So now that I have gathered my senses after hearing the news of your gainful employment I will submit a proper post. I checked out Lit Workshop's site and am not surprised in the least that they chose you. They love boxes and sneakers, two things that you have demonstrated complete mastery over. I am really curious as to how you presented your portfolio for the interview and what exactly you included. It must have been a very merry Christmas for you to know that a job is waiting in the new year and I suspect it is just the beginning  of  Wheelock-World Wide (once you have devoured them).
I can only hope (and work like the Devil) that something good is coming my way this year. Otherwise, it's getting pretty fucking dark in here.
Above are two of the several synthetic skin tattoos I gave away for Christmas this year. There is nothing more I can learn (technically speaking) from these practice skins. I need blood.
I am glad to report, however, that the little butterfly tattoo posted earlier has apparently healed quite nicely and that all the ink has stayed put. This was not a given because, at the time, the tattoo-ee (Amy) had drank several beers just prior and I was working mostly blind in a puddle of body fluids with tiny shader needles that are, I am told, very easy to overwork, which I did. For two days afterwards she was able to press a piece of paper to the butterfly and get a print off of it! I plan to build my empire off of this little tattoo, somehow, so I was on the edge of my seat about it.
I would love to see some MOG mobile sketches and , again, a Mad Madelaine when you can.
C.

Extended forecast: Hell has frozen over with a %100 chance of flying pigs.

Charley!!! A Job! ...A Job!!
I feel....wierd.

I got a job in the manufacturing sector!

I need to google "Project Manager".  Why?  Because I am going to start being one Jan 4th!  I got a job!  What the hell?  I have been trying to get a job for 5 years!  I just can't believe it.  I have been in a state of euphoria for the past couple of days.  The company, Lit Workshop is a manufacturer with a design department consisting of three or four people.  They do a lot of fixtures and display units for retail environments.  They have some amazing machines.  a water jet cutter, a laser cutter, a 5 axis cnc router, a big finishing booth and a lot more.  I am going to have huge responsibility.  I have to professionalize my ragged ass.
I told them I just committed to the MOGmobile so I am starting there working 6 hr days through Jan, then full time.  Three months of probation and then hopefully, a raise, some bennies and a job!
What should I do?

I want to draw I want to dance I want to puke, I just feel so expressive with the weight of years dropping onto the floor.  What a relief.  I mean, my self confidence has been plummeting for some time now.  It sure does feel good to have someone believe in you.

if you don't title the post, who will?

Christ, Charley, you're a busy man. I am very glad Madelaine's adventure turned out O.K. A very scary moment for a parent that I can only imagine. Your description of her closing her  eyes just before the surgery gave me chills. Then again, who would you rather have administering the anesthetic then Dr. Stoner himself?..Dr.Stoner..that is just too rich. How do you make it to, or even through medical school with a name like that?

I can see from the photograph that you have your work cut out for you to get Madelaine to make an angry face. She obviously finds the whole exercise much too silly. Still, you must prevail for me, other wise my secret project will be in vain. When you try again, please do it out side in an even light. The lighting needs to be similar to the picture of Leo.

So, I read the latest posts on DesignTrench.

Where in the world do you find the time to illustrate and post a recipe!!? I think I'll give those onion grenades a try for Christmas dinner. I suspect the gastro-intestinal fuse on those bad boys is about 45 minutes and then it's all out biological warfare. I pity the fools.

I was pleasantly surprised to see an Erwin Wurm fat car on the blog as well. I think you two were separated at birth. I would post other examples of his work that remind me of you but Google takes all the fun out of that.

You and Jesse must be beside yourselves (which is quite Wurmish, come to think of it) about the DesignSponge home feature. You two have always run a pretty tight ship, it seems, so I hope there isn't  much work to do. I do, however, suspect that you're cooking up some ill-advised prank home accessories to keep the invaders on their toes. A small touch, like a vibrating door knob or perhaps a completely inexplicable apparatus that they are too afraid to ask about. Anyways it's very exciting and I expect my drawing of the cow to figure prominently in the article.

Thanks , too, for the plug in your story about the hilariously mangled job proposal that you gave to the library. I don't think I've ever been quoted on line before except by myself.

And yes, you have, without council, I might add, gone public with Pan'sPeter. And now, with the imminent onslaught of hungry consumers desperate to have a piece of us,  we need to manufacture a clothing/screen print line based on homeless rags from  'free' bin outside the Salvation Army. I'm totally in, as you already know and am presently counting the millions yet to be made.

1...2...3...4....5...6....7.....hhmm, I can't think of any more friends who will buy one for a dollar.

I thought for a moment that Pup-puh-ho could be our star graphic ( he does grace the blog marquee after all), racing across the random  polo or bitchin' plaid trousers we scavenge, but still, a simple skull might still be the answer. The Pup-puh-ho might be a little too...shlafty. An actual Faun could work, after all this is Pan'sPeter but only if he's gnarley enough. No prancing or flute. I will also prepare a new "Fuck the Race" logo for consideration.

Below is my first completed tattoo. I'm terribly pleased with this humble little butterfly. It was an addition to a memorial tattoo by an unknown artist from Alabama that resides on Beth's older sister's leg. "Jayden" is her grandson (Amy was a grandmother at the tender age of 37) who died a newborn from a birth defect where the organs form on the outside of the body. Nice going, God.

