fooooooooooooooood!

pannie-cakes!
i always use vanilla in 'em...
so they taste like panCAKES,
not panbread.


broccoli bread!
traditions.
me and the kids, and some broccoli.
all at once.

wheat gluten, ya'll,
prevented what appeared to be the makin' of an epic bread-bleeding blowout.
only a miniscule portion of the florets poped out, and even then,
only along the seams,
structural integrity, son.
i'm sayin'....
crisis averted.
prognosis?
yum4tum.


cinnamon buns!!!
i got up at 6:30a.m. to scoople these bizzles up,
so holly could have some before headin' home...
shhh,
i'm secretly nice.
don't tell anyone.

oh MAN!!
i love vegan food.
so hard.


we keep it real,
with a fake tree though.
the glorious giddy girlie-girls decorated par excellence,
as usual.
this year, my ninjas,
i'm not celebrating any Noel crapola,
i'm doin' it louder, and prouder,
forget X-mas,
i'm reppin' XI-mas....
word the f* up;
never quiet, never soft.....

weak end.

yeah!
family time togetherness*.
*no children were actually harmed in the taking of this photograph,
despite the anguished face of my most notorious photo ruiner, harvest... 

more snow!
just what i was hoping for....

we made snowmen,

and had some more fire.

in more interesting news,
my buddy mike holmes is in korea.
to teach english.
he already speaks it, more or less,
albeit less fluently than some,
but infinitely better than the koreans he'll be teachin'....
claims of bloggin' the heck out of the republic of south korea have been made...
we'll see.
go give him some love,
kim chee-style....

doo-doo butter, mutha-uckas....
smearface explosions from the woodsly goodness,
in other words,
i'm goin' back to do some workin',
tatblaster flavor, ya'll,
never quiet, never soft....

BLACK friday!

i ain't buyin' sh!t today.
but i AM using a LOT of hot sauce, my ninjas.
dead prez is gonna be bumpin' on my boombox all day, too.
i'm sayin',
let's forget about keepin' the christ in christmas,
and put the black back in black friday.
for those of ya'll who can't quite get busy like that,
you can put the black metal in it today, instead.
scandinavian facepaint manufacturers must make a fortune.....
word up.

last night,
we stoked a real-deal barbarian tinder & flint barbarian bonfire.
i'm talkin' about swedish fire steel,
a magnesium stick with a scraper thing attached,
and dryer lint,
which according to my most feminine-sensitive male friend,
(and somehow i have a bunch of them, hence the superlative)
that's how the girl scouts do it....
it's also how the newhamden Folk Life collective doo-doo it, too.
the pitch-pine pyre was matchless,
and we didn't use any matches, either...
i'm sayin'.

illumination, ya'll.
valkyrie vixens,
prone to snow rollin' and iceball huckin',
in a brief seated moment,
enjoying the hot fire....
i'm lucky, after all;
besides,
the squirrels don't stray far from the nuts, they say....

that's holly, and jim, (and harvest, too)
that 30-year old woman on the left not only brought up the tofurky,
but gave me the firestartin' firestarter stick we used to bet things burnin', too.
and speakin' on firestarter, she's TOTALLY a prodigy fan!
gettin' older doesn't necessarily mean growin' up, right?
hahahahahahahahahahahaha.
but for real, though.


ghost stories around the campfire are one thing,
but underexposed limbless spirit mites,
flittin' around in the woods is some blair witch-type business.
haunted by the hottness?
sounds good.
hot fire therapy, mutha-uckas,
heals holes in heavy, hard-hearted hearts, my ninjas....

now ghost rings,
that's some spirited memory action, indeed....
circles of flash-style light, made out of smoke,
changing shape, and remaining constant,
reappearing with each wisp of wood-fired goodness,
and disappearing again with a waft of wind.
leftovers, ya'll.
well after dinnertime,
some ideas stay fresh, ya'll.   

