Sunday, May 29, 2005

posting live from clovis, nm!

okay, let's break this vacation of mine down into three parts: 1) getting to new mexico, 2) visiting our pals, and 3) getting back home.

part one is done, and follows is some observations from the road.

eastern washington, southern idaho, utah, southern colorado, and new mexico all look the same: brown. hell, even the pavement on the freeways is brown for most of the drive.

idaho gets the award for best speed limit: 75 mph for most of the stretch we were on. (i drove 85).

a note to utah drivers: when passing semitrucks, it would behoove you to go at least a little faster than the truck you are passing. and nearly as fast as the car you cut off to pass said semi.

a portable dvd player is must-have equipment for a roadtrip with children. forget your toothbrush, your comb, hell, forget your underwear, but don't, do not forget the portable dvd player. and drammamine is a good thing to have around also. (i am changing no. 1's name to yakk the barfboy.)

we did a stint on what used to be highway 666. they have changed the name to 491. it's still hell.

then on 84 east (the last leg before we arrived here at our friends, k and w's house), we nearly got run over by a motherfucking sleepdriving semi (may you get syphilis and your cock drop off just before you get run over by your own semi, you fuck!!), passed by a guy who spent like a minute in the other lane before finally passing us, and then passed an imaginary car in front of us, and dive-bombed by two suicidal birds.

god, i'm glad to be here, and alive.

talk to you soon, as the crown and coke is calling my name.

darth sardonic

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

out of pocket

okay, my droogs and only friends, my beloved nonexistant readers, brace yourselves: tomorrow evening my family leaves for new mexico for two weeks. i know, i know, i know, how will you guys survive?!? i suggest drinking lots of alcohol and smoking lots of cigarettes. or porn. or any good book by burroughs, kerouac, nin, or whoever really. or whatever. ultimately, i think this will not really affect your lives either way. i might try and post remotely every once in awhile (which is really bout how often i do it now, when i'm home, if you think about it), and i'm sure that i will have hilarious stories from the road when i get back, i always seem to after a road trip.

in the meantime, be good to one another, and i'll talk to you soon.

darth sardonic

Saturday, May 21, 2005

i would make a very bad boxer

even if i had rippling muscles, and a pug nose and cauliflower ears, i would still make a crappy boxer. here's why: boxers always bad mouth each other or go on and on about how much they are going to hurt the other boxer before the big match.

in my inimitable, self-deprecating manner, when asked how i predict the fight would go, i would reply with: "well, larry the mad bomber's a pretty insane fighter, my goal is to remain upright for about 10 to 15 seconds." or "i have a lot of respect for harry the machine gun, so hopefully i won't get my ass pounded too bad."

the same with being a pro wrestler. no amount of stupid hair cuts, make-up, and ridiculous tights would change the fact that when roddy "the mangler" dorkknob tells me he is going to drink my blood from my freshly-liberated, still-beating heart, i would have to reply with "ouch. sounds painful. did you pick that costume out yourself? could someone call the 'fab five'?"

you see, i'm just not into trash talk, unless i have actually proven that i have what it takes. if i were to be entering a competition with someone who talked a lot of shit the first time we got together, and then i subsequently pounded him like a narc at a biker rally, then i would talk a bunch of smack. but it would all be related to how badly i whomped him last time.

i would make a lousy superhero also. the first thing i would do would be to bust into the white house and put that bastard behind bars. ever notice that superman never killed anybody? (well, at least when i was a kid watching "super friends") that's cause killing is wrong. hence, dubya needs to go away for a long time. truth, justice, and the american way? strike one, two, three, dubya, you're out! also, let's say i come upon a man robbing an old woman. i begin to "nab" the bad guy. then he says, "hey man, i just got laid off from my job at chevrolet, and my kids haven't had anything decent to eat in three weeks, and my wife is turning tricks to keep us in food and clothes. and this lady was married to daddy warbucks, so she's got some to spare."

i'd say, "c'mon lady, hand it over, this guy's fallen on hard times. his fucking kids are starving for fuck's sake."

