nine years old.

we had a Perfect Fall Day like no other.
jenny, jimmie, me, and jess-
and my homeboy steve rovetti took the polaroid.
it was a many many cameras kind of day,
and dudes were hittin' up new england woodsly goodness in it's fullest fall glory.
a late brunch fueled us up for the funtime festivities,
waterfalls and mountainsides were explored and enjoyed.
we chugged hot mulled cider & doughnuts;
spanned a trussed bridge from 1906, and train tracks-
and the scenic railroad train showed up, passing closer than a 'stand by me' moment...
for dinner, we decimated and digested a double dose of delicious vegan baked ziti,
and apple crumbly hottness was baked for dessert.
then we closed out the night with a little 'it's always sunny in philadelphia'.
the whole season 3 boxed set.
perfect. like i said.

today is my anniversary.
and in a way, my birthday.
flashback to 1999.
my brother-in-arms, a fellow hamden warrior,
mr. P. Mitch Gibbs, let me doo-doo this doodoo on him:

my very first shot at tatblastin' and zappin' on it.
9 muthaflippin' years ago.
until that minute, warrior poetry had eluded me.
and during the next 180 minutes a clumsily composed first attempt at battle-bard beatboxing ensued.
thank goodness for metal mitch and his thighs of steel endurance.

bloody teeth type sh!t an' that.
the hamden warriors repped on a hard style, my ninjas.
eric merrill, cyclist, sat in on the big action,
and then left to play a little playstation- i'm talkin' on some o.g. pro skater.
can you blame him?
kickflippin' video games are infinitely more entertaining than watching tattoos happen.
the tattoo took 3 flippin' hours, after all.

c'mon.
just look at that nervous little guy.
who could've guessed that this experiment would end up as woodsly and good as it has?
before that day (today), there was no (crucial) albie rock.
and since then, there's only ever been a little too much.
which is exactly the correct amount.
you'd better believe i am grateful for the time i have been given.
happy birthday to me,
and happy anniversary to us.
i'm nine years old today, in berserker battle-beast years;
i'm reflecting in retrospect on the bumpy road i've been wild ridin' down-
nostalgia, you can guess, is an historian's nemesis and a real-life documentarian's best friend.
that's the nature of the game, son.
tonight, therefore,
i AM going to party like it's 1999.
louder and harder than prince and his minneapolis midgetry ever did.

from then until now,
always an epic sphincter-splitting a-hole.
luckily,
fortune favors the bold.
so let's have a rousing chorus of balls-out axe swingin',
and ac-dc hot fire spit singin',
because boldness keeps it constant, and keeps it real.
everything changes, and nothing changes.
how else we gonna live our lives,
but as a loud and proud woodsly wrecking ball...
this is what it sounds like when doves cry, b!tches;
never quiet, never soft....