Some fairly high stakes for such a rank beginner as myself,  considering not only the sentiment, but also that my effort is adjacent to an obviously seasoned shop pro.

I look forward to hearing about your job interview, the mere fact that you were even able to drum one up  in this economy deserves a celebratory wine stained thumbs up.

C.

do we have to put a title on every post?

Yo Bro,
Sorry about the delay.  I took a couple of pictures of mean Madeleine but couldn't get it just right.   I couldn't get to not ham it up for the picture. Before I had a chance to do another photo shoot, she was struck with appendicitis!  We had to take the poor little thing to the hospital where she was under the knife within hours.  She was a champ.  I was really impressed with her courage.  I will get one when she feels better.
She was well prepped for her hospital visit.  I don't know if you are aware of this book: Madeline (n I can't figure out how to underline the book title, grr) but it is about a little French girl who gets her appendix out.  We know it well over here and I think it gave our Madeleine some strength.  I brought our copy of the book to the hospital and got everyone I could to sign it for her. Even Dr Stoner, the anesthesiologist.  I love this town.



It looks like the blog design*sponge is going to do a feature on our house!  There is a section called sneak peeks where they show the domiciles of designers and artists.  So Jessie and I took a bunch of pictures and sent them off.  The home editor sounded like she was going to do it, so that is exciting.  Last time I was in design*sponge my blog and my website took record hits.  That was from the award winning soapbox car though.  that thing is a slam dunk.  I am a little anxious to see if the design savvy masses will approve of my humble abode.  Design*sponge is pretty big. This link is directly to the sneak peaks section that we are going to be in.
I have been planning on how to handle this little opportunity.  I have set up a a traffic tracking program called Google Analytics to monitor my web site, trenchdesign, the etsy shop and panspeter.  Last week in a long rambling boring blog entry I went public with panspeter.  I am equally excited as I am horrified to see if the design*sponge gets us some visits here, through trenchdesign. I will give you the secret passwords and whatnot if you are interested in seeing the action.
Do me a favor and take a look at my blog post called "Two Ways Prepare Crow" or something.  Is it too verbose?  Is it worthy of visitors or is it too long for someone who doesn't know me?  I wanted to write a lot so I could bury the link to Panspeter as deeply as I could.  Shroud it with text so cryptic and prose so indecipherable that nobody will ever be able to get to that part.  I want to have some fun stuff up there.  And I want to have some more fun stuff up here!  I want more fun stuff everywhere!  So get on it Ruppert.  I am counting on you to shine.  Somebody might see this.
Make a fuck the race shirt, take a picture of it and I will put it on our new etsy site.  It seems like my price point is too high for etsy.  We need to sling some $10-$20 items.  How about it?  We need to do it this week if we want to cash in on the free third hand publicity we might get.  Sounds like a good enough reason to drop everything, right?
Make a shirt, don't even bother with the silk screen yet.  We will open the umbrella when it starts to rain.

I have a big job interview tomorrow so wish me luck.

ps: I really like that Sardinia tattoo.

much love

Mama Mia, Multo Tormento!

So I tattooed Beth's chef from work (Fabio)  today. It took like 4 hours! Actually it was the second 'stab' at it to clean up my feeble first attempt and also add color. I still have to color in the island and that mutant little star that indicates where Fabio was born on the island of Sardinia. This shit is hard to do, man. Of course this is my second tattoo ever so I'm not being too hard on myself. Even so, better him then me.

'Soi Sardu' means 'I am from Sardinia'.

The island shape, cross, and decapitated heads are the actual flag. Fabio wanted the wreath and I came up with the wave like blades. Apparently some uppity arabs (Moors) attempted to take over the island years ago but these crazy waps cut the heads off of four  warlords and posted them on the corners of the island as a warning. This tattoo should do well in Baltimore.

How's the wiener mobile?

Bitter Boy

"I'm not bitter, I'm an artist!
Reminds me of when I was in France and, in response to a french friend calling me out on a cheerful beer fueled rant, I triumphantly exclaimed:
"I'm not drunk, I'm an american!"
So put on a pot of coffee and gather the wife and kids and I will post.
 You know, it's true that adulthood brings on a keener sense for the sour and bitter regions of the papillae.
Before I explain the temporary blunder of actually worrying about my life, however,  I must comment on the troubling amount of hair that you put around the pumpkin hole. A whole new meaning to the term JACK-o- lantern (too easy). They're not supposed to be that terrifying, Charley.. I have my suspicion that it was summarily rejected from the carving contest and so you grabbed it out of your car trunk real quick to snap the photo before security realized you hadn't left.

On second thought, put the kids to bed.
          
Now, back to my demoralized and wanton morass of self pity. I should like to start with a touching, even poignant moment that greeted me this morning, which sort of says it all.