in a sort of related story, i was thinking about samuel l. jackson. (i know, i know, it doesn't seem at all related right now, but bear with me.) now, there's a bad ass. pulp fiction, die hard with a vengeance, jackie brown. he even managed to make formula 54 watchable. he's a takin-no-shit kind of bad-ass motherfucker. so the last couple projects he has been involved with have been more family-oriented: the star wars movies, (still haven't seen the revenge of the artist formerly known as anakin yet) and the incredibles. (aha, now we see the connection, darth) and i was thinking, "he even manages to be a bad-ass when he's saying, 'honey, where's my supersuit?'" just an all-around tough bastard. i like that. though i would like to see him lean over to yoda and say, "you don't quit talking like you're fuckin' strung out on somethin', i'm gonna shove my lightsaber up your motherfuckin' ass!"

i think his character from pulp fiction would give darth vader a run for his money. ole george better not let mace windu have a crack at vader, cause i almost wouldn't buy it. i guess we'll see.

say "what?" again, motherfucker!

darth sardonic

Thursday, May 19, 2005

a dream, and an idea for a story or a play...

i just woke up (due to the kids, who are waking up earlier and earlier due to the sun, good thing we're not in alaska anymore), and i was having this wonderful dream. one of those dreams that is like a movie that you are in. and i want to share it, cause i think it has literary potential, but let's face it, o beloved reader, i don't have the motivation or literary chops to do it justice. so i am laying it down here, and asking those of you who stumble across it to take it, make it your own, and let me see the end result.

in the dream, i go back to buenos aires, argentina. i am visiting with people that i guess i knew (though i didn't really--dreams are funny that way). if i am not mistaken, i was visiting a woman on whom i had a crush when i was there before. (again, this is dream stuff). she now has a serious boyfriend, who is a playwrite. in true argentine fashion, she invites me to their house for dinner, which is more like a lavish party full of jet-setters and trend makers. the funny thing about this is that i know that they were poor nobodies before.

but everyone is talking about the bf's first big play, which opens in a few days. even though there is some jealousy between me and the bf (this aspect of the dream is so phantom of the opera that it makes me wanna hurl, but isn't really there long), for the sake of his gf's and my friendship, he gives me some really good tickets to the opening night. (which is weird, since i alternate between being in the play, and sitting with the bf and talking bout the play).

while i am there at his house having dinner, argentina's equivalent of the fcc shows up (which is funny, cause argentines are just waaaayyy more laid back about swearing, nudity, and sex than we are--the slang word for a zit translates literally to "for not fucking" they think a good and regular bang session will clear up any bad acne), and tries to convince bf not to release the play--not because of the nudity and adult themes (apparently there are both in the play), but because the play will get people thinking, and looking stuff up on the internet, and doing their own research. i thought that was a weird request. but bf sends them on their way, and that's that.

the play itself is an elaborate fantasy with insanely realistic and difficult sets, and bizaare and convoluted costumes. but as the story unfolds (i can't really remember the actual story, though in daylight retrospect, it seems an awful lot like lord of the rings), it becomes clear to me that the underlying theme of the play is "question the answers. don't take everything you're told at face value. find out for yourself what really happened." and it's such an epiphany that i must tell him on the break between act I and act II. he gets really excited (up till then he had been thinking the play was bombing). i tell him that the play isn't for all these people in this expensive and large playhouse. i actually use the word "beourgousie" to describe them (hell, i can't even spell it, let alone properly use it in a sentence, but in my dream, i did.) i tell him it's for the lowly man who's sick of being held down. who's sick of being told everything's okay. who wants to find out what really happened in sudan, and rwanda, and in iraq, and bosnia, and anywhere else. who's sick of the media feeding them what they want them to hear. we are both crazy excited, and pacing around the lobby in our tuxes. i tell him this is why the fcc didn't want him to put out his play, cause it will cause people to think for themselves! we almost miss the opening of the second act, we're so jazzed.

then in the play, i play a sort of ape man whose entire race gets wiped out by a giant army because they think my people are sublevel and not worth taking time on. (the invading army looked a little like a cross between the romans and the crusaders.) i am left for dead, though only slightly wounded, and get up after they're gone, and follow in their path, healing the wounded who aren't dead of every race they try to wipe out. in doing this, i become quite the intelligent ape man. i think it's funny that rather than try to destroy their army, i try to bring back to life the races they try to wipe out.

