Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Ancient photographic evidence of Kattitude

When people tell me I possess an often-funny-but-sometimes-fierce-when-provoked "Kattitude", I say "Sorry, I can't really help it - I've been like this forever."

And now I have photographic proof:

Katrocket and her mom in 1970, nursing the bottle.

Katrocket in 1974, just prior to Charm School, where I eventually learned how to suck in the beer gut for the paparazzi.

Today's post is brought to you by the Letter "R"

A couple weeks ago, my dad brought me several boxes of stuff from his basement. In one of the boxes were some diaries that my mom kept while I was a child, complete with photographs and lots of school artwork. I was blown away to rediscover my childhood creativity 33 years later, and I'm so grateful that she saved everything she could.

Among the treasures was a series of crudely made "books" that I made in kindergarten class at age 4. Each book features a letter of the alphabet, and drawings of different things beginning with that letter.

Today's post is brought to you by the letter "R":

Ruth Ann" was my best friend at school, and "Rick" is my dad. I think I did a pretty good job of capturing his portrait - this is me with Rick at age 4:

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Cabbies are more popular than me

I recently noticed that whenever I ride in a taxi cab, the driver spends almost the entire duration of the ride on his cell phone. I know you think I must be exaggerating about this: "Oh, surely not EVERY TIME, Kat."


It's not that I really have a problem with this. I'm not questioning their right to talk on the phone while they dangerously navigate my way home, even if it IS against the law to talk and drive in Toronto (hands-free is ok).

The thing that bothers me (or more accurately, my fragile ego), is that they seem a lot more popular than me, which stings a little because I don't smell like B.O. and have mustard stains all over the front of my shirt. I have no idea what these guys are talking about, because it's always in a language I don't understand. Who are they talking to? It's not their Dispatcher, because they have a separate radio for that. But they are usually very animated, and they take call after call like it's a freaking telethon or something. I mean, I'm a bit of a social butterfly, and I'm lucky if I average 3 calls a day, and one of those is usually someone looking for money.

I like to imagine these guys are "planning something big" - a massive Taxi Revolution that will bring chaos and excitement to my city. It's easier than entertaining the disturbing thought that my so-called-social-life is exponentially more boring than that of a guy who spends 12 hours a day behind the wheel of a car.

Friday, July 27, 2007

Interview me(me)

I love a good bandwagon, so when I read Steve Caratzas' interview meme the other day on his Blog of Lewd Enlightenment, I jumped at the chance to hop aboard. Steve is a gifted and entertaining writer. His 8-word poems are thought-provoking and full of wry humour, so I knew his questions for me would be intelligent, insightful and original, unlike those twats at Entertainment Tonight, who can only think to pester me with repetitive annoying queries about my relationship with Daniel Craig and my secret life as Celine Dion.

Here's how it works:

If you care to participate, leave me a comment saying "Interview me." I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions. (e-mail me with your address if I don't already have it) You will update your blog with a post containing your answers to my questions. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions of your own.

Five questions from Steve Caratzas, Man About Town, U.S.A.:

1. McDonald's vs. Burger King: You'd rather be caught dead in which?

Well, death could come swiftly in either place, really, which is why I always use the drive-thru. I choose Burger King because I LOVE that sexy big-headed King guy, and I'm quite sure my people could spin a gripping tale of rocky romance and murderous intrigue for the media.

2. Company outings - you: 1) Slap a smile on your face, go and deal with people you otherwise hate; 2)"Yes" everyone to death and then don't show up; 3) Make it clear you wouldn't spend one nanosecond outside the office with co-workers if your life depended on it; 4) Go and actually enjoy it!

This is a cruel question to ask a woman who was just laid-off and has pretty much blocked out any memory of ever having a job in order to cope with the mental anguish of unemployment. Ooooh I kid you, Steve! - universal healthcare doesn't pay for drugs THAT good, so those memories are still painfully real to me! In my last job, I would usually "go and actually enjoy it", since most company functions featured an open bar. However, my former colleagues will say I'm more inclined towards # 2, because if there's no forecast of booze, I'm a big two-faced liar.

3. What rock band do you wish had never existed?

Does Britney Spears qualify as a 'rock band'? How about Kanye, Diddy, or the Pussycat Dolls? If not, I'll go with Panic! At The Disco, because they are an amalgam of Two Big Evils: Mimes playing emo (Mimemo?)

4. What character from Broadway musicals would you like to be and why?

A very challenging question! I'm not fond of musicals so I don't know many characters and had to do some research on this one. I would like to be Rizzo from Grease (played by Stockard Channing in the movie), because as a little girl, I aspired to be her -- tough, cool, radical anti-establishment, and really slutty. Some of my friends will tell you I only succeeded with the slutty part, but they're just jealous of my pink satin jacket.

