Tuesday, January 30, 2007

...and don't forget the joker

a very special ty to my pal g, who got my oldest hooked on tony hawk skateboarding video games. bastard.

so i had some extra guita in my pocket, and we were killing time at the mall, so i popped into a game store, and picked up a used tony hawk game for the ps2 (and crazy taxi for myself--change "taxi" to "pizza driver" and toss in a pierced and tatted stay-home dad and a red prelude and hey, presto! you've got me exactly. hahaha.)

now, no. 1 turns video games into a full-contact sport. he leaps around playing the game, and even if he manages to remain in the same spot on the floor, he is bouncing up and down the entire time (he is gonna be absolutely bad-ass in a mosh pit when he gets older.)

so i notice they play this one song over and over alot. ace of spades. it's catchy as fuck, and pounding and fast, so i kinda dig it.

so does no. 1. as he bounces up and down and maneuvers his skateboard on the screen, he is singing, "the eggs is break. the eggs is break." and then humming the raucous guitar chords.

i crack up, and decide i better download it. so i say to myself, "i wonder who sings it?" and almost instantly it pops in my head: motorhead. don't fucking ask me how i knew that either. some deep deep pit of my subconcious coughed that one up.

and let the fun begin.

later, he was playing the game again, and i heard him singing, "hey, ho! let's go! hey, ho! let's go!"

"he's your kid." my wife says.

he sure is.

darth sardonic

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Wednesday, January 24, 2007

a romantic plastic piece of shit you can mold

the other day, in greeting, someone said to me, "how's it going?"

i replied, "uuuuuhhh, good, very good."

uuuuuhhh? what the hell is that?!? like i don't know that i am doing good? like i was unsure as to whether i had gotten a good night's sleep, and already had my coffee, and that the kids weren't getting on the bus to spend several hours in school, allowing me to accomplish some running around, most of which was stupid shit i didn't need to do but wanted to just cause it would be fun?

i actually cracked myself up, and then had to explain away the puzzled look.

the saga of the prelude door latch has ended. or that is to say, i have tacked a "and they lived happily ever after" onto it and called that particular story closed.

but here's the thing, o my droogs and beloved non-existant readers: i don't believe there ever really is an end. writers and story tellers bring to close a story at a moment that suits them for the needs of the narrative. i could, if i wanted to bore you to no end, and had an eternity to jot it down, follow the day-to-day happenings of the new door latch (the old door latch has this very day gone on to change its story from that of a door latch to that of an object moldering in a landfill.) until it too becomes an object in a landfill, or smashed into a tin can lid, or whatever other conclusion it would reach. and that still wouldn't be the end, o my non-existant readers, it would simply switch from the story of a latch to the story of a lid, and on and on, ad infinitum.

and death is not really an end either. even if you buy into the "no-afterlife-except-that-of-wormfood" theory. because someone we knew and loved carries on with the story, albeit changed. and when they are gone, someone new carries it still further. each move we makes leaves ripples throughout eternity, some of which stay embedded in a conciousness somewhere.

man, and where did all that come from? shit.

where was i? oh yes, the door latch is in, and on top of that, g and i put in a new stereo and got the foglights working. i am quite pleased.

so we took the old cd player and put it in our other car (which had an am/fm cassette, which is pretty fucking worthless in this day and age), and i wanted to get an in-dash storage bin to fill the gap.

so off to my favorite 20-acre salvage lot. you know how they say, "it's always in the last place you look." and comedians have had a heyday with that, quipping, "cause you don't keep looking!"?

i kept looking. i wandered around and looked in every car they had on the lot that matched mine. just because. because it was sunny. because i had nowhere better to be. because i fucking love junkyards, and daydream about taking some of the vehicles i find there and fixing them up.

and because the lot guys drive mad max vehicles around to pick up parts. shit you not, my mildly amused and oh-so-willing-to-humor-me non-existant readers. i was passed by an ex-cop car crown vic with big steel girders welded to front and back bumpers to prevent damage from nudging wreckage and parts bungee-corded to the roof. a camry very similar to my pizza delivery car prior to the prelude was idling in one row, missing the entire front grill/bumper/lights, and the trunk lid. a dodge reliant with the roof cut open and a large acetalyne welding rig in place of what would've been the back seat blew dark clouds of smoke around me as i eyed a rather cool-looking celica.

i was drooling by the time i got to the counter.

i keep coming up with possible excuses to go back and wander the lot some more.

my wife thinks i am crazy.

i know she is right.

darth sardonic

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Monday, January 22, 2007

banker's blog

ok, while i was waiting for heroes, world's coolest show in a long time, to come on, i was watching deal or no deal.

at the end, they make a plug for the website, which, apparently, include's the banker's blog.

