close-minded christians...

wellp, we're sorta all moved in. that is to say, we have all the boxes and furniture in our new house on base. that is not to say, however, that everything is put away or even in some semblance of order, but we are getting there slowly but surely. emphasis on the "slowly".

today, as promised, i tackle those conservatives who mix politics with religion, and i should warn everybody ahead of time that i hate, hate, HATE moving, and on top of that, i'm tired, and the kids are ultra-pissy(cause that's what happens to toddlers when they get moved, or as they like to call it, "their world gets torn apart and superglued back together in a poor manner with parts from somebody else's game"), which means much unnecessary whining, and the wife is stressed out(cause that's just what she does), all of which means that i will probably be even more scathing and evil than i would normally. you have been warned.

i was raised in a conservative, christian household. i studied the bible, and believe in jesus christ, even to this day. but, you may have noticed, i'm more or less convinced that my god and allah and buddha and whoever-else are all the same person or persons, we just have different ways of worshipping/praising them. this makes me less-than-popular with my "christian" friends, who mostly believe that all muslims will burn in hell unless they convert, because they are wicked and warmongers. (i know, i know, the phone is ringing. it's the kettle calling to say, "hey, um, in case you haven't noticed...").

nowadays, i don't consider myself a "christian". and no, it's not because most people who go by that label are loud-mouthed, obnoxious bible-thumpers who cram religious shit down your throat. because for every one of them, i know five who quietly live their lives in a manner they feel is in keeping with the bible and jesus christ. i don't consider myself a "christian" because christians follow christ. he is their example, they attempt to live like he did. i don't. i drink alcohol whenever socially acceptable (and even some times when it's not), i smoke, i cuss up a blue streak (no, really, you're kidding, darth!), i lived with my wife for a year "in sin" (and boy, was it fun!), i flip off the people who cut me off on the freeway, while shouting unflattering things about them, their ancestry, and their progeny, and i basically live my life the way i want, not in a manner in keeping with the Son of Man.

but lately, i've noticed a huge upsurge in the amount of bible-toting "mouths-of-god" who not only tell everyone they brush up against that they are going to hell unless they repent and accept jesus into their heart, but begin to play on the political arena as well. we already know that bush, cheney, and that cumstain ashcroft all feel that they were put into the presidency by god (when, actually, i think if you do the research, you'll find it was jeb bush who put them into the presidency), and apparently there are alot of average joes who seem to agree. well, bullshit. and furthermore, there seem to be a large amount of people who let some pastor do their thinking for them that feel that the war in iraq is justified by god. okay, first; iraq didn't drop the twin towers, afghanistan did, and not the whole fucking country, but just a few radical jihad fucks who don't like us(gee, wonder why, see my last blog).

and as i recall (and here's where it gets real ugly, ladies and gents), christ was all about peace, love, brotherhood, and letting those who disagreed be. (reference the new testament scripture where christ says, "give to ceasar that which is ceasar's". i know i'm paraphrasing, but the idea was a seperation of church and state, and an ideal that not everyone believes the way we do, and that's okay.) why is it that the tie-wearing, fake-shiny-smile, shaking-my-hand-too-hard, being-my-buddy-too-quickly motherfuckers all seem to be studying the fuck out of the old testament, where god had the isrealites wipe out entire races so that the twelve tribes wouldn't be corrupted, where one of the laws was "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth", where the bastards sacrificed fucking pigeons to repent of their sins, and then calling themselves "christians"?!?! do you really think that christ would approve of the war in iraq?!? did christ lead anybody into battle? is armageddon going to be a war of tanks and bombs and guns, or a spiritual war? when one of the apostles cut the ear off of a roman soldier who came to arrest christ, christ healed it. He fucking healed it!! and he told his apostles to put away their weapons. he said "turn the other cheek"! he said, "as i have loved you, love one another"! now, i'm not saying that we necessarily should let our enemies mow over us, but i also started out by saying i don't consider myself "christian".

but people like george w. bush, who use religion as an excuse, are spitting on everything that christ stood for, and furthermore, they are no better than the jihad bastards that flew planes into new york, the pentagon, and what would've been washington, d.c., because jihad is just muslim for "fanatic". so, find the part of your bible where it says "new testament", read from there back, don't spend so much time reading "revelation", no one understands it anyways, and it will just lead you back to thinking that this war is armageddon, and everyone since christ was resurrected up to today has thought that they were seeing the end of times, and really focus on the words that christ was actually saying, and maybe, just maybe, you might actually start to get it.

but then, who the fuck am i to tell you how to live your life?

darth sardonic

more political observations...

when micheal moore showed up to the republican political convention (the one where dick cheney formally accepted his candidacy for vp, then spent the rest of his speech bagging on kerry like we're all in high school again and it's just a popularity contest--further cementing in my mind that the republicans don't have a fucking clue what they're doing, only that we should vote for them cause they're cooler than kerry), he was not only greeted by booing, (which is to be expected), but many of the speakers called him "fatty" and "fatso".

now, i don't agree with everything that micheal moore says or does, but at least he's showing up to both conventions. he obviously checks out what the republicans have to say, instead of just being liberal "because", which is more than i can say for most republicans i meet. but the fact that the republicans reduced themselves to calling him "fatty" is absolutely insane.

these are grown men. or are they? i'm not sure. i get the feeling that if dubya was to have busted out a keg and led them in some frat songs they would've all been screaming and trying to have sex with drunk and passed-out chicks in about a half-hour. maybe they did anyway, i don't know.

what i do know, is that i was a geek in high school, and called names by guys like dubya. and some of my friends were a lot like micheal moore. and i know that to this day, guys like dubya piss me off. if dubya didn't have political connections, he strikes me as the kind of guy who would've hung around his old high school, or frat, hanging out with the same pack of jock losers, going on and on about the "good ole days", and drinking beer and pissing his life away.