5. If there is a God and a Heaven, what are the bathroom facilities like?

I was hoping that death would free us all from our human bodies and thus, end the terrible inconvenience of pee-breaks and match-lighting. I envision pristine white marble and iridescent tile that changes colours with different lighting conditions, with streak-free glass and shiny chrome, like those fabulous bathrooms with $20,000 faucets that you see in Architectural Digest. There are endless stalls with locks that actually work and cashmere in place of toilet paper. There are absolutely no hand-dryers (not when there's heated chenille hand towels!), an Olympic-sized jacuzzi tub surrounded by widescreen plasma TVs, and little shelves everywhere for my cocktail. Oh, and maybe a wet bar in case I need a refresher. There would always be a professional make-up artist and hair stylist on hand for touch-ups. Ideally, I also wouldn't have to share my gigantic Heaven bathroom with anyone else. That would just be Hell.

Updated July 29:

My interview with Pistols at Dawn

My interview with The Guv'nah

My interview with Leonesse

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Scenes from a Mall, Episode I: Katrocket vs. Teen Sales Clerk

I was doing a little shopping at a large mall recently. It's rare to spot me in malls or "big-box" stores, as they are miles beyond my natural habitat and cause me great anxiety. The following is a transcript of one such moment:

[In a "fashion accessories" store, I pick out one item and proceed to the cashier to pay for it. The cashier is on the phone. She appears to be about 17 or 18 years old and her name badge says 'Jessikah'. She fails to notice me, in spite of the fact that I am not employing a cloaking device and I am standing directly in front of her.]

JESSIKAH: "Really????? GET OUT! He said that? NO WAY! Omigod...so what did you do?"

[Two minutes pass. The cashier turns her back to me. It seems she requires privacy.]

KATROCKET: (gently trying to get her attention between shocking teen revelations) "Hi! I...uh..."

J: (into the phone) "Can you hang on a sec? (sighs heavily, cups phone with hand) Yes? Can I help you?"

K: "I just want to pay for this."

J: (dirty look) "But you're not done yet."

K: "Excuse me?"

J: "Well, you only got that one thing."

K: "I only want this one thing."

J: "But it's 5 items for 5 dollars."

K: "That's alright, I only want this one item."

J: (speaking to friend on phone while coldly staring down Katrocket) "Can I call you right back? Yeah. This is gonna take a while. (sighs again) Tell me about it." (giggles, pause, more laughter, hangs up. Tries to concentrate on customer refusing "amazing deal") "But it's 5 items for 5 dollars!"

K: "I don't need 5 items today.. just this," (points to desired item) "And the sign says '$3.99 each or 5 for $5'"

J: "But it's cheaper if you buy 5 items."

K: "How is $5 cheaper than $3.99?"

J: "Well (speaking slower and louder so I get it) It just IS. You. get. FIVE. instead. of. ONE." (takes the item to scan the underside, and notices the price tag is missing.) "See?" (revs into super bitchy mode now) "There ain't even no price on this!!!"

K: "Well, like I said, the sign said '$3.99 each or 5 for $5' (points to sign on display less than 5 feet away) But if five items are five dollars, why don't you just charge me $1 for this?"

J: (sighs heavily again. She may be asthmatic.) "I can't be doin' that, ma'am. Do you want the item or NOT?"

K: "Yes, I told you I have no problem..."

J: (cuts in mid-sentence, YELLING) "SAAAAAAAAM!!" (smartass smile) "Sorry, we're about to change shifts so I'm cashing out."

K: "But you're going to ring this in first, right?"

J: "Well, it's after 4pm and since it took you so long to decide what you wanted, it will skew our sales data if I ring in an evening purchase during an afternoon shift."

K: (really angry now) "I don't think $3.99 is gonna blow your data, honey. And besides, I just wanna buy THIS, and you're giving me a really hard time about it."(notices that a line-up has formed. Two other customers that have been listening to our exchange nod in agreement)

J: (starts to ring in purchase. Phone rings.) "Arlene Accessories! JessiKAH speaking! (pause, dirty look) "Nope. It's still busy..... yeah sure.... alright... well, why don't I call you in about 20 minutes? I'm sure this disaster will have passed by then...yeah... ok... later!" (hangs up, cashier # 2 with name badge "SAM" arrives) "Sorry Sam, I've been dealing with this lady and I haven't had a chance to cash-out yet." (Other waiting customers check watches, sigh, look frustrated)

K: "Did you just call me a disaster?"

J: (eyes widen) "Uh... I was talking about something else."

K: "I would also like to talk to someone else. I'd like to talk to the manager."

J: "I AM THE MANAGER." (smirk, arms folded at chest. So there.)

