Monday, August 31

see you in september....

scandalous computer profile pic?
more like an early mornin' brainstormin' session,
complete with thinking cap, and three-pipe problem solvin' preparations.
(that's an a. conan doyle reference, act like you know)
rappin' with urban hip-hop photographer dan dealy
gets results like these.^^^
deep doo-doo, and inglorious calabash bashin'.....

as august slams shut, it occurs to me that it's really over already.
the summer vacation tourist season is done.
slow-driving semi-conscious sightseers are off the roads,
lines at the coffeeshop are short and sweet,
and perhaps most importantly.
little dinner-ruining youngsters are back in school this week,
and back at home for supper at night.
it's sort of sad to see the deserted chernobyl-empty mini-golf spots,
but no so much so to remember how far away the mincey, minky little putt-putters are.
even my own kids started the 3rd and 4th grades today.
that'll put a few more salts in with the pepper on my ever-greyin' dome.

the cool, crisp, bring-a-jacket night air over here is no joke.
i've got dungeons, dragons, zombies, and a thick comforting comforter
all bedside warm and toasty,
ready to keep keepin' me company,
until the bitsy baby bunnies of new month pop up and at 'em.
the slow season this time around seems packed to the t.t.balls with sh!t to do.
that's how it goes, ya'll,
even when it's winding down, it's revvin' up;
never quiet, never soft....

Sunday, August 30

are they the answer?

a mere month into homeownership, ya'll.
that's the count on the calendar.
it feels like a lot longer.
(that's what SHE said)
we've made a little headway into house v. home status.
very little actually.
the hot spots are SO hot.
magma and laserbeam lightning hot, even,
that they more than make up for the weaker sauces and doo-doo buttery bits.
like this mantle of manly monuments, for example.
hydrogen bomb explosions seem like b!tch-sap bang'n'snaps comparatively.
i mean,
antlers, pumpkins, thick woodsly goodness, british lime plaster stucco,
and a backplate of burly bricks?
'splosions of hottness, for sure.
on the left hand side of the picture,
the 1930's wildfowl of the white mountains ceramic tiles can be glimpsed.
that's hottness like the core of the sun or some sh!t,
i'm sayin'.
knick-knacks are for old ladies, ya'll.
barbarian battle-beasts don't collect tchotchkes,
we accumulate curios.
that's man speak for hoarding fresh treats and flavorful objects of interest,
more knack, less knick, or somethin' along those lines.
define it however you'd like,
but i'm still gonna fill that hearthy headway
with headless horns and hollow hallowe'en stuff.
antlers are the answer, or so i've heard,
and in the interest of smarty-pants smart-assery,
i'd like to have a smart answer.
to everything.

the other other side of the kitchen spot is just as fresh as the windows and doors.
yes, those are 140 year old beams.
i know, that's some sh!t.....
we spanned the morning watchin' a truly impressive owl.
that mama-jama perched and preened,
sprayed some doo-doo an easy four foot distance,
and tried to snack up on or little chipmunk homeboy.
happily, our litle lucky rodent dodged, dipped, ducked, and dived for cover,
and the epic airborne predator missed out on snackin' up our buddy.
everybody was happy,
except the owl.
these times are happening.
it's really flippin' freezin' cold up here.
like some 'oh snap!' cold snap nordic-viking-winds-of-change-type business.
thanks heavens for those hot spots, ya'll.
i don't know where the rest of you are,
but i'm at the fire;
never quiet, never soft....

Saturday, August 29

perfect moments....

"you can cover anything with a grizzly bear."
a grizzled grizzly bear of a tatblaster told me that once.
i achieve a zenith,
and cover a grizzly bear WITH a grizzly bear.
that's like the sound of one hand clappin'
to applaud the tree falling in the forest with no one there to hear either.
a perfect zen smoke ring.
voltron fighting optimus prime.
i'm sayin',
it's not even the first time this kind of thing has happened,
but it's still sort of like a complete solar eclipse,
or a 1950's horror movie with carnivorous meteor shower monsters;
you can't look directly at it,
or you'll lose your mind out the back of your face.
believe it.

never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, August 28


berserker barbarian brutality.
like freakin' all the way the F* out, an' that.
it's kinda good for you to do so every now and then.
or every now and every then, even.
how much reaction does it take to warrant over-reaction?
if the situation calls for an even-tempered moderate response,
a well-reasoned reply,
a courteous conversation,
or any non-threatening nuances;
a five on a scale of one-to-ten, if you will;
then the battle bardic warrior poetic level of interaction
requires no less than an eleven.
that's overreaction. and it's the baby bear's porridge amount.
juuuust right.
because after all, too much of a good thing is not ever enough, yeah?
y'hear that?
i'm actually not yelling.
i'm just talking.
but i'm doing it SO hard.

volume, vigor, and virtuosity.
competent communication at full-strength.
heroic boasting is not just for long-dead geats, my duders....
i like my symbolism like cymbal-ism.
the ones the super fatty guy in the marching band rocks.
you know,
the dual discs of destuction that warp the air around the guy,
while he holds on for dear life, with a mutha-flippin' weightliftin' man-girdle on,
to bash and blast the burnished beat-blurry monkeyshiners together.
it's the sound of robot applause, maybe,
a pair of clap-happy slappers salutin' every excellent day with a crashin' batch of smashin'.
all day every day, it's like a party,
which may be why they're also called 'bashes'.
word up.