and now, presenting, my version of the banker's blog:

no one even knows what i look like. why does this cubicle smell? everyone likes howie. why do i have to be the bad guy? i'm a nice guy. oh, but howie gets to be the good guy. everybody loves howie. but baaaaad banker. i get him back though. when i call down, i talk in klingon. he doesn't even know what i am saying. he just makes something up and then gives them the buy-out. but what i am saying is: "some night while you sleep, howie. when no one else is watching." man, i really gotta pick up some febreeze. i wonder how often they clean up these headphones?

maybe, maybe not, who knows? but i bet that is what it is.

darth sardonic

the exploited vs the subhumans vs the casualties

aren't they all basically the same thing?

we shaved off no. 2's mohawk. it was getting ridiculous, even by gutter punk standards, and seeing as my kid didn't dress in clothes that he had found in a dumpster, i'm guessing it was all a bit much.

plus, when we didn't hawk it up (which was alot because it is very hard to glue a 'hawk when every little noise causes the recipient to turn this way and that. his hawk would end up looking like the "straight" line a drunk driver attempts to walk while blue-suited fellas shine bright lights in his eyes: it would weave this way and that before falling over on it's ass at the end.) it hung in his eyes something fierce, and since both of my kids have been blessed with gorgeous eyes, this was a sin i simply couldn't allow to continue.

anyways, it was time.

on the flip side, we get to go about growing it out again!

not really much else going on here.

for now...

darth sardonic

Thursday, January 18, 2007

why is the bedroom so cold?...

things that never get to be said:

i love you, dad. i'm sorry i wasn't there a little more at the end, sorry i didn't make a bigger effort. sorry i didn't put my ego aside a bit for the sake of family. mom said she was worried i would regret that choice, and i do a bit. you could have made a bigger effort too, though. i guess you already know that.

i miss you, dennis. you were so fucking cool, and we all loved you and looked up to you. you and mom were in for the long haul, you really were. i loved how you could make me laugh, and how we could talk about whatever and you always treated me like i was an adult, and never made judgements. that was something i really needed and wasn't getting on the other home front. i sure hope you know that we miss you all the time. i'll see you when we're all tossing them back in the big bar above.

lloyd, it's been damn near a year, and while we don't cry for you as much, we still talk about you all the time. mom and i were sharing fond memories the other day. but don't worry, everyone still thinks you were a mean old cuss, your secret is safe with us. i imagine you are too busy playing catch-up with theo to keep close tabs on us, but sure hope you stop in once in awhile.

baby, i love you. i know i say it all the time and by christ, i hope i show it as well. just thought it oughtta be put down somewhere firm and lasting.

no. 1, i love you as well. i know our personalities clash sometimes, and i know that it might seem at times that i am always angry with you, but i am so fucking proud of you. words just can't convey how proud, and how glad i am to have you in my life. you know, you make it damn hard to be angry sometimes with that smirk of yours. wonder if your grandpa felt the same way thirty years ago?

no. 2, i love you also. i am in awe of the progress you have made and continue to make. sometimes things are going to seem too hard, but i know you are strong. and i know that you can always come to me with your worries and concerns, and i imagine i will have felt the same thing at one point or another. i imagine grammy probably will have felt it somewhere along the line as well. keep grinning, we'll make it in the long run.

mom, you know i love you, and we talk like this all the time, so i am alot less worried about the chance that these things haven't been or won't get to be said.

i imagine to some i have seemed an easy mark, to others a callous prick, and i imagine most don't give a shit either way. i'm a bucket of contradictions, so pick d) all of the above, as that is the correct answer.

darth sardonic

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Wednesday, January 17, 2007

american idol seattle

i got home from work, and my wife is watching the american idol auditions that occured here in seattle.

i loathe, and i mean loathe, anything american idol related. i hate simon and his "i'm not being rude but..." followed by something even i wouldn't say behind the safety of this blog. i hate paula abdul and her drinking problem or pain meds or whatever thing it is that makes her act strung out in at least half her interviews. i don't hate the other guy, but haven't even bothered to learn his fucking name.

and out of all the contestants on all the shows, they only one that has done anything long-lasting was kelly clarkson. and i will cop to liking her music. fuck yeah.

now, though, i actually know why i despise american idol so much. and if you saw it, you know exactly what i am talking about.

if not, let me break it down for you, darth sardonic style.

now, let me begin by saying that you will never see me on an american idol audition, or any other audition of similar mettle. here's why. i am a shitty singer. yes, i have been told on occasion that no, i am not really that bad, that i actually sound good. most of the time when i am playing a song and singing it at the same time. but still, not nearly the chops to be on some show. on top of being ungifted in the singing department, i have a modicum of dignity.

