of chinese fire drilling:
Girls, if you care anything for life and the finest things it has to offer (WAS, fame, cigarette boats), consider dropping this dangerous habit altogether.
sincerely,
w to the a to the s - Forlorn in CaliforniaOctober 24th, 2002View
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Dear members of We Are Scientists,
I’m in desperate need of advice. However, I
believe that there are many women in need like I am
and this particular predicament is not unique enough
to gain the very much sought after We Are Scientists
advice.
However, for the past few days I’ve experienced
something that has caused quite a lot of confusion and
anxiety for me. I’ve been having these extremely
elaborate, explicit and exquisite dreams featuring a
particular member of the band, “We Are Scientists.” I
can’t explain the origins of these very detailed
dreams… I also would assume you prefer I omit the
details of these dreams as I know this is a family
site.
Of course, I assume this may never reach the
actual web page…. however, what am I to possibly do
with such a thing? I’m starting to rather enjoy these
dreams and don’t know exactly how to go about handling
them… I don’t believe that traveling to each of
your shows and living them out backstage is quite
plausible, nor feasible. I’m very confused and
frustrated. Please help scientists.
Sincerely,
Forlorn in California
(also known as: Califorlornia)
First of all, it’s important for you to realize that this sort of thing is PERFECTLY NORMAL for a girl your age. Frankly, it’s a little disconcerting to us that your parents or healthcare provider haven’t yet had that little sit-down talk with you, about the birds and the bees and the We Are Scientists. If they’re not going to handle this, then it’s up to us, we guess.
Having this manner of dream about We Are Scientists is part of growing up and becoming a woman (it’s part of becoming a man, too, by the way, so any guys who are reading this can stop worrying). Let’s take a look at the charts, shall we?
Stages of Puberty
1 Age Range: Usually 8-11
In Stage 1 there are no outside signs of development, but a girl’s ovaries are enlarging and hormone production is beginning. She enjoys We Are Scientists, but only “for the music.”
2 Age Range: Usually 8-14. Average: 11-12
The first sign is typically the beginning of breast growth, including “breast buds.” A girl may also grow considerable height and weight. The first signs of pubic hair start out fine and straight, rather than curly. She notices an acute increase in her own interest in We Are Scientists, but writes it off as an “appreciation of their sweet guitar licks and soaring harmonies.” Still, she can’t help but notice Michael Tapper’s strong jaw and rippling biceps.
3 Age Range: Usually 9-15. Average: 12-13
Breast growth continues, and pubic hair coarsens and becomes darker, but there still isn’t a lot of it. Her body is still growing, and body fat is developing. Some girls get their first menstrual periods late in this stage. We Are Scientists becomes a core interest. Posters are plastered on bedroom walls. T-shirts are donned. Chris Cain dolls are toted about in patented WAS Keith Murray-shaped backpacks. We Are Scientists, meanwhile, purchase their third mansion on the Maltese coast.
4 Age Range: Usually 10-16. Average: 13-14
Pubic hair growth continues. Underarm hair is likely to appear in this stage, as is menarche. Ovulation (release of egg cells) begins in some girls, but typically not in a regular monthly routine until Stage 5. This stage also marks the onset of incessant yet wonderful WAS-related dreams. Oh, those dreams! She begins to dread her waking hours, when WAS is so far away, and not wearing a matching set of lime-green thongs.
5 Age Range: Usually 12-19. Average: 15
This is the final stage of development, when a girl is physically an adult. Breast and pubic hair growth are complete, and her full height is usually attained by this point. Menstrual periods are well established, and ovulation occurs monthly. Interest in WAS decreases dramatically, and is often replaced by an appreciation for firearms, musical theatre, and prop-based comedy. “What the fuck,” is our question here.
So, yeah, Califorlornia. We’re guessing you’re, what, 13 years old? Maybe 14? Give it a year or two. Soon, you’ll be ignoring WAS like all of the other girls, rushing past us to grope at the hem of Carrot Top’s red velour sports coat.
we are scientists - Cecilia R. ZikoSeptember 29th, 2002View
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Dear We Are Scientists,
This is a two part letter.
Part 1: I’d like to make a request to be placed on your mailing list. I lose an unhealthy amount of sleep worrying that you’re playing a show I didn’t know about.
Part 2: I am a college student taking a science class. However, I don’t go to normal college, I go to art school. And this is not just any science class, it is Introduction to Science (yes, that’s its official title). Besides the fact that Science and I were formally introduced in the third grade (my teacher had a poster on the wall that read “Science is much more ‘funner’ than gym.”) I had a healthy, active relationship with Science throughout middle school and into the second semester of my junior year in high school. Therefore, I feel that an Introduction to Science, especially at this point in my life, is rather unnecessary. As a matter of fact, this Introduction to Science class is so similar to my past science class experiences, that I have intense flashbacks to middle school. I would love to drop this class, but for some unexplainable reason, I’m required to have six science credits upon graduation. My art school offers other science classes, but they are equally silly, and require more work.