whatever the case may be, he's not the kind of person i want running my country. didn't want him the first time (and honestly, i doubt highly that he was actually voted in by a majority of the country), and i don't want him now. if he couldn't stand up and ask his fellow republicans to show some common decency to micheal moore, how am i going to expect him to represent my country in a world that is increasingly hostile towards us?

and another thing. dubya has never lived outside of the us of a. could we make it a requirement that presidential candidates must have lived in a foreign country(not including canada or mexico, as these two are too close to us to be completely objective) before they run for office? cause i have lived in a foreign country (argentina, for two years), and i feel that the usa is a cool country based on what i learned while living there. i also feel that argentina is a cool country. i also gained an insight into how the world views us, and personally learned how to be a better advocate for our country. no one likes the guy who is constantly reminding us that he is better than us. but in the playground of the world, the us is that guy. and they hate us. and i don't blame em. we are loud, we think everyone should do things the way we do, and we tell everyone else that we are the best. well, we're not. we're good, maybe, but we're not the best, and not everything that comes out of the us is superior to similar things from foreign countries. (try a real argentine steak, and you'll see what i mean. it'll put you right off the tiny tough fatty crappy steaks you get around here.)

which brings me to my next (and probably biggest) pet peeve. the united states of america (not america, which is actually two continents, north and south, and is divided into several countries, some of which include: canada, el slavador, brazil, french guyana, and the aforementioned argentina) was a country founded on the principle of e pluribus unum. what does that mean? is it, "white guys only"? or maybe, "the ones with the biggest dicks"? or how about "speak english or die"? most assuredly, it must mean "christians only please"? right? right?

sod off, ya nonces. it is latin for "out of many, one". note that there is no kind of limitation on the "many" part. there is no kind of lingual or religious or sexual bias implied. meaning, we accept everybody in the us. even your worthless, lazy, good-for-nothing ancestors. so get down off your fucking high horse, you cocksucking conservative christian right-wing bastards, cause you wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for the generosity of some "savages" who fed your sorry ass when it arrived, instead of killing you and hanging you from the yardarm and sending your shitty-assed boat, in flames, back to england, or whatever other shithole it originated from. sometimes i think the native americans should've done just that. of course, it would mean that my ancestral line would've died out in a potato famine or most assuredly during one of the two world wars, but at least my fellow white folks wouldn't be able to stand around looking down their noses at others. if you have to pick a "way" that us americans "are", then you should look at those original americans, and how they treated the pale freaks who showed up, sick and half-dead, unable to speak a lick of choctaw or souix and believing in some "god" that resides in "heaven" instead of in the earth and who obviously hadn't taught his people how to take care of themselves.

they said, "welcome" and took us in and fed us, and showed us what native plants and animals we could eat without dying. we should use that as an example of how we should behave. but we don't.

we treat everyone who is different than us the way the white man treated those same native americans: we rape and pillage them, steal anything they have of worth, almost completely obliterate their way of life, and send them off to live on land that god himself can't grow grass on.

now, i'll be moving starting tomorrow, but once i write again, i plan on tackling the christian conservative right-wingers. so stay tuned for that, as it oughtta be fun.

darth sardonic

the closer to election day, the angrier i get...

mother hoodlum recently posted and ranted about her political views, and i enjoyed it cause this is what i usually do as well. now i know lately i've mostly been talking about life in general, but you can't always be mad at the government (or you can actually, but i try not to).

i'm neither democrat or republican. i don't really count myself as a liberal, though most of my views probably fall into that "category" just like most of the newer music i listen to is considered "emo". basically, it's just a title that they give us that means jack shit. might as well call the two poles of the political arena "us" and "them".

my own political agenda is a hell of a lot more complicated than that. example: i personally don't believe in abortion with the exception of rape or incest. however, i don't believe it is my right to tell some lady i have never met what to do with her body. so i am pro-choice/pro-life. you can imagine how this makes having a political discussion with me a bit like a few minutes in hell.

but no issue is black and white, and politicians' tendencies to treat them as such makes choosing a candidate difficult for me.

well, not this time, kiddies. my view is that dubya's fucked the country up more in four years than most presidents do in eight. let's give someone else a chance.

and i have complained before (to friends, mostly) about some of the things that mother hoodlum addresses in her blog, i.e. why is it considered unpatriotic to not support bush, or the war in iraq? i can still support the troops, and not support the war, or the motherfucker who sent my friends to die over there on trumped-up charges. my wife is in the military for fuck's sake, so i doubt highly i'm gonna be unsupportive of the troops. i would go even further to say that most of the fucking americans have a piss-poor at best idea of what true patriotism is. you can't just slap a flag sticker on your car or hang a flag outside your door and call yourself a patriot.

my neighbor, who is married to an army guy, bought a flag so she could be "patriotic" and hung it outside her deck. (she also supports bush, go figure). now, i was a boy scout(actually, i'm an eagle scout) and was in the military for eight years, and i learned how to properly care for the flag, and leaving it hanging out all night and in the rain is disrespectful. you wanna be a patriot, fucking learn what the flag stands for, and how to treat it with respect, and follow those rules. yes, there are rules about how to fold it, how to hang it, when to hang it, when to take it down, etc. etc. etc.

furthermore, (and this is a big reason why i don't feel that bush is much of a patriot, and why i don't feel that wanting to bitchslap that smug little smirk off of his face is in any way unpatriotic) when i see the vfw in their little field caps, with their pins, i go up and thank them. bush has cut their benefits down to nothing. the phrase "freedom isn't free" doesn't just refer to our boys and girls in the military now, it refers to every poor sorry son-fo-a-bitch who heard the call, and answered it, and went and got their asses shot off and watched their friends get blown to bits, and came home and drank too much and chewed the barrel of a loaded gun before they decided that maybe this life was worth living despite all the shit they've been through. you wanna be a real patriot, you fucking sod? go up to the old balding guys with the hair in their ears and nose and the little black-and-yellow caps at parades or fairs, take their hand, look 'em in the eye, and say "thank you." and fucking feel it. shed a tear, maybe. and pick up one of those pow/mia stickers while you're there. think you can slap a flag sticker on your car and you're a patriot?! fuck you! fuck you and the horse you rode in on, you lazy, uncaring bastard! people have fought and died in wars that actually meant something, and it's gonna take more than a flag sticker bought after 9/11 to make that up to those people. young men and women are fighting and dying now, and a photographer who took pictures of the coffins lost her job. fuck bush. he's so full of himself that anything beyond his own wants and desires is unimportant. fuck him, and dick cheney and jon ashcroft (who is a real cunt!), because they aren't patriots, and don't give a fuck about my wife or any of the other military members throughout our great nation and the world.