LOSS-LEADERS,
that's the term for black friday super-sales....
motivation to get in there,
get the fattie boombattie hookup,
and maintain a little loyalty later on,
an investment in deficit to benefit the whole.
positive pavlovian principles,
stimuli for reliable repeat- recognition.
pyrrhic victory somehow still counts as victory, even.
in that circumstance,
breaking even is still winning, i guess....
i mean,
that's what's up, right?

i'm fixin' on reppin' as a mutha-flippin' loss-leader.
c'mon.
thanks in part to a superstitious belief in battle-bard blueprints,
oracles of woodsly goodness,
and vanilla sky predilections;
......a.k.a. secret universal plans, kids.
as a result,
i'm keepin' it rurally really real,
at the forefront of an outnumbered, outflanked, outsized,
but never outshined,
vanguard of lightning striking vikings,
bringin' the thunder,
all the way to eleven,
in an all-consuming berserker furious Folk Life...
let's hope the winds blow in our favor, my ninjas.
warrior poetry in motion is the name of the game,
breaking even is still winning,
but an assisted-by-my daughters barbarian slaughter
is how we're doo-dooin' it...
outshiniest, b!tches;
never quiet, never soft...... 

thanks.

gluttony as a metaphor for gratitude.
if quality and quantity of edible excellence suffices as
qualifier for  determining one's level of thankfulness,
then check this out:

thanks, tofurky!
you may look so heinous,
what with your wild rice stuffing center, an' that,
but you were delicious, and no turkeys were harmed in your preparation,
except maybe some jive turkey meatatarians.
f* off, pilgrims...........

thanks, belgium!
your sprouts rule.

so does mushroom gravy!!

thanks southern people!
racism and inbreeding aside,
candied sweet potatoes are super!!

that's vegan cornbread & sausage 'dressing', 
it's got leeks in it.
with some elite gravy above it.
thanks, deliciousness from my own recipe!

thanks, jess,
for filo dough apple-bloppity treats!

thanks, me, again,
for pumpkin bars....

thanks jim, for razzleberry frosted chocolate cake!
that homemade punky pie had it goin' on, too....

there was plenty of other food too,
but indoor picture takin' while cookin' isn't easy.
4 solid hours of preppin', roastin', bakin', boilin', stirrin', and mashin'.
and just 30 minutes to full-bellied first-world indulgence....
gratitude, and generosity,
in the form of battle-beast feasting.....

i am grateful for the folks who came over to span time with us:

harvest,

maple,

holly,

and jim.

dear secret universal plan,
today was good.
thanks,
love,
albie.

thanks ya'll,
for readin',
and being around, an' that....
i hope all my ninjas had time to appreciate what is today,
today is the day for it,
but so is tomorrow,
(leftovers and holdovers, represent!)
i am grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft....

lightning striking viking

we had waffles for breakfast,
because daddy makes them jammies all the way live.
believe it.

donuts for lunch,
paul is obligated to supply us with vegan homemades,
especially since he's been missin' for months on end...
then, after runnin' around,

cucch left for connecticut poopboat togetherness time,
after 24 hours of newhamden Folk Life livin',
sans salt lake weak sauce,
and with a newfound understanding,
 that when you know how to bring the thunder,
destruction IS construction.
for sure.
and holly just got here,
so we keep up the quotas of best pal thanksfulness......
and belated birthday magic,
(with pumpkin cake after dinner)

today happened so hard,
with some playmobil mayhem in between baked goods.
word up.
cookin' is what's up now....

thunder is what follows lightning.
remember that,
especially when you're bringin' the noise, ya'll....
before you do it loud and hard,
be mindful that the laser-guided electrical firestorm is what comes first,
before the bellowing battlecry.
the basis for berserker barbarian battle-beastliness
is being a really real deal just be dope doo-doo butter destroyer.

loudest and hardest is the decibel dosage on my rock-o-meter,
all the way to eleven, my ninjas,
i'm a lightning striking viking;
never quiet, never soft....

c'mon, seriously?

now this is happening.

naturally,
everywhere BUT here got rain.
and our road is private.
as in,
no road plowin',
except when the world's worst plowguy stops by to do a bad job,
eventually.....

