Reader Mail: A Joke

Devoted reader and burgeoning indie rock god Matt M. (the leftmost of the Three Amigos in the Hot Atmosphere poster) writes us with the following joke about Matt "The Dove" S. (the center amigo, whose love for his father's navy bean soup has earned him the nickname "Navy Bean"):

Q : Why does Irish Pirate Navy Bean soup only have 239 beans in it?
A: Aaaarrrgghhh. If it had any more, it would be 240.

(pronounce the answer as an Irish pirate would)


Thank you, Matt M., for the mirth. And to all of our readers, we would like to apologize for the sporadicalness of our recent postings; we are currently enjoying the good fortune of a visit by Navy Bean himself.

We would like to reassure those of you who have expressed concern about the fate of Science Man; he is alive and well and promises to send an update soon.

Finally, we apologize for the technical glitch that prevented Internet Explorer users from viewing the movie in the cinema post below. It has been fixed, and we encourage users of all browsers to watch Kevin's masterpiece, Blue Collar Escape.



The Fearsome Mick, Navy Bean




We welcome reader mail. Send to ohgivemeahome(at)gmail(dot)com.

CINEMA: Blue Collar Escape

blue skies forever is proud to introduce its new CINEMA section. In our first installation, we present Blue Collar Escape, a short film written, directed by, and starring our friend Kevin. Gritty, and beautifully shot in industrial Seattle, this tale of class warfare and a foreman's comeuppance will make you both laugh and cheer.

(It may take a while to load for those of you on dial-up; you can go here to find something interesting in the meantime.)



Download Quicktime if you can't see the video

Pinto Dispatch: GREYMOUTH, NEW ZEALAND

Today's wire brings us a pensive dispatch from Pinto...



23 March 2005
GREYMOUTH, New Zealand

Straddling the mouth of the Grey River, Greymouth, at
14,000 strong, has the distinction of being the
biggest town on the South Island's west coast. I
arrived here on Tuesday, around 5 p.m. Upon wandering
the streets in search of New Zealand's national dish,
fish and chips, I noticed that there were no people
here. Everything was closed. It wasn't even six yet.
I resorted to buying something frozen from the
grocery store, where I also treated myself to a
six-pack of Tui (NZ$10).

One portion of chicken tikka masala with rice, and two
Tuis down, I hit the streets again just after dusk.
Near my hostel was Victoria Park Raceway. There was
no racing that night, but the gates were open and I
let myself in. The only sign of life was a small
trailer with a light inside so dim that it was almost
inperceivable through the thin curtains. Careful not
to make trouble for the caretaker, I made my way to
rail to get a better look at the track. Even on a
moonless night I could see how shabby the place was.
I found it all too eerie and quickly left.

My next stop was a bench by the river, with my
remaining Tuis in tow. There, I listened to classical
music on my little radio, undisturbed for one-and-a-
half beer's time. A stout, older fellow then
approached me and asked me something in a peculiar
and spastic way. He spoke English, but it took about
a dozen tries before I made out that he was asking if
I wanted to smoke some pot with him. I declined, but
invited him to sit down and smoke at his leisure. His
name was William and he was in Greymouth doing
insulation work. As to why the town was dead, he
explained, "Nobody gets their paycheck until Thursday.
Then Friday and Saturday--PLAAUUUGH!," (This was
accompanied by a bursting gesture of his hands and
arms.) "So the rest of the week, people gotta keep
to themselves." Soon thereafter, William left me "to
my contemplation," as he put it. And contemplate I
did, on the two Tuis left.

Taking the scenic route back to my hostel, I detected
some motion in my periphery. In a harshly-lit
shelter, near the prerequisite clock tower, was a
spider weaving its web. I watched it complete its
work. Then it crawled into a corner and began its
long wait.

Diff'rent Storks!

Whatchu talkin' bout, Willis?!




Mr. Drummond: Okay, kids, time for family fun time!
Arnold: Family fun time? What channel that on?

Pinto Dispatch: WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND

Hot off the wire at the blue skies forever NEWS headquarters...




