To a hopeless cause, I sold my soul

random nonsequitors for the common man:

just a minute ago i saw a commercial for something related to the removal of leg hair on female homo sapiens. the lady was shaving her legs in a mountain brook, all flowy and gurgling. at the end of the commercial, she seems particularly jazzed about the potential staph infection she might have given herself by shaving in rotted trout eggs, algae, and beaver shit.

cause, o my beloved non-existant readers, i personally grew up in mountains, and as an eagle scout, did more than my fair share of camping in said mountains, and know from experience that mountain brooks are not even remotely as virgin and clean as madison avenue makes them appear.

having crusty blood in your ear has serious "sick fun" potential: "shit, man, your music actually made my ears bleed! check it out." i had to pick up a refill for no. 2 a day or two after my surgery, and actually thought, "if this crazy lady gives me any trouble, i hope a gout of gooey blood just pops right out of my ear right as i am beginning to get angry. i could be like, 'look!! look what you've done!' bet i could get all kindsa freebies. wonder if i could make myself bleed from the ears on demand?"

around the cove, guitar hero seemed a common christmas gift. b got his kids guitar hero: world tour, which includes guitars, vocals, and drums. yeah, you can imagine we have been seriously fucking up some cool tunes lately. but yesterday, nos. 1 & 2 really wanted to play, so we set them up, along with the other kids, and had all the kids rotate through a small set of songs. no. 1 did pretty good on the drums (we set them up so all they have to do is hit anything when the line crosses) and no. 2 rocked some bass, but the highlight of the night was watching my oldest sing "the one i love" by r.e.m.

now, it is possible that no. 1 has heard this song. i dig older r.e.m. but he sure as shit hasn't heard it often enough to sing it from memory, unlike, say, "my friend peter" (I don't care who you've been dining with these days/It's more than fair/Much rather be drinking anyways) or "don't call me white" (Does this mean I have to take such shit/For being fairskinned? No!) or "blitzkrieg bop" (Hey ho, let's go/Hey ho, let's go). that didn't stop him from hunching over, one foot forward, eyes and mouth wide ala johnny rotten, meatfisting the mic and putting his mouth millimeters away as he belted out "fiiiiiiiihiiiiiiiihiiiiiiiiiii errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" he definitely has rock star potential.

and since we had removed the colored buttons on the necks of the guitars from the equation, i noticed no. 2 noodling a long, convoluted eddie van halen solo high on the neck as he moved the strum tab back and forth, a look of near-boredom and "i do this shit all the time" dancing across his face.

since i have been incapacitated some, my mom has been doing alot of laundry and dishes. yesterday she says, "honey, can you fold these clothes?" while the cove was getting ready for a little shindiggity and my wife was rolling lumpia. i mean, i really wanted to help and do my part but--

"i would, mom, but that would leave nos. 1 and 2 outside with a fire and only a ring of drunk men to watch them."

i hope everyone had a wonderful christmas, and whatever other holidays you might celebrate. here's to a prosperous and wonderful new year!

darth sardonic

I ain't a part of no conspiracy,

I'm just you're average Joe.

the other day we were listening to nofx in the car, and my oldest sings along:

"don't call me white, don't call me white!"

of course, i crack up.

no. 2 wants to get in on some of the daddy-laughing action, and sings along as well, but for some inexplicable reason, he changes the long i to a double e sound.

so apparently, i have one kid who isn't white, and another who isn't wheat.

what would that make me?

rye, i guess.

thanks for playing along.

darth sardonic

this song is a...

poem to myself,/it helps me to live...

i love brit slang, and kudos to pixie for dropping the phrases that really fit: "barking mad" and "can't be arsed" (or that may have been sparx), and the latest, "knackered."

yes, i have been knackered. still am, actually. and knackered combined with certain outer stimuli, leads to being down.

the kids, and friends' troubles, are but a few of these outer stimuli that lead to negative sensory overload and the resulting funk.

one of my friends is on the mend. the other seems to continue having a rough time, for many reasons, some of which may be her own fault. whatever.

nothing is quite as good at dispelling the funk as the right soundtrack.

because i was grumpy friday, i found an old mix cd i knew to be chock-full of grumpy music that i had made to listen to whilst hauling pizzas prior to leaving pizza hell when the wife left. this cd is a message from the past-me to the present-me. in essence, the past-me said, "it aint fucking worth being this grumpy, but hey, i am gonna help you get ungrumpy in the way that i know works best for us."

the cd starts off with the angry music, which allows me to get mad (though, admittedly, in this case, mad at nothing in particular. just angry in general. which is a natural and necessary follow-on to being in the funk). not sparing the horses while belting out: You had time to waste and I'm not sorry,/such a basket case, hide the cutlery./I had time to kill, it's dead and buried./You've got guts to spill but no one trustworthy is good for the soul, though a tad hard on the vocal chords.

then it handed me a few of my happy songs (most notably, nofx's cover of gin n juice, which i simply can't listen to without smiling), which i had honestly forgotten were on there, and came at just the right time to burn off the remaining anger like cooking wine and taking with it any traces of the funk.

so now i guess i am just plain knackered.

darth sardonic