that's deep,
and wet,
and heavy,
we went most of the day without power even,
and then it was time to drive across creation,
to grab my littlest lovelies, harvest & maple....
in terrible weather and holiday traffic.
i drove aLOT,
and the cucch came for the ride,
AFTER drivin' up from ct.
that's waaay more drivin' than i did,
and i drove all flippin' day....
i'm wiped out,
and everytime i close my eyes,
i see tail,
and head....
lights.
never quiet, never soft...

brian loves his mom, and holly is old now.

i still do tattoos, ya'll.
i'm sayin'.
brian showed up, spur of the moment,
and we zapped up some birthday present magic;
a tribute to his ma,
which she'll get to check out on her b-day on wednesday.
shhhhhh,
(it's a surprise.)

speaking of birthday magic,
our homegirl, holly, is 30 years old today!
what an old-ass bizzle, an' that.
normally she spends a week up here to celebrate,
but she has a very nice young manboy in her life,
so of course we get beat for candleblowin' birthday times,
in all likelyhood in exchange for other kinds of blowin' birthday times.....
jobbies,
as a quick aside,
isn't just a reference to sparkling romantic oral pleasures anymore,
because, thanks to google,
i know now that it is a scottish reference to poops.
droppin' jobbies, an' that type sh!t......hilarious.
not that it's completely relevant to the matter at hand, of course.
but anyway, back to business:
happy berfday, holly!!!
we'll be eatin' cake without her,
celebratin' gratitude an' that;
although she'll still be up here in it for thanksful givin's,
vegan-style, of course...

tomorrow,
i pick up my little legacy-laden ladies for a week of strong family funtimes.
me, mine, and my mini-human lovelies, my ninjas,
celebratin' unselfishly,
WITHOUT a dead bird carcass sittin' on the table.
because that's flippin' gross.
we'll still have all the other grateful staples of natives and buckle-shoe dutch a-holes, though,
except in compassion-and-mushroom-filled format-
which reminds me:
stuffin' should really be called dressing
if it doesn't come out cooked from the insides of something,
even though it doesn't actually go on salads really....
still, some chef gave each a different name,
stuffing. dressing.
even when they have the exact same ingredients,
only just without being shoved up deep into the chest cavity of a deceased animal......
which is also called butt-nasty....
like a steamin' satchel of hot jobbies, ya'll,
never quiet, never soft...

thicker than water.

ice flow, nowhere to go!
lost in the blinding whiteness of the tundraaaaaa!!!
that's some mighty boosh for your face, right there.
it's been so cold,
for so many days,
in a row, even,
that the river is turning into a glacial expanse,
one hunk of frozen fluid at a time.

nature wins, my ninjas.
equal parts frogtown hollow,
and badass bad-boy village of riverbottom...
c'mon;
anybody?


froze up from the hose up, son.
raccoon traxxx,
fossilized in frosty sand.
even when it's chilly,
procyonids gotta eat....
turns out, in addition to lookin' like fat bottom hamburglars,
they must like ice-pops, too.
why else would they pimp it so hard,
trudgin' along a slick-as-slick-gets riverbank?
unless, of course,
they've been watchin' emmet otter's jugband christmas,
and want to rep on an ice slide??
that's definitely my plan
(and one of my favorite puppet-based movies).
once the layers get inches deep, ya'll,
i'll be slippin' away on a chute of snow and ice....

pa would hock that tool chest, homegirl,
and pa would definitely put a hole in the washtub, my ninjas,
never quiet, never soft...

poopoo platter

how much sleep is too much?
depends on how much awake is the right amount, prob'ly.
i'm guessin' that all the sleep i've been gettin' is what's makin' my days so much easier.
seriously, though.
i fall asleep readin' every night,
and wake up super early every morning.
the in-the-middle part seems to just be blazin' by in a blur of busy business.
except for the crossword puzzle time of day.
that's my favorite part.
twentysomething minutes of thesaurical, historical, past-participle producing pleasantness.
across and down, mutha-uckas.
i'm sayin'.
we have a pretty easy puzzle set up here in the woodsliness.
it may be extra-awesome in the mountains,
but it sure ain't extra literate.....