to insist on, and be assured of motormouthy
mile-a-minute machine gun monotony-mashin' wasn't my original intention,
but as i was clearly on a well-paved highway to hell,
i sipped a souped-up cup of iced coffee.
i asked for decaf,
but what was ordered turned out to be a real-deal dose
of uber-barbarian double-bass boosted battle beanery.
if you want somethin' done right, do it yourself,
but if you want a tasty beverage and you're stuck tatty o'blastin',
then you take what you can get from the kindness of others.
at any rate,
the rest of the day felt like a combination of awesome things:
heart attacks, yelling, and alternate titles for gay porn movie knockoffs;
30 days of tight?! i'd watch it.
gayowulf? c'mon,
he battles grundle!!!
....and it's not his arm he rips off, either.
i can't speak for my clients, or their comfort, ease, or well-being,
but i had a worthy ragnarockin' day.
more reactions, more often.
over-reaching reactor core really real life livin'.
so good;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, August 27

shore to shorn.

uh-huh, a gravity-fed pull-chain poop scoopler!
i think that maybe the hottness just called;
it said it wants to squeeze some links out in my bathroom,
because with that kind of victorian excellence, you have to...
it's almost too awesome to plop poops in.
yeah, i know,
even the sh!tter is totally dope.
and if you're with me on how elite my toilet is,
you should really see the shower.
i count my lucky stars every day, ya'll.

i spent my first full shorn short-haired day at work.
compliments did not exactly abound.
we resist change up here.
to make matters a bit more measurably miserable.
i was told i could pass for any modern country music icon.
....and that hurt a little.
but did i feel different, with the new look and new 'do?
i didn't believe in all that 'be the change' horsecrap back in november, either.
i did tatblast my whole pair o'asscheeks off,
and rewarded myself with a little trip to the cinema.
inglorious basterds?
historical travesty, more like.
and also insanely fresh, furious, flavorful, far-fetched, and fulfilling.
convoluted sub-plot storytelling?
less-than-gratifying outcomes?
sure thing.
baseball bat bashmastering?
hells yeah!
samuel l. jackson voice-over narration?
a little bit, ya'll. a little tiny bit.
we rolled deep to the theater, (connecticut understands the term)
with multiple rows of my ninjas and ninjettes appreciating the moviehaus together.
we doo-doo that kind of thing....
word to wade boggs,
i'm here to drop logs,
in a turbo hot bathroom, my ninjas.
you're invited to come and crash on my shores.
pull the chain for service;
never quiet, never soft....

Wednesday, August 26

cut off.

now this is happening.
and no,
it's not a small dead dog, either.
what it is is grown-uppery at it's most dramatic.
no longer will the savage stormswept gypsy winds blow
luxuriously through my nordic barbarian berserker locks.
a whole new era of gusty old busty disgusty is goin' down:
responsible homeownin' billpayin' adulthood.
and the coiffure to complement it.
my very own personal stylist rocked it out for my head,
and we even saved a longer-than-11" braid,
to be used in an as yet undetermined project.
perhaps pin the tail on the donkey?
more like pluck the ass off an ass.....
i hauled wood like a lumberjack today,
which is more tiring than jacking wood like a one-handed typist,
house stuffs takes time, and a lot of effort,
but my big reward will be crashin' out on my very own
cushion-pushin' sweet double-stuffed queen-sizer.
(that's what she said)
real beds for real boys.
my style is hard, ya'll.
never quiet, never soft....

Tuesday, August 25

the long way home.

my very own semi-rural part-time natural livin' full-time lovely equestriennes
are all done with the white mountains for a while.
it's back to waterbaby doo-doo butter world and back to school for the girlies,
and back to scrapin' and paintin' and fixin' for us...
in a couple of hours or so,
after tea and toast,
we all ride out to meet up, drop off, and say goodbye.
it's a weak kind of sauce for sure.
times were had;
although always seemingly too few and too fleeting,
i'm grateful for the minutes and moments, ya'll.
two weeks of weak-less wonders...
new housey exploring, really-real lifetime doings, cooking, reading, riding, working, shopping,
and all the tiny little vivid lived-in arts and ideas of everydays, every day.
i've got some sucky little suculents, that'll live here on our ledge,
as gifts from the girls.
i'm serious,
four funkin' cacti,
all prickly and paddled, spiky and sprouting, to remind me every morning.
hand picked, poked, and pinpricked by two terrific free-winnin' freyas.
they're super sweet on the inside, yo.
all of that good kind of sugar an' spice, and everything nice,
but on the road,
it's an acrid asphalt turdbiscuit tarscape.
yeah, yeah, yeah, without that bitter the sugar may as well be salt.
sugarwater tears, however, would just lead to acne....
never quiet, never soft...

Monday, August 24

bat men and spider girls.

even if you aren't a vampire fan,
which i am definitely NOT.
certain kinds of weak sauce quasi-homosexual
french-style frilly-shirted sucking are just too lame, even for me.
you still have got to give it up for bats.
i mean,
upside down wall crawlers?!
flying mammals?!
heinous noses and sonar?!
so dope.
the little deflatermausen eat their weight in bugs every night.
our personal cadre of carnivorous carapace crushers are busy workin' overtime,
all third shift night watchmen style,
to make my nights shift from muggy and buggy to crisp and crunchy.
we got bats, we're gettin' bat houses,
and then, once we put up the projects, we'll get even more bats.
what's 'hood? bat condos, ninja.

