what you've missed since last post...

a brief disjointed stream-of-conscious barrage of what's been going on in my world since last i posted: with all the traveling i have done on my own for tatts n sundry stupidity, i had completely forgotten how great it feels to fly with my wife's head resting on my shoulder and her hand resting on my knee. nothing says "i love you" like lopping off part of your pinkie or your ear to give to the object of your affection. dashing through the hallowed and hollowed halls of learning like a crazed dostoevsky on crack. the interceptor corners like it is on rails and i can cloverleaf from 55 on one highway to 55 on the bisecting highway without ever letting the speedometer drop. mr mc if you are reading this; sorry, not everything i write can be magical gems of literary greatness. i don't wanna end on a downer so here, right in the middle: i promise not to forget, to never forget. ten years; ten years and every one of them a wonderful time and i can still remember how hot she looked in her cream dress on the back side of a dirty little park in portland, or. here's to ten more, followed by ten more, followed by ten more, followed by... silly hats with jdot rdot in vegas after some fifteen years of not hanging out. it's all about the onion at the bottom of the glass. sneaking out in the middle of the night to skinny dip under the full south carolina moon in full view of any neighbors who cared to look. turbulence can be fun. i am already semi-putting together another magnum crappus that will be made up of posts about pierce county and traveling back to pierce county; unfortunately for you, the beloved non-existent readers, it will be almost completely compiled of posts from this dirty little grease-spot on the world wide web. my wife's friends c&k who are cool as hell and hope to see you again in a few months. still no word on when The Unfinished Work will be available, though i have been assured there has been a rush put on it (yeah, yeah, i aint buying it either). "are the hookers there yet?"

'Cause I'm the most boring sons-a-bitch you've ever seen

i know i know.

it's been forever. i know. and furthermore, i haven't read any of you, the beloved non-existant reader's, and pal of mine's blogs in even longer. if this makes me a prick, i am truly sorry.

but the truth is, my life boils down to work, school, eat, sleep, fight urge to kill kids.

mini-blogs with a side of sarcasm to catch you up on the highlights of my life since i last posted:

Will be Steven's last night in town...

s the guitarist shows up around three, and promptly stops off in the kitchen after a shouted hello from the hallway and poors himself a gin n tonic.

this was the beginning of what was to be our last chance to jam together for what will be at least a year.

we shoot the shit over a drink or two (s is downing them fast, i still have some things to do before i can really tuck in), discussing what s' vision is for the songs he had written, recorded, and sent to me via email while in training for his new job. how did he want the bassline to go on this song? how i really dig the feel and lyrics on that one.

then s the drummer shows up, stick bag and drum throne in hand.

within minutes, we all have drinks in hand, and are tuning up and settling in, and cranking out s the guitarist's tunes in short order.

i've never played music with any group of fellas that could take something and turn it into a rocking song in such a short period of time in my life before. to say that s the drummer and i are going to miss s the guitarist is one helluva understatement.

we blaze through a round of the songs, with breaks to renew our drinks. i make the mistake, early on, of having s the guitarist fix my gnt's. he's quite gin-soaked, and it doesn't take long with him overpouring before i am too.

and as sloppily as we are playing, we are still tearing down the house, m and b and j and sundry others popping in to listen to us beat the living hell out of our songs and our instruments.

here's to many more when s returns.

with some two-string, one-string, no-string guitars...

so i have been wanting a 5 string bass for some time. we recently found ourselves (despite the recession) in a situation where we can afford to get me the one i had been eyeballing for awhile.

it's not the most expensive, not the cheapest, and definitely got good reviews. when it showed up on my front porch as scheduled, in an oversized box, i was like a little kid at christmas time.

black on black, with silver hardware, the thing just looks mean. a quick adjustment, fiddle with the knobs, and the thing sounds fucking mean as well.

a little before i ordered this monfuckingstrosity of bassness, i had finally decided i would retire my broke-necked gibson ripper. i pulled off all the hardware and electronics, until it was just the body and neck. i put this in the garage to toss out with the trash, and kept forgetting.

well, actually, forgetting is probably the wrong word. i would go in, and stare at it. the beat, battered and tough looking bass body that i loved so much, and that had only betrayed me due to a broken piece of thin metal rod that had turned out to be so quintessential to having proper action and intonation...

slowly, surely, like a tiny seed unfurling itself to push away the soil and seek the warmth of the sun and the cleanse of the rain, an idea formulated in my head. i did casual research online. i looked at pics. i browsed websites for the purveyor of quality parts for guitar and bass.

and one day i sprang it on my wife:

"i think i can fix the truss rod in the ripper."