Every class my professor (an old-ish, balding, smiley man who likes striped polo shirts, dons a fanny pack, and talks as if he has genuine concern for numbers not in proper scientific notation) gives us a break halfway through class. My question is: should I have moral qualms about not returning for the second half of class? If I live by your “safety, fun, and learning (in that order)” law, spending three hours a week being (re)introduced to science is a very realistic safety concern. Such extensive exposure to boredom could potentially lead to craziness. I can name at the very least eight things that are more fun than sitting in science class. (One of them being gym. Another is finding a cute boy to make out with in a closet or secret corner. This make-out urge is a direct result of the previously mentioned middle school flashbacks. Not because that’s what I did in middle school, but because looking back, that’s what I feel I should have been doing.) Which leaves learning. Still very important, yet when juxtaposed with craziness, appears slightly less significant. So, as scientists, do you think it’s ok for me to skip the second half of my class?
Fan of Scientists; not science,
Cecilia R. Ziko
p.s. My roommate and I received your EP after the Phantom Planet concert. Her name is Allison. She’s already on your mailing list. Now you can say that you have at least two fans living within any given ten foot radius of each other, and not be entirely lying.
Cecilia,
Regarding Part II: This is actually a fairly nuanced ethical challenge, Cecilia. We’ll try approaching it from several directions, directions chosen at random, with little thought to how useful they might be.
First, you observe that according to the law of “Safety, Fun, and Learning (In that order)”, you should go ahead and skip the second half of science class, your rationale being that science class makes you crazy, and craziness outranks learning as a determinant. Your logic is superficially compelling, but scrutiny reveals some substantial holes. In this sense your argument is like XXX, the summer blockbuster Vin Diesel picture–sweet on first sight, sugar sweet, but proving to be porous as fucking cheesecloth on a third or fourth or fifth or in our case sixth viewing. The error you’re making, Cecilia, is to confuse safety with sanity. Here the argument bifurcates, so we’ll head down fork one, but be aware that we’ll be coming back to pick up fork two. Fork One to the argument that safety isn’t the same as sanity: Crazy people are safe, basically. Sure, people hanging around crazy people aren’t necessarily safe, because who knows what a crazy person (“fucking nut”) might do, or when they’ll do it; the crazy person himself, though: he’s in little danger. Hard proof can be found when we look at the far end of the fucking nut spectrum: people who’ve been institutionalized. They are closely watched, constantly monitored, relieved of weapons, blades, and nooses, and basically just very carefully looked after to insure that their safety (!) is never compromised.
Now, Fork Two to the argument that safety isn’t the same as sanity: Turns out this isn’t really Fork Two, it’s more like the next stage of the argument that was developed in Fork One. So now that you see how craziness isn’t exclusive of safety, we’ve got to face the hard fact that what it is, what safety is, is a boon to learning. Let’s look at some of our generation�s most learned people: Kant, Ted Kaczynski, Ted Koppel, Russel Crowe in A Beautiful Mind, Winona Ryder. No one would deny that these are some erudite mothers; a similar number of people will tell you that any of these folks is within a Hulk’s-leap of sanity. But–and we’re quoting Michael’s best pickup line here�we don’t want to beat you over the head with numbers, Cecilia; we want you to feel the force of our logic. Look at Kant: he lived in a middle-sized university town his whole life and never once ventured more than 30 miles from his house. Clearly he was crazy as hell, and yet he was also quite learned, and himself a fountainhead of shit to read about and consider at length. And when we think about Kant, as we frequently do, do we imagine someone doing wild things that threatened his safety? Do we imagine him casually flicking a couple pineapple grenades up a couloir then snow-surfing the tumbling glacier for forty harrowing seconds of montage until the frozen wave under his Burton board swallows a half-platoon of enemy footsoldiers? Negative. We picture Vin Diesel doing that, if we’re culturally literate, and Vin Diesel is a man of sub average intelligence, not to mention stone-cold sanity. Kant we picture stuffily trudging along a cobble path toward class after a morning spent musing intelligently and wittily on the subject of categorical imperatives in his dark and woody study. Perhaps, as he trudges, we notice that he has strapped on a boustier under his well-worn jacket, or that he has shaved off his eyelashes. It’s possible some small detail is off, because yes, he’s crazy. The formula we’ve arrived at, though, is that safety is most directly threatened by stupidity (the Diesel premise), not insanity. Crazy people tend to be at very little risk, and, what’s more, they are often quite intelligent. Craziness, then, while not a risk to safety, can be a real boon to learning. All of which would tend to recommend that you not skip the second half of class. If, on the other hand, you were just being theatrical when you said that going to class could make you “crazy”, then you should skip the sucker. Never suffer boredom for boredom�s sake, Cecilia, not in a world featuring ski-ball.