we've also got barn spiders.
big, nasty, bendy, waxy, hungry mutha-uckas.
i can't even pretend i want to get close enough to take pictures,
not because they want to eat me, exactly,
although i'm sure with a big enough web, they'd give it a shot;
i will seriously punch myself unconcious if i even imagine one getting in my hair.
seriously, i've got crawlie skin just thinkin' about thinkin' about it.
bats in my belfry i can hang out with,
but arachnids in my business will make for a ten-day vomit festival.
that's no joke.
we watched our own personal shelob wrap up a whole genus of winged insects tonight.
interesting? sure.
morbid? a little.
nightmarishly awful? F* yes it is.
the worst part has got to be the second scoople of web surfing.
that's when the helpless mummy gets all brendan frasered and beat up.
sorry, dumb flying bugs,
but my kitchen light was not a lighthouse in your inky ocean of air.
like a cornish wrecker waiting by a false light,
the biggest and the most bulbous eight-legged lady waits for those little idiots.
gross, ya'll, doesn't even begin to cover the breadth
of brutal bloody murder i watch from my dinner table,
and i never ever even tune in on the evenin' news.
i've got my own big action goin' on like a gangland turf war,
super-silent and ultra-violent,
it's all really happening,
from the first to the last of it,
right here in the true crime smoke ring circus of the woodsly goodness.

and after dinner theater, what comes next?
little kids loooove that sh!t....
so i guess i'm eating grotesque gallons of gloppy glace.
my dynamic daughters got the notion into their little braincases
that the only way to finish off a tasty and fulfilling meal together,
is to gather up the nutrients, and the granola, and the chocolate covered raisins,
and activate the syrup-soaked cookie doughboy soy deliciousness
every single flippin' night until i get fat and stupid.
or at least fatter and stupider, anyway.
little mini metabolisms, ya'll, just don't get as beat up by bingeing on treats.
i get to wake up with rumbles and grumbles,
and they sleep soundly in a near-coma.
on the floor, if for the very last night, even.
yeah. still.
our crucial commune of crusty folk punk hippie hottness
comes to an end when the younglings head home.
we're closing down the camp for now.
hell, i may even need a haircut after all this floor-level, floor model, floor showtime, y'heard?
it's big kid bed magic pillow-top pillow-talk tonight, my ninjas.
creature comforts even when it's waaaay too hot for a comforter,
i'm still taking comfort in the good stuff that the woods has provided...
...unless i find a spider in there,
in which case i'll be a berserker barbarian baby b!tch;
never quiet, never soft....

Sunday, August 23

hard where? oh, hardware!!

i'm in love with the post office.
because that's where all the stuff i order gets sent
so i can scoople it up and have it and use it....
that IS love, isn't it?
i got such good treats for my face in the mail yesterday.
vandyke's restorers, my ninjas...i'm sayin';
aftermarket illustrious luscious dimmer knobs,
and beat-up burnished brass switchplates,
and cast iron and forged wrought iron doorhandles and latches,
and a gargantuan ghostbustery gatekeepin' medieval-sized gate latch,
and all kinds of other other new old busted hottnesses.
it doesn't take too much to set off a screwdrivin' sequence
of unsquelchably serious deep drillin', ya'll.
(that's naturally what SHE said)
housey hottness in the woodsly goodness.
you'd be amazed at what a bronze barbarian battle bolt or two can do for house and home.

holy power surges!
a bloated rot-soaked birch tree did some ultimate fighting
scoring a first round knock-out on the power lines this mornin'.
i'm tellin' you guys,
it went to eleven, so hard.
berserker barbarian hot fire AND lightning
sparkin' and arcin' and scorchin' the earth an' all.
naturally, being sunday,
the powerlinesmen were in a huge hurry to repair the damage.
while waiting for restored juice,
we rolled the remnants from the road,
and the righteous right action of our pro-active participation
got us some new neighborly nods from the folks on our cul de sac.
score one for doing the right thing, ya'll.
it's not every day that exploding cables and falling forest flora get busy,
without waterspoutin' waterbaby tornado lameness added in,
but i guess the blowhardiness of bigmouth battle bards works just as well.
if a tree falls in the forest and blows up a transformer,
does it make better neighbors?
i guess the F* so, yo.

i've got these little kids i helped make,
and they've been spanning time here for the last two weeks,
but now they're going home on tuesday to the weak sauce.
that's a hard style.
too much is never ever enough,
and that's doubly so for stuff that doesn't suck.
harvest and maple definitely are sucka-free, too,
and that makes the end times for fatherly viking summer schoolin'
SO much more mutha-ucking bittersweet.
of course, without the bitter, the sweet is more tart an' that.
i am grateful for these teeny sweet-tart sweethearts, ninjas.
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, August 22

canadian club?

fruncle paul, ya'll.
friend + uncle +paul.
and that's what you get.
the cucch and i took a very early trip this mornin'.
we had to see a guy about a ride to the airport.
really flippin' early like.
he left for vancouver,
y'know, in canada,
for a few months of heavy duty restaurant opening..
like my man wyclef sang,
he'll be gone 'til november...
we all already miss him already.

i got a whole bunch of treats from a whole bunch of folks.
yesterday was apparently 'make albie psyched day',
because my ill gotti gigante stump connection brought by a quartet of warrior war logs,
the weiner guy dropped off a fresh pumpkin coobook.
nice, kids.
i have the very best clients there could possibly be.
no joke.
i spent the day whalloping wallets and beatin' up on biceps, backs, and big toes.
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t pretty dang hard these days.
i almost want to start trying to feel guilty
about breathing bacterial battle-beastliness
into their bloodstreams,
but sniffling, sniveling, and sneezing can't stop the rockin', mutha-lickzzz;
i got ills to make, i got bills to pay. i got skills to sharpen.
all at the same time, even.
gettin' whilst the gettings is good, as they say.
early mornings, late nights, leaky roofs, and leaky noses...
it's all really happening.
i'm lucky to have what i've got going on,
and for the getters i get it going on along with.
the volume, the concentration, the whole poem, ya'll.
warriors of woodsly goodness,
loud and hard;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, August 21