                                

Every morning, my dogs leave me something. Usually it is a bill or other important piece of paper ( I continually forget NOT to leave out) that has been shredded and chewed into bits. This is often the work of my 110 lb Akita boy. He could chew a dining room table into vapor but prefers (thank god) to make  spit balls by working each little tab of paper, say, from a Jury Duty notice, vigorously with his front teeth, until it resembles a grain of rice. He did once chew the top of the couch off along with the blinds of the window behind it, in an effort to gnaw his way to the backyard in order to take a shit. I didn't have the heart to be mad at such a heroic effort to be a "Good Boy".
 My two girls ('dogs', dear future, anonymous reader) like to 'suck' on any socks or 'shoes' they can get a hold of. They have come to understand that to chew a hole in the master's footwear is a very bad thing so they literally steal stuff and sort of, well, suck on it.
The above picture is as appropriatley out of focus as my naked eyes are in the dawn's early light. That is my lunch money (and coincidentally, my life savings) marking the exact spots where there had been a series of small turds. Notice the elegant arcing turn, as the beast attempted to negotiate a table. I would need to return to these spots momentarily with an enzyme solution that could neutralize the imbedded remnants of the offense.
What is my point, anyways? Truly, I've forgotten....o, yeah... by marking it with my lunch money I would be able to deliver the solution to each exact spot and not waste any.
This, my dear friend, is my life.
And yet....but in a single, fleeting romance, I could lose all of my sorrows with that pumpkin of yours.
By the way, is that the same hole for putting the drinks in first?

New Subject:

I dug up the original "Fuck the Race" for your viewing pleasure. This t-shirt is now 20 yrs old. The age I was when I made it. The original, original was a doodle I left on a note on the fridge at Sentry Hill explaining that i had to go away for the weekend to my Aunt's wedding.

I disagree about the image we should use, even though I almost weep with nostalgia at the sight of those two little fellas..
It needs to be simpler, more iconic like I suggested over the phone. I will send you a $138,395,032  idea shortly and then you can post a note telling me I'm wrong.

While I was rooting around in the basement for the shirt, I found another little treasure in an old NYC journal.
I blame him for everything.

Great Idea!

My boy is sick today so I am at home with him.  Work at the winery is ending sometime next week and I am psyched to move on.  Perhaps in this direction:

I think we should open an etsy shop and recall the fuck the race t shirts.  We could lay them up on shirts we get at the good will by the pound.  Green and funky.  Like my toe jam.  The etsy shop (ETSY.com) could be a fun extension of Pan's Peter.  And and any extension of any Peter is a good thing, right?  What say ye?  It is free.
Only hitch is that if orders come in we will have a cross country scramble to make them.  I am thinking just a black line drawing like the original, but each shirt will be different.  Easy, right?  and the way I figure, if it costs us $2.00 per shirt and we sell them for $10 and we sold 34,598,758 shirts, we could stand to make $276,790,064.  That is $138,395,032 each in one year!  I bet you could get Beth to marry you then.  Shit, you could buy your own fire department and be the chief!

Here's my post, on Thursday, which is named after Thor, who I wished I was.

I visited the MOG site that you are supposed to represent with a "tricked out" wiener-like mobile.  The site grabbed my attention for about 10 seconds. If it's not about me or someone I know by pheromone, then I can hardly give a shit anymore. I guess I'm just really, really sick of everything, especially the next generation and the wave of advertising it spawns, I barely survived the machine that stuck it's fangs in the X'ers.... as if I ever bought anything because of an add....As if I ever bought anything at all that wasn't just to go in my mouth.....(I know, I know...what the F is he talkin' about?)
I will say this, though, it looked very well designed, very youthful, and full of more, more, more.

One thing I definitely care about is OUR ever"verging" careers and you have come up with yet another ridiculously fun and daunting sounding project. Too bad it's all going to turn to shit.(shhhh.....I'm using double psychology on the gods )
Your choice of sub-vehicle (the Unimog) may be problematic though, in that, although it appears to be able to drive over several of its's selves in a row,  it also appears to get 3 gallons to the mile and is probably a nightmare to fix (not good for all the commuting it's supposed to do). Now, I know your all Twin Barrelled up and want to kick the world in the head with a giant pair of balls on wheels.
The only icon I can find on their sight is  red Target-looking headphones (there's your "Balls" actually) or that fat little red circle that shows up in the address bar (again, very close to Target's icon).. Make those big red headphones or "Balls"  and slap some wheels on it. Big f'ing Unimog wheels! I don't envy the task actually but I know you'll come up with something.Oh, and $30 grand to do it..?.... and road legal? That just pisses me off.
I've much more to say about everything but I forgot to eat today .
Please visit  The Baker Artist Awards ( again already) and vote for my pauper ass!  Something good has got to give eventually, besides not dying on a daily basis. What the fuck were we given all this talent for anyways? I feel a rant coming on and it really is mostly due to a craving for pizza or a pacifier or a cigarette or the ability to fly.
Below is the link:http://www.bakerartistawards.org/nomination/view/christopher_ruppert/2610
Wise cracks and sundry feedback expected.

where is my Sunday blog entry?

Where is your Sunday blog entry, ya chimpanzee?

I have been trying to line up work for myself when the luxury of completely busting my ass for 70 hours per week at the blinding rate of $13/hr evaporates next week.  I am sending a proposal to a guy who wants a tricked out marketing vehicle for his music/social website called MOG.  I went to UVM with the guy who started the company.  I am very excited about it.  He said he has a budget of 30K.  I am currently trying to grow a quick set of big balls so I can ask him to bump the budget up to 150K.
He wants a vehicle that will be driven by a couple of hotties to college campuses and festivals etc.  He wants it to be as crazy as the Oscar Mayer Weiner car!  I heard he was looking for someone to do this so I contacted him.  He told me that some dudes in Oakland were going to do it.  (they are a S.F. company.)
I emailed him and said those clowns from oakland were going to make him a float.  I'll give him an icon!!!
He called me the next day and said, "Charley, I want an icon."