and i'll end this like i ended all those email rants i sent to friends before i started this blog:

god bless all the nations of this world, that they can find peaceful solutions to their differences, and god bless the troops, not just ours, but everyone's, as they are only doing what they feel is right, and don't deserve to die. oh, and god bless bush with syphilis, cause he's a real twat, and he's doing it in god's holy name.

darth sardonic

children's television

i think the bane of being a stay-home parent is children's programming.

i have already implied that i'm not a fan of "dragon tales", and, like most parents, i would like to plant a size ten in barney's ass. but no. 1 is currently watching "boohbah".

now the creators of these brightly-colored bouncing scrotal sacks must've shared a hash pipe with the makers of the Four Riders of the Apocalypse (you may know them as the teletubbies) because they both share striking, and annoying, similarities.

first, they are both brightly hued and stangely gonadal in shape. the teletubbies look seminormal enough, except they have oddly-bent phalluses growing out of their head. the boohbahs just look like underdeveloped testes, in colors god never intended.

they have their own languages. the teletubbies speak in a language know as "whiney-baby-talk" while the boohbahs speak fluent "fart".

both their existances seem to be made up of completely oblique practices that seem to serve little or no purpose that any of us humans can make out. the teletubbies eat tubbie toast, and watch tv on their beer guts. when the little stomach-show is over, they beg to see it again, and do. (joy for us parents). boohbah sleep in some strange pod structure, then get up one by one, and dance around while emitting what can only be assumed to be noxious gases from their bodies.

it is funny in teleboohtubbahbieland to have all the characters in your clan have really short or really long names except one. i.e. the boohbahs are named, respectively, rol-bah, croe-bah, gae-bah, wah-mee-bah, and finally, ramma-lamma-ding-dong-bah. the teletubbies are named, respectively, tinkly-bladder, lalaland, dipsy-doodle, and po (who is apparently the dark, gothy one who rights poetry about killing himself and black birds).

now, neither of these shows seem to make any sense to us parents, and i doubt they make precious little sense even to the overactive imaginations of our kids, but every time they're on and i'm in the room, i always get this weird feeling.

now, if you'll excuse me, i've got to go buy a purple cloak, shave my head, cut off my nuts, and wait for the mother ship.

darth sardonic

there is still hope...

i am currently reading "the green mile" by stephen king, and have already alluded to the fact that the movie is what i use to bawl all the stress and tiredness and futility and anguish out of my system.

and i have hit the part of the book where it is kicking in in full force. which is good, as my sleep has been chopped up the last few nights, since my children have colds and have been waking up numerous times in need of comforting. if i was going to pick a day when i might need a good cry, today would be the day.

but there's something more today. on "reading rainbow", which is a stunningly clever and well-written show disguised as a kid's show, they are doing a sept 11 tribute type show, and lavarr burton went to talk with the kids from a school that was so near ground zero that the students there actually had to go to other schools for awhile after the tragedy.

i have also alluded to the fact that i am a crier, and have always been. i don't feel any less manly about it. if anything, i feel even more secure in my manhood because i am able to cry.

i am also a bit of a cynical asshole, and yet, at the same time, a dreamer, and a believer in things like goodness and love and happiness.

now, those of us who live on the west coast (and i imagine it's even worse in la, and maybe sf, but there's a definite bitter rivalry going on between la and nyc) make an almost unconcious habit of looking down our noses at new york city. it's dirty, it's crowded, it's dangerous, and mean, and cynical. but you watch how after 9/11, that dirty, stand-offish city pulled together, and subsequently, the nation, and most of the world, to overcome what has been a horrible tragedy. and it's not just 9/11 that i use as an example, i remember seeing news footage during the large blackout that happened a while back, and seeing a teeming mass of cheerful, yes, let me repeat that, cheerful, and laughing, and making-friends and helping-others new yorkers walking down the sidewalks on their way home from work because the transits weren't working. and cab drivers giving people free rides home, etc, etc.

and not just in nyc, but in la, every christmas, the comics and would-be stars who lend their talents and sit elbow-to-elbow with homeless people for a special christmas dinner. the teenagers who volunteer time to help tutor other teenagers, or to do something within their community to better it. the help that people in florida are receiving in the wake of the hurricanes. all of this helps to remind me sometimes of how wonderful life is.

and after all the bullshit, and pettiness, and hatred, and ignorance i see on the news that Man exacts on his fellow man, it is beautiful and overwhelming to see the occasional glimmer of humanity. of that something in all of us that is god-like, if you believe in god in whatever form god takes for you, and good. that something that will rise above this shithole planet that we now occupy and move to something higher, stronger, eternal.

and a little voice chimes in my head, "there is still hope..." and every time it does, i burst into tears afresh, because it feels good to know that no matter what fucked up shit goes on from day to day, and week to week, overall, we are basically good, and want to help each other out.

and i pass this on to you, my small, oh so incredibly small group of beloved readers, and hope it finds you at a time when you need it. and i pass it on with the hopes that you will pass it on to those around you, who may also be in need, because i am, when all is said and done, only one rather dubious and sarcastic motherfucker, but if we work together, look at the giant, and wonderful, and beautiful things we can do. things that will end up being bigger than ourselves, and longer-lasting. things that go beyond the paying of bills, and the wiping of noses, and the making of love, and the driving of cars, and all the other meaningless, day-to-day bullshit that our lives seem full of.