17 March 2005
WELLINGTON, New Zealand

Naturally, sex is universal, but what about
pornography? Before I left the U.S., a friend--"Nick,"
for the purposes of this dispatch--asked that I send
him samples of such publications from each country I
visited. Being a good friend, as well as a supporter
of my associates in the press, I assured him that I
would. Although what fills the role of pornography
is different in each country, I've been mostly
successful in fulfilling my promise.

And now I'm in New Zealand, at Eff-Jay's adult store
in Wellington, to be precise. The man at the counter
is white and middle-aged, with a neatly trimmed salt
and pepper beard. Perhaps it is F.J. himself.
Because I'm seeking distinctly New Zealand product, I
ask him for magazines featuring Maoris, New Zealand's
native people. He tells me his entire stock is
imported. I am not surprised. U.S. readers should be
proud to know that we are not only the world's biggest
arms dealers, but the biggest porn dealers as well.
But F.J. believes in customer service and he
continues: "I've heard rumors that there's a video,
maybe a DVD now...of Maoris...er...well, it
features...I'll just say it...ass fucking!...done
with taste and vision...in a Maori way!"

"Sure, I understand," I say--I don't really. He goes
on to tell me that he's going to the "expo...sex-po,
rather" in North Palmerston next weekend and will keep
his eyes open, because he really wants to see that
video. A real connoisseur, F.J. is.

Job S(in)ecurity for Tony...March Madness for Ourself

Our friend Tony, a defense industry software engineer who is more likely to be found in the cafeteria than in front of a computer (and, to answer the questions that many of you have asked us: yes, he does exist, and yes, he did hand in the diagrams pictured in his interview), just sent us this news:

Dear Damon,

You will be happy to know that I just received a $3,000 raise. I'm going to celebrate by sitting in the sun and listening to some MP3s, so just leave a voicemail* if I'm not at my desk.

Sincerely,
Tony


Indeed, while other economic sectors and government programs struggle, the defense industry, like Old Man River, just keeps rolling along. Congratulations, Tony!


In other news, our alma mater, the University of Washington, received a "controversial" #1 seed for the NCAA Tournament. Casual fans across the country, most of whom have not seen the Huskies play, are spewing venomous and ill-founded hatred. Beware, ignorant masses: the undersized Dawgs--a scrappy, overachieving bunch, like the Bad News Bears--have come to play!



Opposing fans may liken him to Gary Coleman, but 5'8" Nate Robinson isn't going to let the Gooch, or anyone, push him around.



*Despite having held his job for nearly three years, Tony has yet to set up his voicemail.

Science Man: Color Me Marooned, but Not Afeared

Dear Damon & Readers,

I hope this note finds you well. I am well as I write it, though I realize now more than ever that we live by the moment. After my escape on the beaches of Puget Sound, I believe I am free of those mercenaries who are after my head. (Worry not, Readers; as Damon will tell you, my missives shall be passed through an elaborate and ever changing chain of trustworthy couriers (a tactic I learned in my days as the invisible "Chicago Ninth," when my colleagues convinced me, the young and brash academic—and the author of the Pigasus concept, to stay underground and carry on their work).

At the time, I am stuck in a rather remote location, though I shall soon depart. I have no intention of banishing myself to the woods. I am determined that I shall have left my isolation in Berlin.

My Dear Salman, I finally understand how you felt! As though you were an island entire! Of course, as a poet, I invoke my forebear, Donne, who reminds us that any such talk is foolish. Just look at the hundreds who jeopardize themselves that my isolation might be safe, might someday end!

But I do more than turn to the verse of others; indeed, I write my own. Here's a little sing-songy ditty, a sort of schoolyard taunt for these fools who would bully me and worse if only they could catch me:




A Note to My Would-Be Assassins

You wade through the masses; you replace your glasses; you peer and you poke and cajole and say "damn!"
You’re slow as molasses, you half-witted asses; you’re time zones behind an old man on the lam!
Each one a clown; you stomp and you frown--How could you believe that you'd fill me with fear?
No matter the town, each street you walk down, my tag will await in a penmanship clear:

Keep looking, you slime.
Right place, wrong time.
Too late...
Science Man was here.




Send my best to Pinto in New Zealand.

Science Man



Now you see him, now you don't: Science Man enjoys a stroll through New York's Chinatown.