K: (puts wallet away, takes item and throws back into sales bin, under the sign that says 'FIVE 4 FIVE!', strides back to counter) "That's surprising, JessiKAH. I didn't know that snotty fucking asshole kids were allowed to be store managers." (motions to other customers) "I think we're all in agreement that you've been a really difficult bitch for the past 10 minutes, and I, for one, will never shop here again. Thank so much for ruining my day, you useless cunt."

[Katrocket flips her the bird and leaves the store, followed by two other customers from the queue, who ditch their items in solidarity.]

OLDER LADY CUSTOMER# 1: "I've never seen anything like that before..."

KATROCKET: "Oh, I'm so sorry...I apologize for my language... she just really made me mad, and..."

OLC # 1: "Oh, not that, dear. She deserved THAT. Gosh, I was thinking about punching her. Customer service just isn't what it used to be."

Friday, July 20, 2007

A belated birthday wish for T

The Blogger known to us as "T" is such an International Man of Mystery that even his birthday snuck past me unnoticed. In his own words: "I try not to pre-announce my birthday to people that cannot reach-out and touch me (what's the use?)"

Sure, I could wait until next year, but he's so fucking old that he may not live that long, so without further ado...

Some interesting T-isms:

1) I have no idea what T looks like, but this is how he looks in my imagination. (at left)

2) I have no idea what "T" stands for, but I like to think it's something cool like Tyrone, T-Bone, Tiberius or Terminator.

3) Because T is so careful to guard his true identity, "T" probably stands for something lame like Tammy, Tad, or Tinkerbell.

4) T sometimes says objectionable things that objectify woman and their lady parts, but he gets away with it (with me anyways) because he almost constantly says generous, sweet, respectful things about his dear wife, which suggests that he gets a good cock-blocking if she ever hears him say that shit in real life.

5) T is a serious pervert. Not a dabbler, no sir. He's hard-core committed to all things hardcore.

6) T is a serious golf fanatic. There's a fine line between enjoying a lot of golf and providing a link on your blog so people can buy golf clubs.

Finally, T - my gift to you is this refreshing change from commenting on Bert's ass when you're golfing. I don't normally post female nudity on this blog (ha!), but for you I shall make an (another) exception:

Happy Belated Birthday.

Kiss this, pal.

Kids are the darndest things

This is a long post, but it's 2-for-1 Friday, and I know y'all have nothing better to do at work today...

I'm totally fed-up with children!!!

Not YOUR children, of course, I'm sure they are all well-behaved little angels with good manners. I realize this post may make me unpopular with some parents, but face it -we have ALL suffered other people's rowdy kids in public.

I'm talking specifically about those feral children, the ones who run amok like rabid animals in public places without any visible parental supervision, or with parents who just don't give a shit that their kids are in everyone's faces. I usually place no blame on the children. They're just kids, after all, and any kid will go wild when a parent or teacher leaves them unattended to explore their environment. I mean, older kids should really know better, but the little ones are supposed to do this, because it's fun and exciting to temporarily break free of the oppression of always being told what to do.

But I remember a time when this kind of noisy annoyance was confined to kid-friendly spaces like parks, schools, camps, public pools, and McDonald's Playland, so if you wanted to avoid it, you could just spend your time in a more adult setting, like a café, a bar, the gym, or perhaps a strip club. I have even chosen to live in an apartment complex that markets itself as an "adult lifestyle residential experience", just so I'm not subjected to tantrums booming through the walls.

But now I see parents dragging their kids out to venues that were traditionally off-limits to brats: intimate upscale restaurants, live theatre performances, concerts, late-night movies... and I even know one couple who keep on bringing their fucking rugrats to adult house parties! One hostess once asked aloud: "Why do they keep bringing their kids?" and I said "Why do you keep inviting these idiots?", which, oddly enough, makes ME a terrible person.

* * * * * *

Two significant brat-related incidents have infuriated me this week, and both occured in locations that used to be kiddie safe: the waiting room of a chiropractor's office, and the late show at a movie theatre....

Wednesday - In the very small waiting room of my chiro's office, myself and three other patients barely tolerate the raucous behaviour of two boys - approximate ages 7 and 10 - who are ripping pages out of magazines and throwing their toys at each other hard enough to eventually spark a fist-fight. I must admit, the fight was the really cool part. Like bloodthirsty Romans at the Colosseum, me and three other waiting patients smiled and nodded to each other when the serious bro-on-bro anger commenced. There was another woman there, reading a magazine with her iPod headphones blasting away, who seemed oblivious to the action.

No one appeared to claim ownership of the brawling brothers, so I assumed their parent was in with the doctor already. Eventually the receptionist, whom I know to be a kind and soft-spoken professional, gets the attention of the iPod woman, and I cannot fucking believe she's their mom! She was on another planet entirely. The receptionist politely asks her to settle down her kids, which gets her a rather dirty look, then a half-assed "ok, enough - stop it boys."

