school...and other sundries

i'm so proud of no. 1.

but even as i type these words, my eyes are welling up, and there's an unforgiving lump of sandpaper in my throat.

today is no. 1's first day of school.

my wife got permission to go to work late so that we could both be there to get him on the bus. we expected tantrums or freaking out, something. not at all. he got right on the bus, he waved from the window. he didn't even miss his blankie or his binkie (pacifier). he's a supertrooper.

i am a fucking wreck. is it stupid? of course it fucking is. i should be happy. a couple hours sans no. 1, some time to spend with no. 2 one-on-one, the fact that he got on the bus and off to school without any catastrophies. i should be dancing a jig right now. but i'm all conflicted.

i want my kids to grow up, be self-assured, confident, tackle new situations head-on. but obviously that is a big fat load of shit, cause when it comes right down to it, i'm sitting here crying cause he isn't here with me, watching cartoons and getting into shit.

is it so fucking hard to let go? am i going to do this every time he does something new? is it normal? is it fucking normal to feel the way i do?

i suppose so. but i sure hope i'm over it by tomorrow, as i'd really hate to be crying by the street in front of my neighbors every day that he goes to school. i seriously need to grow a pair of nads.

and just so this post isn't a complete downer, let me tell you why lakewood was designed by crack whores (see: on the road...)

yesterday, when i was driving, i was going down onyx. i passed onyx ct. a block or two later, i was on the corner of onyx and onyx.

i was driving down zircon. i came to the corner of zircon and zircon (more appropriately, i had to make a left turn from zircon to be on zircon!)

i was trying to find an address on 76th. there are four chunks of 76th in a two-mile radius. so i call the guy to ask him which chunk of 76th he lives off of. he tells me to make a right turn on 95th. well, i make a right turn onto the wrong chunk of 95th (there are four chunks of 95th in the same area as well), and continue to be lost. i had to call him back again, and he talked me through the last few blocks to his house.

okay, not the funniest stuff maybe, but i am trying to pretend it's business as usual here at the sardonic household.

but i really am proud of no. 1. just not very proud of myself.

ad campaign

i just had a thought for a good slogan for disney (i spend a lot of time watching disney movies, as you can imagine):

"today, your hearts, tomorrow, the world!!" could be said by robin williams in "flubber"-style scientist who turns into frankenstein-like mad scientist in the space of the second comma.

that's all i have for now. you should be thankful for the small post.

darth sardonic

on the road...

note: my appy polly loggies to jack kerouac for heartlessly stealing the title from one of his most acclaimed pieces of work, and then tacking it to this silly little uninspired literary turd. hope he's not rolling over in his grave.

last night was my first night driving deliveries on my own. my delivery area includes the base upon which i live, and lakewood.

here's a little geographic background. once upon a time, there was seattle, and there was tacoma. seattle was cool, laid back, an excellent place to hang out. tacoma was old, tired, beat down, and avoided. people from tacoma say they're from seattle. lakewood was like a suburb of tacoma, and it was an excellent place to live, if you had the money.

in the mid to late eighties, southern californians who wanted to escape the high cost of living, the smog, and annoying tv and movie stars, sold their property, and relocated to seattle to work at boeing, or the newly formed microsoft. this would've been acceptable, only to not be taxed on the money they had received for their houses in ca, they had to put it immediately into property elsewhere. so they bought houses up here for much more than they were worth on the market.

the cost of living went up exponentially across northwestern washington.

la gangs settled in tacoma, joining the already-existing asian and samoan gangs, and made what was already a place to be avoided even more dubious. a rivalry develops between seattle and tacoma. people from seattle are jetsetters, hipsters, cool. people from pierce county (represented by tacoma) are hicks, cowtippers, and rednecks with no brains.

fast forward to today. if you look at a map, there is no discernable distinction between seattle, federal way, kent, fife, and tacoma. they run together on the map, and if the names of each "burg" weren't printed every few inches, it would look like one giant city. seattle is full of people who are not from seattle (or washington state, for that matter), and tacoma has been on a year's-long project to improve it's image and make it a nicer place to live. and i spose it has worked, i just have long-standing prejudices.

