out of the frying pan and into the fire

i hate doing yard work in florida.

i have recently taken up pipe smoking.

are the two related? hmm, maybe, maybe not. you get to be the judge. but if you study your psychology to any extent, you could almost say that "b" follows "a" like a connect-the-dots (so i guess that would make it "2" follows "1" but whatever.)

as i said, i hate doing yard work in florida. here's why. but get settled in, o beloved non-existent readers, get comfy. make sure you have your coffee or tea or tom collins or whathaveyou ready. without any further delays, here's why: the "grass" on my little sandbar of florida is a grass/weed hybrid that grows well on the sandy soil. as long as it gets regular water, and an overabundance of shade. anywhere else in the world, the shade would be doable, but since the only trees that grow on this spit of land are palm trees, and there aren't too many of those, the only part of my lawn that flourishes is the part that gets shaded by the three palms that occupy my yard, and the front, which is shaded by the house.

so when i mow, i am actually doing two things besides maintaining my rampant weed grass at an acceptable height (which, i can assure you, the beloveds, is a good two inches taller than your lawn, because if we cut the hybrid too low, it dies): 1) i am further killing the areas that don't grow well to begin with due to overexposure to the sun, and 2) i am kicking up an inordinate amount of sandy dust that sticks to everything on my person, mainly because it is already 95 degrees out at ten in the morning with a humidity percentage of the same, and i am already covered in sweat at the very thought of getting the mower out of the garage.

another disadvantage to doing yard work on a sandbar is the only thing maintaining ground stability is the aforementioned weed grass. anywhere that the "lawn" is not doing well is a shifting pit of sand. so turning a heavy lawnmower in these areas is extremely hard on my hands, shoulders, hips and knees.

now, for those of you, the beloved non-existents, who have been passing by this thistle bur lodged in the foot of the world wide web for several years (which i am pretty sure is absolutely no one anymore) or the ones that read my history to get caught up to date (which is one or two of you probably), you will know that i actually really like yard work. enjoy it. one could even say look forward to it. so, having said that, we know that it is yard work specifically in florida that i hate.

the yard needed some tending to bad though. so i set out. now, because it was already like a sauna at ten, this involved weeding the beds, and then coming inside for a half hour and drinking water. then going back out and edging. then coming back into the ac and drinking water. then limping back out to mow and sucking down clouds of sand whilst sweating gallons and damn near passing out from heat exhaustion as i finished up the last of the back yard. then coming inside, sitting for quite some time without moving much except to pour water down my unwilling throat. i didn't even have the energy to eat, though i probably needed it something fierce.

again, this is called heat exhaustion.

later on in the afternoon when the temperatures calmed somewhat, i was feeling better, and sat out on the front porch with a pipeful of vanilla cavendish. i took my time, savored the smoke, relaxed, beamed upon the hard work i had done and the fruits of my labors. when i was through, i tapped out my bowl in the corner of one of the flower beds nearest my chair.

our friends q n j came over to hang out with us, and we were talking and waiting for my wife to come home from work when the doorbell rings. it is one of the neighbor's teenage sons, and he says, "is your yard supposed to be on fire?"

yes, fire. yes, though technically not the yard so much that one small corner of the flower bed, which currently has a small, 8-inch diameter blaze spiking up redly from the mulch and a defunct sprinkler head that is now a black, foul-smelling wad of goo with a spring launching like a rocket from the center.

"umm, no, no it's not."

i douse the flames, and the mulch for a few inches around the burnt patch, remove the spring and melted head, and laugh with the neighbors about my bad luck.

the neighbor says, "i go out with kindling, starter fluid, dry wood, and a grill lighter and can't get a fire started, you tap out some ash, and poof!"

exactly.

so obviously an ashtray is in order, is it not, o beloved non-existent readers?

what was funnier was that i was pontificating wildly with q n j about the bruiser of a reactionary tizzy that my wife would throw upon noting the burnt patch and discovering its origin. i opined that she would probably set an immediate ban on pipe smoking of any sort, and then proceed to stomp around the house and take several minutes to calm back down to her usual jovial self.