and don't worry, tomorrow i will be back to my sardonic asshole self, and will write about how george w. bush is an idiot, or about shitty seattle drivers, or how i hope martha stewart gets gang-raped in prison, but today i am open and raw like a wound, only in a good day, and must take advantage of this rare opportunity.

there is still hope...

darth sardonic

do the puyallup!

yesterday was military appreciation day at the western washington fair (known to us locals as "the Puyallup"), which means that my little family was able to enter for free, which is good, considering that we paid six bones for parking, and i-don't-even-wanna-know-how-much for a burger that had more onions than ground cow's-flesh (sorry, mother hoodlum, and any other vegetable-friendly readers out there, but i'm a carnivore) and a couple of scrawny dogs(which probably did not have an ounce of real meat in them). and if you want moronic, flimsy, cheaply-made trinkets, well, boy, you better win the lottery.

it was fun! no. 1, who traditionally does poorly at these things, wanting to run willy-nilly through the crowd unattended, and having throw-down, drag-out tantrums anytime we pull him away from something he was enjoying, actually held our hand, threw minimal screaming fits (and that was toward the end of the evening, and was more cause he was tired), and all around behaved incredibly well. no. 2 fell asleep half-way through our visit.

but they now both have colds, and no. 2 woke up about 5 or 6 times last night, and no. 1 woke up extra early, so i'm beat again.

we've seen the house we'll be moving into later this month, and it has a huge back yard, and i can't wait to have the kids run around and wear themselves out, so they will sleep the sleep of the dead, and so will i.

short today, i know, i know. no, i'm not sick, but i am tired, so we'll blame it on that. 'sides, i can't wax lyrical all the time, right?

darth sardonic

...but "got it" just don't get it when there's feelings involved...

so s and i went out to orting, and we drank, and yes, we did see a small handful of breasts (and i don't mean small breasts, i mean a small handful of women). the show was not nearly as pathetic and sad as i thought, and we actually enjoyed ourselves.

i also got hit on. yes, me. i know, i know, but s was there and can collaborate my story if you don't believe me. and no, mother hoodlum, it was not quite as bad as "booyah", but damn near close.

s and i had been there for a bit and had a couple drinks, when this gaggle (sorry, don't mean to offend my female readers, which is nearly all my known readers, actually, with the phrase "gaggle", but in this instance, no other word better suits) of 25 ish females comes in and sits across a bar-like divider from us. these ladies had obviously been "warming up" at home or some other bar before arriving at pub we now occupied.

they'd been there a bit when the one nearest me leans over and says (and i'm not kidding here, this is actually what she said, and s can back me up), "damn, you smell so good. what cologne are you wearing, cause i'm just sitting here like..." waves hand in front of face like she is scarlett o'hara about to have a case of the vapors.(and no, "vapors" is not farts, it's an old southern term for passing out)

i say, "uh, i'm wearing eternity." (it should be noted that eternity is one of my everyday colognes. i put it on after i shower. if we're going to my mom's house. if we all as a family are going out to dinner. if i want to get lucky, i wear an entirely different cologne.) another drunk lady says "ooooo, that's my favorite." and i say, "well, help yourselves, ladies." and go back to talking to s.

time passes, and now the original girl-of-the-bad-pick-up-line says to me, "do you have a light?" (behind her, about four of her friends are already smoking, so i'm assuming that at least one of them had a light, but at this point i am enjoying the silly game, so-) i say "yes", light her cigarette while she does that hand-cup thing which is completely unnecessary (the place is completely draftless), but is, i guess, sposed to be sexy, and probably would be if the situation weren't so ludicrous.

s and i talk, and time passes, then again with "i just can't get over how good you smell!" it should also be noted at this point that there is no way in hell i smell like eternity anymore, if i ever did to such a level that this chick would smell it across two feet of countertop.

time passes, s and i talk. then s has to go to the bathroom. and while i'm alone, she makes another stab. "do you dance?" now, this is the first time i take a good look at this girl. later, when i relay this whole story to my wife (yes, i told her. we keep no secrets from each other, and actually laugh over our respective stories after a night out), i will tell her the only, only way i would sleep with this lady is if certain criteria were met, vis a vis: we'd both have to be single, and all my other prospects would have to turn up zero. it's not that this lady was ugly, or anything like that, i just wouldn't have noticed her on my own. and if i had, she would've been in line behind, say, 12 other girls. and while i find aggressiveness a turn-on in women, it wouldn't go far enough for her. besides, her aggressiveness was like stupid-aggressiveness, not sexy, know-what-i-like-and-how-to-get-it aggressiveness.

"yes, i dance." i reply. "are you straight?" she asks. "yes, i'm straight." "well, then," she says, "you should come out and dance with us sometime, cause a girl gets tired of dancing with her friends all the time."

now i must lay it on the line, "i don't mind dancing with you, but i should tell you i'm married." i feel this is a fair thing to say. i don't know this chick, or what her intentions are, and while my wife could care less if i dance with a chick, or twenty chicks, i'm concerned about what's playing on the stage of their mind, and feel i should put some parameters on the screenplay.

she acts totally shocked and says, "i just wanna dance with you, not sleep with you." and one of her friends leans over, eyes at half-mast, and says, with too many s's(note, there are no actual s's in what she says:), "we're all married."

so i tell them that so far the dj hasn't played a single thing i could dance to, so they should pick a song they really like and ask me, and i would dance with them. by then s is back, and while the ladies are gone, i fill him in. he laughs. this has got to be the most fun we have had in quite awhile, and the excuse for us being there (i.e. the wet t-shirt contest) isn't even close to kicking off yet.

so the ladies dance and dance and dance, and never come back to ask me. matter of fact, they set up shop closer to the dance floor, and, presumably, men who will dance and follow that up with naughty things with disregard for marriage vows. but i feel like i have promised a dance, so i wait for something i can dance to, and finally it comes, in the form of outkast's "hey ya". (not quite "booyah", but scarily close.)