and lakewood is no longer only a place for the rich.

furthermore, lakewood was planned out by people who mixed crack and lsd with absinthe while they were designing it. streets meander all over the fucking place, then stop suddenly, only to pop up later on in the town. there are about ten streets with some form of "lake" in the name. there are two 83rds, 83rd st, and 83rd ave (a funny sidenote, we have a habit around here of asigning numbers to streets instead of names--when i was a teenager, one of my recently-moved-from-ca friends told his mom, upon hearing their new address: "we're living on a freeway!!").

as a result, i got lost on every delivery i made. nothing frustrates me more while delivering than getting lost. i should be able to find my way around. and i am an eagle scout, and can read a map. until now. i have met my match in lakewood.

the cool thing was that no one to whom i delivered seemed very upset that i was running behind, and i made better tips on average than i have at any other tips job i have worked. none of my supervisors seemed overly upset that i took forever on runs, and when i was cashing out at the end of the shift, i was mentioning that i got lost on every run, and the manager asked, "you're not going to quit are you?" because they had a girl do that. work one day, get so confused by lakewood that she quit after one shift.

no, i am not going to quit. but i am going to study a map.

and back at it again tonight, o, my droogs and only friends, so wish me luck on figuring out the difficult little tangled hair-knot that is lakewood.

darth sardonic

opinions are like assholes...

...we all have one and they all stink.

well, my droogs and only, longsuffering friends, the time has come for another political rant from yours truly.

recently i was watching real time with bill maher on hbo. now, bill is maybe a smidge too liberal and leftist for my own personal tastes, but i love his show. i especially enjoy the "new rules" segment for its pure cheek, if for nothing else. in the latest one, bill talks about the fact that a large percentage of high school kids think that newspapers should not be allowed to publish without government approval, and 1 in 5 believe that it should be punishable to express an opinion that is contrary to the popular opinion.

follows is a list of people who agree with these sentiments: josef stalin, adolf hitler, kim jong il, mao ste tung, osama bin laden, lenin, big brother, lucifer (son of the morning, aka: satan).

now, a list of people who feel that these sentiments are complete and utter bullshit: george washington, patrick henry, thomas jefferson, abraham lincoln, benjamin franklin, martin luther king, jr., john f. kennedy, patton, ulysses s. grant, robert e. lee, stephen king, tom hanks, stephen spielberg, salvador dali, jay rogers (friend of mine currently serving with his unit in iraq), ice t, tim mcgraw, jello biafra, jim morrison, jesus christ (savior of the world).

the point that i am trying to make, beloved readers, is that every so often i sit down at my battered computer on my cluttered desk, and i rant and piss and moan and say whatever i fucking feel like!! if i want to cuss, i do, and as much as i like: fuck you you fucking motherfucker cocksucking sod son of a bitch piece of shit twat! and while that may display a horrible level of poor taste, it is not punishable by prison time or death. i can even direct it at our leaders: mr. president, aka: george w. bush, you are the dumbest fucking waste of sperm and egg i've ever seen, a poster-child for abortion, very similar in looks and mindset to adolf hitler, borderline moron with a god complex!! and even still, no secret police busting down my door, no four am arrest, no burning of my files and scribblings.

and the occasional stray who may cross this site, and think that that there darth sardonic character is completely full of shit, subversive, and should be locked away for the security of the nation, even they have the right to leave a posting on this, my very own site, (where you might say i am big brother), and all i may do is make fun of them in my subsequent blog.

and that, my droogs and only friends, is what makes this country beautiful. we can have differing opinions. we can voice them. we can argue, call each other names, promise to punch one another, or curse each other with herpes or stupid kids or whatever, and we are given that right by the very paper that founded this country.

and while in recent times it feels like this country has made a big shift towards the far right (vis-a-vis nazi germany), that right is still in play. and i think the greatest testament to the constitution of the united states of america is the fact that i can loudly vocalize my dissent and disgruntlement at the shift the country has taken. and my born-again friend can tell me to shut up, and that if i would just accept christ as my personal savior and clean my mouth up and quit drinking and for god's sake get rid of those horrible body piercings, there might be hope for me yet.