But they don't stop. They sit down at opposite ends of the waiting room and hurl verbal insults at each other. After another 10 minutes of this shit, the receptionist finally leaves her desk, and asks the mother and her 2 brats to join her in the privacy of one of the examination rooms. The doctor joins them a minute later, and then I'm escorted into the examination room next to them to wait my turn.

The walls are paper thin, so I can hear every word of the scathing lecture they receive from Dr. X - about respect for others and self-discipline and behaving in public and using their inside voices. Dr. X has 4 very young children of his own, so he knows a thing or two about kids. I can hear the mother tell him off: who is HE to tell HER what to do with HER boys?? And why must she be forced to wait for her appointment when they KNOW her sons are high-strung and don't like waiting! If they didn't want the noise, maybe they should bump her ahead of all the other patients! And why doesn't he just shut up and do his job so they can all get the hell out of there? Then the voices became so hushed that I can't hear the doctor anymore.

Then I hear the door in the hallway fly open and a very indignant mother storming out of the office, loudly telling the people in the waiting room of the incredible injustice she has suffered at the hands of the medical staff who are "discriminating against single mothers!!". Okay. Apparently they asked her to leave. Or at the very least, maybe they asked her to leave her kids at home during her appointments, since she could not manage to control them on the premises. There was an explosion of laughter and chatter in the waiting room after she departs.

My chiropractor comes into my little room immediately after, chart in hand, fake-wiping the fake-sweat from his brow and smiling "whooo! exciting times here today, huh?"

I say "For sure! I'm totally going to blog this when I get home."

* * * * * *

Last Friday - I went to see Transformers at the late show (9:30pm). The movie is rated PG 13, which the MPAA defines as 'Parents strongly cautioned - some material may be inappropriate for children under 13'. Well, sitting right behind me is a young dad with his two children - a girl around age 5 or 6 and a boy who looked to be about 8 or 9.

I thought nothing of it, and the kids were quiet until about 40 minutes into the movie when the metal really starts flying and buildings and people are blowing up every 3 seconds. The little girl starts SCREAMING her head off. She's crying and completely freaking out and she won't stop, even when the on-screen violence stops. People sitting around us are gasping audibly - what sane parent would bring a little kid to a show like this at 10pm? I look back and she's on his lap, face buried into his neck, hugging him for dear life, crying that she wants to go home. Daddy is shushing her and says "oh, stop being such a baby! Are you a baby? NO? Then sit down and be quiet!"

I think to myself - 'Yeah, asshole, she IS a baby. She's like, FIVE for chrissake. This movie is probably some very scary shit for her.' But I say nothing.

I'm hoping he'll be a good dad and at least take his traumatized daughter out into the lobby or something. But he doesn't want to miss the film he just payed for.... "Sssssh... daddy's trying to watch the movie!" he says, while she sobs and whines into his chest.

At this point, other people are shushing them too, including a pack of high school kids a few rows back. Okay, you know you're an annoying dickhead when teenagers tell you to shut up during a movie.

I wish I could report a grand ousting from an usher or something like that, but the fact is, the little girl eventually fell asleep (which is what little girls should be doing at that hour), and when the movie ended and the lights came up, a woman who was sitting behind the father and his kids says to him: "You know, this film isn't really meant for small children - I hope it doesn't give her nightmares."

Without skipping a beat, and right in front of his two young kids, he replies : "Why don't you mind your own fucking business, ok?"

* * * * * *

In conclusion, I'd just like to say that I've had enough with this "kid-friendly" crap already. What? Is there some sudden international shortage of babysitters? I know they can be pricey, but if you're going out to a typically adult event like a late movie or an evening party with friends, but you can't afford childcare, then stay the hell home. The rest of us with common sense will thank you.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Okay, back to the middle finger...

I've spent my morning writing three different posts on three different topics, all of which may be my most scathing work to date. In fact, I'm so afraid of posting them and suffering your wrath, that I can't decide if my personal amusement will outweigh my need for some level of acceptance among the blog community.

I'm not really in a crankypants mood - all 3 posts are based on insanely true public experiences I've tolerated over the past week. Yes, we all know what THAT means, don't we?

As with any difficult decision I need to make, I shall have some lunch (i.e. - several dirty martinis), and make a half-assed choice once my belly is full and my head is all afuzz.

Until that time - check out the interactive portion of our program to right. Have your say, and vote on upcoming post topics! I realize some of you greedy sickos won't be able to make a choice, so I'm allowing multiple answers on this one. I may completely ignore you, but at least I'm democratic about it. If your government can get away with it, so can I. Hey, unlike those clowns, I never swore to "uphold" anything, man.

Which topic should Rocketradio trash next?

-- How much bratty fucking kids really piss her off.

-- Ignorant, useless teenagers that work in retail stores and can barely get their lame ass off the cell phone long enough to ring up my purchases.