is it bad that i am just a little disappointed that she walked right past the still-smelly black patch without noticing, and then when i outed myself in a case of complete honesty and full disclosure her reaction was simply, "well, i guess you'd better start keeping a coffee can out there, huh? goofball."

ultimately, i am happy that no serious damage was done (though i am thinking i should buy a cap for the sprinkler head just in case anyone ever decides to turn the water back on), and that no one was hurt, and that i learned my lesson and my wife blew it off like water off a duck's back.

and thanks for letting me be the doof here and playing along.

also, my friend melly is doing as well as can be expected on a barrage of chemo, and is being well-taken care of. thank you to all of you who are out there and still read who might've sent positive energy or prayers or whatever communication with deity that you personally believe in on her behalf. or just in general, cause i believe that taking a moment out of your day to think, "man, i hope the people out there that are in need of comfort, love, health, and strength are getting their needs met" counts.

damn, now the back of my throat burns. i am such a bawlbaby.

darth sardonic

I see some old friends riding down the street/on the bikes we used to ghostride on the playground...

...but I broke my bike last fall
and my parents were appalled
at my lack of respect for personal property

well, i have never pretended my powers of observation were anything but superlame. as i sat at this very computer, posting on my blog, and staring out the sliding glass doors into our back yard and the small field that slopes away and then up again on the other side and wishing i had a hill...

yeah. exactly.

needless to say, the boys and i went out in the gorgeous sun in our back yard and i put my oldest on his bike at the top of the slope, and gave him a gentle shove and watched him steer and peddle for at least a good twenty feet before cranking a hard left and toppling over, giggling the entire time.

we did this for an hour. he was sweaty and grinning from ear to ear. so was i. (grinning from ear to ear, i wasn't nearly as sweaty as he was!)

the only dark smudge on the afternoon is when no. 2 wanted to try the two-wheel bike, and went two feet before jamming the handlebars to one side and then trying to dive off the bike as it fell and landing upon one of the now upjutting bars, knocking the wind out of himself, scaring the shit out of me, and quite clinching the fact with all and sundry that i don't yet need to remove his training wheels.

and we are just in from repeating the scenario again today.

and no. 1 is just a few feet away from having discovered a freedom he has only dreamt of.

darth sardonic

All I wanna do is...

...Bicycle bicycle bicycle

my mother and father divorced when i was five. my father moved out, and my mother, sister, brother and i continued to occupy the house we were renting.

this meant that he wasn't around to teach me how to ride a bike.

the neighborhood was ideal for bicycling around to parks and each others' houses, and my friends and i often did. but i was the only one of my friends who did not have a bike, due to a lack of sufficient funds. this didn't slow me down, however. i usually rode my shiny red tricycle that had survived my toddler years. at age 7, i was too big to ride it proper, but rather would put one foot on the step that crossed the frame between the two back wheels, lean over to hold the handlebars, and push with the other foot, much like a skateboard or the scooters of today.

naturally, i suffered a fair amount of ribbing for my mode of transportation.

i often passed this along to my mom. eventually, i goaded her into purchasing a used bicycle. (it is even possible someone from her work or church donated it to what they (and i--and no doubt my mother as well) felt was a good cause.) i can't remember if stores even sold bicycles with training wheels in that prehistoric time, the year of our lord 1979, or if this faded yellow, rust-pocked miscreant had ever sported them, but if so, they were long gone.

as my mother spent her spare time either cleaning house or sleeping, i needed someone to teach me to ride the thing. one of the neighbors' sons was a dashing, intelligent, mature, god-like strapping lad of 16 who was kind enough to lend me a hand. the neighbor's side yard sloped gently to a chain link fence that enclosed the back yard, and this seemed the ideal spot.

the teen would give me a shove, i would roll wobblingly down the lawn only to be brought to a jarring halt either by an unexpected impact with the lawn, or the fence. no doubt the first few runs were of the former sort due to my inability to keep the bicycle upright. but i do remember several "successful" runs of about fifteen feet that left me with no greater injury than whiplash.

yesterday, i took the boys outside to enjoy the sunshine, and they clicked helmets onto their heads, and began riding around our cul de sac. as they played, some acquaintances from school rode up, notably training-wheel free, and after making snide and snarky comments about my boys not being able to ride "two-wheel bikes," rode off.