because that is what we're all about here, folks, we're founded on rocking the boat. so, unless you want to get your telescreen installed, and burn your comic book collection, then you should be grateful for the bastards whose opinions are not your own, because it means the system still works. it's not perfect, but it still works.

and thanks for sticking around, though i am sure my particular opinion has the most malodorous noxious emissions yet.

darth sardonic

a newly reformed alice in chains...

recently, a concert was held here in seattle to aide tsunami victims in asia, featuring a newly reformed alice in chains. it was a smashing success, with reviews from concert-goers stating such things as "this is the concert we'll be talking about for the next ten years" and "i've wanted to see alice in chains since i was little, and now i have."

in light of this success in helping the people of thailand and indonesia, seattle powers-that-be are planning an even bigger concert extravaganza to include such newly reformed bands as: blind melon, sublime, joy division, the ramones, the mamas and the poppas, mother love bone, the clash, and pantera.

with solo appearances by: jimmi hendrix, william s. burroughs, stevie ray vaughn, buddy holly, steven jesse bernstein, and janis joplan.

and comedic performances from: chris farley, john belushi, and johnny carson.

and such all-star headlining acts as: the beatles, nirvana, the doors, and elvis.

tickets are available through what-are-you-fucking-stoned? productions, and posthumous tickets, inc. and to all those people who were so fucking thrilled to see the newly reformed alice in chains in concert, fuck you.

darth sardonic

i reenter the job market...

well, fair readers, i have reinstated myself into the world of the gainfully employed, so that i might knock out a few of our bills and we might find ourselves with more money to spend on our wants and frivolities. i'm still a stay-home dad, i'm just now burning the midnight oil as well.

to accomplish this, i am required to attend a food-handlers class and pass a test and get a card. so today i go to a less-than-savory part of tacoma (let's face it, oh gentle reader, most of tacoma is less-than-savory), to the public health building (which is, oddly enough, the same place i went to get all my nifty shots before going to argentina--i had a flash back of sitting in the waiting room while a not-very-nice nurse chewed out two guys and a girl who were apparently there to get large doses of antibiotics to combat something they had all shared with each other.)

then i get to sit in a room with approximately 100 other people (99% of whom appeared to be unable to legally by themselves alcohol), in a chair that barely accomodated my frame, with a fold-up desk slightly larger than the armrest itself, next to two women who had a deep and ingrained stink coming off them that was hard to bare, and muddle through one of the dullest lectures i've ever been through (and i was in the military for eight years).

it was fun!!

but i must leave you, dear readers, so till next time,

darth sardonic

such a crappy mood for such a beautiful day...

well, the sleep-deprivation and grumpiness have distilled to one of my favorite moods, a kind of quiet moroseness (morose is another word that should be on my list--oh, and lummox. lummox should definitely be on my list). it's absolutely gorgeous outside, but the kids are sick and tired, and there is not enough collective energy in this house to withstand the monster tantrum that would be thrown when time to come inside came around.

sad that i'm in this mood when it's so nice outside. but it is an optimistic morose, i know things will get better, it's just that at this very moment i feel inexplicabley sad.

this is always a good time to bust out my old cure albums, and for some reason letter to elise captures the way i feel. not the words necessarily, but the way the music feels. i've already listened to it five times. if i would sit down and watch green mile i would definitely purge everything, and feel immediately better. but there is a monster tantrum waiting for the person who shuts down the back-to-back loop of rescuers down under. so i listen to this song, write here, look out the window and daydream about running through the park, arms thrown back, facing the sun, eyes closed. blissful.

the cure always reminds me of a time when i felt like my entire life was stretching before me, a blank canvas, so many dreams, so many opportunities, so many possibilities. it's not that i am not happy with my life, i am. very. (i'm fucking sleep-deprived!! cut me some slack here) but i feel like in the past maybe i wasted so much fucking time on dumb shit earlier on.

well, no. 1 just woke up, and came over, and gave me a big hug. and the dam is broke.

and now that the demons are being expunged, i suddenly think "what a fucking whiner i am. fucking shit. i gotta quit my pissing and moaning about shit that is past and can't be changed. damn. i'm such a bitch!! jesus, grow some goddamn nads!

