SUBJECT: MOVING TO CALIFORNIA (HOPEFULLY)

“Hey Blair, I'm sorry if this is horribly inappropriate but it's worth a try. My friend and I recently moved to Bend, Oregon and we cannot find work! We really want to move down to where you are but we are limited on cash. We are thinking about camping until we find a place, but we are interested in either temporary housing or just a place to shower a couple times a week. We are early thirties, responsible adults who are looking to get our shit together. I don't know anyone down there, so that is why I'm asking you. If you hear of anything available that would be awesome. We have both seen Tool a handful of times, and I promise any information you give would be kept confidential. We are not asking for any kind of handout, just some help to get started. I appreciate your taking the time to consider this. Again I apologize for this being inappropriate, I just feel like you are the best person to ask. Thank you for your time. Feel free to call *** at ***-***-****. Thank you.”

THE REPLY:

Tom, as one who once found himself in the purgatory of Puddletown (and before Voodoo Doughnuts), I can sympathize with you and your buddy. It’s the aggressive house spiders (Tegenaria agrestis), isn’t it? Those hairy Hobos (as they are more commonly called) are scurrying along the baseboards of the tree house, and you’re absolutely freaking out! Believe you me, I know about the rain of spiders – having once been cornered in my Burnside apartment with only a Whiffle ball bat and bottle of Windex to fend them off. But before you abandon Mycotopia (I mean, Bend), I strongly suggest that you pay a visit to Bend resident and lawnchair balloonist Kent Couch. Gather together some of Deschutes’ finest brews, a few bags of Kettle chips, and fill up a couple of hundred multicolored helium balloons. Then, settle back in a lawnchair, and set the controls for the heart of L. A., keeping in mind that this is just a reconnaissance mission. If you do so, I’m quite certain that you’ll be happy to return to your “best trail running city”, with its Pizza Mondo, Obsidian Stout, and Fred Meyers. In L.A. the pizzas are topped with arugala, squid, and hearts of palm! I realize that the poisonous Hobos are rampant in Oregon, but here we’ve hobos emerging from vast piss stains (and no elimination kit!). You and your friend need to quit watching “The Hills” with those douchelords and blonde cocksockets! Didn’t you read Maynard’s lyrics to “Aenema?” What - do you really want to meet Charlie Sheen that bad? Everywhere you look – ass-clowns and emo-creeps. Even the bedbugs are peddling screenplays! Unless you’re into Crème brulee dog treats, jalapeno-scented Febreze, and $8.00 designer cupcakes, I advise you both to stay clear! And unless you have lots of money, you’re probably gonna end up on Hollywood Blvd. with the other sleeping-bag farts. I’m sorry to give it to you straight, but the reality is that this city is BROKE! There are NO JOBS! Not even for a mop-jockey at Papoo’s Hotdog Show. Rent is outrageous, and don’t even get me started about smog checks (hundreds of dollars for an oxygen sensor, my ass!) You’re pissing on your Cheerios if you think it’s better here. The only thing we’ve got is IN-N-OUT and even they’ve fallen from grace, having recently been trumped by “Five Guys” (Bullshit, Zagat survey! Try finding a Biblical citation on one of their cheeseburger wrappers). Maybe you can stay with Jamie Mc… what’s her name in one of the Malibu mansions she only uses to munch on spicy Thai potato chips washed down by Dom… Unlike the hypocrites infesting this city, I certainly don’t see her as a greedy cum dumpster who’s ruining the Dodgers.

Alright, on second thought, perhaps the idea of Hobo spider envenomation (my apologies to those with sesquipedalophobia) really does warrant your moving south. But, how about Arizona? Maynard’s terroir would seem like a good choice. I know that he’s got plenty of room, not to mention bottles of regional earthiness. I rather doubt, though, that you guys would want to live in such a vertical city… especially one haunted by the rowdy ghosts of all those copper miners. Plus drinking spendy wines all night might not seem bad, but what about when you’re asked to describe them? That Cabernet is NOT flinty! And while our friend Tegenaria isn’t crawling all over your flannel shirt, there is the occasional glassy-winged sharpshooter, green June beetle, and Doody leaf-hopper who aren’t fooled by those fake birds constantly circling over head. Worst of all, you’d be at the mercy of Maricopa County Sheriff Jose Arpaio (wait, that was in a parallel dimension). How do you feel about a glowing red-eyed Chupracabra scampering along a well-paved highway at night? Vortices… Kokopelli’s irritating flutesong… Triangles… Rather than attempting to figure out how to operate that complex espresso machine of his, I honestly think you’d be better off chucking pepperonis at Pizza Mondo until something better comes along.