ok, so, the difference between me and the people i saw on the show: a) they showed up to the audition, and b) they don't possess any dignity whatsoever.

because, o my beloved non existant readers and droogies, even though my vocal talent is seriously lacking, i could probably sing better than nearly everyone i saw. (i saw the black jailbait with the cute smile, and she really had it.)

and i was sitting there at the commercial, and felt as if a surgeon had told me they were going to need to remove my arm, and then left to go find four burly guys to hold me down as the hospital was out of anesthesia. cause, my pals, i knew it was gonna hurt. i knew it was going to be so painful that i would have to leave the room. i nearly threw up.

and there i was, and it was as if i had just witnessed a violent and bloody train wreck and then was witnessing the obviously strung out conductor arguing with authorities that he couldn't possibly have been strung out cause it had been a full 20 minutes since he had drunk a fifth of tequila, down the last of the shroom tea, and then smoked up all that rock, and the crack whore he was with told him it would be completely out of his system after five minutes.

and why, oh, why, my beloved mates, do all these contestants feel like they must overdo the song like mariah carey trying to channel whitney houston, only times one thousand?!?

does no one just sing, anymore?

well, i don't know if you would call it that, but i just sing.

darth sardonic


Saturday, January 13, 2007

aquaman se murio ahogado

courtesy of los paredes in buenos aires.

darth sardonic

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

the saga of a door latch

isn't it amazing that something as mundane as the inner door latch mechanism of a '92 honda prelude driver's-side door could even warrant a saga?

maybe only in my tiny universe, where the the very miniscule globber of leftover conditioner caught in the tub drain gets noticed, but hey, what else do i have?

i loaned my car to a mate to use whilst hers was in the shop one night. upon returning it, she texted me: "your door is weird", and with these four boring words, i launched on what has become a now-6 day adventure i could've completely done without.

my friend couldn't get the door open. she tried unlocking it, inside and out, but it still acted like it was locked tight. the next morning, i managed, completely by accident, to get it open and pulled the panel off. i tinkered with things until i had it fixed.

i thought. i spent the better half of a day fucking around with that, and comme ce comme ca, killed the battery and quit in frustration.

so that night we took it over to my pal g's, and he and i dicked around with it in his crowded garage, to no avail.

so i call around to salvage yards to locate myself a cheap replacement, and find one that might have what i need. that night, i sleep extremely poorly, haunted by nightmares of never getting the door to shut right, or if i do, never getting it open again.

so tired, and loopy, i venture out into the driving rain on my own in 20 acres of wrecked vehicles, armed only with a soggy piece of paper delineating in cyrilic (apparently) where to find the cars that might bear the part i need, a screwdriver, and a can of wd-40. about a half-hour into it, and soaked to the skin, i find what i need. pleased as punch, i pull the part and dance my way back to the car and call g and say i am on my way.

the part is not an exact fit, but g and i push and pull and dent and ding and get it in and working. except the striker bar is now too wide for the latch mechanism. i sigh one of those sighs.

i am now completely beat to hell, coughing, aching in absolutely every spot on my body, exhausted, and my right hand is a network of angry red cuts, and i now have to venture back into the wreckage to pull the striker post off of the car from which i lifted the latch.

but the next morning, the screws are immobile. i sweat, curse, and end up damn near stripping them out. frustrated, and with throbbing hands, i stand upright and look around me.

"hey!" i think, "there is a prelude right there." i walk over to inspect it, and turn around to glance back at the vehicle i have been working on.

"fuck me gently with a chainsaw, it's an acura!" apparently, i am unable to tell an acura from a honda when they have no front end. which would explain why the part is not an exact fit.

now i am simply waiting for the part to arrive from a seller on ebay, and healing, and hopefully i will be rid of this whole pain-in-the-ass door latch problem for good.

but by christ, these past several days have been a colossul fezzle for me.

can any of you non-existant readers remember when music was dangerous? yeah, me neither. we all think the new stuff we listen to is dangerous and pushing the envelope, but really it is just doing the same thing music has done since the dawn of time: entrance and sometimes engender feelings of fear.

yeah, anyways.

darth sardonic

Friday, January 05, 2007

lady justice's scales seem lopsided

unless you have, like myself, been living in a box for the past month (and no, to all the people who care about me, no, i have not been really living in a box), you now know that saddam hussein is dead (so is james brown, so if you're a fan of early 90's techno, the song is now actually correct). this all seems a bit surreal to me. in my opinion, saddam hussein is a bigger household name than britney spears, and now he has been executed.

don't get me wrong, i am not mourning the loss. he was a tyrant and killed his own people because their branch of religion was not exactly the same as his. he created weapons of mass destruction. of course, there is no evidence that any of this has happened more recently than about the same time the aforementioned techno song was popular.

