As a chick's doctor its often a weird day at the office. But I must admit, that no day in the office can top the adventure that was last friday night.

I went out to a friends house with Mary Kate Olson, strung out as usual, but who brought along her always entertaining friend, Kat. See Kat, just got back from New Orleans and man did she look battered, poor girl lived through the hurricane, but has since had a new rejevenated approach to life, full of Vim and Vigour despite the majority of her wardrobe being torn, and the occasional bloddy gash re-opening. When we got to the party, there were drunk cops all over the place, who insisted on using their badges of authority to warrant a public benefit for them to get naked. Despite the awkward tossing of badges and guns, they were oftly funny half naked in their hats. Who knew modern cops were so comfortable in thongs.

Mary Kate actually made off with one of their guns and in a fit of hilarity was waiving it around all night, when suddenly the trigger went off right in the way of a battered hockey coach who was hanging out beside the house. Just as we made sure the coach was ok, out of the door stumbles Kat from New Orleans handcuffed to a Dead Western girl. Apparently one of the cops thought it would be funny to cuff these two characters, one morbidly decaying and one morbidly sauced, together and throw away the key. Kat was pissed, rolled over the cop, and all of a sudden all three were rolling around in the front lawn.

Mary Kate threw out some warning shots, but the fight didnt break up, so my gynaecologist associate, Mary Kate, and the hockey coach decided to bail back to the Olson's house to get Mary a sandwich. She didnt eat it though, and when Kat got home she fell on top of the plate anyway so I don't Mary at all.



Halloween can sure be a funny story if taken out of context.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Monday, October 31, 2005 |

Mais ce n'est pas miserable si vous ettes avec la plus belle au theatre

Last night was a genuine trip into the cultural landscape that Toronto provides. Lady Friend ;), Carrie hooked us up with orchestra tickets to go see the repeat showing of Les Miserables at the Cannon Theater in the city. Sadly, due to the travesty that was Hurricane Katrina, the show was unable to move to New Orleans as was planned for this week. It should be noted that after the show the actor playing Jean Valjean, also known as Jack Black's identical twin, revealed to the crowd that all performances this week were being dedicated to the victims of that disaster and that proceeds would be donated to the American Red Cross.

Naturally to celebrate a long awaited return to the theater I felt that we needed to go out for a very posh dinner, and so we were able to get a table at Susur Lee's tapis inspired retaurant dubbed the same as his last name; Lee.

Our table was for 6:00, and though in my mind I thought we would be dining alone with the wait staff, by 6:15 the place was rammed and plates upon plates of crafted foodart flew from the kitchen onto the table. See Lee is a tasting room of sorts, where the menu consists of roughly 30 small size portions for two divided into Vegetable, Meat, and Fish. The idea is that you order roughly 4 to 6 dishes from all across the menu and dive into the immense realm that is Chef Lee's creations. So to start off the meal we decide on a deliche CabSauv, and proceeded to choose the following five dishes to split.

• A cold salad dubbed Singapore Slaw (*I wasnt fond of using the word *slaw in a restaurant such as this but it was worth it)

• Braised Lamb Chops with mint puree and spice pineapple (pictured)

• A sauteed portabello and green bean salad served cold with crushed peanuts and a soy inspired dressing (my favorite)

• Smoked Salmon served in a cilantro and bean dressing

• Mushroom dumplings stuffed with Feta, Capers, and mushrooms, served in a Red Pepper sauce (single regret).

Dinner was divine to use a word I would rarely throw out, and then in perfect wishy washy red wine haze we headed off to the Cannon theater for what turned out to be an amazing rendition of Les Mis. It is amazing to see the technological integration into the theater because it really does heighten the bar for a show. Javert's death, Valjean's walk through the sewers, time capsule veil screens setting each scene, and a rotating circular stage which was an amazing effect when Marius first goes to see Cosette, and when the little kid goes over the barracade for ammunition; poor bastard. It should be noted that the girl playing Fantine was hot as hell, and why Marius ever swooned over the curly haired wonder that was playing the little orphan gone rich kid is beyond me.

