Friday, November 19, 2004

the road to mediocrity is littered with empty ketchup packets...

Is there anyone else out there that hates ketchup as much as I do? I don't even like saying the word or typing it for that matter. I'm not sure when this all started, but I think it was at the same time as when I began hating children. I can remember as a child going to birthday parties at McDonald's, the other kids with their red-smeared faces, French fries with bloody tips being carelessly flung around the table, and me not having a bit of control over any of it. Their aim was terrible. They would take three ketchup tainted fries at once and try in vain to shove them all in their mouths, of course getting the nasty red filth not only all over their mouths, but their cheeks, their noses, foreheads, and yes...even in the hair. There were instances where one child would nearly have his handful of stink fries in his mouth. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, another child would desperately need this boy's full attention and would grab the arm holding the fries, causing speckles of the smelly red sauce to disperse across the table. I ducked for cover each time this occurred, like a soldier avoiding shrapnel from a grenade that had just exploded nearby. Often times I took fierce hits during these condiment explosions. I would go home with crusty, dark red speckles all over my arms, face, hair, and clothing.

This is an absolute horrid memory that I try to suppress as much as possible, but each time I'm around someone who is ignorant enough to eat that crap, the memories quickly begin to return. Most people who have known me long enough know about my deep hatred for the stuff. Some are courteous and slide the ketchup bottle to their side of the table during dinner. Others are not so friendly. During high school lunches, my friends would jokingly threaten to bust open the ketchup packets in my face. Luckily, it never happened. I would have lost some friends. That stuff isn't funny at all to me, seriously. People laugh and joke when they scare me with ketchup, but in my eyes they look like demons with blood red eyes, straight from the bowels of hell, here to cover the walls of the Earth with the most evil condiment ever invented by man. Ever watched the deleted scene from the movie "Jackass" where Rake gets mustard poured all over him and totally flips out and kicks a huge dent in Bam Margera's BMW? When I watched this I thought it was completely ridiculous that someone would kick someone else's car just for getting mustard on them. But put in his place, and replace the mustard with ketchup, I think I might could kick a beamer's ass.

In all seriousness though, some people get over dislikes for different foods as they get older, but this is not the same. I use to not eat hot dogs and balogna, but now I eat them (ok, I still can't eat bologna because it smells like the dollar store). Ketchup is different for me. My hatred for Ketchup runs deep. I don't like the taste, smell, or look of it. I don't like hearing the word ketchup or even seeing it. The word catsup is even worse. It's like a cat puked up a red substance and some Canadians decided to bottle it. No, people, this is a bonafide phobia. It's been dubbed saltomaphobia, the irrational fear of ketchup (it isn't very irrational to me, but then again I do have the phobia). There are support groups online for this. Ok, so they aren't actually support groups. They're mostly just a bunch of people going "Oh, dude...are you serious? I have that same shit, dude! Whoa...", but at least I know I'm not alone. And least I don't have the fear of undercooked tater tots, or the fear of toast crumbs in the butter tub. That would suck.

I just realized I left this SO open for heinous comments. Let me just go ahead and say this now: You are not funny.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

I've tried posting this photo like four times now. This is from the Pinback show on Wednesday.

Sunday, November 07, 2004

yea i'm still in school, the school of rock...

This week was nothing but rock, or at least a punkish, pop-tinged version of rock. I was taken away from the stress of the election coverage on Tuesday by the sounds of my friends The Rumors Are True, making a pretty good attempt at polishing their turds. These guys went from annoying the crap out of my neighbors while practicing in my basement, all the way to annoying the crap out of people in a live music venue. It was a beautiful thing. Also, on Friday night I saw the show I had been looking forward to the most, Aqueduct. These guys are one of my absolute favorites. I can't get enough of them. I made a few people angry at this show, because I was that annoying guy with the video camera. I was attempting to record a few songs for Natalie, since she can't be here. I got one of their old classics, AND I was able to get a goofy cover of hip-hop artist Jay-Z's apparent hit "Dirt Off Your Shoulders". My oh my, how ashamed I was to have immediately recognized that song.

So now I'm chilling at the house, preparing for another week of work. Last week was not so much fun at work, and I don't expect this week to be much fun either. That's work. That's life. I'm getting use to it. I hate Sundays though. They remind me of back in the days of grade school, when all you could think about on Sunday was that you had to go to bed at your normal bed time because you had to go to school the next day and the next day and the next day and the next day and the next. Sunday isn't really a day of rock. It's mostly just a day of laundry. I did get to sit down on the couch for a few hours and watch the Jack Black movie, School of Rock. I'm also rocking out to Yes. So I guess Sunday can be kind of rock and rollish.

Wednesday will also be rock and rollish. Pinback is coming to Fayetteville! Holy cow, dude. I'm going to be tired on Thursday.

Happy Rock and Roll Laundry Day.
The Rumors Are True.
The Rumors Are True.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

Well, things didn't go as I had hoped in the election, but the watch party at J.R.'s, I took this hilarious photo of Philip and a couple of really nice douchebags, Patrick and Matt, from Representative Boozman's D.C. office. Is Matt throwing up a victory symbol or is that a British "shove it up your arse" symbol? Hmm...and I thought we agreed to be friendly. Tisk, tisk. I guess I'll just have to take back my promise of not publishing this photo anywhere.

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

i'm scared...

I voted today, and it felt great. It also felt strange, like I had committed a crime. Hmm.

Monday, November 01, 2004

shake them titties when you vote...

So I broke my non-political blog promise. Shut up. Tomorrow is important.

I'm going to vote tomorrow and nothing can stop me. I've got 10 different forms of identification, including my voter registration card. I'm going at the butt crack of dawn so that I can be one of the first to vote in my precinct, not that it makes a difference in the election, but because I have to get to work at a decent time. My polling place is one of the busiest in the county, right smack in the middle of town. Unfortunately, it's at a church. Now I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings here, but sometimes I question the methods of the fundamental Christian Right. Things start running through your head when you've been driving past that church for years and have always seen nothing but "W" stickers on every car there on Sundays. Will they throw my ballot out? Will they find some way of turning me away at the poll? Probably not. I'm white and I will be dressed conservatively. But hey, at least it's at a Methodist Church and well...I'm just not quite as worried about them as I am of some others. The media has me in a panic thinking that my vote won't be counted. What's the point anyway, right? I mean I live in a red state, a.k.a. (to quote Rick Moranis) I'm surrounded by assholes. I just have this hope though, that my state will shockingly fall to the Left, and there will be tears of joy from every compassionate human who hasn't already moved to Canada. "Hooray! Hooray!" we will say, as we take to the streets and proudly march through the swarms of Right-wingers who'll be screaming "Go back to France, you commie-fag-socialist-nigger lover-bomb throwing-hippy-marxist-liberal-weak spined-atheist-flag burning-unpatriotic-evolution teaching-poor-worthless piece of crap!" I love America.

hmm...that should get me a few hits from the Google.

No matter the outcome of tomorrow's election, you can bet that I'll be proud to have voted and utilized this wonderful freedom that we have and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.


good ol' drippy...

Cartman didn't stand a chance after a week of unyielding rain and heat.
We literally watched this stuff growing and spreading in the dank, wet Arkansas air.