"yeah?"

she knew how much i had agonized over the decision to scale this thing down to scrap. she knew how often i would look at ripper basses online, and that the cheapest ones i had seen were going for 600 bones, and the most expensive were in the range of double that. she knew how much i loved this fat chunk of maple with its patina, its dark stains in all the right places where someone who had loved it dearly had played it regularly and to the point where his or her sweat had changed the color of the wood. she knew i loved every scratch, every ding.

"yeah. i cut out a piece of the fretboard, remove it, cut off the other end, slide the broken rod out. replacement rods are ten bucks on stewmac, slip it in there, screw it into the anchor, cap it, glue the fretboard back in, and viola!"

and thus set in motion a luthier project the likes of which i have never tackled before.

fast forward to today, with said bass laying in the garage waiting for a final coat of lacquer and a sanding and polish.

before i had even glued the fretboard pieces back in, i put the tuners, bridge, and strings back on, and adjusted the truss rod. and nearly cried at how low the action was, and at how well it intonated on my cheap little acoustic tuner.

i have never played this bass with the strings that close to the frets, and the neck as straight and strong as it is today.

and i think there might be a lesson to learn here. when you look at something and finally let it go; finally say, "fuck it, it's junk. it's trash." you find yourself in the odd position of having a multitude of options in front of you: what's the worst that could happen? i completely fuck it up, and i am out ten bucks and a body and neck i had already slated for the recycle bin, and gain valuable experience in the process (i.e. i aint as good at this shit as i like to imagine). the best thing? i get my bass back, only better.

well, she aint gonna win any beauty contests, but she takes what i can give her, and keeps coming back for more...

Won't you believe it. It's Just my luck.
No recess...

college is going well. autocad is coming together to the point where i don't even think about half the commands i am using to create something that a moment before i had looked at and thought: "oh shit, this is gonna be hard."

and the computer class i thought was gonna give me troubles had its first tests this week. i am pulling a solid 90% as we speak.

'You're a hyperactve child
You're disruptive, you're too wild...'

no. 1 is on a new adhd medication. and the transformation was immediate. better handwriting, and he pays better attention in school and calms down faster and is easier to talk to.

so there is the light at the end of that tunnel. which means, o my beloved non-existant readers, my droogs and only friends, another big long dark fucking tunnel is just around the bend...

still no news on The Unfinished Work. i know, i know, it's not my fault though. and no, i am no further on The Island of Misfit Toys than i was last time i talked about it. but i haven't forgetten...

i will do my best to be a little more regular and interesting with my posting.

darth sardonic

best wishes have been made...

my wife turned--err, well, that is to say, her birthday was saturday.

we have many, and i mean several, friends born in the month of november, and my wife decided to throw a big shindiggity to honor them all.

which means we had people come in from all over. my wife's good friend from portland, m. (designated m-p from now on), our friend from sg and port st lucie, m (m-psl), another friend of ours from sg and indiana (m-i) (if you're not confused now, you should be), our buddy q from orlando, and another friend, s, from tampa. (the house was full, and my wife asked me how it is that i always end up being the only guy surrounded by hot chicks. i replied it was a real talent, lol.)

jello shots and fingerfood were made. daiquiris were blended (m-p only drinks strawberry daiquiris). m-i maintained a chat and cam on her laptop while we all dashed about getting ready.

the cove was full. food abounded. drinks were consumed.

me n my guitarist (who plays a little of everything) jammed. (our drummer showed up late, and so we weren't able to all jam together.) s, m-psl, and m-i chatted (and quite possibly flashed body parts) on cam.

we ended up climbing up on top of the rv that b had parked in the driveway to house a few of the visitors. yours truly managed to do it with his drink still in his hand. we sat up there, laughed, posed for pics, convinced others to join us, and in general had fun, until q thought it would be funny to start rocking the rv. that part of the party ended pretty quickly thereafter.

one of our female neighbors gave my wife a lap dance (i forgot to ask if my wife liked it), and her hubby and j flashed the goat to the entire outside. (i, fortunately, was in the man room twanging my bass.)

my guitarist called anyone who wouldn't join him for jello shots "pussies" and kept dragging us back for more. i've only a hazy and dimly lit recollection of just how much whiskey and vodka mixed with ground horse's hooves i consumed.

we danced, we laughed. some drama ensued, but was kept to a minimum.

q kept trying to convince me to do a boxer run. which we used to do in washington, when i had a fenced-in back yard. running around with only cotton between me and my bits and all and sundry didn't really appeal to me, plus the cops do patrol, and know we are the party cove, so they are always checking us. i really don't need to be arrested for indecent exposure.

as the hours began to be wee, one by one we stumbled or crawled off to our respective beds. m-psl went to sleep on the couch with her glasses still on. s n q wandered off towards the camper with their bodies in contact of some sort the whole way. (the next day, the rv rocking would be blamed on the wind, but we know better, don't we, o beloved non-existant readers? heh heh.) m-i and i stayed up just a bit longer, talking.

the next morning the kids would wake me much too early, and my headache would only dissipate when i had eaten two bowls of cereal and a large glass of water and a cup or two of coffee.

a good time was had by all.