Adam’s house wouldn’t be good. It just wouldn’t. Ever been to the Mutter Museum? I’m not saying that in the dim glow of a furry rat chandelier the living room is filled with bizarre taxidermy, including conjoined twin peacocks, prehistoric fish, tuxedoed lumberjacks, fluid-preserved three-headed baby giraffes, rows of snoligoster eyeballs, and the giant colon of an albino teakettler. Nor am I suggesting that with all the anatomical specimens and X-File monstrosities, that house sitters with tattoos and piercings have been known to suffer nervous breakdowns after the first night. I’m just saying that it’s not all cornhole matches, iced Tecate, and views of the blue Pacific. By the way, Tom, do you speak Mantong, or any proto-world language? It would be better if you did if you were to stay at Adam’s – because while you’re reading that Wine Spectator magazine - there’s a fairly good chance that cavernous zooids might attempt to abduct you for human table scraps with their influencing projection mech.

Now that Justin is back from England, you might want to think about staying with him until you and your friend find a job (even though there are NO JOBS in Los Angeles - not even repairing leaf-blowers). What could be nicer than faux-hippies, vegan fairs, and margs at Abuelitas? Wait, what’s that floating silently over your bohemian paradise while you’re picking an asparagus tip off that gluten-free wheat-crust pizza? Now, what the hell are you doing sitting in the orange section of the cafeteria on the Zeta Reticulian vessel? (Or perhaps you’ve been nabbed by the reptilians, mantoids, auto-repair shop infernals or, worst yet, those Salahi things!) Is that the REAL Roger Smith over there? Why is he so interested in the numbers on Tim Tebow’s dick mitten? Next, you find yourself asking: Cheese & Crackers, why’d they have to remove my left eyeball while I was fully conscious?.. Oh well, maybe it will turn up at Adam’s.

I know exactly what you’re thinking. What about Danny’s? Joni Mitchell, Meshuggah, Miles Davis… all night long! Shrill… pounding… all night long. How about the Tool loft? Bad idea. Tool is there. Writing, arranging, jamming… all day long! Plus there’s no room. Spooky junk everywhere. Huge Moogs, Buchla, and Serge synths with endless colored wires! Nighttime is even worse. People like Sherasi, Pitman, Brisley, and Estrada hanging out. There’s no escape from the repeated blather about musical gear: Sennheiser, Nueman, Edelbroack 600 CFM… etc. ad infinitum, ad nauseum… After one “Two for Tuesday”, “Why not Wednesday”, “Thirsty Thursday”, “Frothy Friday”, “Say, ain’t it Saturday”, “Sudsy Sunday”, or “Might as well Monday”, all those running trails in Bend never looked so good…

Now here’s something (wracking my brain for you, Tom!). If you’ve still got your heart set on coming to California (where there are NO JOBS – not even for a bikini-clad steeple-jack), there is one person who just might be able to help you. In a previous newsletter (see; November 2009, e.v.), I mentioned the distinct possibility of a private Tool website – a closed community for the innermost circle of fans. In that article, I also spoke about a person called handicapable Mike and his high-tech “space-van”, suggesting that he might know a great deal more about this highly-trusted conviviality (URLs, passwords, etc). Perhaps you should contact him at www.mikeywheels.com. And Tom, should you and your friend make it to L.A., be sure to come to the Monday Night Jammmz at the Baked Potato in Studio City so that I can buy you a beer. Only, be warned, they don’t have any Deschutes’ “Abyss” like you’ve got in Bend. Oh, and one other thing. Be damned careful not to bring any stowaways with you. Let those Hobo spiders hop a freight train like they’ve been doing since the 1930s. Thanks for the e-mail, and best to you and your friend… wherever you end up moving to. Did I mention the lousy weather?..

HAPPY TRAILS

BLAIR
JUSTIN
DANNY
MAYNARD
ADAM