travel bugs.

duders,
it's a good thing i know
not to look forward too far to too much.
now,
take a deep breath,
and join me on a tired tirade of tempestuous time travel:
it's saturday, already.
that means that for all intents and purposes,
today's the day;
the last full day of non-travel april vacation.
the last night with my kidlets.
and that's only three short sweet days until i'm out of here,
headed west.
headed one full hour into the past, even.
in between now and then, though,
i've got a southern sojourn ahead of me...
ohhhhh, MAN.
yes, indeed, i do.
connecticut beckons.
and it sounds just like percolating fart noises.
that's waterbaby 'rrhea, y'heard?
what?
no.
i'm not too pysched on the idea either.
especially considering that there's never a good reason to go there.
...and this is no exception.
but it's still happening.
so hard.
there's respects to be paid,
and i always try and cover my expenses.
hard styles, harder times, and hard lives;
i'm gonna run up against all of that in less than a day.
and that's not the least of it-
since i've got an all-day appointment on monday,
my last day in n.h. for a hot minute,
i'm up and out and on the road again,
crack-o'dawn-early shirley monday mornin',
northbound and obligated, an' all that;
and all that before i head halfway back down,
to the crummy airport on tuesday.
i'm sure by then the best-case best-behavior scenario
will be the only thing flyin'...
right out of the window.
ramblin', mutha-b!tches,
that's what i'm going to be doing,
for the next seventy to ninety hours or so.
F* that sh!t, ninjas.
there's no place like home.
that's word.
***********
dang.
doing what needs to be done.
that's what's up.
saturday night specials.
that's also what's up.
the last night in town.
we four.
something special;
that's what needs doing,
and i'm just the mutha-ucka to do it;
never quiet, never soft.....

broccoli + bread = dope.

i'd like to make a statement:
being vegan isn't hard.
i mean it.
how difficult is NOT baking a roast?
c'mon.
being vegan isn't difficult,
but making a many-pounds-heavy loaf
of tasty baked-up broccoli bits sometimes is:
just look at that midriff!
are those stretchmarks?
looks like somebody just had a newborn broccoli baby.
gross.
and that's after the cosmetic sugery, too-
it's actually a dough graft, my ninjas.
even the best kneaded yeasty beastie can have some issues...
...and blowouts may occur.
it couldn't be helped, really.
consider it a rapturous rupture,
not a rancorous rip.
exploding with goodness, yeah?
the gooey, chewy, nootch-laden broccoli florets
were especially delicious.
and wet.
you duders already know wet bread is a disaster waiting to happen.
unless,
you've got that high-gluten dough in action.
you are all well aware by now that i doo-doo
that vital wheat gluteus maximus.
that's right.
for a super-stretchy, crusty, resilient shell, accept no substitutes.
damage control was integrated into the original design.
-sorry, wheat allergy waterbaby whine-A*s,
but we get busy with the real stuff over here.
brown rice flour can suckle it.
hard.
you saw the patchwork repair kit flavor on the middle of the loaf?
yeah,
that's just a little application of my philosophical approach to cookin';
be ugly, be dope.
recognize.

and do y'all see what i mean about the extra-gooeyness?

yeah.

i don't make much up.

i don't need to-

it happens as it happens.

we ate the whole entire flippin' thing.

...and quickly, too.

i'm proud to report my shark gluttonous self single-handedly

tuned up both butt-ends,

AND another other 'nother slice, too.

i am the fattest on the inside.

munchin' up double heinies?

i got them jauns.