it's time to get this emotional rollercoaster on the uphill swing!!"

hate to leave you like this, oh nonexistant readers of mine, but i gotta get this fucking whiny music outta my stereo and put in something with a little more pep. plus, no. 1 needs chocolate milk. maybe i do too.

darth sardonic

grumpy ass

shaun of the dead was fucking brilliant. well, i thought so, my wife thought it was okay. she said the people in it were stupid. this from the woman who owns both legally blonde I and II! i said that was kinda the point since it is both a): a comedic satire and b): a horror movie. and it does a pretty damn good job of combining both wit and horror. though there were a couple of scenes where i wasn't sure if they were poking so much fun that it came off serious, or if they wanted you to take that scene seriously. my favorite aspect of the movie was how it portrayed us humans in our everyday lives as zombies already. brilliant! so sardonic and wife gave it one thumb up. i give it two, wife says she thought scary movie was better.

so last night i actually got a nearly full night of sleep (about 7 hours, with only two relatively short wake-ups), but am still a grumpy ass today. recently, i asked my mom when i would get to catch up on my sleep, to which she replied, " you never do, son, never again."

thanks mom. due to lack of funds, the light at the end of the tunnel has been shut off.

no. 1 was supposed to start his preschool today, but because he's sick, that's been postponed.

sometimes i wonder if i'm the only one who sees the shit that's going down. i'm referring, of course, to our commander in chief, the illustriously dumb and shifty dubya. my mom says that until now, she had considered nixon an example of the absolutely worst president. they used to call him "king richard" because he thought he was supremely in charge. she says bush is worse, compounded by the fact that mostly he seems to be getting away with it. i said that if tricky dicky was "king richard", dubya's "der fuhrer" cause he don't give a fuck what you think, his way is the only right way. and unfortunately, so many misguided souls in this country agree with him. and they all seem to be empowered to cram their own beliefs down everyone else's throats.

now, i know that this is a running theme here in darthsardonicland, but come on already! i've half a mind to grab a few of my tattooed, pierced, punk friends, put on insulting t-shirts and ties and go door-to-door asking people if they've embraced the chaos, and accepted the idea that there are more than one right way to think into their hearts. the salvation of acceptance, the gospel of tolerance.

anyways, these things go in cycles it seems. the victorian era, where everyone was extremely repressed, followed by the roaring twenties (the first incarnation of the mini skirt), the fifties, where we refined repression and "normalcy", followed by the sixties (where we blew all that to hell). well, most definitely we are in a "fifties" mentality now, as a nation, and by god, i'm ready for a change. so bring on the sixties, ya motherfuckers. lets get wild again.

hey, i fuckin warned ya i'm a grumpy ass, right? so don't get pissed at me.

darth sardonic

yet another new pal

added another pal, archenar. she takes photos of unique stuff, and also has a blog in portuguese (for those of you who actually speak portuguese. who the fuck am i kidding?!? almost nobody reads this shit anyways.)

the funny thing about this whole thing is a day or two ago, i was bored, rode hard and put away wet, tired of yelling at no. 2 to quit his fuckin whinin (he doesn't feel well, and keeps me up half the night, and then spends the entire day whining about every little fucking thing. it's like shards of glass in my gray matter, then no. 1 pours lemon juice into the wounds by getting into absolutely everything in sight and making a huge mess of the house--anyways), and thought i would surf other people's blogs. so i clicked on bauhaus, and naked lunch, but nothing really exciting going on with most of the other bloggers who enjoy those things, so i tried henry and june, which, i must admit, brings up an interesting group of individuals (go to my profile, click on henry and june, go through the list of other bloggers till you get to "lola", and read some of what she writes, but be warned, though she has a very literary style, she also writes frankly of sex, and seems to be into just about anything in that dept. so if you're not into erotica, give it a miss. occasionally, i check out her stuff just cause it's very interesting. and also cause i'm a bit of a perv.) in that list, i found a blog of this lady who had all these very cool pics and funnily insightful blurbs. i thought, "damn, this chick is good. i should leave her a comment or something." then i thought, "nah, maybe i'll check her out a couple more times first" which is how i usually do it.