-- A less-than-scientific study of how cultural/ethnic backgrounds can radically affect one's driving skills.

It's going to be a long lunch, so check in tomorrow for the results.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Finally! a gesture that doesn't involve a middle finger

I've been searching for jobs all day, and it has sent me into a slight depression. Not one of those dramatic my-life-is-a-tragedy depressions, just one of those what-do-you-mean-you're-not-looking-for-any-Katrockets-at-this-time? depressions. Mild to boring, really. Wasn't even gonna mention it.

But then this delivery came: beautiful flowers! I instantly felt the rush of social acceptance and desirability, paired with strong curiousity.... who could they be from? That guy from last weekend? That girl from last night? Did my car turn into a giant robot and pick them just for me? Wait a minute - do I even HAVE a car?

Well, they were actually from my father, which was no less surprising, because although my father is a generous and caring man, he's not well-known for such spontaneous gestures of parental support. He came to visit me last weekend and noticed I was quieter than usual, less confident, trying too hard to be "upbeat" - knowing very well how much I want to punch all upbeat people.

I couldn't help but cry after reading the card. The message wasn't sappy or oversentimental. Just a simple "go get 'em girl". I cried because it was exactly what my mom always did to brighten my rough patches when she was alive. Even though my dad always complained that it was a stupid waste of money and never understood why women were 'into that crap", I guess he finally realized that it truly can be "the thought that counts". The simple act of sending someone a positive message, and a small token for no other reason than to make them feel good is never a waste of one's time or money. It's just a super cool thing to do, that's all.

Thanks a million, Dad. You really rock - and now I see where I get that from.

Monday, July 16, 2007

Sparing a square for humanity

Rocketradio regular Bert Bananas recently wrote a post about the rampant abuse of free napkins. He concludes that we have evolved into a disrespectful society of "gimme-gimme people", with a strong sense of entitlement to free condiments and paper products. I heartily agree with Mr. Bananas, and apparently, so does Kimberley-Clark, the makers of darn near every commercial toilet paper dispenser on this planet.

You may have heard about the growing "movement", made popular by unpopular celebrities like Sheryl Crow, to limit the amount of toilet paper we use in public restrooms. Well, the hard-working scienticians and marketeers at Kimberley Clark have been working for over a year on an automated TP dispenser that will control our wasteful ways, and have "scientifically determined" how much TP is "enough". Story from Associated Press:

Kimberly-Clark turned to focus groups and years of internal research to
determine just how much is right.

Americans typically use twice as much toilet paper as Europeans - as
much as an arm's length each pull. The company decided the best length is about
20 inches - or precisely five standard toilet paper squares, though the machine
can also be adjusted to churn out 16 inches or 24 inches, depending on the

"Most people will take the amount given," says Richard Thorne, Director of
Washroom Business at Kimberley-Clark. Waxing philosophical, he adds, "People
generally in life will take what you give them." The company believes most
people will be satisfied with five sheets - and use 20% less toilet paper.

Sean Nichols, one of the lead marketers for the device, says he's banking
on the "coolness, the newness of the unit."

So today I learned:

1) My personal toilet tissue needs are generally greater than the average population.

2) That there's a job title called "Director of Washroom Business", and a shift in my job search parameters may be in order.

3) Some douchebag marketing guy thinks that people will find cheapskate TP dispensers "cool".

Sunday, July 15, 2007

new life = new look

I was little bored with the Blogger template I've been using for the past two years, so I decided it's probably a good time for a change.

I have also removed word verification from comments, because it's annoying, and spam makes me feel more popular.

Things may move around on the page over the next few days, but don't panic - I promise to bring you the same low quality, morally questionable content you've come to expect from Rocketradio.

Friday, July 13, 2007


I'm reading a lot of stories in the news about how we're all spending beyond our means, and carrying more personal debt (credit cards, loans, mortgages, etc) than ever before, and passing these bad habits on to the next generation.

I'm a simple girl with poor to middling mathematical skills, but I have an economic proposal for the Canadian government - yes finally, a way to help its hard-working citizens invest in their future by changing the way we think about saving money. If there was as much pleasure derived from saving money as there was in spending it, the world might be a better place.

Of course, I cannot divulge my full proposal on this blog for reasons of national security, but here's the selling point:

Katrockenonomic Proposal 12 -- print money that men will be reluctant to spend:

Still to come: how to entice straight women and gay men to save their money - male beefcake photos have failed all market testing to date. It seems there is no naturally occuring force on Earth that will stop them from buying "those cute shoes that were on sale". Rocketradio is open to your suggestions.

Friday the 13th: my lucky day

So it's Friday the 13th, and I've got a blockbuster program lined up for the day:

1. My ex-co-workers (the ones I like) are hosting a farewell lunch at one of my favourite teppanaki places. It's a private/not corporate affair done a little 'on the sly', which reminds me of my mistress days, so it's a bit of a turn-on.