***********

the woodsly world is smallish,

and semi-self-contained these days.

kids have very immediate needs,

and as such, the future,

even an hour from now,

may as well need a time machine to get to.

making the minutes matter more, folks,

like it or not.

this afternoon is a distant destination;

we're on our way, for sure,

but the minutiae are monumental,

and the mountains are covered in snow.

also,

there aren't any molehills,

but chipmunk burrows are dead ringers.

stuffed dinner bread,

cotton yarn,

foam-block printing.

it's all really happening.

big fun on the small-scale.

i am grateful for this time i have been given,

no matter how long it takes;

never quiet, never soft.....

erf.

a whole day dedicated to the earth?
i don't get it.
remember, today, that we're on a big wet round ball!?!
planet earth-type hard style celebrating.
give a hoot, ninjas-
reusable hemp grocery totes, recycling symbols,
and whatever other do-goodery weak-sauce.
prius parades, probably.
i can't hang out.
i mean,
i don't exactly dump petroleum byproducts into rivers
or anything quite so dramatic,
but i don't pretend that a special day is the secret ingredient
to epic hottness, either.
woodsly goodness is what it is.
and i'm all up in it every day.
that includes today.
it's special, for sure, but not because of
gaylord nelson and his envirotardification.
that's word.
ma nature and father time
and our big business bottom b!tch, mother earth,
have seen fit to fete us with fair weather and fine folks.
we doo-doo that earthly sh!t, ninjas.
every day.
in fact,
this is how we celebrate up here in the 'live free or die' state:

guerilla ops, duders.
my little soldiers ran many missions through the trees and valleys.
a regular rogue squadron of itty-bitty barbarian battle-beauties.
nice.

c'mon.
what good is a fortification if it isn't helmed by defenders of the freshness?
Folk Life & Liberty,
by any means necessary...

relax,

there's no b.b.'s in those 1970's-era daisy rifles.

they'd shoot their eyes right outta their heads.

or worse,

MY eyes right outta my head.

that's how we doo-doo it up here, duders.

old-school playtime funtime kid stuff.

save that hannah montana horsesh!t for the city.

***********

earth day is a great day for food though.

because what looks more like little trees than broccoli?

oh yes, indeed, my ninjas;

broccoli bread day is here.

traditions become themselves through repetition.

and we're continuing the trend with yet another visit,

and yet another 'nother loaf of lusciousness.

you know you like it;

never quiet, never soft.....

righteous prints.

bears!
also pronounced bahrs, or bay-errs, or bez.
however your regionally specific accent inflects it,
they're showin' up every flippin' night.
heck,
they were hangin' out right outside the window while we slept.
like guardian spirit animals,
or hirsute lumbering jacks of awesome appetite.
yeah!
it must be nice, kids...
having your only purpose be to get big and fat
before you take a six month nap.
and of course, as an extra credit sidebar,
to poop in the woods.
(i really like that part)
apparently,
every animal in the charming northlands
wants to eat from our barbarian buffet.
we've graduated from birds and small mammals
to great big burly battle-beasts.
we were camping out right in the big sunroom.
and they were snackin' on some old toast crumbs outside.
olive the dog let us in our their perfectly nighttime invisible A*s.
black on black in a street-lightless forest?
normally,
that's that camoflauge par excellence jauns;
but not with the ever-vigilant
engine-block-head canine cannonball on guard;
the dog can always tell.
now there's huge muddy pawprints on the windows-
directly under the birdfeeders, too.
we put 'em up extra high on purpose after all.
bears!
bear-shirted hairy scary hari-kiri?!
what?
suicidal animal attacking viking warcraft is what's up.
berserker sh!t duders,
is destined to overlap with hungry
hungry honey-suckin' home-invading ursa majors.
i am SO gonna get a rug out of this deal, y'all.
in a knife fight with nature.
or maybe a tooth and nail vegan death match.
we'll see.
me gusta los osos, my ninjas.
and when we're finished fawning over black bears?
it's back down to the green elephant!!
harvest & maple want gourmet vegan eats.
and when little kids are all about good food,
i can't deny them the opportunity to get
all shark-gluttonous with the big fish, duders, now can i?
plus,
when we're in portland,
we'll hit up the art supply superstore.
that means more prints and patterns produced
by the woodsly goodness Folk Life engines.
big fun AND big food!
it's happening as i write.
real life.
time given.
time taken.
really real;
never quiet, never soft.....