So this could be fun.  My brains are a twitter.  I have a great crew I can draw from here to get this done.  I hope I get it.  I have to send a proposal of sorts on Monday.
I think it would make sense for us to start with a Mercedes Unimog.  Have you ever seen one of these guys?  They come in all shapes and sizes and I bet I could find one that I could transform into an icon.  Here is a video of one that some rednecks got a hold of:

"Tell my wife I ...glug, glug, glug..."

This video of you is surreal. It is straight out of a deep R.E.M stage. Not to mention it appears to be taking place in an art gallery. I'm riding a wave of wonderment at the utterly perfect and ridiculous vision of it (nice shirt, by the way).
But what if you slip? Surely, you would perish in the murky swag. Perhaps you should be wearing a brighter cap that would stay afloat above your foamy grave to alert a passing sommelier.
When I worked on a vineyard in Italy in the Fall of 1989 I saved a man who was hanging by one hand above a giant vat of grapes (true story). Aldo, the vineyard's owner, was on a cat walk above some monstrous, automated grape crusher and lost his balance. When I heard the screaming I found him losing his grip on a railing 6 feet directly above the giant, diabolocal grinding mechanism. Talk about crushed grapes.
Who knew alcohol was so dangerous!?..and that's without drinking it.

So now I have to get some sort of video recording device to keep up with these posts of yours. What would I film? ......I could have filmed three guys trying to force a 30 ft. chimney liner down a chimney it didn't fit, in the rain and on a slope that would make a mountain goat think twice. It might have looked like some bizarre take on the "Rape of the Sabines"

My mother bought me a pair of skateboarder shoes for my birthday and it's probably why I'm still alive.
Until the next stupid shit, yours truly,
c.

undercover instructional videos

yo bro,
I love that french Pup Puh Ho.  I guess I love all Pup Puh Hos.  There is not much to dislike.  I had managed to transform the image in my demented memory of it.  I really thought he had a retired linebacker type body with a very youthful bound, unteathered by the anchors that hold everyone else down.  Love that guy.  He gives credence to my unfounded optimism.
check me out in the grapes.

Here is another Pup Puh Ho drawn in France, as a matter of fact. He's the only one I can recall who is pointing.  I was attempting to introduce him to Beth at the time. She had heard the phrase but had never met him in person.

Parlez Pup Puh Ho

First of all, the pup puh ho I drew in NYC  was leaner then this one. Where did you get the memory that the pup puh ho was ever ....chubby!?
That one I drew on the granite wall under the bridge in pencil stayed for like three years. Very sad to find it gone, on one of my return visits (they finally pressure washed the wall). The one above, as I may have mentioned along the way, was done in France in 2003, drawn into a slather of ink on a plate of glass and then pressed onto a sheet of rag paper. Yes, he is running in perspective, away into the stars. He looks like a constellation. It just came out that way, that time (one can never be sure). I like the feeling of him having turned towards his mission, balls to the petal. There is something bitter sweet in it. The unholy glee has become earnest, committed. Leaving. The Pup Puh Ho of a 33 yr old.
My favorite is the one I sent to you in a letter sometime in 1998 or 9. He was leaping off of a cliff above a rising flame, suspended by a butterfly tied to his cock. His inner twinkle was blinding, glorious. If you have it (which I half expect you to), please post it.
 Then there is the triple breasted  hermunculous demon Greg signed a few letters with, which I feel was some how the predecessor. Maybe that's what the french Pup Puh Ho was running away from.
Well, my friend, the chimney harvest has begun in earnest and I have just learned that
I need to begin running stairs with a weighted back pack to prepare for the Fire Dept physical...ugh...

Ithaca brings not riches but the journey itself, right?  

puh puh ho

You realize that the guy running up there is not the puh puh ho I remember.  This guy is much leaner.  Even muscular in a Greco Roman wrestler type of way.  He is also running away pretty fast.  The guy you drew on the wall back in Morningside Heights had a much different attitude. Maybe instead of a skull, you should get a chubby, happy-go-lucky, carefree Puh Puh Ho in a twinkle toed leap.

they will eat your brains out.

psss

Maybe 'Armageddon' IS a scrum of frisky spankings under a giant stalk of broccoli..
...that's not so bad, really.

pss

For our legion of future readers: I am not responsible for Monk's tattoo....whew....just to make that clear.

ps

Nice friggin' fish, man! or  'Squish'..get it?

from one grunt to another

Goddammit!
Twice I have deleted  an almost completed posting and could not retrieve it!!
It was incredibly witty and pertinent and took me 3 hrs to write.  
I talked about straddling a slate roof with a 50lb bucket of morter for the entire day (talk about frank and beans!) and Monk's (a young sweep) "Armageddon" tattoo that turned out as a scrum of frisky homos spanking eachother silly in the shadow of a giant stalk of broccoli. Then there is the 'forgive me ' sign the other owner (not Cullin) has decided to put up permanently (for god only knows what)  for his girlfriend, not to mention he lives up in his bird coop above the company compound doing God only knows what, like some kind of Nosferatu (See pictures below). Rumor has it he occasionaly descends to verbally abuse Monk (I never actually witness this or actually ever see the owner... ever) although Monk always relays the previous day's  abuse on our hair raising morning rides to work as Bob, my crew mate, who rides us both downtown to the compound, races to the crack 'O' dawn methadone clinic. 
So, are you angling to move up the food chain at the vineyard? Your tattoo suggestion to your boss (and friend , thank god), as hilarious as it is, will not help.  Also, I am not available for that particular gig because I have made a pledge to never tattoo on a  penis or tattoo an image of a penis (as icon), grapes or no grapes.
I must go, before this evil machine deletes this whole e-mail again.
By evil machine , I mean me.