I'm a sucker for orchestra's and the singing was amazing, all in all the show was very impressive, and a welcomed treat to a former highschool drama queen that hadn't been back to the theater in a while. The show was great, and as musicals go, this show was built for any level of theater enthusiast; even the cynic thinking up some clever negative to throw in the comments right now should and would appreciate Les Miserables.


After the show, we went for a drink at what has now become my favorite lounge bar in Toronto, the Drake. We caught a band by the name of PictureSound. It was this odd looking but good sounding band made up of a Scottish front man and three guys who all looked like the guitarist from the Tragically Hip. Really they should of dubbed themselves Noel Gallacher and the Beards, but whatever. Their music was Oasis, meets East Coast Rock, meets some psychadellic trip rock deal. It was very cool, and an odd musical experience to end an amazing night.

A cultural escape was had this wednesday, but sadly I missed my soccer game which was scheduled for 8:30. Dang, kiddin, you cant swap posh and a partner in crime like Carrie for any co-ed intramural any day. Unless I could eat deliche food, go to the theater, and have an amazingly attractive girl beside me all night while playing soccer. Someone should invent something like that. And it shall be played on a rotating stage.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Thursday, October 27, 2005 |

Did you know Goose had a name?

In this time of incredible death and disaster it is easy for humankind to get wrapped up in all that is a threat to modern man. As cities crumble, lives are lost, and the future as is right now appears most bleak, it is important that we not watch these end of days in a self absorbed shell.

We are but one creature on this earth, and today I think its important, however grey and dark your afternoon may be, that there are creatures whose days are being spent much more confused, much more worried, much more embedded with feathers.

Today is 'think of the damn geese' day; why you ask, well of all creatures living today, I think the goose is in most trouble. Think of how shitty it is to be a goose right now. You are a creature whose life revolves around the seasonal migration between the North and the South. To capture the moment, I feel as though I should create a dialogue between two geese. The first shall be named Anthony and the second Edward in memory of the greatest goose of all time; he who flew with Maverick. Before I begin, Slider you should know that you stink!

Anthony: Damn Ed, sure is getting cold up here again.
Edward: No shit Tony, it seems like only a few weeks ago we finally had the balls to make the trip back up here.
Anthony: It was only a few weeks ago, and we wernt even the last. I remember seeing Anne and her fam from Brockville crusing by in late June; and I thought late May was late.
Edward: That damned Anne just loves soaking up as much Cali sun as she can eh?
Anthony: For real!

Anthony: Ok, so should we get ready to fly south again for the winter?
Edward: Fuk no, have you seen the news lately, like hell I wanna fly into those kinda winds, and rain.
Anthony: Hurricanes are lame
Edward: very lame

Anthony: Alright so should we stay up here for a while until the hurricane season passes by?
Edward: Fuk no, its so cold my nipples look like my beak.
Anthony: haha they do, what would happen if I flicked em
Edward: Ouch!!! Ass
Anthony: Stop whinning crowface. So where the hell should we go. Wanna try East for a change
Edward: Fuk no, like hell I wanna catch the damn flu.
Anthony: Geez man we're screwed. Those damn humans slowly pillage away the entire planet, and were the ones who have to deal with a friggin plague in the form of the common cold.

Edward: Fuk it, Im just gonna fly around in circles until my ass gets duck hunted by that guy in the orange hat down there.
Anthony: True, later Ed.
Edward: Later Tony.

So the moral of this story is that while the world crumbles remember how cool of a movie top gun was. Tom Cruise kind of looks like a goose no? A scientology loving winged beast of beauty he is.

Kelly McGillis is hawt shit.Goose's non army name was actually, Nick Bradshaw. who knew.!

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Monday, October 24, 2005 |

and you were there, and you were there, and I was in the air.

It is so bizzare how dreams are influenced by that which you may be up to right before you fall asleep. I had this conversation with a buddy the other week who had been playing video games before he went to sleep, and in turn he dreamed being planted in the video game world while he slept. Before I went to bed last night I was talking with Paige via texting about Lost and Love; one a show one an emotion.

Needless to say I woke up this morning, as I grogged and groaned between waking up at 8:30 and snooze buttoning life until around 10, my dream consisted of paige, myself, and many others stranded on an island with an evil band of "others" out there to get us. Just like the show of course, you never saw the others, but there was a constant air of panic amongst the dream folk. Unlike the show however, traditional jason eano repetitive dream characteristics were amidst the adventure.