stoner witch.

it's the big day.
if you're a lame stoner, that is.
4-20.
reefer mutha-lickin' madness,
all damn day.
that's correct.
good vibes.
hemp pants.
cheech and chong movies.
vegetative brownies.
left-handed cigarettes.
and lots of snacks.
enjoy it, pot stickers.
i can almost smell the jam band armpits from here.
incidentally,
the saying is:
just be dope, OR F* right off,
not,
just smoke dope, then F* right off.
...but it could be.
i won't even be reppin' incense today,
for fear my beard will warrant an unwelcome free-association.
i don't smoke blunts, ninjas,
i smoke m.c.'s
***********
it's also hitler's berfday.
...speaking of not dopeness.
what better way to celebrate both 4-20s,
than a clam bake in a volkswagen beetle?
yeah!
it's genius, i know.
you have to do it in your garage,
with the engine running.
(for the grateful dead 8-track, right?)
but make sure you close the garage door.
we wouldn't want anyone to see you, after all.
good luck with that.
***********
up here in the woodsly goodness,
nug-chuggin' nazis aren't applicable;
it's just tuesday.
there are cinnamon buns in the oven.
actually,
i forgot the cinnamon inside the buns.
for real.
so they're just sticky buns.
relax,
i put the cinnamon in the drizzly confectioner's sauce.
we'll get there, y'all,
we're just going the long way.
the sun is shining down.
there's talk of picnics,
there're rumors of hikes;
but i'll be working all day.
so i already know what my daylight hours hold in store.
it isn't picnickity hiking, either.
but i'm pretty sure that the soundtrack will rock it.
i'm listening to non-stop canadian hick-pickin' folkiness,
via the the agnostic mountain gospel choir.
get some of that hottness a.s.a.p.
you need it.
you really do.
turn the volume up,
to eleven;
never quiet, never soft.....

secret day off.

breakfast time in the woodsly goodness.

me and those two little ones

get to hang out all day.

but there's no big fun on the agenda-

since the snow is gone already,

i'll have to put 'em to work, y'all...

we've got saplings to snap,

leaves and leavings to remove,

and fenceposts to pound in.

my weekend is F*ed up during vacation times,

so it's an unpaid (yard)workday for us.

yay!

whatever, y'all,

the sun is out,

there's a gentle breeze blowin',

and this sh!t has got to get done.

i'm teaching these little duders about motivation.

and responsibility.

and all kinds of hard working hard styles.

these kids aren't even all that bummed out about it.

they say they're good at chopping stuff.

thems my girls, after all,

axe-warrior women are what i always wanted.

and so we're on that hatchet-type severe severance.

there's always lots to do at the fortress, anyway.

(maybe there will be big fun in the long run)

***********

so,

i made more righteous cookies.

the chocolate peanut butter ones.

that's a sure-fire way to ensure that we'll have company.

i'll bet it's my most attractive quality.

the cookie creation, i mean;

my wife might disagree,

but she's not really a sweets-eater.

she's sweet enough on her own, an' that.

or maybe it's just that i'm not that attractive.

either way,

i'm thinking about becoming a cookie baker,

full time.

y'know,

happiness over wealthiness.

i'll probably get big and fat, too.

cookies are good for that.

a jolly, jelly-bellied, oven-stuffed fattie boombattie?!

it's a pretty risky operation,

but it'll be worth it.

right?

i'll get one of those big dumb white hats,

and an apron,

and a rolling pin,

and all that good stuff.

all night kitchen-type sh!t.

i mean it;

it's hard to be in a bad mood with

fresh-baked cookie hottness filling the air.

you can bet your A* i'm bringing some outside with us,

to power our plowing,

and fuel our forestry.

chocolate is good for you, too.