aloha

Ahh, finally, a day off.  This winemaking is hard work.  I have been all over the winery this year.  They have let me do things that I can hardly believe.  From driving the forklifts to running presses to digging out tanks, it is all fun as hell.  I talked a guy from the office into mounting a camera on a good vantage point and setting it to take a picture every minute, all day.  I am looking forward to showing you a stop animation
of a day.  I really want to shoot the clean up at the end of the day.  We are essentially a food service and it is very important to clean the fuck out of everything, every day.  I have not experienced as much indulgent gushing of hot water since I took a shower at the Yale Club locker room.  There are grapes everywhere.  seriously, by the end of the day I am picking them out of my underwear.  I freaked out in the shower when I was washing the hot dog and beans and I came across a gnarly purple scab!  It turned out to be a grape skin that had managed to slither right into my crotch.
I was asking my pal Sam, the guy you sent a shirt to, about winemaking.  I think he might be a little bit of a cowboy, trying odd things to achieve the wines that best represent the personalities of the terroir and the vintage.  He has a tattoo of a little grape cluster on his arm.  I suggested that he get a new one.  I think your tattoo career has really inspired me.  I told him to get a tat that goes under his arm across his armpit and down his ribs a bit.  It would be a big hard cock with a whole cluster of Pinot Noir grapes as his nuts.  I told him you were the guy to do it.  He seemed open to the idea.

Congrats on your firefighting exam score.  That sounds promising.  What a great job that would be.  Even better than carcass cleaning.  If it doesn't work, there is always taxidermy.

careful what you work towards

So I got a notice from the city that my 'converted graded score for the eligibility list' is a 91.
I think this is good. My mother has a colleague who's husband is a career firefighter and she thinks that score will put me in the first tier of applicants. For the next year I'm on a list that they will call in on a rolling basis. I know I can pass a physical. We'll see about the arrest record.
 As a chimney sweep you see every corner of the city and from just about  every angle. There is  constant driving from job to job because most 'sweeps' take about an hour. Sometimes there are longer projects like a chimney liner or rebuild but usually we will go from horse country to the ghetto and back again in a day. Because we work from the basement to the roof at any given house cleaning the flu(s) etc.. we get a really intimate view of the way people live. So, whether we're riding thru a rough part of town or pinching our cheeks on %70 graded slate roof to install copper gutters, or crawling over boxes of memorabilia to reach a furnace, I'm now in constant EMT-Fireman fantasy mode. I'm involuntarily taking the scenery around me and visualizing all hell breaking lose. The fat lady in the moo-moo watching me vacuum the chimney damper becomes an inert epileptic with a blazing floor joist about to crush her or the junkie dipping around the corner (one of hundreds we drive by every day) is going to be the guy I scrape off of the street and into an ambulance because his jaw was blown off with a 357 magnum. I wonder if I'll throw up? Probably.
Hey, how is the 'Design sponge' thing working out? If well, then I know your psychotically busy and writing an e-mail is the last thing on your list.  And I looked up earwigs....nasty.
ps Let me design the earwig 'tattoo' that goes on your arm for the wine label.

Harvest Continued

Earwig Soup:
It will eat your brains
It will get you laid
Dissolves STD's on contact.

Are you really going to make some wine? Does this mean you will sneak around the vineyard after hours collecting the run-off or can you put in an  order for a barrel to be relabeled in your basement? I feel your suggestion for a label design (fist and forearm) was an invitation for me to doodle something up ... However, the label should probably be done by your own inimitable hand...not that you even asked...which is cool....
Besides you could also easily find some starving hippy wood cutter in that town of yours to do the real thing. Just promise them a bottle of wine when they finish it and then hit them over the head with an empty one when they're done.
It does seem like a really fun industry. Especially the harvest. That's a  great picture of Chef Mike about to enjoy a glass of slurry in his lobster-man gear..... I do not, however' see any 'shorts' in the picture of you about to step into the vat. I will assume you have institutionalized those red short shorts of yours ( as immortalized last year) but that they have shrunk over the winter ( due to the all squashed penny tannins) and now function as an actual thong.
Why not just shovel that shit out naked (besides the fact that it would get you fired)? That's how the real Bacchus would roll.
Below are some pictures from my own Autumn activities (besides chimneys,poptarts and tattoos.) which include making 'fire and spill' paintings with the boys next store from the group home. First we build a proper fire on each one, then strain and spill disgusting moldy house paints we've scavenged from the neighbors and then I will add a little gold leaf and mud slip possibly, before trying to get them into a gallery and then better yet, into someone's living room. That's Harrison and Tevon, by the way and I have become "Mr.Chris". It has a nice ring, don't you think?