now, here's the thing. i know it's not much to go on, and maybe it's not even worth the energy i have expended in jotting it down here, but when i woke up, everything in the dream seemed so pertinent to everything going on in the world right now, that i think someone, or lots of someones, should take these little nuggets and use them to write novels, or short stories, or plays, or movies. post me that you're going to "steal" my idea, then send me the end result, as well as tickets to the opening night, or a royalty check, or a signed copy of the hardcover, or whatever. there has got to be someone out there who can do this thing justice. i have had so many great ideas for books and movies that will never make it out of my head (cause i'm too lazy and unmotivated) and some of them shouldn't be wasted.

anyways, i guess that's it. in black and white, with the morning sun shining through the window, and the kids playing in the background, it has lost much of its lustre. but maybe one of you out there will catch the gleam, and take the time to polish it back up...

darth sardonic

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

more nonsequitors for the common man...

in the last three days, i have dropped a toy on my foot, putting a nasty blood clot in the middle of the moon on my right big toe, stepped on a different toy, cutting a toe on the same foot and spending an hour or two limping, and dropped a sippy cup on the other foot, which hurt, but didn't do any permanent damage. wtf? my poor bastard feet, so mistreated.

there are an amazing amount of socks that come up single every time i do the laundry. am i doing laundry for someone who has only one ped?

i just got off the phone with my wife, to whom i admitted i may have found another bass project on ebay that i would like, that i am going to watch (along with wanting to trade in one of my four-strings on a five-string), and she started saying "mm hmm. mm hmm." and not the "mm hmm" like "oh, how interesting." but the "mm hmm" like i can hear her hands balled-up in fists on her hips and her toe tapping. so i tell her. then she gets her boss involved, saying, "are my hands on my hips or my toe tapping?" to which her boss replies, "does eye-rolling count?" and i say, "exactly!" and of course i reminded her that there is a whole gaggle of bettie page shit. i am an ebay whore. even if i don't buy anything, i look at stuff almost daily. which reminds me, i need to check out star wars cards and heavy metal magazines. i can hear my wife in the back of my head saying, "oh my god"

my kids are boycotting naps. which means i am boycotting listening to them whine and cry.

no. 1 has a clean/folded clothes fetish. he must dump them on the floor and roll around in them and lay on them, kinda like a dog does to its bed every night. so while i was putting the clean clothes away, i locked the bedroom door. otherwise, he will dump them. (i have decided that 90% of the stuff i do around the house is a waste of time. i will fold most of the clothes twice. i will vacuum, and the kids will ask for cereal, and hey, presto! i will need to vacuum again. i will pick up toys, turn my back, and they have all been replaced with other toys.) anyways, i had to collect more clothes from the couch, and move them to the bedroom, so i locked the door (cause they have that little opening you can poke a bent hanger into to unlock from the front.) and went into the living room. now, for all of us guys who have spent long hours on the mystery of locating the g-spot, or the clitoris (i now know where both are, but you know when i was younger it was like indiana jones and the arc of the covenant--not that you really wanted to know this. who the fuck am i kidding, no one is reading this!), they have nothing on locating the exact sweet spot inside the knob for unlocking it. finding jimmy hoffa oughtta be easier. i finally got it open by pushing the coat hanger into the right spot, twisting the knob halfway one way then all the way the other, and saying the elvish word for "friend" at the same time. then lo, and behold, my bedroom was full of dwarves' dead bodies. no, wait, that was something else...

someone recently asked me if i was excited for the new star wars movie. i think it's called revenge of the ILM or something like that. anyways, i had to admit that the only thing about it i was looking forward to (besides seeing natalie portman, who has been street legal now for several years and may even be old enough to legally buy her own alcohol) was to see how george "can we cram a few hundred more effects into this shot?" lucas goes from where we left off in II, attack of the yaaawns, to a new hope, which i still think of as "the first one".

i just received in the mail a "blessed" handkerchief from some christian church in oklahoma (where the wind comes sweeping down the plains) that is sposed to grant me well-being, and health, and financial help. why didn't they just send me a check for $10,000? i bet if i was actually to read into it further, i'm expected to send some kind of donation or some shit. if i send you money, that will help my financial situation? interesting...

