all hallow's eve

we alternate between the light and the dark.

in the house, well-lit womb of warmth, we dance about, pagan in rituals of costume-donning and picture-taking. my wife and i beam with skeletal smiles in our excitement, felt by proxy. nos. 1 and 2 will embark on their first trick-or-treating of their present existances, and they have been well-prepared with dora and peanuts halloween specials. the jazzy peanuts' theme seemingly played on a hollow piano, adding to the feel of the underlying macabre.

we burst forth into the night, whisper cold, and tinged in a vapor of rain. all around us, wraiths, mist-like ghosts in corporeal form, misrepresented by costumes of heroes of the child-world, and larger shadows wielding flashlights. my two children seem to glow, clad in a fireman's outfit and a cow, respectively. each space between doors a dark realm, populated by shape-shifting ghouls, each doorway bathed in light, where smiling faces wait to hand out sweets to our boys' "twick o' tweeeet".

the entire evening is bathed in a mixture of joy and pleasure and an almost-buried feeling of the sinister. it is halloween. the dead rise up. the ghosts wander, wailing. all this felt for myself, not yet shared with my small kids, who will forge their own inner ghosts and goblins to wander the world on all hallow's eve.

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no. 1 just went poopy in the potty. i actually left off writing for a moment to go join the rest of the family in dancing around excited at the prospect of flushing fecal matter down the toilet. the boy's were wonderfully behaved tonight, and followed all our admonitions, told everyone "thank you" after receiving candy, trick-or-treated for about a half-hour, after which we all unanimously decided that we were done for the night. no tantrums, no fuss. then back here to get mildly sugar-high before setting the plastic pumpkin of candy up where we won't touch it till tomorrow.

darth sardonic

burlesque

the suicide girls were incredible.

me, q, and e all hopped in my car and toddled up to seattle fairly early in the evening, so as to get parked, eat, and be in the venue early enough to be near the stage. we found parking right across the street, and a mediterranean cafe a block away.

then we went in, had a drink, and stood. and stood. and stood some more. two hours of standing before the show. was it worth it? of course it fucking was, there was only one person between me and the stage. and unless this is your first time reading my blog, you know me well enough to know that i was enjoying that.

they started off with a band from japan, tsu shi ma mi rae. three petite asian ladies. apparently, tsu shi ma mi rae is japanese for "we are not only petite and cute, and fun to be around, with a good attitude, but we will blow your minds and your eardrums with our musical abilities." these chicas were not only fun, and funny, but they could play. i expected a shonen-knifesque barrage of japanese grrrl punk, and got that, but interespersed with bits of disco, fifties-style prom music, and soul. in the same song. the last song they played had a poppy verse, with a death-metal-to-ska chorus. yes, i shit you not. it was great.

then to the girls. oh man. dance pieces included parodies of napolean dynamite, fear and loathing in las vegas, and reservoir dogs, along with solo pieces that used classic burlesque ideas made modern in proper suicide girls fashion. all very tastefully done, with duct-tape pasties and boy shorts or hipsters. and all the girls were hot, but there was something in fanny's eye and smile that made her stand out for me. all very betty pageish. it was great.

we hung out for autographs and such, and after four hours on our feet, we were ready to head home.

but overall, an indredible night, one that i will not soon forget, and if the suicide girls burlesque show is coming to a town near you, go see it. you have to.

cause i said so. (i am a dad, after all)

darth sardonic

some dumb stuff

apparently, according to the dicks at tobaccosmokesyou or whatever fucking thing they are calling it this week, kissing a smoker is the same as eating shit.

i'm guessing they have never kissed a smoker. i have. i have also been the smoker being kissed. i'm guessing that unless you smoke a pack every hour and brush your teeth once a year, it's probably not the same. not that i have ever eaten shit. but i do change an incredible amount of shitty diapers, and let me tell you, based on the smell, i'd rather kiss a smoker any day. i'd rather kiss a guy smoker who hadn't brushed his teeth since his last cigarette, than eat shit. fuck, i'd rather eat a pack of raw cigarettes than eat shit.

so, a bit of a stretch on their part, i'm guessing.

along those lines, i bought my first pack of smokes in about a month and a half. not that i was ever "quitting", cause i knew as soon as there was some occasion, i would buy a pack and smoke. tomorrow, me and some buds are going to seattle to see the suicide girls do a burlesque, and then do some club-hopping. and i knew i would want some smokes.

i should also say, so that my pals who are actually quitting, and fighting the good fight, and who might be thinking right now, "that motherfucker darth sardonic, he just goes a fucking month and a half like, hey! and then suddenly buys a pack of smokes!", that i smoke cloves, which are not addictive in the sense that tobacco is, so i'm more addicted to the action of it, the physicality. so if i want to stop, i don't buy a pack, and i can go for great lengths of time without one. but i never say i'm quitting, cause i know...