so i hunt down the lady who likes my cologne, and she seems genuinely flattered that i remembered, and came to ask her to dance, and we go to the dance floor. now, i am a very energetic dancer, but not a very good dancer, in terms of club dancing. every dance i do is a bastardized form of moshing, pogoing, and/or skanking. she turns out to be more of a "hip hop club" dancer, and i guess was planning on me rubbing my body against hers. who knows. anyways, i need space for my own special blend of leftover eighties-guy dancing.

five seconds into the song, she says, "you should buy me a drink!" as if i would be thrilled at the idea, to which i reply "i didn't bring any cash, my buddy's been buying all my drinks." which is entirely true. then they announce they'll be doing the t-shirt contest in about 5 minutes, we dance for another two seconds, and she waves me off the dance floor. i walk her to her seat, she thanks me, and i walk back over to s. the only fucking song i had any desire to dance to, and the bitch bails on me 7 seconds in because i won't buy her a drink.

s says, "apparently, when she said she only wanted to dance with you and not sleep with you, she lied." and i say, "yep."

but apparently, i've still got it. (if you're a drunk, so-so looking girl who wants someone to buy you drinks and maybe tie up what the husband's leaving undone.)

boy, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

darth sardonic

i would rather not go back to the old house...

tonight my buddy s and i are going back to our hometown of orting to a local pub there for a wet t-shirt contest.

now, i know what your thinkin': "darth, how did you become so clever, studly, and good-looking?" oh, wait. damn. hang on. ah, here it is: "darth, why on earth would you go to a predominantly backwoods and rednecked town for what's sure to be a pathetic, sad, and probably small sexist testosterone-fest?"

well, i'll tell ya. i've alluded to the fact that i enjoy viewing the female form, especially in the nude. this would include observing enebriated females who cavort while displaying their assets through a thin layer of saturated undyed cotton. it is a celebration of life!!

okay, maybe not all that much, but, overall, i think it will be a singular experience to go back to the town i hated so much as a teenager, sit down in one of the oldest drinking establishments there, with one of my longest-running friends, and watch the young, recently-out-of-high-school fake id'ers who know little of the bigger world, and the occasional jaded, wish-i-could-get-out-of-this-town older ladies as they drunkenly parade about.

and yes, i think my sick and twisted sense of humor has a huge play in the fact that i even think this would be fun in the first place, but there's something more. when i graduated from orting high school, i left and swore i would never come back. but recently my mother moved out to a 55+ community there, and now my ole high school buddy s has just bought a house out there, and i'm beginning to spend more time running around that dumb ole town. and the town has changed.

but i don't wonder if maybe it isn't really the town that's changed so much as me. my attitude has changed, the people who made orting hell for me have all died or moved away, and now people who i love and care for and who are big parts of my life live there.

so i embrace all that is orting, even the remaining backwoodedness and redneckedness, because orting is where i grew up, and it is a part of me. i can even laugh with my wife about all the shit i went through in that town.

so i'm gonna toss back a few with my pal s, and watch cold wet boobs through white t-shirts, while the harley riders and flannel-clad farmers whoop and holler, cause, fuck, let's face it, that's who i am.

extra points to the person or persons who can name the song and/or band of the title lyric.

the saga of nos. 1 and 2

well, not a proper saga, really, because no. 2 has a therapist coming over at eight, and to do the story properly would take a few days, but here goes the cliff-notes version, as promised:

no. 1 was born 5 weeks early. not really a huge deal, but spent a couple hours having oxygen blown into his face, and then two weeks under special lights to break up billiruben (sp?) in his blood. this is the stuff that causes jaundice.

after that, no. 1 progressed screamingly well, though it took dad a bit to adjust to taking care of a kid who sometimes screamed for hours on end for no reason (some of the furniture suffered).

we meant to space the kids out a little more, but got lax with the birth control, blah blah blah, and, hey, presto, a very very late birthday present to me. but for him, a very early birthday. two-and-a-half months early. my wife and i were at our wit's end. they life-flighted my wife and her unstoppable contractions to albaquerque (again, sp?), where the hospital was better equipped for taking care of a premie of such magnitude. i got to drive with no. 1 the long and lonely and more or less empty stretch of 380 to join her. i was a wreck by the time i got there.

very early the next morning, no. 2 was born via c-section. breathed on his own just fine right off the bat, no problem with billiruben. but he was small, had trouble staying warm, had trouble eating, and his heart would stop for no reason (this is normal in premies). then he was actually progressing well, and it looked like we might go home. then no.2 got rsv. this is a common cold virus, but for premies, it's serious shit. they moved him to a different, more intense part of the hospital, started him on fentanyl, (a heavy narcotic), and intubated him (if you watch "er", then you know this means a breathing tube down your throat). he just lay there, he looked dead. every day they would call us at the ronald mcdonald house with some new thing that we needed to worry about. the calls stacked up, our nerves were raw, our visits to no. 2 seemed to serve little or no purpose. finally, one night, remembering a lesson from sunday school that taught me that god would not put me through anything i couldn't stand, i looked up at the ceiling of our little room (cause apparently that's were god or allah or zuess or whoever resides) and i cried, "god, i just need one fucking day where we don't get called. i don't care if no. 2 does any better, i just don't want him to do worse."

i cried myself to sleep, and the next day, no calls. then no. 2 started to do a little better every day. maybe god or allah or whatever was just checking to see if i remembered she or they or whatever was still there.

but we weren't out of the woods. no. 2 needed to be weaned off the fentanyl, and was given methadone to help (i have a mental picture of ewan mcgregor running down the street to iggy pop's "lust for life"). well, it is possible to od on methadone, and they od'ed no. 2. it was a miscalculation, methadone stays in the body longer than fentanyl. no. 2 was dead for a full minute. luckily, i was not there, or i would've been a disaster. my poor wife was there while nurses fought to bring no. 2 back.