miss maple told me so.

anyhow,

now all you cookie-munchin' mutha-b!tches know

where the hot hot treats are at-

i'll be seing y'all later-

you know you want 'em, so come get 'em;

never quiet, never soft

easy like...

my fingers look like bonsai tree roots.
F*n' gnarly.
that's the result of crimpity-crampity
crunched-up knuckles and tips.
i did too many tinyish tattoos in a row;
all those little zaps all day broke my sh!t.
ouch.
one hand has thick sausage swole-ups,
the other has rigid frigid fish-stick digits.
i'm on that boris karloff hand jive, ninjas.
now where's the ibuprofen at?
---
you know what i did even more than tattoo yesterday?
converse.
not the sneakers, dummy.
i'm talking about talking.
my lips aren't tired at all,
but i chatted-up all the mutha-uckas in the joint;
good times.
that is, until somebody i wasn't tattooing noticed
that i talk a whole lot about gay weiners,
(which is pretty much the truth, just not the whole truth)
and must not have figured out that i am obviously hilarious.
some people hear 'gay' and 'weiner',
and then just tune out the message.
she attempted some do-goodery in defense of good sense,
or good taste, or hard feelings, or some other diaper-babyhood.
as if i could stop even if i wanted to.
i'm like the accelerator on her crackery prius.
recognize.
my sh!t goes to eleven, y'heard?
hard styles, for sure.
everyone thinks they have a sense of humor,
even when they don't.
at any rate, she didn't seem to be too into it.
-go figure.
and right then, at that crucial juncture,
my employer mentioned i may
have been going just a little over-the-top.
(i did say OBVIOUSLY hilarious, yeah?)
...and then some other lady stuck up for me!
and had other mutha-b!tches agreeing, too.
that's no joking, either.
nice work baby.
good lookin' out for a ninja.
it makes me feel good, y'all,
knowing that really-real duders know what's up.
yes, i was yelling.
volume doesn't mean hostility.
yes, i was explicit.
details help avoid misunderstandings.
yes, i used the term 'congealed piss'.
oh c'mon. i should get a little credit for the vocabulary.
for the record:
i'm completely pro gay weiners.
and even all for inverted ones.
and vegetarian sausage.
you know what i'm sayin'.
***********
the snow is melting a little.
the temperature is above freezing, after all.
although just barely.
i've only got a half-day of work to do.
it's the second half, though.
which means the afternoon delights will
consist of tatzappin' and 'hood rappin',
and happy hot dog hullabaloo.
i do what i do,
and you know how i do it;
never quiet, never soft.....

on my knee.

like i give a F* about alabama?!
ka-POW!

y'know what that is?

that's a mutha-lickin' banjo.

and to think that y'all thought i was

an irritating last-nerve grater before.

finger picking poop-boat-floating, no-talent,

pluckity-plinkity rattletrap crappiness.

good news, yeah?

the big boxy brown truck brought me my treats yesterday,

and made my snowy day a little bit sunnier.

guess who can't play a lick of banjo music?

yeah! it IS me.

guess who isn't letting that stop 'im?

double yeah! me AGAIN.

i'm ringin' in a new era...

...of noise.

even louder, even harder.

there's only 5 strings,

but i'm still taking it to eleven.

get that trumpet ready, duder;

never quiet, never soft.....

come ON.

some people think it's funny,
but it's cold and wet and runny.
sky-arrhea.
takin' a sort of hard-style sh!t.
right on my whole life:
no foolin', huh?

real-time real life documentation.

this is happening.

and it sucks the hardest and the fullest ones.

winter decided to actually show up for the party,

a little too much, and waaaaay too late.

just in case you missed it (& i didn't).

the first green is gold,

and then the second green is, y'know, green,

but apparently, this is the third green shade of nature:

white.

so stupid.

in fact, this weather is positively gaytarded,

and not in a good way, either.

i am displeased, my ninjas.

and i am a little bit cold, too.

that's the truth.

if i didn't know better,

i'd swear ma nature is tryin' to be a real s.w.b.

ohhhhh, sh!t.

i'm just kidding, mama naytch.

but seriously,

you could ease up on the sucktacular sauce any time now.