that's right, my ninjas,
it's a plate full of sh!t.
dedicated to all the poop-boat sailin' craptalkin' pretendians out there,
makin' excuses about what isn't,
instead of embracin' the hellfiery hottness of what IS.
and in the interest of 'fessing up on what is, or isn't,
it's faux poop, yo.
y'ever wonder why the truth is such a hard style?
because that sh!t hurts, usually.
which is why so many folks try to tell little white lies,
to spare your feelings, and still hurt them a little tiny bit;
simultaneously,
by assuming you're stupid enough to fully felch their filthy falsehoods.
y'know, to be nice.
not too many folks want to smash and bash the goodwill,
and ruin those warm fuzzies,
the ones that constitute close knit bonds of friendship and family.
so instead, they make up lame excuses and weak-sauce avoidances,
in the interest of being kind.
does that mean it's cruel to be kind?
only when tellin' the fake-faced flavorless fury to a berserker barbarian battle-beast, ya'll.
therefore,
i reserve the right to blow up,
to explode with berserker blackpowder,
ninja nitroglyricine,
raging rager roadside explosivity,
and every other kind of epic-scale all-in dyn-o-mite dopeness and destruction,
when i think the sauce is weak.
you know how we get busy, right?
real-life documentarianism.
from polished perfection to skid-stained undies,
as long as it is all really real.
the truth hurts sometimes,
but it's the make-pretend doo-doo butter that doesn't heal....
keep it real, ya'll.
that's what it is.....
never quiet, never soft......

reflecting.

pros and cons.
positives and negatives.
half-full and half-empty.
as in:
brussels sprouts. baby cabbages, so cute!
but,
also taste like farts. in your mouth.
and,
choppin' wood. manliness. an activity that warms you twice, so they say.
but,
with a sawzall.....not a chainsaw.
it's electric, ya'll...
how about:
banana muffins for breakfast, and chocolate chip cookies for lunch?
yep. homemade. i'm so gay. or domestic. or both!!
today was dedicated to the blended time-spanning spaces between the hottness and the weak-sauce.
a tie. a draw.
neither a win nor a loss.
however,
in the evening's extra innings,
i plan on reading the rest of yet another d&d novel.
so obviously,
it looks like i'm about to blast off with a buzzer-beating photo finish.
dear today,
you may have tried to win a war of attrition,
slowly sucking the sap out of my slice of savage space,
but i've got a bellyfull of ginger brew,
and some unbrushed teeth that have other plans.
the more you take,
the more i make....
love,
albie.

never quiet, never soft....

six degrees.

barbarian gratitude, ya'll.
an offering, of sorts,
to woodsly goodness at large. 
that was the plan,
unfortunately,
a duraflame log and some whippin' winds threatened to burn the mutha-ucka down.
happily,
it was so cold everywhere BUT the firepit,
the frosty film on everthing extinguished any and all errant embers,
before disaster could ignite....
those firestarter logs are AWESOME.
there's no coals at all, only hot fire!
and they never stop burning.
i was so ready to head inside, maybe snack up some pretzels,
and warm it up,
but the fire was all like:
nah, yo, i'm not done yet....
for hours, my ninjas...
and ya'll already know how cold the side of you not facing the fire gets, right?
never mind assless chaps,
i'd much prefer a less chapped ass.....
six degrees!
no seperation necessary-
looks like we're headed for a thermal undies thanksgivin'.....

a pure pine pyre, ya'll,
with some clementine boxes,
and ferns as added incendiary incentives....

are you out of your gourd?
well, i'm not, my ninjas.
i've got plenty more winter squash to sacrifice where that one came from.
i'm sayin'.
it was frozen solid when the blazin' got poppin',
but after awhile, the hottness overwhelmed it's coldness.....

yeah.
i know.
that's kinda fresh.