and finally, he was. then he was doing better, but not eating well. turned out he was swallowing his food down into his lungs. our best bet was laproscopic surgery to put a feeding tube into his stomach, so that's what we did.

we ended up spending 4 months in that hospital, meeting people who had it much worse than we did. one couple we had made friends with had spent thousands of dollars to get pregnant in the first place, had twins at 25 weeks (that's almost half the pregnancy time), and eventually lost one. we just happened to be there when they came out of the room from being told. the look on that father's face. fucking burned into my memory forever. i think of them sometimes, and hope that the other daughter is doing well.

as a result, no. 2 is a little behind developmentally. not stupid, at all, matter of fact he's very smart, and he's got a fighter's spirit. but he isn't walking yet, though he is dangerously close. if all goes well, he'll have his feeding tube out in the spring. he furniture walks, and occasionally he lets go, and stands for a few seconds before sitting on his bum. he is 20 months old.

because we were in the hospital dealing with one sick kid during his crucial language development, no. 1 is behind in speech, though he is rapidly covering ground. but as a result of not being able to communicate what he is feeling, he throws horrible tantrums anytime we're somewhere new or his routine gets messed up in a way he doesn't like.

so when i talk about therapists, and going to playgroups i don't want to attend, it's all so that my beautiful boys will catch up developmentally.

and there you have it, the story behind the story. and even typing out the cliff-notes version here has caused me to relive some shit i thought i was past. i need a cigarette.

on legal speed, the american way...

"i'm sketching/i'm seizing/i'm spazzing/i'm shaking/i can not stop spilling on my brand new shirt/i-i-i'm wired/i'm so inspired/i drank the entire pot/so off to work/here i come to save the day/on legal speed (the american way)"

well, between yesterday and today i have consumed enough caffiene to kill a small elephant, and my mood is GREAT! i love caffiene, in all it's many forms. if i'm having a shitty day, i drink coffee and dr pepper until i'm shaking uncontrollably, and everything will be better.

s's party was fun, and it did a lot to lift my mood. no, no alcohol, but dr pepper in abundance, and s's family is hilarious, plus i was not forced to be in close proximity with nos. 1 and 2 for a little while, which also helped.

not a bunch of time today, as i have to take my chitlins to an appointment in a bit. then i will need to clean the house, as the three-day weekend did a lot to wreck it's state. let's face it, no. 1 can wreck a clean house in about .002 seconds, depending on the square footage and the amount of available toys/flour/applesauce/diaper-rash cream. he is a well-renowned artist in his field. you know what i'm talking about. luckily, we nipped poo-painting in the bud, or he would view that as the most effective (and funnest) method of making that vein in daddy's forehead throb to the breaking point.

speaking of poo, somebody's stinky (and i'm fairly sure it's not me), so i must go. be good to each other out there in nonexistant-readerville.

darth sardonic

just after dawn, labor day

yes, i am up already. i have been up for a bit. i was up before that, and again before that. my body hasn't figured out it's awake yet. my eyes keep trying to droop, and my tear ducts are still cranking out tears in an attempt to keep my eyeballs lubed up, but all it does is pool in the corners and become crusty.

no. 1 is awake, though lethargic. he may fall asleep on the floor at any moment, so his nap time will be shot. no. 2 is asleep in his swing. he oughta be, he got only slightly more sleep than i did last night.

no. 1 (who is now officially three and not just rounded-up three) got a megablocks train from his grammy. he loves trains. he plays with it incessantly. which would be fine, except that the cars come apart, and he brings them to me to put back together. over and over. this morning he is actually purposefully pulling them apart right after i put them together, and handing them back to me. it's like some kind of test without instructions, meted out by a half-pint teacher who apparently thinks i'm an idiot. i agree in so many ways...

last night i dreamt i said "fuck" in front of my late father. he started to get that look, and say something, and i leaned in close and hissed in his ear through clenched teeth, "you can't tell me what to do anymore. you are no longer in a position. i am my own person, i am grown-up, with kids of my own, and i don't need your guidance." he looked a little crushed and hurt, but a little like he had been expecting it for a long time. that's the only part of the dream i remember. (oh, and ironing an old naval uniform for a grandfather i don't have.)

i am a loser. i feel like i want to run, screaming and naked, from this house. i want to find a sun-drenched field of waist-high grass and flowers like you see in the movies, and lay down in it and watch the clouds make shapes for hours. i want to be away from people for awhile. i want to wrestle with my own demons for an hour, then tell them thanks, and see you next week, same time, same bad channel, heh, heh, that joke never gets old.

i feel worn-out, tired, empty. i feel like my purpose here is hidden. "i used to be somebody". i click on "skinny puppy" in my favorites and surf the others who have listed it as one of their favorite bands, because it's nice to see that i'm not alone in remembering this band from some ten years ago. but i feel increasingly like the guy who lives more in the past. not in the sense of my children and my family, but in who i am, what i remember, what is important to me. i am old before my time.

well, i will lay off the pissing and moaning for now(stay-tuned tomorrow, kids, when uncle darth says "give me five fucking minutes of peace!!") in other news, went out with my old high school buddy s last night as he went to get his first tat. came back home and watched "in america" with my wife. i recommend it to anyone who doesn't bawl as much as i do at happy/sad movies. it was good, just made me blubber like a little baby. today we will go to s's b-day party, and hopefully my kids will behave and i will be able to enjoy myself, maybe drink something with alcohol in it, laugh, get myself out of this funk in which i currently reside.

i also added a photo to my blog. it was really more of my wife's idea. i kind of felt like the old adage "it is better to be silent and thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt" could be reconfigured to say, "it is better to write and be thought a big dork, than to post a pic and remove all doubt", but hey. we had a hard time finding one i thought was decent. so now you all know what i look like, and yes, i am as colossal a doofus as i portray myself in my blog.

darth sardonic

stuff

okay, today i feel a rant coming on, but let me get a few pleasantries out of the way.