2. Business meetings in the afternoon with some close associates/suppliers which will likely involve alcohol, outdoorsy sunshine, and someone else picking up the tab out of sympathy to my situation.

3. Robot vs. Human madness at the early show of Transformers: more than meets the eye. If you've seen this already and you think it sucks, please save your comments until tomorrow, because I have no problem enjoying a movie that has no plot, cheesy characters, and bad acting, just as long as the world is exploding all around them.

Friday the 13th and I have always gotten on well. I'm even going to buy a lottery ticket tonight, which is something I rarely ever do.

Wish me luck.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Bridge burning 101

I don't know why this surprises me, but I just received an e-mail from a retarded middle manager at my former place of work - you remember - the one who unceremoniously fired me just 3 days ago?

To paraphrase the e-mail:

Sorry that you got canned and everything - man, that really sucks.

So, hey... where did you put the folders for X project and do you recall what the details and specs were? Because I can't find them, and blah blah blah please respond asap because client is waiting on this. Very urgent! Thx! :-)

So I just replied to the e-mail by simply attaching this photograph, and nothing else:

Photoshop makes me laugh

Since I suddenly find myself with ample time to spare, I've been sorting through my photography files to organize them and prepare for some upcoming projects. I realized that I spent as much time Photoshopping photos for my own childish amusement than I ever did for paying clients. I'm not a very talented Photoshop artist, since I just starting teaching myself the program late last year, but I'll use the excuse that sometimes really fake = really funny.

So I just rediscovered The Baloney Sandwich Project on my hard drive. It was created for a Flickr group called Billion Dollar Web 2.0 Baloney Sandwich, which used to feature P-shopped photos of celebrities and sandwiches, but like most Flickr group pools, it's now full of crappy photos of just about anything, most especially boobs, cats and sunsets. Have a gander - I assure you it sucks.

The photo of Paris Hilton was a request from an ex, which should pretty much indicate why that relationship was doomed from the start.

And since Chuck Norris is my homeboy, well...

I e-mailed this photo of Bono to U2's management and suggested that he trade in his inspiring speeches (that often lead to political puffery with no action) for sandwiches because that's the kind of Project Red that The People can really get behind.

Bono's reprentatives have declined to comment.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

The Secret

An acquaintance of mine recently gave me a DVD with the promise that it would change my life for the better. I was skeptical, of course. My life is already pretty darn good. And this DVD bore no resemblance to the handsome, well-hung, supergenius party-boy billionaire I knew would actually change my life for the better.

It was The Secret - a poorly disguised 60-minute how-to-get-rich-quick-by-doing-nothing informercial that "teaches the centuries-old secret to unlimited joy, health, money, relationships, love, youth: everything you have ever wanted."

"Wow!" I thought. Everything I have ever wanted? Man, I kinda want a lot of things. I also don't want a lot of things, like taxes and cancer and war and poverty. Can I learn the anti-Secrets too?

The Secret is: a bunch of people have discovered a way to make pantloads of money off the fears and worries of the lower and middle classes, through preaching "The Law of Attraction". This principle suggests that people's feelings and thoughts attract real events in the world into their daily lives. It essentially tells you that if your life really sucks, it's most definitely your own damn fault. But if you just buy this book or DVD, they will show you how to "ask for, believe in, and receive" good fortunes abound.

At first I found this stance a somewhat refreshing change the current trend in society: blame everyone else, especially your parents, because you're super special, so why take responsibility for your own actions? Accountability is fo' suckas!

But sorry folks, none of it adds up. At the age of 7, I asked for a pony. I believed everday with all my heart that my pony would miraculously show up on the front lawn. Thirty years later, still no fucking pony. The Secret People tell me that: a) I don't "truly desire" a pony; b) I don't "truly believe" that I'll ever have a pony; c) my negative thoughts about bus drivers and idiots who wear Crocs to work are blocking any and all possibility of my pony finding me in this horrible mixed-up world; and d) aren't you a little old to be asking for a pony?

The concept of self-visualization, or New Thought, is indeed ancient, but it's most certainly not "scientific" (no studies have ever been done on the Law of Attraction), and was never intended as a marketing tool to gain material wealth. It is simply the power of positive thinking, and any immediate fortune that comes from it is cosmic coincidence. I will concede that looking on the bright side never hurt anyone, even if it makes that positive thinker about 10 times more annoying than ever before. But I'm sorry - it won't deliver you a mansion, a hot sportscar, a supermodel bedmate, or that dream job as a tastemaster at an ice cream factory. Okay, maybe that's just my dream job.