so i guess that means a bad man has been removed from power. good job, we should pat ourselves on the back.

now i would like to know what the fuck we are going to do about the bad men in darfur? this shit is happening right now! are we going to wait ten years, then go stomping in there and toss ourselves around like bullies and take out the men responsible for the death and rape and mutilation of hundreds of people?

what about osama bin laden? i know, i know, i have laid club to that deceased equine many a time. but it is true. what is being done about that bad man? he attacked us on our own soil, and we have done little but put troops in harm's way.

what about kim jong il? i know, he hasn't done anything to his own people, nor ours yet, but it seems likely he might want to. oughtn't we to be doing some research at least into that field? shouldn't we be letting him know we won't stand for any horseplay?

let me point something out. bush supporters all seem to hate with a passion former president clinton. ok, whatever. and bush supporters all sing the praises of bush's "military leadership" and how he was "the right man for the job" etc etc. no bin laden. and a rather shoddy job of pulling down hussein and cleaning up the subsequent mess in iraq. can i just say that when it was found out that milosovich was killing thousands of his own people and burying them in mass unmarked graves, and raping others, and in general routing them from the country, clinton went in, and milosovich was taken out of power relatively quickly. and the country was turned over to the people to be run by themselves, not us.

if we are going to be the world's police (and we seem hell-bent on making that the case), then by christ, we better get on the goddamn ball. we're like the la cops who beat fuck out of african americans over whatever stupid shit we can fabricate in our heads. in general, cops like that aren't liked by anyone, and always get everyone into trouble.

let's be the kind of cops who take care of the bad men, all of them, and leave everyone else to do their thing in a safer environment.

darth sardonic

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

time magazine named me person of the year...

shit you not. don't believe me, check it out for yourself.

i'll have more soon, but am on my way out the door to sling pizzas.

darth sardonic

Monday, January 01, 2007

throw old things away...

god, i love codiene. the band, not the medicine that induces drowsiness. of course, my wife would say the band induces drowsiness as well. but that is neither here nor there.

out with the old, in with the new.

'06 was a pitiful, wretched excuse for a year, and i say good fucking riddance. (i am actually flipping off the air, or the sky, or god, or maybe just the beams in the ceiling, whatever the case may be.)

i lost my stepdad, made and broke friendships within months, joined a band that changed rosters three times and then fell to shit after writing a couple songs and not-quite-perfecting alot of covers, got screwed over by my brother (blood is thicker than water my cracker ass); who then subsequently fucked my mother over and then landed in jail on unrelated charges, moved 3 times in six months, suffered monetary hardship, cried alot, wisht i'd die alot, and felt guilty for shit that was not really my fault, and over which i had little or no control.

of course, as with anything in life, it was not all bad. i gained a renewed respect and admiration for my mother, made some strong and lasting friendships, grew musically and learned to trust my instincts on the bass and guitar, and, frankly, that i am actually pretty talented (don't worry, i won't let it go to my head), wrote my brother right the fuck off, and helped my mother to do the same (time he fucking grow up on his own, prick), got a great house on base wherein i can live without relying upon others for my continued existance here, knocked down some bills, laughed excessively, loved life extensively, and decided to live my life for me and quit worrying about what others expect of me.

here is why '07 is going to be so much better: our house in new mexico is rented, and the renters might be interested in buying, and around the time they would be, we will be ready to sell, and the new property manager has her head on her shoulders as opposed to adjoined to her hip-bones like the last one. my wife is off her profile, and will be leaving for the sandbox. and while that is bittersweet (i am going to miss her insanely, but have a strong network of friends who will keep me from getting too depressed), she won't be anywhere near the warring, and we will pay off several more bills, and will start to be able to breathe. it will also give me a big break from the inner circle of calzone hell, which i plan to use working on music (i may even already be in another, more established band--as well as on the verge of being ready to start recording my own solo stuff) and my novel. both of my adorable and ridiculously cute kids are making huge leaps and bounds in their progress towards catching back up to the status quo. a buddy of mine is going to teach me to ride motorcycles this summer, and then he and i are going to build a bass from scratch (i have already put together a guitar for him out of some parts i had laying around--yes, some people have jars of nuts and bolts, or spare car parts, i have guitar stuff), and then we will probably build me a bike.

the sky's the fucking limit!

as an aside, absinthe is crazy-strong-tasting stuff. i love, and i mean loooooove anise, but god DAMN, there is such a thing as too much. needless to say, new year's eve was a blast!!

and i want to take this moment to say thank you to all of you non-existant readers. this blog, quite literally, keeps me sane.

darth sardonic