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

sometimes coming up with a suitable title is a royal pain in the ass

first, happy thanksgiving one and all. here's to being thankful for the things in our life every day of the year, and not just on the day marked on the calendar. and now, the post i've been meaning to post:

every so often you find yourself in a location and situation and time when things seem simple, when life is mostly smooth and bearable, and whose memories you will always view with rose-colored glasses.

such was our time at eielson afb, ak. this wouldn't actually always be the case. we hated fairbanks. the cold. the lack of things to do. the long (8 hours) drive to the nearest decent-sized city with things to do.

but when we left, we realized that never since have we had such close friends, and such good times, as we did while we were living in north pole.

the winters were harsh. harsh like rubbing a sore spot on your arm. with a zester. then washing it with bleach and lemon juice. 50 below, snow in the first weeks of september and piling up constantly till may, two hours of daylight harsh.

thrust into this, virtually against their will, several hundred active duty military people from all climes and walks of life, and an interesting thing happens:

they told us that our squadrons would be like our families. i sneered, since previously my sqadrons had been about as far-removed from family as humanly possible. and considering the people i had so far met in my own squadron, i doubted i was going to be very close to my "family" here as well.

but in alaska they are fond of saying, "it's not what you know, it's who you know." i made friends with this person, who knew that person, who roomed with this person from ammo.

and ammo were the partyers. if you knew an ammo person, your weekends were chock full of drinking and silliness, shouting matches, telling a funny story in front of twenty people who would laugh their ass off not just because you're funny, but because you are family.

that is not to say that all these friends were the kinds of friends you would have forever. many of them were good friends while we were all there. a handful are still excellent friends with whom we have bent time and space to maintain contact.

somewhere between the "alaska only friends" and the "forever adhesive mates" fell f.

f worked in my wife's squadron, and could be counted on for funny stories, and good discussion. he was simultaneously extremely intelligent and very street-wise. his lingo would crack me up, being from an inner city. (i once told him that i used my own slang, rather than trying to talk "street." because me being a white guy made it difficult for me to say things like "a'ight" and "bling bling" and not sound ridiculous and poser. f being who he is, he smiled and laughed and nodded knowingly, and said, "you gotta be yourself, man, and everyone can respect that.") f always laughed at my stories, finding my droll-to-frenzied manic dry style very funny.

my wife im's me from work and says: guess who i just talked to on the phone

ghandi? william shatner? my mom?

f!!

no way

yes, i KNOW

no fucking way how is he?

he is here

here here?!?

for an inspection

it went without saying that f was coming over for dinner that night.

how wonderful it is when you can sit down with someone you haven't seen in several years, and it is as if the last time you talked was a few weeks ago. so much has happened in our respective lives in the interim, but there i was telling a story about battling with the kids to get them into bed, and there was f, laughing loudly and slapping his thighs and saying, "darth, you haven't changed one bit, man, one bit."

and coming from f, this is a great compliment. we laugh and swap stories, past present and future. looked at photos, reminiscing, discussing where the paths our lives have followed since we parted ways.

and somehow those long friday nights in another state in another time were combined with the tuesday night here, and we laughed and drank and smiled and chatted and it was as easy as it used to be.

darth sardonic

I Sink Deep 30,000 Feet Into My Window Seat..Electric Chair

the first time i talked to j, i was drunk and naked.

during the time that the wife was gone, i chatted alot at sg, and am always on cam when i chat. this particular night, i was lonely, bored, maybe a bit attention-starved, and drinking.

i usually have the same viewers, people i chat with regularly, and they goaded me into taking my clothes off (honestly, they didn't have to goad very hard), and it is really symbolic more than anything, because excepting an occasional flash of my butt when i am off for another drink, they only see my bare shoulders. my wife just laughed (we were swapping emails, and i told her) and asked me if i was "driving the chicks wild?"

on this night, through the gin-haze, i saw a new viewer.