no. 1 insisted he was ready, parroted by no. 2, and although i knew better myself, i grabbed a wrench and shifted the training wheels back so they would offer little resistance. i recommended the grassy yard to no. 2, who demonstrated an inability to do anything beyond moving the bike forward six inches with both feet on the ground pushing. i moved his training wheels back to perpendicular, and sent him on his way.

but no. 1 is 8, older than my own (rather delayed) biking lessons, so i persevere with him. he is convinced he can do it on his own, but after pedaling only a couple times before falling over, it is obvious he is going to need me to do the fatherly thing and run along holding onto him until i feel i can let him go. after several minutes of him either leaning on me heavily or only riding a few feet before falling over onto one foot, i am worn out, and think it best to continue the bicycling lessons on another day.

what i would give for a hill ending in a fence.

darth sardonic

the expedition to the pole has been rerouted...

my oldest gets off the school bus, and after a few pleasantries, i look him up and down and ask him:

"why, in one of the hottest states in the country, are you dressed like you're going on an excursion to the antarctic?"

"i don't understand what you mean."

"it's, what? 97, 98 degrees outside, and like a million percent humidity with nary a cloud in the sky, and you are wearing shoes, socks, jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket like you're gonna race in the iditarod."

"it's in case it gets cold."

"like through some freak accident the temperature is gonna plummet some 60-odd degrees, just like that [snaps]?!?"

"ummm, i just-- i dont' wanna feel cold."

"ok, man, but drink some water when you get inside so you don't die of heatstroke."

darth sardonic

nothing says "i love you" like a shoe full of swords n spiderman

i am now 38. which doesn't feel much different than 37, except my book is at the publishers, our house in new mexico that has been such a pain in the ass closes out the end of this month (with enough money for us to break even on every house-related loan!) and i am making more money from my gi bill this semester than i thought because the summer semester is accelerated.

nos. 1 n 2 are doing well, except that i think we need to up no. 1's dosage on his adhd medication because his behavior is showing a lack of control that concerns me and needs to be fixed before he starts school again.

and the title? well, today i went to the gym after class and when i put on my running shoe, i felt something:

"what the--?" it was a little plastic lego sword.

spiderman was living in my other shoe.

just those little reminders from afar, "hey, i'm still here, and i still care."

kinda like this post.

darth sardonic

faced

the post i originally wanted to post...

m came up for an extended 4th of july weekend, and on the fifth, we celebrated my bday (late--cause everyone was gone) and two other bdays on the cove, as well as a promotion party for my wife (she made her next rank, and will probably put it on in nov or thereabouts).

the night started off simple enough: more food than a small army of starving teenagers could eat in a month, beer and sundry drinks aplenty, an assortment of people from the cove, my wife's work, and a few hangers on, and warm but not too hot weather.

stir that a bit on simmer, and before you know it, you will have: a rowdy game of spades, a broken glass of gin n tonic, a semi-acoustic jam session (both the drummer and guitarist from my band were there), even though there are still no cymbals on my drumset, laughter, shouts, silliness.

i am eyeballing b's big blow-up water slide.

"that looks like it could be fun."

"it could be." b replies.

"yeah, well, it's all deflated."

"that can be fixed in no time."

"nah, i don't want you to blow it back up just so i can slide down it a few times."

"you really wanna go down it, doncha."

"yeah, actually, i really kinda do."

b is off to turn the blower back on. i am not far behind him, and as i near the kiddie pool, d pulls off his shirt and jumps in.

i jump in right behind him.

within 15 minutes there is not a dry body anywhere. all the men have their shirts off. the women are splashing in the pool or sliding at high drunken speed down the water slide. m removes her bra without setting down her corona, and, more importantly, without flashing any of the drunken half-naked men nearby. j dons her bra and then shifts his shorts down to expose his ass, and runs to dive onto the water slide from the front. i run around and around, up the slide, down so fast that i almost roll right out of the bottom every time, and back around again. small breaks to splash in the pool.

as the buzzes wear off some, and the realization of the chill caused by the night's cool air and the soaking wet bodies sets in, the party evaporates some. m and i need drunken soaking wet pics for posterity's sake, and i need to get to bed, as i still have to get up early and mow grass in a few hours.

