Monday, July 4


i've got a half-rye wheat bread cold-flavor-proofing in the refrigerator.
my twin sourdough starters are blooming with double-bulk big enzymes,
and they've grown accustomed to the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
the next step, i believe, is to add a third team member,
in the form of a dark rye jaun.
that way,
the living cultures can form a trinity of terrific,
and take over all the available empty space on my counter.
this bread baking feels good.
can i tell you another 'nother another thing that feels pretty good?
i've got the day off.
here's the thing-
my whiny little peepants puppy got me up sooooo early.
i've got a stoopid crabtree sniffing around the front door,
as it became apparent that raccoons have shredded open and snacked upon
the garbage bag that sat, awaiting removal, in my mudroom.
ummmmm, yeah.
....or it could've been a fox, coyotes.
i dunno.
i DO know that the ol' guard dog was asleep in front of a fan,
and therefore incapable of giving a sh!t about intruders, man.
that's why i have so many firearms in the house, anyway-
you can't count on prevention as much as you can depend on your own reactions.
or overreactions.
or interactive double-action revolvers.
oh. c'mon.
mudroom invaders are one thing,
and if they're lucky enough to evade the shark-bullet in my bed,
so be it;
uninvited interrupting of the INsides of these sacred spaces i call home
gets you shot in your faces by actual bullets.
nature does what it does,
and that wins;
for that matter,
if i was a wild beast with a hungry bellyhole,
i wouldn't have refused some stinky refuse if it was right there, either-
the screen/storm door was ajar,
and now my discarded doo-doo is strewn about the porch.
at any rate,
NOW crabby wants to investigate and/or snack up on some of the garbage.
for the record,
it's not actually in this dog's job description to defend our territory.
i got him for hanging out and battle-beasting with me when we're alone.
and for being a pain-in-the-A* when we have invited guests.
it figures he's sticking to the letter of his charter and not giving any F*s
about the other four-legged woodsly goodfellows that sneak about in the dark.
i guess it's my job to defend me and mine.
and to double-check the screen door after ampy lets him out to pee at night.
it's also my job to pick up sloppy fuzzy strawberry blops and festy paper towels
from the concrete.
it's a bummer to touch wet crap in the morning,
but i'm coasting in on good feelings
about the hot dinner i had waiting for me when i got home.
check the teleport:

lemony garlic cream sauce and pasta,
with asparagus!
by candlelight!!
and it was delicious!!!
i may be handling some trash,
but i'm reminiscing about ampy d's macaroni.
besides that rye in my banneton,
what else is poppin'?
i've also got pizza dough bulk rising as i type.

i'm not about to miss out on pizza,
just because there will be fireworks at some point in the evening.
i'm prepared to snack up on some ameri'ZA tonight-
early, if need be, because pizza is my favorite,
and when i get a secret day off,
there's nothing better than a big ol' circle of infinite expertism to
take the holiday up to eleven.
there's no room for nancypantsin' around these parts.
i'm on the fence about lawnmowing today.
since i don't plan on hanging out in the yard.
a free day off seems like it'd be ruined by doing sweaty chores.
especially when i could be cooking up a storm.
y'feel me?
today is the day,
and it's got bread and pizza and garbage underway already.
seems like there's big things in the works around here;
never quiet, never soft.....

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