i always talk to my viewers, which usually scares them off, but j chatted back.

from these humble (and extremely dubious) beginnings, a strong friendship was built on mutual understanding, meaningful conversations, and similar senses of humor.

meeting j in person in vegas only strengthened this friendship, and plans were made for me to take a long weekend to visit her again in texas.

and so it was that i found myself at seatac, a mere two gates down from the one where my wife and kids hugged so hard and we all cried just a few months prior, properly equipped with dressy clothes for taking j out for sushi (i owed her from vegas, i got too stupidly drunk to take her out for late night sushi), a camera for recording our silliness and shenanigans, and hunter s. thompson's the rum diary.

i feel i should write the weekend down, until i see that pads of paper were pushing three dollars at the little convenience store nearby. everything is ridiculously expensive at the airport, so strangely confined is it once one passes through the security gate.

i text j from denver and then miss her return call while i wait for them to call out the number for my large but overpriced chilli cheesedog and chips.

i tell her my flight out of denver was delayed twenty minutes, which would actually work out perfectly since her evil boss won't let her off work a little early to pick me up from the airport.

and then there i am, bag in hand, on the sidewalk outside baggage claim, talking to j on the phone as she rounds the corner behind some taxi vans.

we smile, and hug, and set off in her car, laughing and catching up quickly on events, j dashing and dodging crazy texas drivers while i repeatedly grab the oh shit handle despite my best efforts to pretend to remain calm.

after picking up her kids, we decide to get some dinner, j still smelling of work and me still smelling of airplane.

i play hangman with her oldest, share my crawfish ettouffe, we listen to a skinny kid with glasses and a goatee play heartfelt songs from the late 90's on an acoustic guitar sans applause or cheering, while j's youngest repeats "pizza. pizza." as he chews tiny pieces of the house pepperoni.

after a quick stop for sailor jerry rum and tom collins fixings, we clean up, invite one of her friends, a, over for drinks and hanging out, and set to launching the evening.

a is a pleasant-enough guy, and we talk and drink and smoke and attempt to chat (it is on, and the cam is going, but we aren't really paying much attention) while watching slc punk. because j had made the mistake of a.) having me fix her first two drinks and b.) telling me she liked them strong, she was clearly entering the danger zone of being too drunk to enjoy the remainder of her evening. luckily, my wife has sent her cookies vacuum-sealed into plastic bags in my luggage, and the oatmeal and raisins and a few glasses of water bring her back from the brink of disaster about the same time a has to leave so he can sleep. (he has a band thing the next day--he is a music teacher at a school in dallas.)

j and i stay up talking, until it is clear we should get some rest. despite the fact that j had said it was cool, (bring a jacket, it is getting cold. little did i know, it was going to be in the 80's and mostly sunny the whole time i was there.) and the complete comfortableness of her couch, i am warm, and keep waking up.

the next day, we go to the stockyards, an old fort worth bit of history, and take pictures of ourselves in front of a statue of a bull being wrangled by a cowboy, dodge a train, joke about how drunk i got in vegas, watch a real c&w band in a record store, j asking me if i wanted to dance, and me telling her i would two-step her ass all around the store. to which she replies that if i try to dance her ass around, she will kick mine.

her oldest drags me into a human-sized maze they had set up there and promptly ditches me, only to appear on the observation deck later and try and talk me through it.

then home, to get dolled up and go out for the sushi that i owe her.

after dinner, we go out to a's place in dallas, me whistling the theme from the old nighttime soap while we drive between the tall buildings.

a and i play alkaline trio tunes on his guitars, until it seems to me that j was getting a bit bored, then it is time to get back and get j's kids.

as we drive down the street that used to be the happening place for the dallas music and art scene, j confides in me that she feels too old to be involved in the hep stuff, not pretentious enough to be a scenester. i have never considered myself a scenester. i like what i like. then i point out that the lady's nose on the painting hanging in a gallery window was poorly drawn. "this from the guy who hasn't even drawn or painted anything serious for about five years, and has never had a painting hanging in a gallery at all." i quickly quip, hoping to soften my criticism.

but i feel a shifting in the mood of the evening. with me. in general. i'm not sure.

at j's house, we drink, and talk. but it isn't lighthearted as it was the night before. j keeps saying she wants to do something fun as a and i talk about politics and conspiracy theories. because she keeps bugging me about it, and in an attempt to bring some levity to the evening, i don one of j's dresses.

it doesn't change the darkening mood, however. i am trying to decide if the mood is just within myself, or in general. but i am tipsy, and tired.