I propose that the awesome power of negative thinking has awarded me a far more blissful existence. When you come to expect the very worst in life, you're usually pleasantly surprised at how well things turn out in the end. Besides, I'm already wealthy and successful, because I learned a very different Secret many years ago: by simply placing these teeny tiny classified ads ...

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Pink-slipping toward freedom

I lost my job yesterday. My employer of the past six years is "restructuring assets", so me and several of my co-workers received termination notices for lunch. No milkshake party or anything! Just "Thanks for your help. Good luck."

After I got over the initial panic of wearing the label of "unemployed", I began to realize that I've been given the gift I've been secretly wanting for over 2 years: a paid exit strategy to a better life, and the free time I need to finish up about 14 personal (and paying) creative projects I'm currently involved with "after hours".

You see, by day, I worked on a print production team at a large ad agency/publisher, but in the evenings, I've been trying to establish myself as an event photographer, art director and web designer. My day job didn't hold any interest for me, but it paid my bills, it offered medical & life insurance and a 401K, so it was difficult to leave that security blanket behind. But a decent severance package changes all the rules. For my situation, this payout is the rocket fuel that could propel me into the life I always dreamed about.

Now that I've had 24 hours to absorb the shock of this unexpected event, I'm almost giddy with anticipation. Like everyone else, I was too deeply engaged in my daily routine to consider changing anything about it. I didn't enjoy getting up and going to work, but I had become complacent, and I wasn't even aware of it until today.

So for the next couple weeks, I'm taking a bit of a vacation. I won't really travel anywhere, but I will meet with my vast network of associates, exchange some ideas, clock back a few pints, and devise my plan of attack. I will find a place where people WANT me, not just need me - because I think when it comes to the changing face of business and relationships, the safest haven is amongst people who want you by their side, no matter whether they need you there or not. I have dreamed of striking out on my own for a long time, so you folks may be witnessing the birth of a supernova.

Monday, July 9, 2007

Name of the game

True story: the winning driver of last weekend's Grand Prix of Toronto (Champ car race formerly known as the Molson Indy) is WILL POWER of Team Australia. Yes, apparently that's his real name, and a fine moniker for any athlete really. Just ask the media, who are really cracking themselves up with an avalanche of super clichés, such as "Power of the Will". HA!! (groan)

It made me wonder if Will has a brother named Max Power, which is one of my favourite all-time Homer Simpson pseudonyms: "Nobody snuggles with Max Power. You strap yourself in and feel the G's!"

However, American Formula One driver Scott Speed of Team Toro Rosso/Red Bull still holds the title for best name in motorsports. It's just so unfortunate that he's soooo much slower than all the other Formula One drivers.

In other news, my favourite Finnish cyborg, Kimi Räikönnen (Team Ferrari) won the F1 British Grand Prix this weekend, so maybe firing that Stepney guy was a good move - Ferrari has won two races in a row since they booted their renegade spy engineer. Kimi is super hot, despite having a pretty gay name and the droning voice of a robot, so here's a photo of him because, hey, a girl can dream, okay?

Friday, July 6, 2007

Word of the day

Today I learned a great new word: Polterwang!

Pohl'-ter-wang (n): slang 1. A large, protruding fold or bulge of excess fabric in the crotch area of very ill-fitting ladies' pants. 2. The phantom illusion of a penis where no actual penis exists. 3. The polar opposite of "camel-toe".

I first came across this word months ago on a hilarious "fashion police" kinda blog that I read daily called Go Fug Yourself, and I believe the word was coined by comedy geniuses Heather & Jessica at GFY. I had forgotten all about it until a co-worker got into the elevator with me at work today and said "nice polterwang".

Yes, the bitch called me out on my droopy drawers, right in front of my boss and two other co-workers, who also enjoyed the new word immensely. It's times like these that make me so incredibly grateful that I work in an office full of politically incorrect, potty-mouthed, spicy-humoured people, because no one charged me with sexual harassment when I replied to her: "Meet me in the supply room at break and I'll make your Friday a whole lot more casual."

Wednesday, July 4, 2007

Formula One-derful

a new reason to love Formula 1:


Yes, the shocking truth was discovered this week: a top technical engineer at Scuderia Ferrari Marlboro was caught sharing his employer's top secret technical information with the Chief Designer at rival team Vodafone McLaren Mercedes.

Apparently, Ferrari guy (Nigel Stepney) was disgruntled with his overlords after they denied him a very serious promotion last year (filling in for Technical Director Ross Brawn, currently on sabbatical). Stepney was largely responsible for the team's past success so I understand why he's pissed, but it's really not cool to send company secrets to the guy who builds the other guy's car.

And you wanna know how Ferrari discovered this leak? They were investigating him for:


Get this -- "the discovery of a mysterious white powder in the fuel tanks of both Ferrari cars just before the Monaco GP prompted an internal enquiry that resulted in Stepney's sacking." Maybe that's just the boys snorting a few lines off the fenders before the race, but it's true that the previously undefeated Ferrari started to tank at Monaco and kept falling behind in the points due to engine problems.