 

winespeak

Dear Dude,
This guy who is working for about a three week stint at the winery sent me an email because he wanted me to send him a picture I took.  I didn't recognize the name on his email address and there was no message.  So I googled the name and look what I found.  He is a chef at a restaurant in Chicago and teaches at a culinary school.  He is a wine guy so he spends his vacation working the harvest.  He was here last year for a week or so and we hit it off.  Anyway, he teaches a wine class and has a profile on corked.com or something.  here is his description of a wine (2005 Cirrus).  How fun is this industry?

First off, a lush, inviting color, and waterbed viscosity were a welcome change from the rusty syrah I have been seeing of late from SA. The nose was plummy, peppery, and a bit like squashed pennies on the railroad tracks; lots of ferrous minerals. The tannins were velvet and smooth, a pretty muscular wine, really. It is only in the persistent iron and minerals that one gets a sense that this wine might not be from the US or Australia. A sense of place is hard to grab in this bottle, but who cares. The wine has richness, fluid, silky tannin, a warm mouth feel, and enough junk in its trunk to stand up to bold flavors in food, or loud mouth dudes that "only drink red wine." It is red. It is 14% alcohol. It might get you laid. How's that?

BTW: the above is a picture of Mike in a bin of must, or unpressed skins and seeds, left over after a tank has fermented and is drained into a more civilized vessel.  It is like the wine is out of the ICU.  He choses to wear a big rain suit to dig the must out of the tank.  I tend to go for the shorts and a t shirt for digouts.

 I was thinking of a wine label for the wine I am making (Oregon Earwig Soup) Maybe a strong workman's or farmer's arm with the sleeve rolled up revealing a tattoo of an earwig.  I was thinking like a socialist propaganda feel to it.  Kind of wood cut looking?  Or a print.  What think ye?

Tattoos are basically tragic.

Mon Frere,
First off, I fully expect our little blog to sometimes be a launching pad for your public blog. You can sort of wipe off your shoes on this one. I also think the mouse hunt is ready for 'TrenchDesign' prime time as well. That is a universally hilarious moment and any prospective clients would be immediately endeared.
You are up to your ears in grapes and I am up to my balls in soot, pop tarts (the favored repast of the chimney sweep) and tattoos. I told you about the plumber who showed me the franken-bear triple cover-up tattoo, right?
Behold:

Ingredients are as follows:
1. A Pagan motorcycle club insignia
2. A spider web
3. One bear
 DUDE!!!  You thought you were joking about making it into a storm cloud w/thunderbolt when I described it over the phone.. I'm starting to think that is the only solution. When he asked me if I could fix it or cover it up ( total rookie that I am ) I was speechless. I think the words ' Well, that's quite a conundrum' passed my lips at some point. I'm pretty sure the word 'amputation' stayed in my head.

The tattoo I am working on now is also a cover up. The  infamous-in-my-own-world 'Douche-bag Derek' tattoo. Below is a  photo of the now permanently lined-in panther and foliage. It is a mock-up for the basic color scheme (which is colored pencil directly on the photo of the actual lining). I feel a little woozy about it. You can see how dumbed down my hand is with an actual tattoo machine. What do you think? Tell me something encouraging, please.

If you look, you can see  the heart in the panther's shoulder. Did I get carried away? I think I got carried away...

Finally, here is the next installment of the periodic table. It's a fairy on a calla lilly I drew yesterday.

If I can translate this kind of drawing thru a tattoo machine eventually then I should be a rich man. Click on it for a large image, I think.

 

just real quick

I am pressed for time like a grape is for hooch so I will just say this... well, these:
1-I am very excited about the Periodic Table of Tats.  You are on the right track. You might consider a Yosemite Sam, a mom heart and an anchor. Maybe a portrait and some fire with a unicorn and a primitive something or other.
2-I have committed a bloglem.  I put the vid of me and that barrel on trenchdesign.  Are we still friends?
3-I am thinking of calling my wine Oregon Earwig Soup.  There are so many earwigs crawling around it is nuts.

I need to gleek.

Periodic table Jr. and the Oral Exam

I hadn't thought about how fragile a grape can be. Like harvesting bubbles. If the crop goes to hell there is always the  jelly market (of which I have long been an enthusiastic investor). Say, would you drink a white or a red with a PB&J ?.... Probably a white, or perhaps even a brown, if I was feeling wild and there was some Hershey's syrup around.
Judging from the video, you've got the end-over barrel roll down pat. But it's more like bouncing a ball, isn't it?   Barrel bouncing...yet another utterly unique skill for your burgeoning resume of utterly unique skills. I've just learned how to remove a dead squirrel from a chimney. It starts with rolling up your sleeves and inhaling the 'status' of the offending corpse which has usually come to rest just on the other side of the damper.. The more pungent the odor the more maggots there will be. It's a bit of a roulette because you can't really know what the hell is up there ( shall we say, in terms of viscosity and adhesion) with out looking up the flu and so here in lies the gamble. What is up the flu wants to come down the flu, especially once you start poking around to see what the hell is up the flu...get it?  This is why Clean Sweep Chimney Service charges $200 for this gruesome bit of spelunking...and is yet another thing I am willing to do for $13/hr.
There is much more to report, like having taken the Oral Exam for the fire department. It went something like this. A small school class room, 3 lieutenants and me.
" Please state your name and spell it."
I was hoping it ended there because  I felt sure I could ace that part. It did not end there and I  apparently did not ace my name...because they asked me to repeat myself..
Then....
" You will answer 5 questions. Number one: You have arrived at the scene of an accident and are treating an injured woman and , unbeknownst to her, her daughter did not survive. She asks you if her daughter is o.k.. What do you say and why?"
My first thought was "Where's the morphine, anyway..?"
All in all I think I did well.
Below is an example of an abbreviated tattoo 'periodic table' as you so aptly nailed it.
What more could a fella want?...I know... wings, fire, tits and some dice....don't forget the dice.
ps Start thinking about your next tattoo, Bub....just for fun. I'll draw it up just for the practice.