j has me take pictures of her tattoos to send off to a magazine, but because we are both drunk, and the lighting is poor, and i am not a photographer (and she forgot to take the tag off the top she had picked up earlier at the store), she's not happy with any of them.

then a is vehemently attacking boxing and modest mouse (both things that j loves) and calling one of my chat friends "fat", and j is getting upset, and i find myself getting angry and belligerant, partly because neither one of them are letting me get to the point of what i am saying, which is causing j to misconstrue my explanation, and in turn is causing her to lump me in with the things that a is saying.

the mood is getting ugly. deep within myself i am realizing i am too tired and tipsy to continue like this much further. a backs down some. j calms a little.

a is too drunk and tired to drive back home, and lays down in j's bed, who will take the floor in one of her son's rooms, and i put on my jammers to lay on the couch.

j is going to come back out in a moment to talk to me some before i go to bed, but i am angry. with myself. for getting argumentative. for not being my usual jovial self. while she is getting a and herself settled, i decide i might need a smoke and a moment to talk myself down.

she finds me in the garage. we both admit that we are tired (it is now nearly four in the morning). i am trying to keep the nastiness of my mood hidden. in my head i am having flashbacks of rudehead and austin, and simultaneously trying to convince myself that i am overreacting and that none of this is on that level (and it isn't--i need to make an aside here and point out that when i get very tired, even without the presence of alcohol, i begin to overthink things, and i get a certain angry paranoia. i know this about myself. i hate this about myself), but part of my brain is pissed and won't be calmed.

i finally convince myself that sleep is the best thing, but it takes me some time to settle, and during that time, i get suddenly and inexplicably homesick for my family.

i wake up in time for j's oldest to make me toast, and catch a before he leaves. despite the lingering shades of last night's moodiness within my own head, i smile pleasantly and shake his hand and say how nice it was to meet and we will talk again soon.

j says ihop is in order, and we head out.

after we order, j says, "you sure are salty this morning."

"what do you mean?"

"i was trying to talk to you in the car, but you were snappy."

i am embarassed. i really wanted to keep last night's stupidity and this morning's leftovers of said stupidity to myself. but i love j for having tackled the very thing that was weighing on my mind this morning.

"i was only kidding about some of the stuff i said last night." she continues, "and when i found you smoking in the garage, i thought you were mad at me. i didn't want to be hanging around."

"i wasn't mad at you. i was mad at myself. for being such a prick last night."

"yeah, that whole thing just came out of nowhere. you guys were picking on me."

"i wasn't picking on you. well, maybe some at some points. but mostly i was trying to agree with you."

"hmm. yeah, you were. you got so mad because you said i wasn't letting you make your point."

i smile sheepishly and hang my head. "that was around the time i decided i was really tired and needed to get to bed. sorry."

and as simply as that, even before our food had arrived, everything that was bothering me the night before is fixed, and gone, shrugged off.

j needed to do grocery shopping, and so i accompany her to wal-mart. she says, "'oh what a fun time i had with j, shopping at wal-mart.' how boring."

i laugh, tell her it is ok.

after we put the groceries away, we load my bag in the car, and head to cabela's to wander around their superstore. j gets a roast beef sandwich, and i a wild boar sandwich. we decide to trade one half of our sandwiches with each other, and while we eat, j's oldest talks about the shooting range they have set up. it is a diorama decorated with targets that are lazer sensitive and equipped with "rifles" that emit the lazers.

j brags about how she had bb guns as a kid, and how well she can shoot.

we hit the range. j asks me if i want to have a competition. i smile and say sure, and we choose adjacent guns.

i am not necessarily the best shot. i know it. i also tend to not be very competitive. but i have fired guns ranging from small semiautomatic pistols (for shooting halibut when you are deep-sea fishing so they don't tear up the boat, or that is the story i got from my scoutmaster) to .45 caliber black powder revolvers, to 30-06's, to .270's. i qualified on the m-16 at basic. our scout troop owned two black powder rifles.

"i got 120, beat that." j says.

i have 80 points, and 8 shots left.

"there," i say, "one-sixty."

"whatever." j says, rolling her eyes.

"again?"

this time the score is j-140, me-160 again. i smirk my smile.

j and i have a last smoke of the weekend, and then i regail her with stories of "daddy, i don't wanna fut off" and broken pees, and string hanging from butts as we all laugh and barrel down the freeway.

hugs and smiles and waves and promises that the wife and kids and i will visit on our way through to florida in a month or two, and then up the escalator to my flight.

in a strange twist of fate, i fly into the same gate in denver that i flew out of two days prior.