***********

what's better than bad weather?

that's an easy one to answer;

...everything!

could i be more specific?

sure:

harvest skye and maple st*r are here!

big thanks go out and about to our good buddy elsah

for driving jess' cute A*biscuits all over the F*n' place

and especially for delivering my shivering seedlings

up to the northern frostline...

naturally,

what with it being april and all,

snowsuits were NOT packed.

vacation, day one.

BOOOOOO!

super mario on the wii anyone?

***********

i've got nine tattoos to do today,

if anybody even shows up.

it's a well-recorded fact, y'all:

old people and women from massachussetts

aren't cognitively capable of navigating

through the (single) byway, or the three back roads

of the woodsly goodness in any kind of road conditions,

let alone snowy, blowy, savage, stormswept, ravaging rage.

standstills are to be anticipated.

no-shows and cancellations as well.

nine tattoos.

in six hours?

that's vacation weekend business, kids.

i do the work,

i pull my weight,

i tote my share of the burden;

no finicky fragile sensibilities here.

extra-crappy? maybe.

emotionally under-rewarding? probably.

still my job? definitely.

you want zaps, you get zaps.

it's all the same sh!t.

that's huckabees, son-

everything you could ever want or need,

you already have and are,

everything is the same, even when it's different.

everything is the blanket, remember?

never quiet, never soft.....

c'mon.

it is the middle of april, right?
it's been spring for almost a month now, too, yeah?
i'm just checking,
because i thought it was the ides of march
that i was supposed to watch out for,
and not day-after tax day in april.
what do i mean?
what do you mean 'what do i mean'?
i mean that all of a sudden, out of nowhere,
it sucks outside really hard.
oh, yeah, it does;
there's a wintry mix a-fallin'.
uh-huh.
it's snowing again.
wet, disgusting, parmesan-cheese chunks.
F* my A*, ninjas.
c'mon.
it's just not cool.
and,
i checked the weather report, kids.
snow, rain, clouds, and cold all week.
SNOW!, and for the next forseeable batch of days?
is that worst case scenario for april vacation?
yeah, it kinda is.
sorry springtime,
and sorry schoolkids of new hampshire...
who doesn't like being housebound and down
for a week of woodsly goodness with the family?
my wife and my kids arrive tonight,
through the maelstrom,
and into this.
april showers can chug it, duders.
***********
so,
being here all by my lonesome these last few days,
i'm beginning to notice how motivated i am
without an audience to distract me.
the dog sort of pays attention, sometimes,
but not enough to have a long conversation or anything.
i'm actually impressed with what i've gotten accomplished.
when my time is my own,
i really know how to spend it.
***********
i've always kind of hoped to become a sovereign ruler.

the authoritative author in charge of my very own fortress.

like a barbarian baron.

or an iron-fisted duke.

or some kind of kickass lightning stiking viking lord.

y'know.

a thane.

with vassals, and retainers, and knights,

or raiders and champions or whatever...

it turns out, though,

despite the promising beginnings of burly battlements

in the form of cedar slats and a crenellated tin-roof,

with regards to my Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,

so far all i've got is polyurethane.

and that's no fun at all.

but it is sure lookin' sexy in my little bitty bathroom.

i've got three coats of waterproof satin plastiseal in place,

and still one or two more layers of silky sweetness to go,

and then the hand-hammered hottness will FINALLY

take it's rightful place in the live-edged ledge.

no vassals, but a vessel sink is still pretty rad.

plumbing?

i got it.

staining?

yep.

sanding?

i don't like it, but i'm on the mutha-ucka.

it's good to be king, i've heard,

but i'll only know for sure when my throne room is done...