first of all, i have noticed lately that i have slipped a little on some of my spelling, using homogenous spellings in the wrong place. now, it is not my style to allow these kinds of slips. it's not that i'm a perfectionist, it's just that when i write, i like to deliver a quality product. it also has nothing to do with other people's errors, that is to say, i don't care about your spelling and grammar, i'm just worried about mine. so i vow to bring you, the beloved nonexistant reader, a quality blog with no misspelled words from here on out.

now, yesterday's playgroup turned out to be a pleasant surprise. nos. 1 and 2 behaved incredibly well, actually, considering they were both tired and it was their nap time, they were absolute angels. there were only a couple other mothers there, and they engaged me in conversation, we discussed preferred learning videos, the difficulties of being stay-home parents, and dealing with developmental delays or what-have-you (and again, in a not-too-distant-future blog, i will explain what the hell i am talking about), and in general, i felt like i was not being shunned.

this morning, my wife (who got the day off from work, yay! i got to sleep in, yay!) showed me a website for downloading ringtones. now, i have never felt the need to pay for fancy rings. but she had looked up eighties music, and it had brought up, along with all the bubblegum bullshit that everyone associates with the eighties, some depeche mode, cure, and even joy division. now, when i saw that it was "love will tear us apart", i thought, "yeah, of course, the only joy division song that anybody knows", until i noticed "atmosphere" on the second page. i was like, "holy shit", but then when my wife played it, it sounded a little new age-y, so i again became disappointed. but hey, i can't have everything, now, can i?

now here comes my rant: dick cheney, the vice-presidential hopeful for the republicans, made his official acceptance of his candidacy at the convention recently. after he made it official, he spent the rest of his speech tearing apart john kerry. instead of saying, "these are the plans we have for making the usa a better place to live..." he spent his time telling me why i shouldn't vote for kerry. what does that say to me? he (and by association, his whole party) have no fucking clue what their plan is, they just want me to vote for them instead of kerry. well, that's not good enough. this is the same dumb prick who, from a secret hidden bunker in the side of a mountain somewhere, told me, the american dumbshit, to "go back to my life as if nothing had happened" after 9/11. maybe you should spend less time telling me why i shouldn't vote for kerry, and more time telling me why i should vote for you, 'cause i'm seeing very little to convince me. ole dick should just have another heart attack and rid this rock of his presence, and he can fuckin' take george w. "god-has-put-me-here-to-do-this-and-i'm-a-texan" bush and jon "our-god-is-bigger-than-their-god" ashcroft with him. fuckers.

now, of course, you would be expecting me to sing the glorious praises of kerry and his campaign, right? fuck that. the only thing kerry's got going for him is he hasn't already spent four years fucking up this country in which i live. so far, because he hasn't been president yet, he hasn't bold-faced lied to me. people like to focus on how rich he is and what could he possibly know about what it's like to be me. hey, you think w ever had it rough like me? that bastard owns a gazillion-acre ranch in texas, his dad owns a vacation home in kinnybunkport or whatever the fuck it is. everybody seems to forget that w comes from money.

who knows? what i do know is, they both suck. it's going to be a fun four years, regardless of how shit goes down. becoming canadian is an option.

furthermore, there has been a hostage situation in russia or someplace near there where chechen rebels have taken a school hostage. this has gone on for a few days. the only reason i know is it's on my computer each morning when i log in. i haven't heard shit about it on the tv news. all i hear is election tripe. i say we fire everybody involved with the news media, and hire people who will tell me what's really going on, for fuck's sake. i can sum up the election in one sentence: "w is a right-wing, 'christian' nincompoop with a god complex, cheney is a heart-attack waiting to happen, kerry is a rich, pussy-whipped veteran who hasn't already screwed me over yet, and edwards seems to be the only guy in this big, dumb anal fuckfest who i might actually like to see put in charge of my country." say that, and get on to the real news.

but, to quote my favorite ranter(who has become a right-wing sell-out, fucker), "that's just my opinion, i could be wrong."

thanks for you time,

darth sardonic

what's in a name...?

i'll tell ya(cause apparently i can't talk enough about codiene (i always do this, i love some band, but then go months or even years w/o listening to their stuff, then one day i bust out one of their cds to listen to while doing the dishes or whatever, and i remind myself why i like em in the first place, so i binge like a fucking crack-baby on their shit for like a month or two, then go another year or whatever w/o listening to em, ad nauseum)).

also, i kinda figured out a way to describe what codiene sounds like. they sound like coldplay would if they fired their keyboardist, told the drummer to mistreat his kit a little bit, told the guitarist to crank up the distortion and do away with all the pansy-assed effects, and the lead singer suddenly started hating gwyneth and their kid. my wife hates this comparison, because she hates codiene, and likes coldplay. i like coldplay to, i just liked em better when they were called radiohead.

anyways, what this line means to me: i always felt like this line describes my life. not so much anymore, cause i feel like for the most part things are finally going my way(say, in the last six years), but in my past. i also liked the smiths' "please please please let me get what i want this time" (or just about any smiths' tune for that matter). "star-crossed" implies that the things that go wrong in your life are beyond your control, that the universe has conspired against you. it's romantic. romeo and juliet were "star-crossed" lovers, and those kinds of people are tragic heroes, and they probably get some reward in heaven or wherever. i mean, right after they rode the arsenic highway, i believe that romeo and juliet were bangin' it on a cloud. they were "star-crossed" or "ill-fated" or whatever. we remember them for this. also, "star-crossed" can be a temporary situation, as the stars move, and hence don't stay crossed forever.