Since as long as I can fantastically remember, I have had a constant repetitive dream where I could fly as long as I took my standard routine to take off; the traditional track and field hop, skip, jump, triple jump method. Most definitly a tactic restricted to dream world, the classic hopskipjump while dreaming sends me to skies in a slow mo, Im sleeping on my face and not really going anywhere kind of sensation. When I fly its like I swim through the air, having to flail my arms in order to cut through the sea of sky that I soar through. Needless to say it gives me an uncanny advantage against groups of "others" who are restricted to feet, and maybe some spears or something, while I swim overhead in a sea of superiority.

When I was younger this repetition was often combined with the evil wicked witch of the west and though the villain has changed thanks to wednesday nights at 9, the flying has never faded into a new dream power. If I could dream that adventure everynight, I think I would strive to find a way to garner wage from my slumber.


Maybe Freud would say that I dream I can fly over situations imposed by mediated experience because I refuse to buy into the fantastical jargon associated with mediated fiction....woah im so pomo.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Monday, October 24, 2005 |

Does anyone actually know someone who listens to Nickleback without it being fed to you with a corporate spoon?

I preach buying albums, for musical escapes of 50 minutes or so are an amazing outlet for inner thought, and personal satisfaction. Sometimes however, its nice to be musically guided by others, and for those times where a radio personality just needs to be introduced to your ears, I provide you with this spoonful of applesauce.

Independent radio is by far one of the greatest vehicular outlets known to modern travel. Living in London the last four years, whenever I would find the time to invest in radio I was a keener to radio Western 94.9 CHRW. Completely volunteer run, the programming would very from the local resident dj from the nottest club in town spinning hippidity hoppidity jams friday before the bar, to the old man with a white beard spouting jazz rarities on sunday afternoon, to the occasional guest broadcast with yours truly with Londons voice for talk radio Jim Chapman (link).

Needless to say, the novelty and access that non-corporate radio provided to the local citizen was something. It was engaging because you were a part of it, a classic sales pitch to any good venture. It was entertaining because it was irregular, it was out of the box, and it was a mish mash of creative direction, which for the new bohemian in me, catered greatly to the fruit bowl of tastes that make up my musical and literary pallette.

Moving back to the Toronto area, I was at a loss. Obviously the market is more saturated with options in the land of fast pace business in the face megapolis, and so the options to hear Nickleback, or Green Day every hour on the hour became much more available. I feel in to the trap of stations like the Edge 102.1, toronto's choice for youthful radio, and the occasional dip to the flow 93.7, i think it is, for an urban outlet.

Blessed be my brother Josh however, for just the other day he introduced me to CIUT 89.5, the University of Toronto's independent radio. Hawt damn we have a winner ladies and gentleman. You see the thing about college radio is that at night, the music is prime. Its unique, its hard to find, its a typical conversation with any academic music bravado that can enlighten you to a new band or two. During the day however, the time slots are filled while student volunteers are in class with locals, or professors, or who knows what. In London, CHRW midday programming is still pretty weak, however this morning I tune into 89.5 to hear one of the most critical lectures ever delivered about the state of the American Empire, and its inevitable fall.

I won't get into the lecture today, for I actually took down the 1-800 number and have ordered a transcript of what was said. It was good, trust....the lecturer was from Norway and sounded like a futuristic philosopher from a Tolkein book. It was nice though, for being out of school has rid me of the hour long mind soaks that lectures at Western otherwise provided. Not to mention is was content that was right up my academic alley. I think I will write an annotated bibligraphy to celebrate...eeek.

All in all the message here, is that corporate radio be damned, for I have found my invisible wave station. My ears have been guided, and Nickleback has subsidded which I think is the only cure to the American downfall, though the professor this morning never really mentioned that.


Do you think they call themselves Nickleback, because thats what you want after you buy their CD?

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Thursday, October 20, 2005 |

SEEDS AND APPLESAUCE passed 10,000 visits today. Thank you for being distracted by my nonsense and occasional musing.

Cheers to you.!!!!


