there is nothing quite as satisfying as a bowl of Campbell's Tomato Soup with noodles. Bleached, white, floury, tasteless noodles! From a can, mixed with water, salty tasty soup!

as a child, i was not interested in the fake, rubbery chicken of Chicken Noodle: one time, i spit out a chicken chunk and TO MY HORROR, it was riddled with tube-ish arteries jutting out all over. never again did i eat chicken soup other than that which came from my mother's or grandmother's stock pot.

perhaps around the age of four or five, on a nondescript saturday in my life, my mother answered, when i asked, "what's wrong with dad?", that dad was sick and couldnt go to work so we had to work on something for him to eat. he was throwing up. he was out the night before. now i see: he was hungover, but he was never a terrible man. he was awesome; he taught me to fish. in my memory, i see a bowl steaming in my mother's hands, and a few pieces of toast wedged in a paper towel in my hands. we crept into the darkness; i could not see him, i knew to be very quiet. we placed our parcels on the side table carefully and he rolled over and smiled. i bet that soup was awesome.

joshua, up until about three years ago, had lived a childhood with no tomato soup. whatsoever. there was a day in which we decided to get some lunch and buy kit bowman a birthday present (which ended up being a Lightning Bolt CD, some pencils, and an andy warhol postcard of a man's body with a flaccid penis.) at globe market, he was introduced to tomato in a much richer, fancier fashion: tomato basil bisque. that was the day he told me he used to get yelled at for drawing poop and i told him i used to draw buffalo bills football players on the field.