Thursday, June 26, 2003
The newsbins are overflowing, because they're full of news; as more news is added...then the overflow. It's time to purge, PURGE the newsbins. Discontinue reading immediately if you are anything but the most ravenous of newshounds; you are about to be up to your NECK in W.A.S. news, and if you are a newshound who is anything less than achingly, blackhole-hungry for the W.A.S. news, you will definitely drown in the forthcoming deluge. Definitely. Definitely drown.
If, for example, you are merely curious--just passing-the-time curious--about the goings-on and the happenings-to of the we are scientists; if you're but a casual troller of the SupraNet, one dull eye vaguely registering the world wide webpages as they click past your screen; or if you're an arch-enemy of the we are scientists (such as Hunger, or Sexual Purity--curse thee!!) . . . if any of these accurately describes you (or if you're just anything less than doubled over with hunger for W.A.S. news and facts), then beat feet, man! Get the hell out while your identity's still intact! The imminent factual flashflood will strip of their personalities and memories any but the most accurately calibrated souls.
The thing is this: remember how in Indiana Jones: The Final Crusade for Justice, Indie has to step off a ledge into a bottomless chasm, his only chance of survival the faith that an invisible path across the abyss will stop his footfall? And of course his faith is rewarded, yes? Yes. His foot lands on the invisible Magical Bridge of Very Good Optical Illusion and, to boot, he is given a Cadillac to drive, with special tyres attuned to the desert terrain. And so remember, in the film's lyrical closing shot, we see Indie and Indie's dad (Sean Connery) and Chewbacca riding away into the molten sunset in that gorgeous Caddie, the viscous evening light painted in liquid pinks and golds on the car's deco chrome trim? And the N.A.Z.I.s are chasing them, but they're losing ground because they're in slow tanks? That was awesome.
And now the news:
Last night Michael debuted his much-anticipated stand-up act at Kitchen of Bengal (KoB's comedy night is rapidly becoming the Wednesday night activity, of a comic nature or otherwise, in New York's hep Williamsburg neighborhood--9 pm, ladies). Needless to say, Michael's stuff was well worth the wait. He scrambled archaeology, theology, genetics, and traditional goofball stand-up schtick into roughly eleven minutes of homicidal JokeAttack that left a whole pack of stand-up enthusiasts and diners simultaneously exhausted and desirous of another JokeAttack--not unlike the way a multiple orgasm-enabled girl or person must feel after a good big orgasm: That was GREAT and GREATLY SATISFYING! Now let's get another JokeAttack!!
Check this shit out:
And check out some of the audience reaction MT was getting:
Next Wednesday at the Kitchen of Bengal, it may happen again. We'll keep you posted.
Another pretty fantastic news item that the international presses have all but overlooked is that Keith recently saw Natalie Portman, in the flesh, in Manhattan's East Village. A source who wishes to remain unnamed leaked to the W.A.S. News page--the thing you're reading right now--a copy of the voicemail message Keith left Chris moments after seeing Portman. Forthwith, a transcript:
"Hey, dude, I feel like you should know, that I, I just walked past Natalie Portman on the street and she is ridiculously, ridiculously hot, like, unbelievably riculously hot; take every girl that you've ever thought was hot in your life and fucking throw her away, friend, because Natalie Portman is fucking hot. Like it was, it was a bad moment for me; it was, it was like suddenly, I was out of Plato's cave and all those shadows that I thought were hot women were just the-...it was... Portman's sun was casting them down into the cave, dude... so, enj-, enjoy that little revelation, friend."
The last piece of news should be more than familiar to even those among you least focused on the W.A.S. universe (sometimes called 'the natural universe' or 'man's universe'): A Toast to Arthur Titsenballs is Friday night. TimeOut New York gave us the best compliment they know when they wrote in their music listings, "With a har-har name like that, it should come as no surprise that there's a comedian involved." Or something like that. Something snide like that. "We simply couldn't be less impressed or more disdainful of these stupid puds who have put together a show and asked us to list them, even though without listings of shows our subscription base would be limited to family of staffers," quips TimeOut. Don't get too defensive, though, kids: the folks over at TONY are clinically insane; scientists postulate, in fact, that if a writer from TONY were to fall off his Vespa and crack his head open on the curb, a plate of steaming-delicious scrambled eggs would tumble out onto the sidewalk. Scientists' proof? Mike D'Angelo's review in this week's TimeOut of 28 Days Later, the Danny Boyle zombie film that comes out Friday. Suffice it to say that, fact 1, D'Angelo pans the hell out of 28 Days Later; and fact 2, 28 Days Later is ONE OF THE BEST MOVIES OF ALL TIME. Keith and Chris both saw it at the Tribeca Film Festival a month and a half ago and have been gnawing on their own and each other's forearms in anticipation of the release, which will allow them to sate themselves by seeing the film three times a day for the entirety of its theatrical run. 28 Days Later is a dream-movie; they don't come any better. Mike D'Angelo clearly, transparently hates film.
Anyone who dislikes 28DL loathes the film medium and wants to organize a public burning of all film reels. This is proven.
COME TOAST ARTHUR TITSENBALLS!! We will be good, so good!! The beer will be cold, darn cold!! The DJs will key into your reptile brain!! The weather in the garden will melt your inhibitions as surely as it will your socks and teeth if your teeth are ice-culpture, and these days whose aren't?!!
Monday, June 02, 2003
Guys, we are sorry that we've been so silent. It's been, like, deathly silent around here. Did you think that we were dead? Because of the tenor of the silence? Well, if so, you'd be 1/3 right. That's right, Keith is dead.
Well, no - ha ha - he's not really dead, but, Jesus, you can't call really quite call him "alive," considering the quality of life he enjoys. Never getting out of bed before 4:00pm is no way to live, especially when you make exceptions only to go see such films as Wrong Turn, staring Various Girls in Tight, Midriff-Baring Shirts. Keith and Chris took in a matinee showing of this thing on the day of its release and, afterward, agreed that maybe it was time for a little break in their friendship. So, they're not talking to each other anymore, unless a someone suggests a screening of Dog Soldiers, in which case all will be forgiven, because - as a rule - where there is fur and fang and claw and bloody saliva and severed sinew, there will be Keith and Chris. This is true on so many levels, but especially on the Dog Soldiers level.
But, so, assuming they get past this trauma, you should expect to see the kids all together again on June 7. This Saturday. NYC. Just show up this time. Check the shows page for details.
Also, there is much to tell about the HOT AURAL ACTION tour, which was great and which convinced us that hanging around in this tired old town is no way to conduct our affairs. So, we'll be on the road much more often in the future, sometimes even with our instruments. We've got pictures and whatnot to post up here, and will do so as soon as we have the technology to do so. Thanks to everyone who helped us set up shows and who let us sleep on their floor and who granted us use of their showers and their litter boxes and also thank you to the city of San Francisco for existing, and also fuck you to San Francisco for existing very far away from us.