Now let this guy get the party started.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Thursday, October 20, 2005 |

Lets Talk about the Large Junk in Iraq.

You know there's time when you need to hate the horror that is one man's existence, but to be fair and just as all honourable democratic civilians should strive to be, there are times where credit must be given where credit is due. Today's tongue biting honourable mention goes to Mister Saddam Hussein, former Iraqi president for those under rocks.

In spite of being the most ruthless dictator of the modern era, you really have to give Saddam Hussein credit for having the largest balls on the planet. In a move that I thought may never happen, in replace of just keeping him in some Alabama hole for the rest of eternity, Saddam took the stand yesterday in the first of what could turn out to be many trials accusing him of war crimes, torture, murder, really anything that Moses was preaching against in roughly the same geography some odd millennia ago (story).

But Saddam, always the attention seeker, just had to show the world that he is not only a heartless killer, brutal tyrant, and manipulative leader, but the sixty five year old man, also has the most giant set of ignorant BALLS to ever grace the small screen.

Though I'm sure many of you know already, Saddam refused in trial to honour the court in which he stood, he would not give his name, pleaded not guilty to all charges, and insisted that his constitutional rights as President of Iraq be upheld, and that his guilt or innocence should not be judged.

I mean, put yourself in that man's shoes. The guy is saying fuck you world, in a world that is pretty one sided with respect to Saddam's guilt. Say what you will about America's present role in the the middle east, but Saddam is guilty, everyone knows it, except for his ignorant and overly confident ass. I mean he didn't even wear a tie. I wore a tie when I tried to plead down my speeding ticket when I was 18. Successfully mind you!

I really think I should sit down with Saddam and maybe he could take my approach to getting out of his trial, as I did an Ontario speeding ticket. First, dress appropriately. Two, don't be ignorant to the obvious. Three, admit fault but that you're sorry. Finally, tell them that you were really late for work, that you are a student trying to make his way, and that that the 100s of people he killed were walking right up close behind him and that he felt pressured to get away the fastest way possible so that he could move to the right hand lane.

If all goes well, Saddam might end up with only a 90 dollar ticket, a stern warning, and being grounded from using his mom's car for a month. It's important to look to our youthful innocence to grow for the future. Saddam huge balls, moral of the story.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Wednesday, October 19, 2005 |

But I need to save up for Novemberathon

Nothing really to say today, other than I updated the bi-weekly beats section to feature three great bands. The first and third links will take one along a musical journey into my weekend mood and the second link is a great must have band for any music lover.

On a note, I adventured into Waterloo this weekend to take in the majesty of that which has been dubbed Octoberfest. What a great scam the germans of the loo have cooked up with this little event. Here's an idea I'll pay you $20 cover to come in a drink $5 dollar pints of Canadian no less on a hockey arena floor while polka rockers from 1973 (bad year for polka) wail away on a shitt accoustic system. Oh dont forget that you must sell sausage, cause then im swooped right back into Germany circa never.

If Octoberfest can sell, I think theres 11 months missing out on a great party market. I here and now invite you all to Junishjulyfest launching in the Summer of 2007. Have not a worry though, in the anticipation for junishjulyfest, I will be introducing the marchboxsocial located on Sunset drive in London in the spring of 2006.

go there and wait....itll be worth it.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Monday, October 17, 2005 |

Nonsense and Ballihoo- An Outcry to the Ignorant of the Aged Public Sphere

It seems as though a lot of conversation I start in to of late ends up revolving with at least one dialogue about this very journal in which I am writing now. If that was too obsure, basically, lately a lot of people have been bringing up this blog and driving a conversation out of it.

I laugh at this everytime, shrug, and debate whether or not I am right in keeping a readable online journal of mind farts and coloquial blurbs which when publicized via this medium can at times come across as though I've put educated thought and opinion into that which I am writing.

Its funny to me however, that some people would even imagine driving any personal connection, angst, or emotion of any kind out of that which I write on here. Its important for people to always read the intro blurb to any blog, for it lays out the mentality of that which is being recorded.

The subheader of Seeds and Applesauce reads:

Seeds & Applesauce is my forum for the thoughts that muse the development of self and the nonsense that finds its way in between my self-enlightenment. For no other reason than a self-righteous need to express, I present you my thoughts on whatever the hell strings itself together from my brain into consciousness.


