Sunday, November 24, 2002
Things that are new for us:
- new photos
- new advice
- a new animated video for the Bomb Inside the Bomb. soon. probably.
- a taste of humility, for Keith
- we are working on new shows. do you want us? do you want us like we want you? don't be coy, now.
- for Michael, a raging case of [edited for content]
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
Chris came to work today with 30 minutes of sleep under his proverbial belt, and only slightly more than that trapped, like singles in a stripper's g-string, under his actual belt -- for the non-scientists, roughly one hour's total sleep. That's because Chris has bad baby karma. When he flies the friendly skies, so do a legion of babies. And these are not the babies from the Snuggles (TM) commercials; these are the ones for whom existence itself is an excruciating injustice, in whom breathing and sitting produce righteous indignity; they're the babies with the weight of history's cumulative grief on their narrow shoulders -- these are also the babies who suffer from devastating gastric cramps. Using spine-tingling screams, these babies appeal directly to the gods for mitigation of their agony. We're being sarcastic. Babies are fucking drama queens. If a "diva" ever acted like babies do, she'd be fired immediately. Nobody stands there and takes shit from another person the way we do, all of us, from babies. For even the most cowardly among us there is a line the crossing of which causes us to retaliate. Unless the transgressor is a baby, in which case we stand dumb in the face of a baby's divine right to create sonic atrocities for no good reason. How long will this go on?
The following website address has not yet been registered:
stopbabykind.com. Someone must get on this. Due to sponsor affiliations (Gerber(TM), Children's Dimetapp(TM), Sippy Cup(TM)), we can't be the ones to do it. Fanbase, wake up! There's a war being fought right under your noses, a war with very high stakes and one that, if the babies win it, will be like The Nam in terms of how many people look back on it with a bitter smile and vacant, unfocused eyes.
Some of you may suppose that this is some kind of dimwitted Swiftian satire. For you we offer the following anecdote, which we will not dress up in metaphor or excess verbage: On Chris's flight last night, there was this baby trying to scream his own teeth out of his mouth -- just roaring -- for no reason. And whenever his mom tried to quiet him by whispering reassuringly or cradling him, he would strike her in the face with all his pathetic might. He hit her face again and again, whenever she so much as looked down at him. Do you see now?
We still sense reticence. It's time for the pictures then. Take a look at this photograph of a common baby. Pay special attention to how fucking evil it obviously is:
We hate to do this, but we're going to have to show you another one to insure that the point has been made:
That's one evil-scheming baby. Can any among you maintain doubt after seeing this:
Steel yourselves, friends. Witness the final exhibit. We know this isn't easy:
Four everyday, run of the mill babies, their malice captured quite objectively by a common 35 millimeter camera. You may continue to deny what's going on if you wish, but it will now be willful, irresponsible ignorance and not simple naivete that is to blame when the babies one day do their macabre little dance on the original copy of the Constitution, when they thrust humanity into an age so dark that we'll be forced to refer to the Dark Ages as simply That One Time, for it will no longer seem like a dark time, comparitively.
A final exhortation. Next time you see a baby in person, smack its face. Shake your head dismissively at the resulting shrieks. Let the baby know that its hold on you only exists so long as you let it exist. Then terrify the baby and its kind by slapping it again to emphasize that you have ceased to recognize that hold. Then shave a bald-stripe down the middle of the baby's head, producing an inverted mohawk of sorts, which will make the baby look like a damned idiot, and he'll be forced to lay aside his pride. Watch him glower at his diaper's waistband, silently fuming. Taste the nectar of triumph.
And now some music-related news.
Keith will be, for the next week or so, tagging along on tour with our friends Speechwriters LLC, hitting damn near every musical hotspot between Boston and Washington DC, or, at least, nine of those hot spots. For the most part, Keith is just going along for the ride, helping out the LLC by selling merch and shiz like that, but occasionally, he may or may not serve as opening act, all by his lonesome. If you want to watch Keith sweat and swear and cringe behind an acoustic guitar without the benefit of Chris's thund'rous bass lines or Michael's benevolent gaze, you'll want to stop by and check it out. We cannot promise that Keith will definitely be playing at any of these shows, but the ones with the asterisks feature, like, an 85% chance of seeing it happen. In any case, you should come out and say hello. Keith promises that if he's not playing that night, he'll take you aside and sing you whatever it is that you want to hear, or at least stare at you dully and wish you would just go away, you hound.
***12 nov. wentworth institute of technology (~8:30pm) 550 huntington ave, boston, ma
13 nov fisher college (noon) 118 beacon st, boston, ma
14 nov the brown u. underground (TBA) providence, ri
15 nov lemoynapalooza (TBA) syracuse, ny
***16 nov TKE @ RPI (TBA) troy, ny
20 nov cb's 313 gallery (9pm) nyc
***21 nov staccato bar and lounge (9pm) washington, dc
***22 nov frostburg university (8pm) frostburg, md
Thursday, November 07, 2002
Not that it’s really any of your business, people, but Keith has this new, sweet job: reading scripts for a production company in NYC. The best part is that he can do it from home, which you might imagine would leave him free to do things like write songs and knit scarves and tour the world, but you’d be wrong. Keith is an awful procrastinator. For example, here’s how today’s work session went:
KEITH: Okay, time to sit down and bust out this review of Cheech and Chong Fight Dracula. Damn, this was a good one! Okay.
(types the words "Cheech and Chong Fight Dracula")
KEITH: Ahh, so much is done already! Time for a snack!
(eats an entire box of the generic-brand Kap'n Krunch knock-off, which, at his local supermarket, is called Krisp Krunch, a misleading name at best, as the cereal is far less crunchy than the name-brand product. Don’t be cheap – when you ache for Kap’n Krunch (as we all do from time to time – it is what makes us human), put out the cash and buy the real thing.)
KEITH: Okay, back to work! Hmm, this space bar is a little sticky.
(dismantles the entire keyboard, realizes that he has no mechanical skills, and reconstructs the keyboard, badly)
KEITH: Well, anyway, let's get some work done. Wait! What's that I hear outside? Why, it's a bird chirping! How glorious!
(sits by the window and tries to spot the bird. it turns out to be his neighbor, lurking in the bushes. he throw some breadcrumbs into the neighbor's open mouth)
KEITH: Okay, I really have to get this done!
(types, "this movie was da bomb! I really liked when Cheech fell into the tar pit and . . .")
(the phone rings)
KEITH: Hello . . . No, I actually haven't considered switching to AT&T, but I encourage you to go to on at great length in an attempt to persuade me to do so.
Wednesday, November 06, 2002
Aw, naw, naw! Baby, don't be so angry about the website having been down for so long. It could not be helped. One thing led to another, and things happened - bad things, things that included, at one point, Keith and Chris attending a musical event sponsored by Teen People magazine, watching slackjawed as Justin Timberlake pretended that he wasn't the whitest man alive and Avril Lavigne pretended that she wasn't too short to ride any of the rides at Disneyland other than, like, that Dumbo ride, which, even on that ride she needs to be accompanied by an adult.