Something I Hate...7

I hate people who make music from trash.

Seriously, it's enough to put me off ever throwing anything away...ever. I would please like some assurances from my local government that the next time I toss an old frying pan in the garbage, it's not going to turn up on stage a month later being used as a high-hat by some smelly weirdo in a sleeveless top.

Because it's always a sleeveless shirts with these people.

Something I Hate...6

I hate the Euro Jean.

I mean good grief pal, I know we're all (mostly the new, fatter, me) struggling to find decent jeans at the moment, with the whole skinny-fit thing, but, ask yourself are they really the best you could do? Do these even qualify a decent pair? Do you really feel they are appropriate attire for any occasion that involves going outside of your flat?

Euro jeans, these in particular, embody all that is wrong, and all that can be wrong, about a set of trousers: stonewashed, covered in pockets, slightly tapered, missing only zippers in inappropriate places to make them truly horrid. These jeans are so monumentally disparaging they provide the clearest evidence this theist has seen of a perhaps godless and infinitely cruel universe.

Perhaps a mantra for the EU could be: Stonewashed combat jeans, unless the desired affect is looking like a rogue soldier lost in society since he left the urban war set in the fashionless 80's, are not okay.

Something I Hate...5

Rollerblading. I hate it.

I hate absolutely everything about it. Let us sit together and garner what is sacrificed by those who dare to don blades that roll.

Grace: gone
Dignity: so very gone
Grandeur: retired
Feasibility of negotiating terrain in mild to strong wind: vanished
Bragability that you look good in spandex: squandered
Remembrance that fanny packs are not a good idea: dissolved
Time spent looking cool: lost
Deniability that you long for the 90's: dead
Thinking fun can be had sans knee/elbow pads: gonzo

To think there are professionals of something so ludicrous outside a circus is the bitterest pill of them all.

Something I Hate...4

I hate audience participation.

Trust me, I am not a mighty man, but may God help you if you are between me and the door when a speaker starts walking my way to try and make me to participate in any way; I will bite your face. I don't care one whit who you are -- Ghandi, Megatron, The Queen, Prince Charming -- if you come at me with that microphone and try to drag me up on stage, I'll drop you. I will honestly scratch a small child's eyes out before I get up on that stage to dance the Macarena or play charades.

And Mr. Speaker-man, don't even think about trying to manipulate me with the whole "Come on ladies and gentlemen, give him a bit of encouragement" malarkey, I will end you.

Something I Hate...3

I hate the R&Beard. I am referring to those sliver thin laser beards favored by the modern singer of soul; I'm telling you there isn't an bona fide manly beard in the genera.

The subliminal message of the R&Beard: "I am a man of vast and independent wealth and massive means (wink wink). Unlike regular people with normal beards, I don't need to work a nine-to-fiver. Thusly, I am able to devote inordinate amounts of time to face maintenance; specifically the molding and etching of these exquisite fancy whiskers. Ladies, if you are impressed with my skills with a pair of electric clippers, be prepared to have your world shaken to it's core."

Something I Hate...2

I hate that for some reason, Tim Allen is Hollywood's go to guy for Christmas movies. I know that in his trilogy of kitsch he replaced Santa, but why must Hollywood try to bring this to fruition in real life? Why must Tim and Christmas become inexorably linked?

Arnold did only one. Matthew Broderick, Will Ferrell, they both knew to draw the line at one as well. Ben Affleck, tinsel town's main choice for all movies that suck, had enough sense to only do one. BEN AFFLECK.

I guess that if Christmas with the Cranks had never been made then I wouldn't really have as much enmity; but couple the camp of John Grisham with seeing Tim Allen talking holiday...lethal.

Something I Hate...1

This idea is not so much inspired by, or in response to my cute wife's desire to post something she is grateful for everyday this month. It is mostly because this holiday season is often the equivalent to the miniature dog with the high-pitched bark that won't realize that I am a friend and stop barking and running around ignoring it's owner that I have decided to hate something daily until Christmas. Granted it is more than a month away, but let's see if I have enough rancor in me to spread.

Hated item 1:

The perceived sexiness of the saxophone.

I don't know how the idea was started or how it spread, but it almost entangled me in it's nasty web of deceit. I almost joined the band in my impressionable middle school years to play this instrument in attempts to counteract the massive amounts of lame that would follow me around like an angry doldrum raining only on me. It fills me with much anger/annoyance that somewhere a committee, without me on it, made the executive decision to make the saxophone the sexy music instrument; there should have been at least one dissenting vote on the record.

the myth:













the truth:

Friends of Our Souls

Perhaps I am boring, but I don't visit mystical realms as much as I used to. If I did this auspicious site would be my mecca. If you decide to see what I mean and be transported to a magical realm via a sprite drawn carriage to a tea party in Centaur Groves to discuss Unicorn Dreams, be sure to scroll down and visit each site dedicated to our favorite fantastical friends.

Favorite quote thus far: Besides their alarm "sneeze," unicorns have a variety of other calls or signals that they use for communication.

My favorite activity the site offers. Oodles of nougat filled bliss.

My Obsequious Manner Towards False Gods

I have a highly addictive personality...woe to me. Every once and a while this ugly addiction troll rears it's bestial mug and I am a goner; gone gone. The current smack in charge of my days and nights: Halo 3. My poor wife is in deep hate with my love affair with this game and I can't blame her. I have very adult things that need to take place in my immediate future that currently lay injured and dehydrated against the curb as I continue in my vain quest to slay as many as possible. I am weak. It doesn't help that I have friends, or enablers, that link up with me via the internet with and we join forces like unto Voltron to save the universe together. Ahhh, good times.

I need to grow the hell up..............well.....I need to find a happy mean.


And as though the Gods of Gaming weren't demanding enough of a sacrifice, they just released Guitar Hero III. Damn them. Now I must bow before the Gods of Rawk as well, and they are a far crueler master. The enabler in this instance is the set list. It has been populated with far more fine tuneage then the previous games. A smattering of some favorites:

Paint It, Black – The Rolling Stones
The Seeker – The Who
Paranoid – Black Sabbath
My Name Is Jonas – Weezer
Even Flow – Pearl Jam
Welcome to the Jungle – Guns N' Roses
The Number of the Beast – Iron Maiden
One – Metallica
Reptilia – The Strokes
Cities on Flame with Rock and Roll – Blue Öyster Cult

Give me strength fair friends. I need it. I can't imagine what would happen if I ever owned a Wii.

Game Over.