Thats all a blog is. An intellectual purging of my minds thoughts from floating nonsense within to choreographed nonsense delivered outward. While the opinions and positions I take on whatever issue of the day it is that I choose to write about are indeed my own, in no way is this space intended as some form of political backdrop to myself. I realize however, that any medium which allows one to hit the masses, and if given time, does indeed generate an audience based on the model's accessibility will need to become a reputable source of my beliefs and to an extent needs to be factual.

This is not common to blogs, but moreso the person delivering the blog. If I present myself in the economic community as a particular type, which in the traditional sense should not be associated with works of fiction and a voice of dissent then indeed this journal acts as a negative influence on my everyday.

HOWEVER, and this is a BIG BUT. Though this may get me into further trouble down the road, the issue I've raised here, that those who put a veiled importance on the personal beliefs of others via an atypical and larph based medium that is a web log are ill in their approach to business and personal relationships, is a common fault of the generation that preceeds mine own.

Too often political and personal perspectives on that which allows itself to be criticized is an issue amongst the controllers of today. I personally believe that the generation of the millenium baby, or those of whom are within their twenties today will drastically change the way in which people communicate and do business with one another and their pasttimes.

I believe it is in due part to the internet, and the global accessibility it provides to shared opinions and beliefs. The technological gap that will create a more understanding community begins with the internet, and for that reason I will not stop writing nonsense, ballihoo, or tomfoolery for a long time. On top of that no less, anyone that chooses to make a decision about me and my character based on that which they read here prior to knowing me as a person, has no place in my future whatsoever anyways, for those people are nothing but a hindrance on progression and understanding of need and purpose.



I sure told you!

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Thursday, October 13, 2005 |

Eat, Drink, Man, Car.

At the comfortable age of self-dependent, and having split parental units, holidays for my brother and I are becoming quite a little two man road trip.

With Thanksgiving and a new car, this year's fattest 48 hour holiday consisted of a spontaneous sunday/monday jaunt across southern ontario visiting as much family as possible between Kingston, Peterborough and Whitby. The funny thing about the modern 20 something born in a family of multiple households is that holiday's return the young men of a family pack to nothing more than a primal creature on food hunts across the urban desert. Mine and my brothers weekend consisted of a multiple hour long drives, a few hour long visits, which was all focused around the consumption of large piles of food, which have been commonly dubbed as Thanksgiving meals.

Now I'm not one to judge, but my definition of meal, consists of an appetizer perhaps, glass of wine, then a main course, maybe a salad, some desert, and a coffee or aperatif after dinner. Now thats a MEAL, you know a big shake your fist, cry meal in the air kinda dinner. Thanksgiving takes this meal concept to a whole new world. To me, one does not sit down for a thanksgiving dinner, one sits down for a thanksgiving PILE. A crafty experiment in plate dimension where honorary nods and approvals are shown between men at the table who have created the most efficient pile.

By efficient I do not mean contains all the necessary food groups for a balanced diet. Thanksgiving efficient means, the pile creator has discovered an ability to merge stuffing and potato to make room for the unexpected turnip puff, that if put as a frame around the corn will act as a sauce laddle of sorts, collecting the desired flavour drippings to be applied properly to any bite not featuring adequate gravy allocation yet, the barrier has acted as a magnificient shield protecting the cranberries, pickles, and dinner roll from any soggyness that would otherwise result in a uncontrolled sauce positioning over the turkey and ham and occasional sweedish meatball.

Do not get me wrong, I love a giant gorge as much as the next guy, and the downer like drug that is produced from turkey consumption on my psyche is worth the experiment on paralleling exhaustion and consumption alone. I just think its hilarious, that as a bi-product of my welcomed responsibility to be familiar and present entity at family reunions, the result is my stomach ballooning to 9 times its appropriate (okay well as close to appropriate as it gets) size.

I think theres something more to the notion of a holiday. Something more organic and human-natural to having 3 mass perfectly spaced out harvest like consumption days a year. Part of me thinks that humanity's relationship with the earth is that for three seasons of the year we must engage in a feast that acts like a organic bonding ritual where its important that humans see how much they can eat in one sitting to connect them with the plants, animals, and liquids of ole mother earth.