this big bad brick burner puts the man in mantle....
the man in manor home,
the man in 'man, that's a dope-ass miki-fickin' tower of terrific.'
i mean,
is that not some truly burly barbarian belvedere business?
that's four feet of firehole in the middle, ya'll.
i'm not feelin' the olive-garden-style kindling flowerpot,
it came with the house,
and i've got bigger pits to pluck, if you feel me,
but a crusty and disgusty copper basin just might do the trick....
there's a lot of house to show,
but i don't want to over your delicate city-folk sensibilities with
too much turbo-hottness;
urban waterbaby constitutions may not be able to handle this much heat.
especially not with all the Folk Life fury and rural ragnarok tornado terror
being administered to some city people.
(this means you, louderhorns)
it may be too intense.
you'll just have to tune in and see what other other treats this old house has to offer.

looks like rain outside.
i've got the firewood tarped up, for now.
jess haaaaaates tarps, kids.
(too trailery)
and even though it's a brown one and not blue b!tchbaggish blanket of 'butter,
i'm kinda with her on this one....
i'd stack the orderly rows of awesome inside the garage,
but like i said,
it looks like rain outside,
and when it rains outside, up here in the woodsly goodness,
it also rains inside the garage.....still.
the pitter-patter of rustic righteous raindrops, my ninjas,
freefallin' on our heavy metal roof like grindcore double-bass;
never quiet, never soft...

Thursday, August 20

you know you like it:

just like a munky-funkin' james bond movie!
an albert r., ....broccoli production
obtuse references aside,
that happened in full-effect last night!
and as usual. it rocked the collective socks off of all ingesters.
vital wheat gluten + extra yeast,
+ hot humid weather,
+ a gas oven =
best rolled up wheaty treaty loaf of lusciousness ever.
heck yeah, ya'll,
our family traditions may be a bit rusty and rustic,
but my belly and my heart are full to burstin'.
did someone say old copper kettles?
with a pumpkin-colored kitchen and a hefty hearth to hang 'em on,
you all already know we've got a healthy headstart on Folksy hottness.
we definitely doo-doo that country-type sh!t.
forest-dwelling denizens of the epic woodsly goodness.
pea-sized peepers keep it poppin',
and we keep our peepers peeled so as not to pop 'em.
got it?
even the little things get the super-deluxe rural real considerate treatment.
this is where the early morning t'n't' magic goes down.
it totally looks out over the moat mountains.
yeh, i know;
that's some barbarian conquest-type business.
it's a right wet mess on the other other side of the house,
but in this section of the fortress,
it's so mutha-lickin' good-morningey i can't hardly even handle it.
food almost tastes better in a place so fresh...
i am grateful. without exception, for the good things, ya'll.
woodsly good times are abounding,
and it's ALL really happening;
never quiet, never soft...

Wednesday, August 19

waking up.

what's the very bestest part about 6:45a.m.?
morning wood!!!
a dumpin' truckful of hot dry logs plopped it's payload all over the front yard,
early m.f.n' shirley this mornin'.
they weren't even lincolns, and this isn't nebraska,
but i've got 20" logs all over the place.
and i've got enough axes for every-flippin'-body
to chop the barbarian kindling out of it.
hot fire?

drumroll please;
our bed finally arrived this morning, too.
a bed, in a house, for sleeping in,
only a short set of weeks after we've moved in...
what's twenty days of floor campin' between friends, anyway?
how about a few more days of bag-snoozin'?
it's a concious choice, kids,
to share a few more evenings in our indoor campground,
but it almost wasn't any kind of choice at all:
the bed didn't fit up the stairs, ya'll.
old and busted house hottness strikes back!
no way, no how was that mama-jama scooching up the stairway,
instead, the burly delivery dropouts had to hump it up the outdoor spiral staircase,
and up and over the doo-doo buttery sieve of a deck,
and then through the whole rest of the mutha-uckin' joint.
(the life lesson?: stay in school, my ninjas, OR measure your hallways)
we haven't hit up the bedframe assembly yet,
so it's a new day dawning,
but only from the exact same vantage point as last night.
and that's a low low one for sure.
i've got high humidity,
high hopes,
and high temperatures over here.
high temperatures seem to be stickin' around.
feelin' on my forehead,
i've got a feverish flame-broiled frontispiece.
in fact, all of us do, now-
the kids have been kind enough to lend us some upper esophageal 'itis.
i'm tellin' you, yo,
i'm allergic to my home state.
it would sort of seem that connecticut,
in conjunction with the illicit infectious incongruences of this old house,
is tryin' to take me down and out.
summer sickness?
i'm fightin' it loud and hard to the bitter end;
never quiet never soft.....

Tuesday, August 18

eats and treats

grampa tom and his better half, ms. betty
hung out with us and our whole damn fam today....
we munched up on hook-up lunchable pizzas,
hung out at the Folk Life Fortress,
aaaaand, we got haircuts!
jess got a drastic headchop of epic slice-it-off proportions,
and she is looking lava-magma-turbo ultimate hottness supreme.
the girlie-girls, harvest and maple, got trim-uppity touch-ups,
cucch got a new and improved regular boy's hairchop,
and i even got a hedgeclip on my bushy shrubbery of a facepiece.
elsah, our very own active participatin' personal stylist,
brought all her muthaflippin' expertise to bear
on ALL the collagen compounds freeform flowing from our follicles....
vanity is possibly my favorite deadly sin;
i never met one i didn't like.
still and all,
maybe gluttony is actually my bestest buddy,
because we went out to gnosh up twice today,
after tasty panniecakes this morning,
and my bloated bellyhole is a hurtin' organ grinder for sure.
the hairstyling however means that i look a little baby bit less like i feel.
we stay sharp because we look sharp.
carts and horses, my ninjas....

we got a little sumthin' sumthin' today at the country furniture/lifestyle store.
it's called a dry sink, because it has no plumbing in it,
among other reasons;
and i'm calling it some ultra-fresh bathroom cabinetry.
berserker barbarian battle-beasts need a place
to rest their scrunchies before a shower is all i'm tryin' to say....
never quiet, never soft....