darth sardonic

take that jack kerouac

i have loved the beatniks since i was about sixteen and first read howl. i guess one of the things that most attracted me to the beats was their numerous friends all over, and the fact that they would pick up, haul off, buy a broke-down car, and go visit these friends.


it amazes me how easy it is to make friends online. granted, i realize that these friends are a tad two-dimensional in many cases, but as i am discovering as i do my own little beatnik revelry across the country, a small handful of these friends are worth meeting in person, and an even smaller dash of these are worth keeping in contact with forever.


since m lives about an hour away, and is one of the more drama-free characters from sg chat, and has been interested in meeting up with yours truly and my wife since we moved here, and had planned a little get-together at universal studios, we got this rare chance of getting to know one another without the buffer of a computer screen.


last week i drove down to port saint lucie to pick her up (her car is irreparably kaput) for a weekend of hanging out and come-what-may.


and what a weekend we had.


in the car on the way back up we listened to music ranging from sir mixalot's "big butts" to the buggles "video killed the radio star." we forced poor m to hang out at a cove bbq/drinking fest that night for an hour or two before coming back inside and logging into sg chat with all three of us jockying for the tiny square of camspace.


drunken philosophy discussions on the back patio whilst looking at the stars and being amazed at just how much our own personal beliefs were alike. my wife coming down from bed in her pj's and sleep-squinty eyes to ask, "wha're guys doon?"


no. 1 must've discovered his first crush, as he spent the better part of the next morning sitting on m any time she was still. making videos of me destroying cool songs written by people who should've forbad me in their contracts to ever attempt to play their stuff.


the giddy dashing about and getting ready to go out thing that we always do with friends before heading out. "how does this look?" "girl, that is cuuuute!" "how's this?" "is that what you're wearing?" "i guess not."


out to the bars, the first one to play darts (m takes her darts very fucking seriously. i thought i was gonna get shanked), the second cause we hoped they would have good dancing music (they had good drinks instead), and the third for actual dancing, whilst laughing at a few of the crazy inebriated people on the floor (we nicknamed them "jazzercise", "pole dancer", and "micheal jackson") (and m, "hot tits" does not a "cougar" make!). closed the bar down, came home, sacked out, and up again at 5 am to mow the greens for a few hours.

after a long nap, we all load up for the drive to take m back to port saint lucie, leaving behind lots of funny memories, and promises for more ice cream, a strip club, and whatever else next time.

darth sardonic

i am such a lameass

no. 1: "daddy, why do we have pee-pees an' butts?"

me: "so we can go potty."

no. 1: "why do we have school?"

me: "so you can learn to read and write."

no. 1: "why do we have potties in da house?"

me: "so we don't have to go outside to go potty."

in my (failed) first year of college, i often thought my roommate might be a vampire. he had early classes, so would be gone when i would wake up. if the day was sunny (which it was alot), i would throw the blinds up to bathe the room in sunlight. (i love the sun!) when i would come home from class, my roommate would be at his desk studying, the blinds pulled down tight and the room plunged into a dusk that made it hard to see at all.

it is an absolutely gorgeous day out today, so i run through the house throwing open blinds like a crazed maniac. by the time i return, the living room blinds are redrawn (i have a mental image of a piece of paper, eraser crumbs still scattered across it, and a blind penciled in where the original blind had been sketched. english is stupid). i ask no. 1 why he closed the blinds.

"i didn't want to get hot."

this from the kid who wears long-sleeved shirts incessantly. go figure.

a short short (and unfinished and likely to remain that way) short story i concocted the other day when i was bored:

"can i lay down with you?"

"huh?" dan opened his eyes, blinking hard against the sun, to see the owner of the female voice standing over him with a towel and a book.

"can i toss my towel down here next to yours?"

she was standing near his head, and his eyes noted the pink toenails before working their way up her long, tanned legs. she was standing with the classic soft s curve in her back that women employed to thrust the three things that they thought men wanted directly into vision, so his eyes were drawn next to her pudenda, wrapped unabashedly in a triangle of pink cloth, followed by the pink jewel in her navel, and then perky breasts, similarly clad in pink triangles, and finally full, pink lips and his own dual reflection where her eyes would normally be when the sun went down.