***********

seriously, though,

this weather can smoke the most ferocious pole.

(that would be boleslaus the brave.........c'mon)

never quiet, never soft.....

misnomers and mishaps.

hoagie.
grinder.
hero.
sub.
are you really trying to tell me this?
if i put my tasty food treats in a long roll
instead of a square or circle of bread,
it gets a regionally specific name?
uh-uh.
no way, jose.
i don't buy it;
that's not a hoagie,
it's just a big guini.
look:

...see?

'man'-guinis to be sure,

but absolutely not subs.

more like sub-stitution of a lamer word than guini.

that's word.

and is that soysage and peppers, by the way?

you bet your A* it is.

deli-style, with tomato sauce, ninjas.

i needed some hard-syle help

after burning off the green elephantitis of the day prior.

i had huge ambitions for the day.

giant aspirations of immense accomplishments.

how'd i make out?

mostly,

i got blisters, cuts, and a sore neck.

doing what?

well,

i stained most of the oft-neglected,

as-yet-incomplete baby bottom bathroom.

that's no joke.

and i hooked up the lights in there.

i know god pulled that off on the first day,

but the pace is a little slower in the woodsly goodnes.

on the one hand,

i'm turbo-psyched about how incredible this little water-closet

is gonna look;

on the other hand,

every single part of this miniature nightmare takes extra work.

so it takes extra time...

and pre-stain has to sit and soak in for a while,

and the regular stain has to be applied within a specific window of time,

and watersealant has to be sanded between coats,

and the first coat can't even be applied until 24 hours have passed

since the final coat of stain has set and been buffed and wiped,

and then only two to four hours apart, for each additional coat,

but not more than two coats in a day,

with three coats as a minimum recommendation.

jeez, that's some straight-up no-fun bullsh!t!!

before i knew it,

it was dark out, cold out, and time for bed.

and it was wednesday.

that's dinner night.

for the second straight week in a row,

only my ninja jim was hungry enough to

make an appearance at the fortress.

and he brought information.

yessir, he showed me different summer-weight yarns.

it's true.

that's the kind of stuff that happens.

yarn, long-guinis, semi-stained, strained situations.

what can i tell you guys?

it's just not the same without my lady.

at all.

and it's not looking too good for much quality time, either.

at least not for the next trio of weeks.

kids, travel, work, tourist vacation sensations....

times get hectic, duders.

that's that real life business.

grown-up stuff an' that.

F-.

***********

...i suppose it had to happen.

all this springly sprightly bird seed feeding-

-the fields and forests are alive with feathery alightings.

as it turns out, for most practical purposes,

chipmunks and assorted birds all in one place

look just like a smorgasbord of small treats to predators.

no, not the pig-faced rubber-dreadheadlock aliens...

i'm talking about birds of prey.

y'know,

sharp eyes, sharper other parts,

the favorites of bikers and native americans.

yep.

they're here now, too.

yesterday,

a northern goshawk dive-bombed right past my head.

for serious, within five feet of my face,

tryin' to munch up a 'munk.

be easy,

he missed.

but,

today, a red-tailed terror has been circling up above,

biding his biting, tensing his talented talons an' that.

sooner or later, kids,

nature's infinite nature reminds us:

right here, inside of a year and a day,

is where the wild things are.

and they're hungry.

and wild.

and that's just the way things are.

real life. real real. and this is how it happens...

like the woodsly goodness's brutal barbarian balance

is taking time to let some other real ninjas know what time that is.

it's business time.

a little reminder of who's really in charge here.

take that, kind-hearted vegan caretakers.

you like watching those scampering scamps?

i'll bet.

keep fattening 'em up yeah?

oh MAN.

we're practically playing the part of the gingerbread-house witch,

all hansel and gretel,

complete with a trail of birdseed disappearing behind us.

dang.

nature wins, y'all;

never quiet, never soft.....