Monday, August 17

ground control to grampa tom....

big happenings in the woodsly goodness, ya'll;
for the first time in several years,
jess's dad, big ol' badass bass fishin' Tom, is comin' on up.
to check in on his little lovely firstborn baby girl,
and his other other 'bionic baby bizzle,
and to scope out the new digs we're diggin' on.
hopefully we're makin' papa proud with our loud, hard lives up here.

in completely unrelated news,
more weiner guy happens today,
which is always pretty good times,
for a few hours of gloved-up man-on-man an' all that.
the weather is scorching, finally,
after a damp and dreary summer of cold dark doo-doo butter,
i'm all for more sunshiney bright, beautiful days,
and more hot, heavy, humidity, too.
and once the gang is all here,
it's all super-fancy eats and treats at the yankee magazine rave-reviewed
local yum4tum deliciousness of the thompson house eatery,
a.k.a. the t.h.e....
little kids don't misbehave at my table, ninjas.
believe it.
which is why we're all able to go out to munch up at the cloth napkin spot.

good times, hot weather, extended family;
never quiet, never soft...

Sunday, August 16

sunday in the park,

so who else knows about stained glass?
i mean,
i could ask shawn 'take forever why don'tcha?' hebrank,
but it seems he's got his own transatlantic hot-leaded glazery to deal with.
so, anyone else?
i'm just sayin',
i've got a holy helluva lot of thin-paned mullioned hottness over here.
well over fifty panes of pain, in fact,
and it ALL needs a little churchin' up;
mostly with the glass;
the stained part is already taken care of....

i tattooed about a billion little words of wisdom,
inspirational and otherwise,
on ian the hippie's upper thigh today.
what a nice guy, ya'll.
it seems as if the secret universal plan has already scheduled a slew
of good peoples to boost up my positive mental attitude of gratitude.
it's workin', too.
after i zapped his ass into novel novels of grandfatherly adages,
i headed back to the homestead.
and let me just add,
the fortress of Folk Life & Liberty was full of big action big fun...
we smoked up on some stumplestiltskins,
cohibas, even,
and grilled the mess out of a whole garden's worth of veggies.
the cucch rode a bus from waterbaby weak sauce wallingford to be here,
and our other other buddy jim showed up, too.
did we skewer up on some epic kabobs?
oh, hell yeah we did,
and asparagus, and oyster mushrooms,
and pasta flippin' salad,
and new pretend meaty vegan fake chicken burgers as well.
we topped it all off with super screamin' soycream sundaes.
with 'nilla 'nola, and grilled peachy fruit slices,
and sprinkles, too.
i can strongly opine that today was the day.
active participation at it's most active;
summer felt good today, mutha 'uckas.
surrounded by goodness,
surrounded by woodsliness,
surrounded by a fresh, developing well-conceived plotline,
alongside amazing characters,
in a series of fortunate events.
pure protagonism, no secondaries, subplots, or static.
we doo-dooed that august august, ya'll.

summer is waning,
and the impending wacky waxing of woodsly goods
is poppin' off like wet gremlin backbottom baby blops.
this time, right here, however,
is just right.
spanning, kids.
all wrenched up, with nowhere else to turn;
never quiet, never soft....

Saturday, August 15

picked apart.

the great thing about little kids?
they say some mean-ass sh!t without realizing it.
i've got a litany of lameness listed off without any self-conciousness,
or pangs of conscience or consequence, every day.
dissed and dismissed in discourse throughout the course of my daily dadly duties;
it's great!
gettin' taken down untold notches,
lower and lower,
by my own flesh-and-bones baby girls.
they must've inherited that kind of scathing observational commentary
from somewhere...
of course, i can't for the life of me figure out from whom.
wherever it comes from,
according to my small and delightfuls,
i'm large, in charge, and generally dreadful.
add in a mix of shazamrock irish prideful tattoos,
throughout the day,
five total, all accounted for,
and i'm winning, ya'll.
nothing goes better with a dressing down
than a whole day of dressed-up mess-ups.
sparkle magical three- and four-leafy goodness.
i'm sayin',
that's a whole lotta luck o',
if you feel me......

we read the tale of 'smith of wootton major' tonight,
and it was awesome.
j.r.r. could certainly spin a yarn, my ninjas.
sittin' by the hearth,
without a television set to be found in the house,
spending quality time together.
what's better'n' that?
never quiet, never soft...

Friday, August 14


all's well that ends well,
well nice an' that, even,
and all well after the predicted program, too.
the long and the short of it is:
our phone works.
and that's good news.

i tatzapped my friends dan and gina today.
incredibly different styles,
butterflies, black and gray,squirrels and barbarian hot fire spitting,
...and darn good company, to boot.
it was a back-to-back blastoff marathon of technical challenges
during an incredibly long day.
they both rocked it.
and hopefully,
they're both psyched with the results.
i know i am.
thanks, guys!

if you live in the sh!tty city,
which is pretty much every city,
then i feel bad for you son;
i got 99 problems,
but beautiful star-filled crystal clear light pollutionless skies ain't one.
me and all my sweetest baby bizzles, two- and four-legged,
did some serious gazing up at the heavens this evening.
a perfect ending, ya'll.
better than storybook prince-smooching, for sure.
there is only ever this moment.
and this one is a damn good one.

it all ufolds the way it's supposed to,
according to plan.
hell, if it was obvious,
it wouldn't be the secret universal stratagem schematic,
would it?
i'm a little bit van gogh-ing crazy over these starry nights, ninjas;
never quiet, never soft....