F1 is not just about driving skill. It's largely based on technology, research and team strategy. If evidence shows that McLaren (currently # 1 in the standings) benefitted from intellectual property stolen from Ferrari (#2 by a wide margin), it's entirely possible that the outcome of the 2007 season could be determined in a court of law instead of on a racetrack. I personally doubt this will happen -- that would be very bad for the sport -- but sometimes things get a little crazy when the lawyers show up.

McLaren is very wisely sticking to the Sgt. Shultz Defense: "We know NUSSING! Nussing at all!"

They also claim that although they had access to Ferrari's secrets since late April, they "did not use it on the McLaren cars and did not share it with any engineering teams". Yes, and I have several naughty magazines under my bed that "I don't look at".

An investigation is unfolding now and you can read about the scandal on planet-F1.com if you're interested (it's ok, I know you aren't) but consider this, sports fans: what if the winner of the Super Bowl or the Masters were determined by a court of law? Could that happen?

I'll close with this photo because it's another reason why I love Formula 1:


Even astronauts don't look this fucking cool.

4th of July Predictions

Here's wishing a quick but hearty Happy Independence Day to my compadres south of the border... salut, mes amis!

Katrocket's holiday predictions:

Steakbellie will be watching the Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest with Wing Kong and their families, while simultaneuously grilling and pouting. Ok, this isn't really a predicition, because Steakbellie announced earlier on his blog that he would be doing exactly this. Sometimes I do pay attention to things I read.

Bert Bananas will be golfing.

T will be golfing.

Bert and T may be golfing together, but apparently, not if Bert can help it.

Pistols will be busy: picking up ladies; training others to help him pick up ladies; working in his lab to perfect the Ultimate Milkshake; writing his Manifesto; cleaning his guns; and digging for treasure.

Birdy will be avoiding people and drinking Guinness.

Leonesse will be stockpiling her emergency bunker and mapping out a safe route to Canada.

The Radloffs will likely celebrate with family & friends and win "Nicest Couple in Iowa". I bet they look awesome in tiaras and sashes.

The Coffeedogs might be drinking coffee with their dog. Or maybe they are still vacationing in Hawaii - which makes them the luckiest Americans on this list.

The Guv'ner... hmmm she's a Scot so I'm not sure she qualifies as an American, but she's brave enough to CHOOSE to live there, AND she still spells things correctly, so she gets full honours from me. I predict that she'll spend the day teaching her Yankee friends how to BBQ haggis and moon the enemy in a kilt.

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Recovery clinic shout-outs

Katrocket barely survived the 4-day comeback tour, and shall be resting poolside with a trashy novel for the rest of the week. We would like to thank the following sponsors for a highly entertaining Canada Day weekend extravaganza:

CHEERS to.....

>> Mark Belford - for helping me bag many trophies during the Shopping Safari. You made me look so gorgeous, I may just have to mount myself later.

>> Cindy & Rina at maximumwoman.com - here's to new business relationships! Woohoo!

>> Yaman & Ryan - for an awesome BBQ and fireworks show! And for wearing The Apron.

>> Lanny - for raiding Mexico with me on Saturday. Next month we invade Germany!

>> Kimi Raikkonen - the stunningly handsome Robot of My Heart wins his second race of the season for Ferrari! Honourable mention to second place Felipe Massa, for bringing in Ferrari's first one-two finish since last July. Yay!

>> Dame Judi Dench - for creeping me out so nicely in "Notes on a Scandal"

>> the Black Fly Beverage Company Inc., makers of Vodka Infused Spiked Ice, for FINALLY marketing boozy popsicles to adults.

JEERS to....

>> Katrocket, for not having the endurance, stamina, or stomach to attend Caesarfest, and bailing out at T minus 4 hours. I suck sometimes. Please keep the rumours to a minimum.

>> The bus driver who lectured me like a child in front of everyone on the bus this morning just because I forgot to get a fucking transfer at the station. Did it make you feel good to wield all that awesome power - the power to make a hungover and absent-minded office worker pay two fares to get to work? Did it make your penis any bigger? No?? I didn't think so, jerk.

>> The Saturday night cabbie who kept asking me if I wanted a massage because I looked "tense". I'm pretty sure I was looking tense because you would not shut up about giving me a massage, and you were freaking me out. Oh yeah, that was me who called your dispatcher and told them you're a fucking creepy perv. I was a little disappointed to find out I wasn't the first girl to receive your limited time offer on a wide array of spa services. I hope you're enjoying your time off, dickhead.

>> Pineapple juice and Malibu rum - how can something so sweet and fantastic be such a BITCH to me the next day???