wall of fruit

Things are getting crazy at the winery.  We are expecting a wall of fruit on Monday.  Due to a quick heat wave, the estimated yields have been severely reconsidered.  Average cluster went from 137 grams to 110 grams in a matter of a week!  The brix are at 128!  they should be at 124!!!  (google it, I don't have time to explain everything)  Reports of vines with single grapes literally popped out of the cluster and onto the ground have been rampant!  That means that a week ago, clusters were so fat and juicy that there was no longer enough room for all of them, so some got squirted out.  That is an indication that grape skins might have cracked within a cluster, creating a breeding ground for a variety of molds.  Then, with the heat wave, shit is really fucked up.  Raisons!  The sugars are concentrated as the juice is diminished!  That means the alcohol content is going to be higher which puts the vino in a higher tax bracket.  So we have to add water  (which is a secret )  Oh Monsieur!  le monde du vin D'Oregon c'est foux!
I apologize for the excessive exclamation points but I am not able to convey the dire reality of the situation with words alone.

Fortunately I am but a lowly cellar rat.

The Blair Mouse Hunt

Priceless....I could listen to that scream a 100 times. I groaned my way through a 2 hour horror flick the other night that wished it had half the payoff that 8 seconds did.
"Mouse" has it all.
The backlit goon, mumbling in the kitchen and about to touch something gross..
 The soft and trusting voice asking "What are you doing,..Charley..?
The sudden lunge and blood curdling scream as the camera crashes in the unspeakable onslaught.
Pure gold...
I can totally understand why you kept your battle of wits with the mouse a secret. After all, woman gather and men hunt, right? This was between you..and him.  Or is that , woman gather AND hunt and men stay up all night trying not to have nightmares, chasing mice and sending the rtesults to thier buddies....ahem.. colleagues.
By the way, did you catch the mouse?  It looks like you took it to the ground where things get even 'scarier'  because you can 't tell if it's actually in the grip or just tucked away in a peripheral fold of cloth ready to spring for the jugular with it's now enraged mouse fury. Funny too how your murderous intentions weakened from using a butcher's block to 'squish' it to the catch and release. Just didn't seem sporting, did it? Bragging rights most certainly go to the man who catches a mouse with his impromptu prophylactic mittens. Remember I euthanized that rat at the set shop in the bronx? I though that guy who looked like Tony Soprano was going to faint.
 Thanks too, for the 'soundtrack' description.  I figured if it wasn't you then, of course, it was some girl from Belgium. The 'Ker-plopp' of the box is pretty sweet. Like a single foot fall of a clydesdale might sound like. However, your thumbs poking through the sleeves are a little troubling considering those are now sewn in and marketed  to 12 year old skaters. For the record ( and this can be confirmed by several witnesses) I discovered that little Gothy fashion thumb hole in a my worn out cuffs way back in '85. You owe me a royalty.
Now on to the the real subject...my deltoids. I am still trying, with all my considerable might, to spin the word 'Bulbous' into a compliment...
...hold on..almost..there....
And temporary tattoos? What, are you trying to get me killed?
That photoshopped 'swollen finger' was your toe from the previous image of your jack-the-ripper little piggys and the Pino Grosso bottle was a morning well wasted..like this e-mail. I have the morning off bcause I'm taking the now infamous 'oral exam' for the fire depart. late this afternoon. Don't bother with anymore jokes, I think I've heard them all at this point. My favorite is " Tell your boyfriend to give me call if he needs to practice.."
We'll just have to let that house burn, shan't we?
Also, 'opening a jar' is the perfect equivalent to the effort it takes to control the tattoo machine.. and that's if I was using my tongue (which I was )... to do either.
One last thing. Below, is a doodle my mother had saved all these years. It bubbled up to the surface of her year round spring cleaning last Sunday. Remember that guy? I believe it is actually supposed to be your portrait (note the astonishing likeness). Either that or a candidate for Koview Kevy Butt Ding Ding
(note to our future army of readers: The Koview Kevy Butt Ding Ding is a monster that poos in your shoe. Only Charley's very brave and light footed children have actually seen it)

A Few Good Things

That singing is a clip I found on a free audio clip site.  Some girl in Belgium made it and put it out there.  I recorded the sound of the box closing separately and stuck that in there, and the cheering crowd just appeared on its own.  I have no idea how it got there.

I am glad you have become comfortable enough with Photoshop so that you can spend hours making things like swollen fingers and bottled body parts.  I am thinking of trying to make a barrel of wine with a couple of buddies.  I don't know if I will ever have these resources and expertise so available to me ever again.  Better jump on the chance to make a years worth of hootch for cheap.  So far it is looking like a fun harvest.