Thursday, August 13


Tea and Toast.
every mornin', my ninjas.
with a spot of faux buttery fattie-boombattitude,
and a doo-doo dollop of jammie jam.
all british isles an' that.
it's well nice, yeah?
TnT, y'all.
it's a dyn-o-mite kickstart to every day.
and i use the broiler, b!tches.
because toaster ovens are waaaay too trailery,
and i don't eat hot pockets.
Tea and Toast;
that's the woodsly goodness equivalent
of gin and juice...
laaaaaaaaaaaiiiid back.
with my mind on my ladies stayin' up here,
havin' big fun and plannin' on even more...
what other other TnT is on the schedule today?
how about Thor and Thunder?!
i can't see why not, kids.
especially after we all woke up late from our floor-model
sleepytime showroom,
all folk-punk squatter-type snoozie and whatnot.
two kids, two grownish-ass adults,
and a dirty dog,
snug as dustmites in a pillowcase.
we've got the goods, comin' and goin',
and it's all so good.
lucky ducks and ducklings is what we are,
even if swanhood seems an unlikely reward for our ugly old selves.
i can spruce up an old wall,
but i'll probably still look just as butt-nasty standing next to it.
like an oyster and the pearl within,
in complete opposite and inverse proportions.
more like a turd in the taj mahal, maybe....
however it equates,
in the meandering meantime,
the just-be-dopeness of little bitty kiddies is pretty inspiring.
no foolin'.
they don't even see the random peeling poop-sprinkles
spead throughout the house.
they're either too young,
or maybe just a touch too rad,
to know anything about old bustedness at all.
they only see the epic hottness.
and that's word....
i'm trying on a pair of younger eyes today.
i need them jawns.
rose-colored irises or otherwise,
i've got my peepers a-peepin'
on that all-the-way-past-eleven kind of flavor.
that's some good-lookin' out.
thanks, girlie-girls,
i'm on the mutha-ucka;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, August 12

WOTAN's fury.

so the barbarian weather gods are angry, i guess.
i actually watched a pitch-black barrier of thunderheads roll over the mountains,
all orcs from lord of the rings style,
and buffet the battens, and hatches,
all over the mutha-uckin' valley.
our hilltop nook, nestled behind the mighty mighty maples and oaks
wasn't spared by a damn sight.
(yeah, i took a swim in the garage this morning)
and it wasn't just the homestead that took a lumpin' either;
one incredible thing about inclined dirt roads
is that if it rains hard enough or long enough,
most of that road does something pretty great:
it washes away.
that's correct.
the incredible disappearing road trick.
that's what's good in the 'hood today.
instant cliffs and ravines;
just add water.
fortunately our ancient neighbors are cranky complainers!
in two weeks of weak-sauce washouts,
the town has rebuilt and repaired and regraded the road a couple times.
thanks, old non-friendlies.
if i had to pick between a sweet road and a close-knit friendship
with buick skylark owners,
it's an easy choice every time.

harvest and maple are here!
and they totally love our woodsly goodness manor home.
they're rockin' storyland with auntie mary today,
and then i'm tatblastin' the heck outta my sister's ribs.
should be a full day of workin' hard,
and playin' hard,
and living.
there's a whole holy helluva lot of ladies up here.
estrogen is oozing like b!tch-sap out of the woodwork,
(or maybe that's just another leak somewhere.)
i'm outnumbered seven to one,
but despite the logistics of balls-to-hoops ratios,
i'm pretty sure i've got 'em outgunned,
and surrounded.
real life is unfolding right in front of me.
it's happening, ya'll;
never quiet, never soft....

Tuesday, August 11

yesterday IS today

no news is good news,
and there is ALWAYS an unless, kids;
so it ceases to be good news when
you're waiting to hear from the phone company folks.
they seem to excel at accelerating miscommunication,
mainly through non-communication.
of course,
without phone service,
it's not like we can call each other, is it?
our weird voicemail magic is on like donkey kong....
...we just can't check it without a dialtone!
it's hilarious.
in the way that seeing someone else get bashed in the toolbox is.
i wish hate upon them, ya'll.
something communicable, an' that.
i have a phone,
and about eleven hundred different places to plug the sons of guns into,
every jack in the house is jacked the F* up!
as in:
no tones, no phones,
and it seems e.t. would be S* outta luck over here.
it's like being on an adventure,
with time-period appropriate house features,
like phonelessness, for starters....
it's an adventure where nothing happens.
and it's all really not happening, so mutha-uckin' hard,
even when it is.

so what's new (to us)
is what's old.
like every flippin' thing in this cavernous castle of crucial Folk Liveliness.
one room, one day, one minute at a time.
waitin' on my kiddies to get with the gettin' here is all that's poppin'.
one more treat for my face,
or is it two?
surprises for the seedlings,
like this place,
and the unfolding saga surrounding it;
never quiet, never soft....