anyways, to make a long story longer, i get a couple comments from her on some of my stuff today. turns out she did the exact same thing. pretty cool.

when i saw that she also blogs in portuguese, i thought (briefly, oh so briefly, my droogs and only friends) of starting a blog in castellano, if for no other reason than to maintain my proficiency. but here's the deal. i am a lazy mother fucker. oftimes, i barely accomplish this blog with something remotely resembling professionalism and narrative ability. adding another blog would just be asking for me to neglect this one. or both.

in other news, just received shaun of the dead from netflix. this movie looks fucking hilarious, so hopefully i will get to watch it tonight, and in the not-too-distant future (which, as we've discovered, means anywhere from one week to ten years) i will let you know.

but enough of that shit,

darth sardonic

why the punks are cool...

okay, so obviously i forgot my favorite brit slang word in the other day's list, and that is oi: cockney for "hey", which will tie me in beautifully with today's subject (and if you make the connection between the two, you're cool.)

okay, so i was introduced to punks and punk music when i was 11. the thing you have to understand about me, when i was 11, was that my parents still dressed me. yes, i am for real. i would wear k-mart jeans, work boots, and velour polo shirts (velour is like a cross between velvet and terry-cloth towel material). i had huge, old, horn-rimmed glasses. i looked like the main character from revenge of the nerds.

despite that, the punks i met took me right in. it did not matter what i was wearing, they could tell i was cool. now, it should be pointed out that at the time, all the punks had started out just like me, nerds, picked on, losers. so it wasn't such a far stretch, but these were the first guys who accepted me the way i was. i was walking around a street fair in kent once, by myself, and immediately started up a conversation with another kid dressed in an old t-shirt and all-stars, with an unglued hawk. he could tell i was punk, even though i looked more preppy than anything. we hung together that entire day.

also, these bastards would give you the shirt off their back. they would fight like wet cats for your beliefs, or mine, as long as you were a friend. one guy tried to get one of our friends to drink at a party. the friend had an alcoholic dad, and never wanted to drink. two of our bigger friends took the guy out back and informed him if he didn't want to be picking up his teeth up off the floor, he would discontinue pressuring our friend to drink.

i read a story (and thank god for people like the author of this little blurb!) in a church magazine about a middle-aged woman and her elderly mother who had gone to the mall to pick up some things. about half way through the shopping, the mother was tired, and needed to sit down. the nearest bench was occupied by a group of mohawked, made-up, and pierced punks in holey jeans and offensive t-shirts. the woman was a little scared, but her mother needed to sit, and so she approached the bench. to her pleasant surprise, one of the young men stood, and asked her, "ma'am, do you need to sit?" she nodded, and the youth convinced the rest of his friends to move to a bench further down the mall. the moral of this story was, you can't judge a book by its cover. no fucking duh, huh?

there was always a strong sense of community and family among my punk friends growing up. and it didn't seem to matter where i moved, and it wasn't even the same group of friends always, but we were close, and had each other's back.

so when i say that any blue-mohawked kid with a ton of piercings would've gotten the door for me (see the joys of being a stay-home dad), i'm not ripping on the punk kid, or calling him stupid, i'm saying the people that get looked down at, and disregarded, and ignored, or feared, are usually the coolest people in the world. it's all you so-called "normal" people out there who need to readjust how you live your lives.

and hey, i may have been the sweater guy from salt lake city punk, though i never kicked out any police-car windows, but that's just the fucking point! it's about attitude, and not necessarily about a "fuck the world" attitude so much as a "hey, i don't care what you fucking look like, as long as your values are like mine, and your willing to fight for what you believe in" attitude.

well, there it is. i guess my literary abilities have failed me a little on this one, as i'm not really sure i captured what i have always felt in a way that makes sense. i guess one of my friends captured best in the following sentence: "i would rather ask a punk for directions than a cop." nothing against cops, just that there is an immediate bond there.