There are a couple of other things we want to comment on. First, making out a lot in middle school isn�t all it’s cracked up to be. Take it from us, each of whom spent almost every minute of seventh and eighth grades on second base. Frankly, it was all pretty forgettable. Making out in middle school is like shopping for retirement plans at 25�at best ahead of schedule, at worst annoyingly precocious. WAS recommends that a person begin sexual experimentation at age 30, and then only with droids.
You also make the dubious implication that fanny packs are not totally in right now. What else, may we ask, should a middle-aged person who�s trying to dress respectably yet hiply use for toting his unmentionables around? His wallet and assorted unmentionables? We�re not being sarcastic; we�d like to know. Women have purses and large hats. Men�? The fanny pack is really the only option. And there�s nothing wrong with your teacher liking striped polo shirts, as long as he doesn�t wear them.
Regarding Part I: You�re now on our mailing list. Congratulations. You�ll have access to up-to-the-minute info about concerts and band functions, first dibs on everything from backstage passes to memorabilia, and you�ll receive special offers from our sponsors, Twizzlers and Michelob. And that�s not all. We�re prepared to send you, free for a 30-day trial period, a yacht. This is a good yacht, a very good yacht, with chrome rope attachment thingers and barnacles on the hull. We will email it to you as an attachment. Be in touch about whether you want to keep it. Note that the aztec carpeting wasn�t our choice and apparently is standard on this size boat for reasons of tradition. We also tried to get it without the boat-shaped bottom�we wanted to get you a flat bottom�but that too, we are told, is not optional. Similarly inflexible are these boat-manufacturers on the question of making the whole thing out of styrofoam, pink styrofoam. Boating is an area positively steeped in tradition, it turns out.
Try Michelob and Twizzlers if you haven’t already,
we are scientists - CooterJuly 22nd, 2002View
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Dear Scientists,
In conjunction to a long tradition of rock and rolls icons such as Jim Morrison, David Lee Roth, and many others, I have a favor to ask of Sunday’s show.
I’ll will be traveling from Washington D.C. to NYC Sunday night and it is impossible for me to arrive before 10pm. Plus I don’t know how much longer it will take me to get to Brownies. As a loyal Claremont supporter, I am asking if you boys could stall the show for a while? Perhaps arrive intoxicated, break a few things, spend extra time tuning, chat up the audience? If that doesn’t work and you’re forced to start, perhaps Keith could systematically break every one of his guitar strings until a solid delay was reached.
Yes, these ideas (and other far more clever time-honored, experience-honed rock and roll tricks) are selfish ploys to keep me from missing the whole of a We Are Scientists show. I would never ask We Are Scientists to compromise the music (everyone knows the rockability of it), but only punctuality.
Yours sincerely,
Cooter “Cootie” CootersonCooter,
Oh, man – this puts us in a tight spot. Tighter than we like, really. Boy, do we ever want to stall the show for you. Things like setting the cuffs of our pants on fire and throwing ourselves through plate glass – these things we would gladly do for you. Unfortunately, they would do none of us any good at all. Brownies is smarter than we, and when we try to pull our patented brand of show-delaying antics, they just nod with derision and tap the face of their watches. I swear on a pack of Twizzlers that the last time we played there, Chris and i stepped out for a slice of pizza a half hour before our set time, and when we returned, Michael was already on the stage, his drum kit fully assembled, waiting for us with a sheepish grin on his face, the biological clock of our set already ticking away. So, sadly, our stalling at the show will do us no good. We can waste all the time that we want, but Brownies will not give in. They are made of tougher stuff.
If you’re not getting into NYC until 10:00, it looks like bad news for the lot of us. There are some options, though:
1) you can come see us at Luxx on the 24th (if you’re still in town, that is).
2) we can play an acoustic set in your home or in the home of your close friends and then we can have a pajama jammy jam with ice cream (ice cream and pajamas not provided by we are scientists).
3) you can go back to claremont and tell everyone that We Are Scientists screwed you in terms of the whole “refusing to push back the set time” thing, and everyone there can join you in an unprecedented display of
unison loathing.i hope things work out for the best for all of us.
love,
we are scientists - Sleepless in the SuburbsApril 9th, 2002View
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Dear We Are Scientists,
I’m looking for your advice on a problem I have right now. I’m currently on leave from Pomona College, and ever since I visited my friends there this spring, I’ve been more or less completely miserable at home and wishing to be in California, especially since many of my friends will be graduating this spring. This weekend, several of my
friends are having a big party and performing with their band. Additionally, you will be playing at Pomona this weekend. Unfortunately, since I live in Washington, DC and hadn’t known you were playing until yesterday, the only way I can fly to California would be to pay about $200 for a ticket. Now, technically, I have the money. However, I don’t have a job at the moment, so $200 is a lot to me. But I also really really really want to go to California. So I ask you, as scientists, what do I do? Do I fly to California and have lots of fun, or do I save my money, stay home, and wish I were somewhere else? In other words, how much do you think you’re worth?Sincerely,
Sleepless in the SuburbsSleepless-
First of all, how the hell did you find $200 tickets to California on such short notice? We are paying over $250 each, and that’s with the stupid “buddy” fare. This makes us angry, so angry that we almost don’t want to help you, you who have so much that we desire (the cheap tickets, the cheap tickets!).