*************************************************************

Editor's Note: Matt M. of Hot Atmosphere wrote to explain further the nickname "Navy Bean." It appears that the artist formerly known as the Dove has a propensity for flakiness. Either that or his father's navy bean soup is that good. We've posted the explanatory e-mail in its entirety in the Navy Bean post's comments section.

Reader Mail: An Update from Hot Atmosphere

Greetings, Friends!

From the reader mail file, from the Northwest Quarter, we receive news of that polynymic quartet of indie rock luminaries, Hot Atmosphere (whose decision to drop the name "Mooncalf" may have been inspired by one of Science Man's most inspiring poems). Hard at work on their upcoming debut album, they haven’t been too busy to engage in yet another round of re-naming. We received the following e-mail from a band member who shares a Christian name with the man of whom he writes:


"The Dove"

While his sobriquet has been well dispersed throughout the world, and
popularized by the cult-classic docu-drama "The Reid/Secrest
Olympics", we have another suggestion: "Navy Bean"

He shall now, officially, also be known as, "Navy Bean"...

-one hot atmosphere

Ron Dejais' nemesis, Navy Bean

There you have it, Readers; we cannot explain the new moniker, but we present it to fulfill our duty as chronicler of this fine band.

More importantly, we managed, through covert measures, to get a copy of the cover of their new album. It strikes an odd tone of finality for a debut; perhaps they are offering a commentary on the dangersome, hardscrabble nature of the "indie rock game." Indeed, the hotter one gets, the greater one’s risk of burning out. Many have flown "too close to the sun," but Hot Atmosphere does so defiantly, with seemingly fireproof wings. Thus, against an apocalyptic landscape, to the tune of an impossibly catchy deguello, their guns waving and blazing, they announce their arrival by refusing to depart. Dear Readers, behold:


Click the picture to open an 8 x 11 version (easy to print and post on a telephone poll or cubicle wall).

Finally, don’t miss Hot Atmosphere as they perform Wednesday, March 16th, at Seattle’s Tractor Tavern.

We welcome reader mail. Send to ohgivemeahome(at)gmail(dot)com.

From the Infirmary, Once Again

First, Mt. St. Helens erupts:




And then we do:







Food poisoning, you are a worthy adversary.

Finally, after a disastrous focus group session, the photo essay entitled "Baby Food or Our Poo?" has been cancelled.

Reader Mail: A Conspiracy Theory Nipped in the Bud

We received this e-mail yesterday:

Dear Damon,

Watching the news for the last couple of days, I couldn't help but notice the resemblance between new U.N. Ambassador John Bolton and Science Man. Is it possible that they were separated at birth? From my understanding, not much is known of Science Man's early years. Also, please send him my best wishes. There are a lot of people pulling for him here in Philly.

Chris
Philadelphia, PA

Hey Brother? Science Man says no.

Dear Chris,

Thank you for your mail. Indeed, the resemblance between the two is striking. However, Science Man assures us that he is an only child. And he thanks you for your support.

Warm Regards,
Damon


We welcome reader mail. Send to ohgivemeahome(at)gmail(dot)com.

************************************************************

Editor's note: we have retroactively inserted below.a picture introducing Sujan's new blog.

Two Quick Announcements

Hello, Readers. A couple of quick (and late) announcements:

To our Seattle readers, we recommend tonight's lineup at the Sunset Tavern; both Hot Atmosphere and Tim Seely will be playing. Proceeds will help cover the medical expenses of one Beth MacDaniels, who, we are guessing from the show's title (Fallapalooza), had a bad spill.

Finally, our friend Sujan has rejected our offer of employment in favor of this. All well and good, Sujan--and clever, indeed--but it won't buy you liquor like we would. Did we see "delirium tremens" on today's NY Times crossword?

Microsoft Paint is Awesome!

Breaking NEWS: Science Man in Trouble

We received the following e-mail from Science Man:

Dear Damon (and readers),

Well, it appears that the cat is out of the bag regarding my whereabouts last week. I suppose it doesn't matter--the men who are chasing me are uncomfortably ahead of that.