c'mon.
that's some mt. vesuvius-type pompeii business right there.
little things, ya'll.
little things, in a row, one after another, for a while....
that's how i'm buildin' a better rural reality.
november is definitely the time to do it, too.
candles, oil lamps, thick slices of leafy outdoorsiness,
each thing is a brick in a pretty fantastic Folk Life fortress.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given.
recognize, yo.


that's an ak-47 riflestock spring,
and a pretty gnarly lookin' glowin' hunk of hewn hemlock.
the firepit is thick with ash and charred wreckage from years of fiery fury.
i'm lookin' forward to a mini-archaeological dig,
pickin' out the paticles of the past that missed the pyrrhic punishment i purposed.

my 12th annual vegan thanksgivin' has got to get it goin' on,
it's only just one week away,
and then the eleven days of barbarian battle-beast feasts begin.
i need some lobster-bibs, i think....
modified to mention:
my hands have teeth.....
never quiet, never soft...

home alone.

reppin' the magical lightning twinkle,
like my number one ninja,
none other than one-eyed odin, ya'll.
sometimes,
just soakin' it all in is a great way to spend a day...
i'm keepin' it spongy, but my pants ain't square though.
(my globes, both cheeks-for-weeks are too juicy for that cubic confinement)

now,
don't get me wrong.
i love havin' my peoples around me.
but,
i also really kind of love being the lord and sole master of my own domain.
well, co-captain at any rate,
and duo dynamic detonator with my sweet lovely one, y'heard?
the house is empty again.
and it's doooooope.
in addition to roaming topless, and bottomless,
(never jess of course, just my hairy ass)
appreciation of my better, fully-clothed, other half commences now.
word.
gratitude and generosity,
as usual, will play a major role in some quality time today...


despite the furious flash-freeze,
and definitive frost heavin' oh-snap cold snap,
we got toasty with the hot fuego last night.
that's by far the best way to unwind,
especially on crisp high teen degree evenings.

vido was all about it, too.
he's headed home to dallas now,
but he'll be back for his yearly visit in 365 short ones....
later on,
before he bounced, by bus, back to the airport,
''stranger than fiction'' was rewatched.
better the second time around?
heck yes it is.
watch it again yourself,
or just take my word for it,
i wouldn't steer ya wrong on purpose.
at least not about a movie.....

daylight firetime is what's poppin'.
we'll let you know how it goes;
never quiet, never soft...

what's cooler than bein' cool?

ICE COLD.
last night,
the chill will of the north imposed itself on the woodsly goodness.
the temperature warmed up to 21 degrees, when the sun rose, ya'll.
the night before last it was sixty-three degrees.
c'mon.
someone is obviously kiddin' me.
now imagine that sh!t in celsius, yo;
-6.1!!!
that sounds more like how it feels,
i'm sayin'.

i met the worst people i've had to stomach in a while, yesterday.
seriously.
completely without redeeming properties, across the board.
some of my acquaintances don't believe me when i talk out loud about how rancid the beef is up here, so to speak.
vido definitely thought that i was an embellisher of tales,
a sour-grapes of wrath recalcitrant retardomatic ruiner,
a gift horse mouth-looker, even,
an unofficial heightener,
a tall-tale teller, if you get me,
an MSG-lacin', flavor enhancin' make-believer.
that's at least partly true,
because i made a believer out of him.
i don't need to make sh!t up.
it's ALL really happening.
can it really be as bad as i make it out to be?
actually, it's usually worse.
just ask my man, vido, a.k.a. mr. sanchez,
because he definitely was immersed in it next to me.
the doo-doo butter was neck high, my ninjas.
more like dirty sanchez, thanks to those buttery stump-creatures....
a shower is definitely in order,
to wash the b!tch-sap away.....

we finished his day of the dead sleeve,
and started an outline of this dirty bird, too.
we'll have a snow-flurried epic fire to finish off his visit,
then send him back to texas properly...

i'm freezin',
y'heard my teeth chatterin'?
never quiet, never soft