darth sardonic

a few words everyone should incorporate into their everyday vocabulary

(and yes, i will get to the thing about why the punks are cool later)

asco: castillian spanish word for something so nasty that you want to puke. like on fear factor.

baboso: literally, "slug" in spanish. not bullet, but small, slimey monopedal creature, and humans who resemble them.

battered: for almost anything that looks worn. battered jeans, battered car, battered pal. complimentary.

belly-up: when something dies or goes wrong.

cozzers: brit slang for policemen, but just a damn cool word.

dessicated

disaster

dozy bastard: brit slang.

guanaco: spitting llama.

hinchar: spanish for "to swell", but in argentina, short for the phrase that is the equivalent of "busting my balls".

incorrigible

jodido: castillian spanish for a fucked-up situation.

macana: less offensive version of jodido.

me tenes podrido: argentine phrase that is similar to "you're driving me crazy!", but stronger. podrido means rotten.

pathetic

pillock: brit slang for stupid.

prat: ditto.

rattled

rode hard and put away wet: best euphemism for exhaustion i've heard yet.

rummy

shitfaced

sod: absolute worst swear word in england.

tad

three sheets to the wind

tits-up: same as belly-up, but stronger.

twat: not just for women either.

zealot: should not just be applied to jihad muslims.

please, feel free to leave me comments with other words that fit in a similar vein, especially if you have them in a foreign language.

darth sardonic

nerds, unite!!

hey, just got done watching napoleon dynamite, thank you netflix (i really should talk to them about paying me something for all the publicity that they get from me--you know, all three of you out there that are actually reading this!).

this movie was fucking brilliant! it is not a cinderella story. it is not about a geek who turns his life around and becomes somebody that everyone likes with a makeover and a change of clothes. napoleon dynamite is an ass. and as far as i can figure, at the end of the movie, he still is. but you like him, for some reason. you're rooting for him. my wife says, "he's a really good friend." and he is. he goes to crazy lengths to help out his pals.

literally everyone in this movie is a nerd loser with an aggrandized view of his or her own worth. napoleon, his family, the kids at school (in my opinion, even the popular kids at his school are complete losers). but, at the end of the movie, they find their own version of happiness.

and my own life (in high school, anyways) followed the plot of napoleon dynamite. when i was in high school, i was a nerd. a geek. a dweeb. a loser. whatever. i had big glasses, i dressed in the latest k-mart fashions (and at the time, k-mart was about as fashionable as leisure suits), hell, i played with star wars figures till i was like sixteen. (okay, okay, you got me there. i still do, sometimes.) i hated myself. i wanted so desperately to be someone else, with the feathered hair, and the levis 501s, and whatever else woulda made me popular. and no one liked me, except my little group of miscreant friends. till the day i said "fuck it. this is who i am. maybe when i leave high school, i will change my look (and i did, drastically.), but for now, this is it." after deciding to be happy with who i was, i started having alot more friends, i got picked on less, i even had a girlfriend senior year (for two months, but, hey!). the punks found me, and accepted me as one of them, despite (or maybe because) the fact that i was a complete nerd. (and in the not-too-distant future i plan to do a blog about why the punks are so fucking cool, which will include more on the whole "mode of dress not being important" thing.)

anyways, my point being, no matter who you are, learn to be happy with yourself, and things will start going right for you. so there, yet another little nugget of joy from your angry little pal, darth sardonic.

state of the union

i can sum up the state of the union in two words: "we're fucked!"

now the brilliant political mastermind that is dubya wants to cut back on the social security. he actually made the bold, albeit completely boneheaded, wrong, and misinformed statement that if things keep going the way they are, the social security will be bankrupt in the next few years.

i guess he was sitting around thinking, "okay, i've completely fucked the youth by getting them passed in school no matter how dumb or lazy they are, i've killed off a large portion of the young adults in a stupid and meaningless war that we're still fighting though i promised five days of shock and awe, and then declared a victory five different times, and the older working class is either jobless or destitute, how can i screw over the elderly. bingo! social security."

well, i keep daydreaming about the day when someone else will get voted in, cause it's hard to imagine anyone being worse than our current commander-in-chief.

hang tough, kids, it'll be over in four years.

darth sardonic