i have gone ahead and installed a telescreen in my house, cause i am sure that dubya is big brother. i suggest, if you don't wanna get beat up by the thought police, you do the same.

in a related story, check out rick's latest post. he puts a quote by dwight d. eisenhower (or maybe it was harry s. truman, i forget already) in there that seems almost like a scary prophecy about dubya. god, how i wish that grenade would've gone off... if we can just survive a few more years.

anyways, all of you out there in nonexistant reader-land, take care of yourselves, and each other. someone's gotta, and you know the government and the christians won't.

darth sardonic

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

i don't like dogs, but i like bettie page...

i like to think i am the king of nonsequitors. so here goes.

we are dog-sitting for our neighbors, who are on vacation. since i have talked about my neighbors in past blogs, (not sure which posts, too lazy to find 'em, if you care, do your own damn research!), i will clarify now. neighbor couple no. 1--j and n, three kids, girl, two boys. it's their dog we are currently watching. we've been friends with them the longest of our neighbors. next door neighbors couple no. 2--t and m, two kids, both girls. recently have made friends with her (he is gone to the gulf-ish area), he's the one who plays guitar and drums. across-the-way neighbor lady--crazy waving lady. not really crazy, i spose, just haven't figured her out yet. still no name, though today we had a semi-normal conversation. more on that in a sec. other atw couple neighbors, j and a, friends of t and m. haven't talked to them a ton, but they seem nice enough. he plays keyboards.

okay, switching from tangent train, back to the original train of thought: we are dog-sitting. my idea of dog sitting is to make sure food and water are full, and let dog out for occasional potty breaks. otherwise, leave dog alone in its own house. my wife's idea of dog-sitting is to bring the "lonely" dog over, let it play with our kids, run around our house, and be annoying in sundry other ways. and let me just say, for the record (and because later my wife will read this and i'd rather not sleep on the couch) that my wife is right. the dog is lonely, and is not eating well as a result, and really seems to enjoy hanging with us. dog is a small, tightly-wound dog, who can play catch for literally hours on end. my left arm is getting sore. i keep trying to lose the ball around a corner or some such thing, but the dog is smart, and always finds it. now, if i am cleaning, instead of having two toddlers, who i can occasionally distract, following me around, i've got two distractable toddlers, and an ocd-inflicted dog, who i try to ignore, but who then stands there, staring at me, occasionally looking at ball, and wagging its tail like i am its bestest friend in the whole wide world. no. 1 loves playing catch with it, but it seems to prefer me. gee, am i lucky or what?

on a completely and utterly unrelated subject, lately i have been wearing my bettie page shirts (i have three, one dragonfly bowling shirt, one dickies work shirt (double score, yay!), and one t-shirt) a bit, and i invariabley get lots of positive comments on them. so i thought i would check out ebay (which, i am completely convinced, will end up taking over the entire fucking world in a day or two) to see what other bettie page shirts i could find, and o holy shit, my droogs and only friends, it is a veritable smorgasbord of bettie page memorabilia. i am in heaven.

now, back to the unnamed atw neighbor, who i will henceforth refer to as the crazy waving lady. today, i'm smoking and waiting for the school bus. she drives up, we exchange our waves. she gets out of car and says her usual "hi", and i reply with a "heya", and then she says, "is your son in kindergarten?" we have made contact with the alien species, mr. spock. i reply, "no, he's in developmental preschool." she says, " i thought he looked a little young." then she proceeds to herd her two little girls out of the van, and unload groceries. now, i know that i should offer to help, and normally i would. but the jury is still out on this lady. and hey, i'm in a bit of a prickish mood today. so, i watch with a slightly amused look on my face, and then when my guilt at not offering to help has outweighed my desire to remain as aloof as possible, i ask her if she needs any help. of course, i am a day late and a buck short, as she has already unloaded everything, and i'm a little like the junk-mail lady in the tularosa post office. but at least i offered, my timing was just fucked.

anyways, i will continue to observe this rare species like the voyeur i am, and will continue to post tidbits here as details emerge.