I have good reason to believe that someone has hired persons in the Vietnamese organized crime demimer (the term given to the aggregate of illegal fish trade cartels) to "knock me off," as it were. I must assume it is a contract, the animus originating from someone other than the mobsters, because I have always been so well received in Vietnamese-American fishing communities (as a result of my vigorous public support of Vietnamese-American Shrimpers in their late 1970s/early 1980s clashes with white supremacists in Louisiana and Texas). Regardless, I have been forced once more to confront my mortality.

The story: Shortly after leaving Berlin, I spoke with Pinto on the telephone. We discussed many things, but eventually we came to the subject of work. He explained that he had friends in the shipping industry and could get me a position on a freighter. (While this may sound lonely to some, and thus not the sort of thing I should be looking for, given my recent difficulties, Pinto assured me that camaraderie within crews is strong, and that the times at port are often great adventures.) I accepted his offer and was on my way to Japan in the large freighter pictured below when I was informed by a reliable source that I was a wanted man. With the help of my generous crewmates--I shall never forget you, brothers!--I was able to depart on a rubber raft, carrying nothing but my lucky walking stick, a backpack containing a change of clothes, and the 32 dollars they gave me. (Your anonymous reader must have photographed me just after I reached shore).

Obviously, I can tell you little of my current whereabouts--or my future plans. Please thank Jlou, Sujan et. al. for their sage advice. It seems that for now I shall be living hand-to-mouth, one day at a time, each breath made more anxious and yet more sweet by the knowledge that it could be my last. But, I ask, does that make me any different from the rest of you? I remain

Your Humble Friend,
Science Man






The fugitive continues his escape after reaching shore.


There you have it, Readers. Our friend Science Man is in trouble. If you think you can help in any way, please e-mail us at ohgivemeahome(at)gmail(dot)com.



A final note: We will be away for the weekend. Posting should resume Monday or Tuesday.

blue skies forever NEWS paparazzi: Like a Drifter, I Was Born to Walk Alone

An alert, anonymous reader spotted the unmistakeable figure of Science Man walking the beaches of Puget Sound this weekend, a curious thing given the famous thinker's stated desire to join Pinto in Thailand (and, one would presume, New Zealand).

Stay strong, Science Man. And stay clean.

Pinto Dispatch: BANGKOK, THAILAND

This just in at blue skies forever NEWS headquarters...



28 February 2005
BANGKOK, Thailand

Bangkok news in brief. . . Interested in buying a
house on five acres near Mt. Hood, OR? An American
temporarily residing in Bangkok is selling. During
the last four years that 50-year-old "Ken" has spent
motorcycling around SE Asia, he has acquired a Burmese
wife and a Burmese baby. The baby, however, is
neither his nor his wife's nor did it come with any
sort of papers. After exhausting his options with
both the US Embassy and the UN to make the child legal
and importable, he is now trying to raise funds. What
for, you may wonder? A boat--he's decided to smuggle
the baby into the US. Looking at the floor, he said,
"I don't know what else to do". . . From the world of
architecture comes this: There's a building in Bangkok
that resembles a huge robot. It has "eyes" and
"legs." Those interested in this modern marvel can
catch a peek from the skytrain platform at Chong Nonsi
station. . . Bangkok dope fiends have a new best
friend and her name is "Yahnnat." As I was eating
noodle soup one afternoon, the Chinese proprietor of
the soup stall sat at my table. After he noticed that
I was sniffling (Hot soup does that to me.), he
proceeded to withdraw a vial from his pocket and put a
small amount of brown powder in his palm. Then he
offered me some. He gave me the thumbs up and said,
"It's good." After a moment of apprehension, I stuck
my palm out and he administered a dose. Through
gestures he told me to snort it. If an old,
semi-successful soup stall owner does it, why
shouldn't I? So I did. Then I cursed the guy, ran
out on my 20 baht soup bill, and bought a case of the
stuff. Watch out, kids.

*********************************************************

Editor's Note: This was Pinto's last dispatch as blue skies forever NEWS Southeast Asia Bureau Correspondent; he has since reassigned himself to the New Zealand Bureau. Thanks for the great work, Pinto. We've enjoyed the ride and look forward to hearing about your adventures in the Land of the Kiwi.