Second of all, you must never leave college voluntarily. We Are Scientists was kicked out (graduation), and we’ve spent all of our time since then trying to sneak back in. Michael was clever enough to trick his school into giving him a fifth year. When he began angling for a sixth year and submitted a prospectus that set his graduation date in 2008, they put him in a catapult and launched him off campus. So, no more taking leaves from school, you. By the fall, we want to hear that you’ve re-enrolled and are taking classes and living in a dorm and sniffing paint thinner almost all the time.
As far as the vacation goes, here’s a little secret: we are losing our shirts with this trip. When you consider air fare and rental cars and Chris’s diapers, there is no way that one show at the Motley and a couple of CDs sold will bring us anywhere close to breaking even. But, we’re going – because we have friends there, and because it’s California, and because when we’re on our deathbeds in the year 2343, we will never ever regret having spent that $300 measly dollars on something as splendid and life-affirming as a trip to California to visit friends (unless, of course, this trip sucks, in which case we’ll be kicking ourselves that we didn’t buy a shitload of Otter Pops with that cash).
So, damn, my vote is that you go to California. Perhaps that is terrible advice. Maybe in three weeks you’ll need to buy new teeth or something and you’ll come up $200 short, and the oral surgeon will put a lead pipe to your knees. I know many things, but I can’t see the future. I will say that should you not go, you will still be able to see WAS when we play DC on April 27th (we think!). Does that mean that you’re excused from our Motley show? No, young lady, it most certainly does not! But if you don’t go, please be sure to have fun at home. Surely, they sell paint thinner in DC.
Love,
we are scientistsPS. We are worth it all.
- Reginald W. LexingtonFebruary 12th, 2002View
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Dear We Are Scientists,
While I recognize that your genius usually lies in the
fields of astronomy, biology, chemistry, and other
hard sciences, I am seeking celebrity opinions on a
conundrum. Hopefully you can shed some light on this
hypothetical predicament.A few months ago, I woke up from a rather traumatic
dream with deep implications. I had fallen in love
with a very average-looking (in fact, possibly
unattractive) girl. Said girl was something of a
classical “Siren”, given her ability to woo me with
her gorgeous speaking voice. As I fell in love with
her voice, consummating the relationship was
impossible, since I was not in love with her when she
wasn’t talking. What to do? I panicked and didn’t do
anything, ruining the relationship.How would a veritable rock star such as yourselves
have handled the situation? Note that holding hands
is still possible, but kissing is not.By the way, when are you going to play in my basement
again?Love,
Reginald W. Lexington(note: name has been changed. we are not monsters here.)
Dear Mr. Lexington,
You are a silly little boy, but we love you. We love you like you are a pet. Like, a dog, or something. Or, like any animal that we would feed out of a bowl, and then let outside, so it could poop in the yard. Damn, we love you, you stupid thing.
First of all, as classically-trained rock stars, we would handle this sticky situation by romantically engaging this girl’s sister, and then all of her friends from the sorority. Then, we would commence to loving many random female strangers (though the choice of stranger would not appear to be totally “random,” as mere chance would dictate that the percentage of our lady-friends who are stunningly, just mind-blowingly gorgeous (we’re talking, like, model-grade, here) should be much, much lower than it actually is. Clearly, the sexual magnetism exuded by We Are Scientists defies statistics.).
Then, we might put the moves on our associates who happen to be big-time movie starlets.
Sadly, as “the common man,” you do not have this option. So, our advice to you is this: Do not kiss this girl! Girls carry disease germs in their mouths, just as you carry the latest issue of McSweeney’s in your knapsack. Do us all a favor and keep your mouth away from the girls.
Finally, I feel that it would behoove us to point out that the consummation of your relationship need not exclude vocalization on the part of your female friend. Quite the contrary. Chris encourages his dates (many of whom can be seen in various trade magazines and on full-sized posters featuring ferraris and cougars and baby oil) to speak aloud during trysts. Specifically, he requests that they speak in exotic tongues, discuss Beckett, and/or “call [him] Keith.”
Hope this helps.
Love,
we are scientistsp.s. – We are playing in your basement at this very moment. Go check.