Monday, August 10

phones, bones, homes;

all of mine are broken!

you duders should see my thumb!
all this crampy, crushing, crucial tatblastin' zappin'
has taken it's toll on my opposable appendage.
it's now in opposition to it's original purpose,
and position.
thumbs down to that...
after six days of devastating doo-doo destruction on other duders dermis'....
i've got a pair of days to rst and recuperate;
my little lovely ladybird beauties,
harvest and maple,
are arriving tomorrow with their aunt mary, (my sister),
and my young neice, little cash cowgirl!!!
so much big action gettin' ready to pop off....
and all i can do is dream about furniture.
mostly, how i wish i had some.
that'd be super.

our friendly neighborhood black bear thought long and hard
about some housebreaking burglary and plunderous pantry-raiding our home.
the porch was locked,
or we'd have been between a bear and a hard place, for sure.
the very same day,
olive the dog discovered our burly black buddy,
sitting pretty in a tree just enjoying the sunrise,
and tried her hardest to munch up his face as a little midmorning snack!
that was the most 'hood,
and least neighborly our tenure as residents of pierce road has produced thusly.
it seems to only roll downhill, though,
the same direction the sh!t-salad wants to roll.

ah well,
the joys of family gathering will pit their pits
against the harmony of old busted homeownership.
which one hits harder?
i'll tell you guys tomorrow;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, August 9

even more sausage!!!

i swear,
i'm unsure how much is TOO much weiner guy...
which is to say,
i'm pretty sure there's no such thing as too much weiner, guy;
too much of the weiner guy for that matter.
another 'nother zipzap sit with glenn,
who's amassing a messy mass of boob-blastin' nudie chicks
all over, under, and all around his ham and eggs.
three sittings in eight days?
not a bad beginning to a full-flavored birthday month.

provided that the phone/internet company don't F* with my A
anymore than they already have,
tomorrow will see the triumphant re-introduction of full-length,
perceptive, poignant, puissant, puerile posting.
i just don't have any juice left over after a tatblastin' week
of weak sauce....

my silky smooth sleeping bag is calling my name;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, August 8


is it a telltale sign of adulthood,
when the old-timey pottery lady misses you a little bit,
and wonders why you haven't been around this season?
i think it might be.
i mean,
a couple times a year i pick out a piece or eight of epic hand-thrown glazed freshness,
and if i'm late to the farmer's markets and craft fairs,
i'm missed!
that's some homeownery, at it's finest, even.
needless to say,
the utensil crocks and soap dispensers will look mutha-uckin' great in my kitchen.
i even stopped by the cinnamon maple scented early american furniture shop.
and the wall hutch, in philadelphia brownstone brown,
that i scoopled up and carried out,
is gonna really tie the whole room together.
this is what happens when you grow up and sell out, ninjas.
grindin' at the tatzap shop,
doing little baby-b!tch sap syrupy mortgage makers,
picking out furniture,
and turning in early in you floor-mounted sleepin' bag.

in addition to the joys of old and bustedness,
which, of course, is the turbo hottness,
we also have a doo-doo buttery phone service provider.
no phone for us....
in a way, it's kinda great;
since no unwarranted weak sauce can seep into our already drenched reality...
it also means no competent communication with the outside world.
we DO have some type of voicemail,
but no phone to check it with.
how awesome is that?
reeeeally awesome.

i'm busy like a beaver, ya'll.
and i'm solvin' problems, too.
i'm so ready for the big action,
but i'm mostly just small-timin'.
nickles and dimes, yo;
never quiet, never soft....

Friday, August 7

even more flavor?

old houses,
old wood,
old friends,
old sh!t....
the same old, and some that's new to me, at least.

tonight is the cucch's last night in town for a while,
as he is headed up to whistler, b.c. canada,
to travelin' pizza-man his way to further flatbread fame and fortune.
we're gonna go celebrate in style,
or at least we're not gonna cook dinner at home!
friday night, ya'll.
in vacation town madness,
and we've got a big fun farewell party to attend to.....
i've even got some fancy shmancy stick stixxx to stump up.
should be some kinda good time.

i've got a brutally overbooked week of workin',
and really real Folk Life fortress livin'.
who's the king of the castle, ninjas?
it's me.
and all the viking vanguard of vicious victory
all up alongside me,
are keeping me very grateful for all i've got.
lucky ducks is what we are;
never quiet, never soft....

Thursday, August 6

more weiner guy, more problems....

that's right,
since it's the weiner guy's birthday month,
he's loading up on tattyblastin' sits.
i'm not sure,
but something may quite probably go to eleven.
(that's definitely what SHE said!!)
but around the corner, so to speak,
another 'nother dose of man-ham is being measured and meted out today.
administering punishment to each other, in one way or another,
and swapping old house advice....
there are much worse ways to spend an afternoon, believe me.
cocktoberfest seems to be happening a few months early this year.
who wins, kids?
i do.
for some reason,
i keep thinking of nathan's on coney island....

yesterday was our buddy casey's big berfday bonanza.
we got lattes and hung out in town,
enjoying a small sampling of vacationy funtimes.
i've discovered the secret ingredient to surviving the influx
of vagrants, vacationers, vehicles, and villains;
what is it?
go undercover as one of 'em,
and run amok in the downtown scenic district.
making use of the otherwise underappreciated awesomeness of 'up here'.
we doo-doo that sh!t so hard, my ninjas.
and it is GOOD, too.

i've got reproduction early american antiqued crackle-laquer on my mind,
and a full day of headaches, heartaches, and handcramps to enjoy.
one of these days,
i'll have a fully-functional electronic computerbox station set up at home,
and pictures of the in-progress palace and woodsly goodness refuge
will absolutely have to be displayed.
until then,
it's weiners and heinies;
never quiet, never soft....

