yesterday IS today

no news is good news,
unless,
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?
luckily,
our weird voicemail magic is on like donkey kong....
...we just can't check it without a dialtone!
hahhahahahahahha.
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.
so,
i have a phone,
and about eleven hundred different places to plug the sons of guns into,
but,
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.
otherwise,
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?
yeah!
surprises for the seedlings,
like this place,
and the unfolding saga surrounding it;
never quiet, never soft....

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...
otherwise,
after six days of devastating doo-doo destruction on other duders dermis'....
i've got a pair of days to rst and recuperate;
kinda.
my little lovely ladybird beauties,
harvest and maple,
are arriving tomorrow with their aunt mary, (my sister),
and my young neice, little cash cowgirl!!!
yeah!
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.

yesterday,
our friendly neighborhood black bear thought long and hard
about some housebreaking burglary and plunderous pantry-raiding our home.
fortunately,
the porch was locked,
or we'd have been between a bear and a hard place, for sure.
later,
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.....

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;
or,
too much of the weiner guy for that matter.
yep.
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,
introspective,
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.....

decoration.

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.
great...

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.
so,
no phone for us....
...still.
in a way, it's kinda great;
since no unwarranted weak sauce can seep into our already drenched reality...
but,
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....

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',
zappin',
and really real Folk Life fortress livin'.
who's the king of the castle, ninjas?
yeah,
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....

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.
still,
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....

scrambled up.

whereabouts.
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....

twofer tuesday....

scrape.
scrape.
scrape.
scrape.
scrape.
stress.
stress.
stress.
stress.
stress.

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...

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.
and,
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!
nice.

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.
but,
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.
yep.
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.
barely.

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

five-oh-six.

yeah!!!!
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.
man,
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;
but,
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.
506.
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.
.....
hey,
cultivated coincidences,
if you're out there,
i'm waiting (in sleeping bag on the floor);
never quiet, never soft....

Rabbit, Rabbit!!!

boo-yamikamikaze,
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!
yeah!!
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.

yesterday.
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.....