"of course, it's a free beach."

the end, sorta. maybe she flirts with him before robbing him blind? maybe he flirts with her before her huge biker boyfriend beats fuck out of him? maybe they fall in love whilst getting caught up in an international plot involving espionage and subterfuge, and rife with double-crosses? most likely, it advances no further than that, because dan is too shy to attempt a play, or even a good line, and she just wanted a quiet place to lay out without being bothered in the first fucking place, and dan seemed just the kind of quiet shy fella to leave her in peace.

why are the whos down in whoville in the old chuck jones cartoon singing to the late great surrealist, dali? i swear, they are singing "salvadore, salvadore, welcome christmas, bring your light."

as far as the interview goes, i couldn't have done it any better and still be yours truly. that is to say, i said a few things that most interviewees probably wouldn't, but then, i am not most interviewees, am i? they said i should hear back in a couple of weeks.

but i will tell ya, o my beloved non-existant readers, between my "impressive resume" and my old supervisor and friend putting in a good word, and me doing the interview to the absolute best of my own (skewed and warped) ability, if i don't get this job, it will be because the time/space continuum would otherwise be fucked and humanity as we know it would cease.

not much else to report so far at this, the last stop before falling into the ocean and being eaten by sharks.

darth sardonic

58 ...and counting

lest you, the o so supportive non-existant reader, begin to think that everything in this blog is doom and gloom and the slow descent into insanity (too late), a post in a lighter vein:

yesterday, we needed to get out of the house. all of us, the kids were going stir crazy, and if i spent another day moping around the house, i might have to put the sharp objects up to remove them from myself.

and since none of my friends had contacted me to see what i was up to, or what we had going on, i decided that a drive to long beach would be good for us. (long beach, washington, on the mouth of the columbia, not long beach, california) so we loaded up the car, and off we went. the kids passed out before we were really even on the road, and the drive was pleasantly therapuetic for me.

the sun was shining, the day was clear, the traffic was relatively mild. i had my eye on the clock, so that we could be back in time for me to exchange emails with my honey whilst she "worked."

since we got a late start, and long beach turned out to be further away than i had anticipated, and for the aforementioned reason, we decided not to plug full on, but stopped at a park on the columbia where people were fishing and laying out.

we found a quiet spot a little ways from the fishermen, and staked a claim.

no. 1 soon waded in deep, soaking all his clothes, and then laid down in the warm sand, turning himself into a largish ball of sticky dirt.

i tried to teach the kids the art of skipping stones, but they seemed more interested in simply throwing large rocks as far out into the water as possible. we watched in awe as a tug pulled a much bigger trade ship along, about a hundred yards out from shore. then no. 2 and i laughed at no. 1's efforts to return a heavy chunk of driftwood back to the river after the waves caused by the passing ships cast it ashore. the boys found a lovely green irridescent dragon fly, and we watched it quietly for several minutes as it fanned it's wings and ignored our existance.

we packed so much fun into such a short time, that if it hadn't been for bad traffic, we would've gotten home a half-hour before i had planned on.

of course, the big nap the kids got in the car assured they didn't go to bed until ten. despite that, they still woke up at five this morning and got crackers, cereal, and cheese (yes, cheese. i don't know either) all over the floor before i pulled myself like a wounded soldier from bed at nine.

but the house is clean. yes, clean. completely. not just like i put the dishes away. or just vacuumed. but all of it. dishes, vacuuming, watering the lawn, laundry (washed, dried, folded, AND put away), and i am thinking that a nap might be in order, or maybe just a good read on my book while the kids make a mess of the backyard and themselves. after they go to bed, i am going to work out, watch movies, shower, shave, chat, email, and god knows what else, considering that the cleaning i would normally do after they go to bed is already done.

why is it that the return trip from somewhere always seems to go faster than getting there in the first place?

and since there seems to be a bit of interest, if i can figure out how, after this last shading session heals, i imagine i can post a pic of the tat work so far. my wife hasn't seen it since the outline and one wing anyhow, and she will need a pic to show her how cool it is coming along.

darth sardonic