my wife makes these insanely-cool photoshows of the kids and emails them out to our friends, music and graphics and everything, and i usually see them when the friends reply, and i have to say, we have been blessed with some fucking cute kids. and i'm not doing the tooting horn thing, i'm just saying, i'm blown away by these kids i have been blessed with. i pray continually that i might remain one to the task of doing right by them. and i pray that they will be famous rock stars, or lawyers, or whatever, so they can support the lifestyle that i wish i had become accustomed to later when i'm older. heh heh.

the cat continues to plot on how she's going to take us out one by one. if she's not sleeping, she's on the prowl. sleeping/hunting, sleeping/hunting, it's all she does. and it's funny, cause she never uses her claws, but she bites like a motherfucker. i don't get it.

not really much to say today. i know, i know, all my anger and sarcasm has all come to naught lately, but hey, you can't be pissed all the time, can you? i mean, shit, i'm going to watch the suicide girls tomorrow, for fuck's sake!

anyways,

darth sardonic

all better

of all the times that i have kissed no. 1 after an injury, he has almost never not said "all better" in his cute little four-year-old voice. frequently, it is in an unsure, shaky voice wet with tears, like he's not fully convinced he's "all better", but he still says it.

i have just finished reading the five people you meet in heaven, and it has made me bawl and bawl, for lots of reasons, a couple of which i hope to tackle in a future post, but certainly not today. i wouldn't be able to read the screen for the tears.

i was trying to do it quietly, but it was as if a dam broke inside me, and great gulping sobs poured out of me like birds taking wing. no. 1 came over and asked, "wassa madder, daddy?" how do you explain to a four-year-old the intricacies of life? the strangeness of emotions? why daddy cries when he is happy and feeling purged and at one with the universe? why he cries so hard and heavy, as if some great demon within himself has been turned into saltwater and must be violently expunged?

"nothing, buddy. give daddy a hug."

he complies with a smile, and then impulsively kisses me.

i choke, gulp, and shakily say, with tears in my eyes, "all better"

darth sardonic

new pals

just a quick one to illucidate the new additions:

anne is an old friend and fellow writer. i met her in tulsa, ok, of all places. we have maintained contact for well over ten years. she just recently started a blog about her sexcapades and life in general. done very literarily. however, not for the faint-of-heart, or prude.

lady sartre writes a blog i stumbled upon while seeing what other people liked the same bands, or books, or movies as me. she writes sporadically, but is very funny when she does. i got tired of typing out her address in the address bar everytime i wanted to check on her shit.

lola. oh, lola. same thing, found her while checking out other bloggers who had listed henry and june as one of their favorite movies. i have been reading her blog almost since day one. however, i never added it before because she frequently wrote about her sexploits, some of which are very kinky, and i thought some of her roleplaying ideas might be a little too much for some of my readers possibly. however, she is as stunningly clever and abstract writer most of the time, and seems to have moved out of the sex venue quite a bit, and moved on to other things, so here she is. be warned, she also writes frankly about sex, and if that offends you, then stear clear.

so there you have it, some new pals.

darth sardonic

leaves

the leaves are dry.

this thought comes to me as my wife takes nos. 1 and 2 out in the front yard to play in the leaves while she catches beautiful autumnal glimpses in our digital camera.

the leaves are dry.

growing up in the pacific northwest, i had always imagined how fun it would be to rake together an immense pile of leaves and jump in it, and toss it around, and laugh, and play.

but the pacific northwest has two major things working against this fall utopia so alluringly portrayed in movies and jc pennys commercials: 1) the ratio of deciduous trees to conifers in western washington must be something like 1:583,978. (this ratio is completely and utterly made-up. if you want to know what the actual ratio is, google it or something.) not that this didn't stop a large amount of maple leaves from carpeting my childhood back yard, but enter thing no. 2) the ever-present moisture of western washington causes the leaves to lay like a decomposing sludge that is slug-infested and has little or no utopian properties.

now, the area in which i live has several large oak trees. in september, october, and november, my yard is red with cast-off leaves, in some places six inches deep. normally, i grumble about having to rake every three days, and give it not another thought.

but now my wife has encouraged the children to run around, tossing leaves at each other and kicking up magical spurts of orange and brown, like moving fall snapshots.

i watch from the doorway, amused, dressed in my work uniform. my little family is laughing and having fun, temporarily without a care in the world. in a few minutes, i will have to go slog pizzas through the greater lakewood area, forced to spend time with people i don't even like for the sake of earning some cash. i'm not feeling as carefree as my family.

the leaves are dry.

hard and fast upon this realization comes another: i have always wanted to play in a big pile of leaves.

even faster upon this comes yet another: i have always wanted to be the kind of off-the-cuff dad who would dive in and do something crazy and unpredictable much to the delight of his children. so far, i have only occasionally accomplished this goal, and usually on a very small scale.

into my head pops jeffrey goines' voice (i had only recently rewatched 12 monkeys), "window of opportunity opening now!"

laughter and leaves. straight-legged kicks that scatter bits of color all over. handsful of organic confetti tossed into giggling faces. it is a mosh pit of color and joy and life. my abandonment reflected in the sparkling eyes of my children.