not that you really care.

darth sardonic

Monday, May 09, 2005

learn to speak korean

learn to speak korean: why? because while we're dicking around in iraq (and coming soon, iran) for the next few generations, kim jong il is amassing and testing nuclear weapons. so at the very least, you're going to need to know how to say "i will do whatever you say" (or "fuck off and shoot me, prick!" if you're one of those "from my cold, dead hands" motherfuckers) and "why, yes, i would love some more kim chee. thank you." and a sidenote, the koreans are some tough motherfuckers (i know, i'm married to one), so it's not gonna be like some of the other wars we've had lately. it'll be like when we had to drop the bomb on japan to get them to leave world war II, only it'll be like they could bomb us back. least we won't have to worry about the social security problem, we'll all drop dead busting our asses in a rice paddy. for me personally, i'm just gonna find the nearest mushroom cloud and get under it. the new cold war brought to you by george w. bush. just something to add to the things that keep you up at night.

recently, i saw a bumper sticker that said, "jesus is god, read the bible". first off, the bible says jesus is the son of god. he is a perfect being, and the savior of the world (if you agree with the bible), but not technically God. cause it is impossible to be your own father. yes, i know the Lord works in mysterious ways, but fucking come on! so i'd like to offer some other bumper sticker ideas: "allah is god, read the koran", or "jesus is a nice guy, but not the messiah, read the kabbala" or "vishnu is one of the gods, read the bahatvahavaghita(yes, i'm completely convinced i killed the spelling on that one!)" or my personal favorite: "darth sardonic is god, read". cause honestly, o beloved readers and droogs of mine, if all these people who don't believe in jesus could be so easily swayed by reading the bible, then i guess the christians wouldn't want 'em, cause they could just as easily read w.s. burroughs and decide they're queer or a junky, right? am i right? btw, feel free to post me your own bumper sticker ideas in a similar vein, but no "(insert name) is god, read (insert name)", cause i already thought of that, and while imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, that would just be thievery.

also, one of the local casinos has an add for a big upcoming boxing match, and in the add they say "mano y mano", which always conjures pictures in my head of two tough, burly bastards in boxer shorts and boots skipping down a lane and holding flowers and holding hands and looking lovingly into each other's eyes. cause you see, mano Y mano means hand IN hand, like i might do with my wife as we take a walk, or as two girls might've done on a walk in the park in the victorian era. mano A mano means "hand TO hand" as in combat. you think a largish casino might have at least one person on staff who spoke spanish and could tell them they were making a huge mistake?

and wouldn't you say it's time we should bring the troops home? i mean the war is over (it has been over like, what, five times?), we've been training their cops for at least a year. they've got a constitution and their own government. the suicide bombers will never stop. never. ever. it is the middle east, and suicide bombing has been going on as long as there have been people and bombs there. so the only reason i can see for leaving our troops over there is so they have other targets to blow up. and let's face it, we're never getting bin laden, we've been at it for how long? bring em home w, we're ready to let this big fiasco go, and maybe spend a little time concentrating on north korea, while their is still time.

just a thought.

darth sardonic

Sunday, May 01, 2005

catching up...

okay, so here's what's been going on in my world in the past week or so.

no. 2 went into the hospital extremely early tuesday morning. not to worry, he's fine and been home for awhile now, but he caught bronchiolitis (probably from no. 1, who in turn caught it from some kid at school), and at 1:00 in the morning tuesday was having trouble breathing. we went into the er, they admitted him, he started doing better, and after two nights in the hospital, he was ready to come home.

no. 1 got sick the very next day, with throwing up and all that neat stuff.

i've been working long hours lost in lakewood, but there is little or nothing to report there. it's the usual: very tired, grab pizza, bitch about boss' routing choices (to myself, loudly, in the car, with stereo on too loud), drive. return, and repeat. some nights are fun, some nights suck ass.

have finally had a decent conversation with my neighbors, and turns out that he plays the guitar and drums. hopefully, we will be able to get together for jamming sometime.

i guess that's about it as far as catching up goes. surprisingly little to tell when you boil it down to it's smallest factor.

hopefully, i will have more next time.

darth sardonic