Personally, my harvest's are at Thanksgiving, arguably the calendar date marking the beginning of fall, Christmas, the peak of winter, and Easter, the end of spring. Summer is the off season 'cause no one needs to feel that full in summer, its the work out season, and we cant exactly put gorging on cheetos and peanut butter at 3am on the same scale, though it is equally organic if ya know what i mean.

What the hell are trees man, what the hell are trees. I think I'm still goofed up on turkey.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Tuesday, October 11, 2005 |

The Colour of Things

One of the most unique guys I have ever known is Orod, a good buddy who represents everything persian in my life. His uncle owns a rug factory, he spends summers in Iran, and his wealth is veiled in secrets which I derive to be from being born into oil but I choose not to pry.

Why Oh why, would Orod's name come up in a mid friday post one might ask? Well this morning I enjoyed a lovely breakfast of peanut butter and jam on toast, and its deliciousness reminded me of a past time from years past in which Orod and I used to share.

'Rod the Persian Prince and yours truly always used to have debatable conversations about the nature of things like peanut and jam and its relationship to the modern white boys growth pattern. 'Rod would claim that something like peanut butter and jam was a traditionally white thing to have grown up with, which would naturally spawn lengthy conversations of bullet point like one liners and there embedded relationship to a particular racial upbringing.

For instance, 'Rod would argue that taking the canoe out for a paddle was a traditionally white thing to do. Though I would argue that there was a native relationship to the past time, but, he would have non of it. "White thing" he'd say.

I would then argue that coloured dresses were a persian thing. To which he would reply, ketchup on kraft dinner/kraft dinner in general equals white thing.

Over time it became this background noise towards all life while Rod and I and a few others were around each other.

• Fantasizing over old North American drama's like 90210 and melrose place = persian thing

• Paddle ball, underhanded badminton, Mario Kart = white things.

• Hiding girlfriends from parents = persian thing

• skating, cottages, chinese buffet's = white thing

Its actually quite a fun game to racially stereotype past times and low grade food stuffs. You'd never find us making a sociopolitical debate out of it, it was born and will die out of fun.

Racial comedy like the above to me is priceless. Pointing out the obvious traits of another in a compassionate mockery is what made Dave Chappelle so popular, for it was all in good fun, and not intended to put another down other than that which they know about themselves already.

Light hearted observations of the other, reaffirms the self, and in the end makes differences familiar and likeable as opposed to the much more negative ignorance towards difference in which war, hate, and verbal cruelty are spawned.

how did this become about race relations.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Friday, October 07, 2005 |

What do a Detroit born Iraqi, a relgious sniper, and a London, Ontario born actor turned reservist all have in common? Answer to follow.

I have to admit that my embedded cynicism towards television that was driven out of my undergrad and the nature of being a critical media student has subsided of late due to the fact that currently TV is actually pretty good.

Though I couldn’t tell you what’s on during the weekend, because of my constant weekend getaways to boozeland, Monday through Thursday has opened up a new can of viewing pleasure that for a few years now I had fallen off of. Sure last spring I was into 24, how could you not be, Bauer is the shit. But other the American James Bond and Soccer Saturday there wern’t nearly the hours spent in front of the TV that have presented themselves now as a working stiff.

Monday I check out Arrested Development after the cult like motivation I received from people like Francisco and Paige. Wednesday I’m watching LOST cause that shits all fuked up. Thursday I dunno, there’s always something on, on Thursday. BUT TUESDAY…TUESDAY is what I want to talk about today, because scheduled on the HISTORY NETWORK ON TUESDAY’s is Steven Bochco’s new real life dramatization of the trials and tribulations of war in Iraq, entitled Over There.

Over There, to me, is a fantastic fictional work, driving the concerns of so many that come out of wearing the modern military uniform and tearing at the lines which are driven between soldier and human. Often intellectual debates about politics, culture, the nature of their role, and the invested emotion from Iraqi’s in the war comes through during the program. The combination of drama, both physical action and compassionate dialogue, have driven me to an odd primetime addiction not seen since Marjuan got away with that nuke. Being the balanced man that I am however, I naturally did not want my opinion to be left uncriticized as compared to the masses.

