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I have mistakenly accepted an invitation to my uncle�s for supper tonight. Let me tell you a few things about �country cookin�� in case you aren�t aware of how horrendous that dining experience, (at least as far as MY family and the way they �cook�), usually is. First, you take a meat, which generally is chicken or pork chops and roll it around in some egg and flour. Then they fry it until it�s amazingly dry and flavorless on the inside with a brown/black hard shell encasing the outside. Veggies, if not already frozen and then reheated until they are flaccid and bland, are from a can. Most all of these veggies will be boiled until they match the consistency of the frozen ones, and if it�s green beans, why not throw a slab of raw bacon in it to go with the sick tasting preservative water that the goddamn things have been soaking in since they were canned some time ago for flavor? Somewhere in here a gravy of some sort will be derived from the grease or drippings and have some form of an ashen color to taint it�s beige or brownness, and will be glopulis, (my word obviously), and congealing while still so light on flavor that it really seems to serve no purpose at all except to help the veggies to attach themselves to your utensil since, as I said before, the whatever-veggie-it-was will be laying there like a tranquilized, spineless, invertebrate lump. The final blow, the finishing disgrace to this cuisine catastrophe to me is the bread. If it�s not some horrible canned Pillsbury crap, then it�s packaged, already backed rolls that have been just stuffed into the oven for a minute and they�re so boring and tasteless that even a healthy dollop of butter can�t save them. Oddly enough, bread can make or break a meal for me, even though I get the impression that most consider it to be a superficial garnishment or secondary aesthetic afterthought in a �just cause� kinda way like most bands perceive bass players. The other thing that gets me while sitting today and eating lunch watching Conan O�Brien is the band they have on the show. I missed the name, but what does that matter? It�s another spiky-haired, black t-shirt gang of middle class, white bread tattooed pop rock schleps. Who is buying all this shitty poser rock with disposable eyeliner and sneer? Here comes the pounding drums beating into a rhythmic frenzy! Here�s the driving bass that you can�t actually hear, but he�s obviously giving it his whole practiced-in-the-mirror energetic inflection! Here comes the crunching, distorted guitar, revving like a hotrod blowing thru your living room to steal your teenage, virgin daughters! And the singer! His hair, his look, his head is nodding into the beat as he moves towards the mic stand. Reaching out his sleeved arms of flames and devils, his spiked bracelet, hands clutch the stand; he leans in to launch into the fiery verse! I�m about to explode in climatic, destroy-oh-boy rapture as the soft, shoo-be-do, boyish, honey-like, melodies comes like droll drool down his chin.. My sword-like rock erection is suddenly dangling due south.. *Gah* I�m such a bitch and I�m turning into a cranky old man. Shit, that and the no-sex thing. That must be it� I�m gonna go loser-dance over here in the corner now, just let me know when the good drugs arrive�
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