"just unlucky" means your life sucks. nobody gives a fuck. and that's it.

now, again, i no longer feel like this really describes my life. i have a very good life, and am not as mopey and morose as i used to be. i also no longer believe that when you're "unlucky" that nobody gives a fuck. i am surrounded by people who give a fuck, and whom i in turn give a fuck about. but it's still an absolutely great fucking line, hence my new blog title.

in other news, no. 2 got up twice last night, much to my chagrine. and on days when i get little sleep, no. 1 acts like he got little sleep, with much tantrum throwing, weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, which, in my fragile state is going to get him killed. no, not really, just figuratively.

later on today, i will drag my kids to a special playgroup (maybe someday i will write a blog explaining why i take my kids to playgroups that i have no desire attending and at which they are sure to misbehave), where i will be the only stay-home dad, and where the only women who will even acknowledge my existance will be no. 2's therapist and my case-worker (but to their credit, they go way out of their way to make me feel comfortable). all the other stay-home mothers will look at me with distrust, and shy away, and it'll be kinda like high school all over again, where i will be the odd duck and feel horribly out of place, all due to things that are completely beyond my control...

god, listen to me whine, for fuck's sake! jesus! but honestly, i would like the stay-home moms to be a little more enlightened and accept a stay-home dad as one of their own. i'm a nice guy, i am not a freaky pedophile (quite the opposite, i don't even find most 18-year-olds to be in my parameters), and i am not a stay-home dad as a means for finding women whith whom to have meaningless sex. i chose to be a stay-home dad because i was at a point in my life where it was feasible, and my wife has a decent job, and there you have it. can't wait to start getting to know the punky mothers and fathers of mamatropolis.

but i have pissed and moaned long enough (too long probably), and will call this a day cause i need to go google "nico" and scroll through what's sure to be thousands of pages of bullshit so that my curiosity can be quenched.

darth sardonic

please vote--no, not a political essay

hey,

i've been tripping on the "not even star-crossed, just unlucky" line so much since i relistened to frigid stars that i am comtemplating using it as the title of this blog. let me know. i went with "the slow and steady decline..." because it was supposed to represent the loss of my sanity, but i think everyone agrees that i never had my sanity to begin with. how can you lose something you never had?

so if i get an overwhelming (who am i kidding? it will be nicoshellee, mother hoodlum(maybe), and sarah jane. and possibly, maybe, a complete longshot, lajovenmanosdetijeras(edward scissorhands to those of you as don't speak spanish) but if most of the four of you agree, we'll call that "overwhelming") positive vote, i will make the change. or, hell, i may just make it anyways, and screw the bastards. like anybody cares. this is just something i do to feel like i still have pertinance in the world.

thanks for wasting your time with me,

darth sardonic

p.s. something i just thought of, the blogger gods may not let me change my title. i don't know, we'll have to see.

not even star-crossed, just unlucky...

well, my sister-in-law googled my lyrics and discovered the band that i had used for yesterday's quiz. i won't put their name here just yet, in case there's a few of you nonexistant readers out there who want to try and guess on your own. but in the meantime, if you want to know, just go to my sister-in-law's blog, and you can even link to a site that carries lyrics to most of their songs. also, in the line which i posted as "and a can for a heart" turns out it's "candle", not "can". of course, i like "can" better, since the song is comparing a wrecked relationship to a cigarette machine. hence the "she" saying the cigarette machine "has it made". anyways, i did not expect this blog to be an essay on why this song(or this band, for that matter) is so cool. but they are. you guys should check 'em out, as they sound very little like anything else you might hear on the radio, and most of the bands you might hear that sound like them have only come out recently, while this band has been around since the late eighties early nineties. my wife calls them "suicide music", but i think sub pop's official term is "slowcore" for those of you that like labels. i call 'em "cool", cause when it comes right down to it, i'm not really the wordsmith i would like to imagine myself.

but i enjoy expanding people's musical horizons, especially if i think they might like the little-known bands that i'm exposing them to. so if you would like to know more, or hear samples, or whatever, let me know, and i will try to do my best to aid you in any way.

so enough about that shit. what i really want to say is that i can't wait to move. it should be pointed out at this juncture that i live in an apartment complex. somehow or other, my family got put in the "poor white trash" section of the complex. what do i mean, exactly? you may ask. and you may ask, what are my qualifications for determining poor white trashiness? let me answer the latter question first. i come from a long line of poor white trash(on my father's side)(actually, truth be told, my mother says only my father acted that way, that the rest of his family behaved in a manner more suited for normal society, all i know is what i remember, and my dad was poor white trash), i grew up for the majority of my life in a mobile home, and not even a double wide, and not even a particularly nice "trailer", but, i might add, not in a "park" either.

but if there weren't all these nicely-built apartments here, i would currently be living in a trailer park. tubby girls have loud drunken arguments with their boyfriends at 2 am, then get pissed at the cops if they show up. someone near us owns a truck so fucking loud that if they pull into their parking space (which is apparently directly under our bedroom window) any time after my wife and i have fallen asleep, we are immediately awakened. plus, i live in pierce county, and for those of you nonexistant readers as know, seattle(and most of king county) looks down their cappuchino-dipped, hummer-driving, rei-sportswear-clad nose at us pierce county people as "country hicks", so there ya go.

now, in other parts of the complex, there are normal people, people i might be friends with, or, at the very least, not shoot hateful looks at under my brows as i pass them in the parking lot. i know, i have seen them at the pool, sunning themselves in old navy swimwear, i have passed them as i get my mail. but there are precious few of them anywhere near my building.

last night (or early this morning, i'm not sure, i didn't look at the clock), my wife and i were awakened by the sound of crunching metal, and bits of the kind of plastic used for light covers and grills on most cars hitting the ground. this was followed by laughing, and voices saying things like, "i told you to stop!" and "you've gotta do it fast!". now, the view of our parking space is blocked from any room in the apt by a tree, and i didn't feel like getting dressed at some ungodly hour of the night or morning and walk down to where i am sure to find a group of drunken sots standing around and gloating their stupidity, just to make sure my car wasn't hit. (if it had been, my wife would've seen when she left for work, and would've called me already.)

at the end of this month, we move to a house on a nearby military base. now, i know, to some of you that may sound like hell, but after a year in this apartment, i can't fucking wait.