vaguely, the practical bit of me makes inquiries into the possible presence of slugs, the likelihood that my uniform will be trashed, the chances that someone will get hurt (it will turn out to be me. something will go pop! in my arm when i dive sideways into the large pile of leaves. however, a few minutes later, i won't even be sore.) i ignore it, and eventually it gives up and goes to a back corner of my cranium to pout.

finally, the moment comes when i must leave the leaves.

a glow permeates my body and mind. nothing will upset me this evening. crazy, inconsiderate drivers, no problem. lazy, annoying coworkers, hell, i'll be leaving on a run soon anyway. nontipping customers, well, they probably don't have the extra cash to spare, and i should consider myself lucky that i have more than enough, and anyways, the last guy tipped enough for two.

even when a rainstorm moves in later that night, making the roads slick and the visibility almost nil, i simply think, "man, i'm glad we all got to play in the leaves when we did."



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alright, so i've been a spotty poster at best, lately, o beloved reader, and most of my posts lately have been more of these literary tidbits. i just want to get them down in a form that i can copy right over to my book with very little adjustment.

so the other news of my life is this: no. 1 has been taken off of dairy. there are studies into food allergies making some children hyper and unable to control themselves, and dairy seemed like the culprit. and he is so much more the angel now. alot less tantrums, and shorter ones. he is more able to focus on things for longer lengths of time. and while he doesn't care for silk at all (which would be my first choice for a milk substitute) he loves carob-flavored rice milk. doesn't offer a fraction of the calcium that milk does, so we've had to supplement in other areas. but the results in no. 1's behavior are well worth it.

it looks like i might be part of a band soon. or, more likely, a few. for several weeks, i've been getting together with my neighbor, t, and we've been practicing a handful of cover songs, ranging from acoustic alice and chains, to dave matthews, to radiohead. enter p, who works with my wife, and plays guitar, bass, and drums, and furthermore, has a drum kit. we got together last weekend. and the only thing stopping me from recording my own songs and stuff is the lack of a microphone and a computer interface, as well as sundry cables and stands. but i am saving up for all that. so hopefully in the not-too-distant future, i will be passing out my own cd, as well as offering something from my neighbor and i's band. and also, my buddy from work, m and i want to get together and do something that would be a fair mix of electronica, jazz, and funk.

i am going to clean up my pals list. nico no longer exists, (well, she exists still, i'm sure) and her address is now being used by someone i don't know. plus, i want to add some other blogs.

anyways, i will try to do more of my everyday kinds of posts soon.

darth sardonic

bits and pieces

"we gotta pull in here, i want a menu." my wife indicates the newly-reopened and -redecorated asian restaurant that we are nearing.

like the dutiful hubby i am (insert whip-cracking sound here), i pull into the parking lot and sit in the running car with my sleeping offspring, idly wondering how much my sitting there with the engine burning the refined leftovers of the once-proud dinosaur is contributing to the overly sunny future, while my wife dashes in to retrieve a menu.

in a few seconds she's back. "it's so much nicer in there now."

"yeah?"

"yeah. it used to be all closed and narrow and dark, but they've opened it up and it's well-lit and clean."

"cool."

"and they've got pho!" (this in a sing-song like you might say to a toddler, "i've got your nose!")

"hm. cool."

two beats pass.

"i should change my name to pho." i shrug my shoulders nonchalantly.

"what?" she looks at me perplexed.

"i should change my name to pho. pho kum iffaykentekkachoke."

"wha-at?!?"

"fuck 'em if they can't take a joke!" i burst into insane laughter, tickled at my own clever ingenuity, and pleased that i picked a wife who can set up the punchline so beautifully.

she is laughing too, whether at me, or at my joke remains unclear. not that it really matters, i have made my wife laugh, and sometimes, that's all i need.

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pepper is smashed flat against the bedcover, hips raised slightly, ears back like airplane wings. the look in her eyes says two things: "you can't see me" and "someone is going down tonight".

except my wife and i can see her, and neither one of us wants to go down. so we peek surreptitiously from under the edge of the blanket.

pepper stares, her eyes seemingly coming through the tall brown grass of the african steppes as she sizes us up. her pelvis begins the rythmic motion that denotes finding the best footing for the pounce. she leaps at my wife, who shrieks, and in the same instant darts under the protection of the covers.

i laugh.

"how come she never pounces on you?" my wife demands.

"oh, she tries, but she always stops short."

"what do you mean?"

"it's like she gets nearly there, and realizes, 'oh shit! that's that big fucking bastard. better leave his ass alone.'"

my wife laughs.

"she obviously thinks you're the weaker of the herd." i say, and roll over on my side, my back to my wife.

"nuh-uuuuuh."

"yep."

next thing i know, the cat has used my distraction to her advantage, and is giving the back of my head hell.

"get him, pepper!" encourages my wife.

"alright, she's got some plan to pick us all off one by one, i guess."

"hmp!" it's my wife's turn to turn away.

darth sardonic