So I checked out IMDB and the user comments towards Over There. I stumbled across a plethora of jaded CNN loving veterans picking apart at the weee details that would otherwise be reserved for film buffs who notice Brad Pitt wearing a different watch in two parts of the same scene of Fight Club.

Iraqi vet comments laded the user page attacking the dramatization of inner solider unit life. And to be fair to those who actually have subjected themselves to the loss of agency in the shadow of an omnipresent flag, I will provide you with some of the intellectual excerpts and well delivered points that came from the bulk of the reviews.
While the above vet chose filmic pairings to justify his dislike, I much more prefer the related sentiments my sarcastic side can pull out from the following juicey gun monkey.

“It is SO evident that no one associated with this show ever spent a day in any kind of uniform service. The mistakes have largely been covered but here are some of the most glaring errors (he goes on to point out errors in technical training, weapon usage, and vehicle misuse)…On the positive side, you do get to see a fairly accurate depiction of a .50 cal round impacting a human torso. Also, good job of showing females in a rifle squad fouling up terribly. Just about every one I have ever been around would look pretty much like the two weak, emotional wrecks on the TV show”.

Now if I were to judge my viewing preferences based on the shallow minded, gun spoutings of this sexist superhero I might not watch the show again. But in turn, I feel as though I should pistol whip the guy who made this comment, force him to sit and watch the opinions and thoughts that come out of the personality contrast that is Over There. While he is correct in saying they may use the wrong helicopter to drop troops into a firefight, the conversations that are driven out of a small multicultural American task force working their mindset through what on many fronts is an illegitimate war is the worth in watching the show.

The show inspires one to find further coverage of Iraq, and put s a critical mind into the representation of images and a compassion towards the individuals who are in the middle of a fight dictated to them by puppet show control system that is the American administration. Morality versus patriotism, religion versus faith, self versus soldier are all thematic properties of which this show generates for the viewer. I recommend a watch or two, if nothing more to see how powerful that .50 cal is. Yankee twhaaaat!Answer to above: They all make me believe I know what its like to be a soldier in the dessert.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Wednesday, October 05, 2005 |

I recommend four healthy servings of schlock and boredom a day.

What happens to someone who consumes 4 cans of V8 juice in a day? I heard somewhere on the weekend that vegetable juice is an amazing source of rejeuvanation and cleansing and after the weekend I just had it seemed apropros that I engage in some sort of liquid inspired detoxification.

As I finish the final sips of my 12th serving of vegetables, comprised of an even 3 servings of tomato paste, carrots, celery, beets, parsley, lettuce, watercress, spinach, salts and seasoning per can, Im starting to feel a little funny inside. Its an odd mixture of full yet nourished, nauseated yet at peace with nature. I am still so tired from the weekend, yet my fingers have the stregth of 10 stenographers.

I look out my window and see the trees in a whole new light, nature has given my eyes a new look onto the world. Formerly influenced by the side effects of hopps and barley, where inspired visions would include concocted beauty from auburn bottle goggles and a belief that I knew how to dance, the brown and auburns are replaced by greens and reds flourishing like never before. I picture myself taking a pee and from that pee a giant beanstock would grow, high, high into the sky. Oh look Im climbing, climbing into the clouds. The birds are waving, the trees are making sure I dont fall. Im floating, floating on a bed of Vitamins A, C, Calcium, and Iron. Cambells you dog, you should've got Warhol to capture this sensation instead of your boring soup cans.

Don't be ignorant Jason, the soup can paintings meant something. They defined a changing time in art and consumption....mmmm soup.......right.....

I made the mistake of drinking the four cans prior to reading on the side of the first can that the food guide of Canada, only recommends 5 to 10 servings of vegetables a day. Im so full of natural I have a headache. Fuk watercress, Im going back to clam juice and vodka. Now theres a morning feel better that doesnt end in hypnotic escapes as I look out my office window into a garden of like products that are currently wishy washing around inside me. Im feeling woozy, I have to lay down.

posted by mr. tomas ubik @ Monday, October 03, 2005 |