Wednesday, August 5

scrambled up.

that's some sh!t.
the rough location at any given time of your own being.
i'm all about those wheres, too.
the who, what, when, and why i'm still on the fence regarding....
but the wheres, ya'll?
the whereabouts,
the ins and outs;
that's the deep doo-doo.
and when i hear about some whereabouts hereabouts,
i get extra excited.
wait, what?
we're here, ya'll.
deep in the heart of the goodness.
a little less woodsly then our prior whereabouts,
but still some epic northern new englandy hottness.
where are all ya'll at?
we could sure use some helping hands.
where we're from,
helpin' out all Folk Lively and that is where it's at.
or at least thereabouts.
long nights and hard times,
and even harder floors, mutha-uckas.
they make for some disjointed jawns,
don't they?

i think it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft....

Tuesday, August 4

twofer tuesday....


the good news?
we finally got a mutha-flippin' bed.
the bad news?
it won't be here for two more sunovabitchin' weeks.
sleeping bags aren't so bad, though.
and even if they were,
i've got fourteen more days of 'em,
like it or not.
and to top it all off,
i've got a supreme werewolfen full moon mania cookin'.
howlin' mad crazy.
and i'm at work on my only day off this week,
just to let you mutha-uckas know.
so much doo-doo butter,
so little freaky sh!t;
never quiet, never soft...

Monday, August 3

bragging rights.

so far my favorite part of buying an old busted super hottness house
has got to be the old house scavenger hunting;.
we've been playing a couple of super-fun games...
the best one?
a little nose-knows guessing game called:
what's that smell??
old house folks will know what i'm talking about....
it's like trying to find a specific old lady in a labyrinthine thrift store;
moth balls, old wood, and the remnants of the skeevy stoners
make the game SO much more fun.
it almost always goes into extra innings.
wherever there's a closet with a secret cubby,
or a walk in with a false wall,
there's a whole new round to be played!

one of the other 'nother little hide-and-seeks we've been rockin'
has sadly come to an end.
i offered up a crisp dollar bill to anyone
who could find the switch that turned on the lamp post outside.
it wasn't the meager reward,
so much as the bragging rights that increased in esteem with every fruitless search.
the wiring leads to the second floor from the outside,
but does it really?
it quickly became the loch ness monster of electricity.
sightings and rumours abounded,
and many, many valiant attempts at concrete proof were made,
by a whole mess of savvy homestead searchers.
right up until this morning there was no success.
that is,
until i went down into the basement.
playing an early round of what's that smell ? an' that.
the basement.
nobody thinks to check the basement for a lightwitch that works out of doors.
unless you're using your 'old house' brain.
that's the one that defies all logic and rationale.....
basement equals outside, i guess.
and of course it's one helluva creepy basement.
of course it is.
and for the record, that smell,
the old basement plus mothballs plus rust smell,
is even more disgustingly unpleasant than the congealed grease in the fan smell.

i put the homo in homeowner, ya'll;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, August 2


i zipzapped the weiner guy, glenn, today.
his birthday month starts now.
he knows how to appropriately celebrate passing another year around the sun.
he also knows a lot about old houses and all that.
so i blast his buttocks with inky tat-skids,
and he guides my vision of new englandy handymanliness.
it's almost more than just a little teeny tiny bit gay, really;
what with the man-on-man contact,
but hey,
it's time well spent for us both.
i'm okay with it.....

scrapin' on the walls is on the menu for tonight.
wallpaper remover smells pretty butt-nasty,
and the purple juice they drop in it doesn't improve it much.
i'm seriously serious,
homeownership thus far,
with the sleeping bag on the floor,
the festy carpet situation,
the rainy days and leaky garage,
and peely gross walls,
is NOT blowing my mind.
in fact,
it mostly just blows.....
hard work is it's own reward, i've heard;
there had better be some old/new hottness at the end of the tunnel.
not just a mess and wet wood.
(that's what SHE said)

five hundred and six.
that's the number of posts on this blog i've rocked.
it also happens, numerologically speaking,
to add up to eleven.
i'm trying to vanilla sky some godsend windfalls, ya'll.
cultivated coincidences,
if you're out there,
i'm waiting (in sleeping bag on the floor);
never quiet, never soft....

Saturday, August 1

Rabbit, Rabbit!!!

rabbit, rabbit, honey bunnies!
a new month,
a new place,
a whole new set of scenarios to bring to eleven,
and then some...
i'm gonna need that good luck mantra to get it poppin', my ninjas;
it rained the last two days,
and guess what?!?
that's correct,
homeowner headache numero uno showed up...
a leaky garage!
and guess what else?!
the garagey roof is under a deck,
which means a new deck AND roof!!!!
i'm psyched.
jess scraped away something along the lines of
eight bubbly, nubbly, warped, and wonky layers
of damaged doo-doo buttery wallpaper off a few waterstained walls last night.
i even found some truly epic hardwood floors hiding under the stanky stainy skeevy carpet.
the catch?
okay, i'll tell ya'll:
it was previously painted safety orange in the sixties.
drugs are bad, b!tches.
and i'm walkin' on the proof......
the hottness is a hard style,
and the old bustedness is SO the hardest hottness they got.

my man from the canadian maritime provinces,
mr. marc robichaud,
sat for the whole entire day.
like a rock-solid barbarian warrior, even.
not a squinty-eyed flinch or nothin'.
he got a battle-beastly samurai rooster, to boot.
i got the fresh gratuity,
the cuban stink-sticks,
and a whole heapin' helpin' of good day vibeology.
that dude rocks it, no jokin'.

today and every day ya'll.
i'm grateful for the spanners and the wrench-choosers,
the hard-style homeboys,
and all of ya'll, too.
i'm even at work early,
just to let you know.
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t, baby;
never quiet, never soft.....