Do you really have to use all of your bulbous muscles to do a tattoo?  I can see why you like that picture of your shoulder, sans tattoo.  You look like you are trying to open a jar.  How about making a line of those temporary tattoos?  I wonder how much it would cost to get them printed.  That could be a nice $20 grab off your web site.  Make some big ones.  I bet people are doing it already, but that would be pretty fun.  Would the tattoo superstars frown?

Remember how I told you I saw a mouse and that my wife was going to kill me?  Well, things have escalated.   I finally fessed up when she saw me glance at him next to the stove.  She busted me looking at a mouse.  Then she got it out of me that I saw it before and I chose to pretend I didn't actually see it.  Not to tell her but to keep it a secret for some reason. That is a pretty effective way to deal with it.  My only excuse is that I was distracted enough from my work already and the last thing I needed was to take on a mouse infestation.

Anyway, the other night at about 1:00 am, as I fended off nightmares with Seinfeld reruns (thanks for that solution by the way) I heard the little fucker on the counter in the kitchen.  I crept up and flipped on the brightest light to shock and awe his fuzzy little ass.  It worked, he scrambled into the corner behind our mixer.  At this point I was holding this large, thick, heavy cutting board that I was going to squash him with.  I quickly reviewed the future and put the board down in exchange for a stainless mixing bowl.  I was going to trap it and chuck it off the nearest cliff.
My wife has a sixth sense.  Somehow in her sleep she felt that I was up to something so she came downstairs to find me crouched and ready to pounce with a cloth shopping bag over my hands.  I was going to just grab him.
Jessie, when she realized what was going on asked if she could help.
"Get the butterfly net!"
"It is in the garage" she answered.
"Then get the camera and hurry!"
So she ran and got the camera and this is what we got.

So my dear flend,
I thought I'd post a photo of yours truly in action (please note the guns).
I am in the process of rerunning the lines on Jackie's panther tattoo. I'm starting to get the hang of it, having  had a chance to revisit my initial effort.  What one might think is a nicely laid, velvety line might look very different a month later. It's a small complicated world down there at the tip of the needle and in spite of all the empirical and technical factors at play to guide one's sense of a hit or missed mark, I'm starting to get that the feeling that I'll really know when I've put down a good line (that will hold) according to a sort of harmonic sensation.  Jackie's a stud and practically falls asleep while I'm working.
I hope you've settled into your seasonal boot camp at the vineyard. Take pictures.

Sound Effects

O.K. so what was that soundtrack to your jewelry box demo? Was it homemade? Was it you and Jesse? Congratulations on what is one of the weirdest recordings I've heard in a long time. And the way that inner compartments slide into place is pretty astounding. Something you might see on a space ship. Of course, I am a wood butcher who believes a 1/4 inch is close enough. After all, we don't want to see those children at the caulk factory starve.
Please answer these questions for they are distracting me.

Here it is, behind the curve

Charley,
This is fantastic news! And self absorption is what this blog is all about so keep it coming. I just knew something good would come out of the 'barrels'. And here I was wasting my morning arranging the logo for your limited edition private stock. I shall respond more thoroughly to this 'whelming' turn of events shortly. Now I must finish my coffee.

I am whelmed

Teatering on the edge of goin over.  The golden eagle of opportunity is diving at me.  That blog called Design Sponge emailed me and wants to maybe showcase my house.  That means I can probably expect a couple thousand hits on Trenchdesign, or Designtrench. (I don't know exactly which one it is)  That means I need to be ready to try to parlez that shit into some fun tickets.  I have these modern jewelry boxes that I already made and are gathering dust in my basement.  I also have those aesthetic enhancement devices.  I think I should make it my goal to launch both products stratigically with the Design Sponge glory.  And I feel like I should do it asap to ride the recent wave caused by the Twin Barrel Tsunami, and to get it together before the Chirstmas season.  This is all right when I start the harvest.  My guttyworks are a twitchin'.
I apologize for being especially self absorbed right now, I am just consumed by this opportunity that I totally instigated. I have won some good press in the past but came up short on the possibilities it might have presented. I don't want to let this one fall flat... or I will have to wait till the next one. I have no idea why these particular words are so small.
I have give myself a big hug for my audio editing on this one.  Listen to that box close.  cowplap.

Is that photo of Greg and his brothers below what one might  call a poem (?)...what the hell is that?....
What ever it is, it is undoubtedly nectar of the purist degree.
One of my fondest memories of Greg is when we were all crammed together in a cab in NYC. The driver had decided to hold us captive with an endless monologue about his miserable life as he drove. In our charitable, drunken and misguided empathy we allowed and even baited this flood of wimpering wretchedness.
Not Greg.
I remember  he remained silent, squeezed ridiculously and indignantly against the window like a pressed ham.
For several blocks  we tried to cheer the man up but in the corner of my eye, Cabana's frown grew deeper and darker... until, just as the driver's self pity reached a surreal pitch, like a blinding ray of light the frown burst open in a scathing bolt of  true and rare clarity.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND DRIVE!!"
The cab went dead silent and stayed that way.
Not only had he single handedly rescued that driver from the bitterest morass of self but also from the the pack of deluded jackals  (the rest of us) who were unwittingly licking at the carrion of his pathetic state as passing entertainment.
Greg may not know this, but that moment has become a diamond in my secret reserve.

Bring on the grapes and creosote!

pinot grosso, the new oregon varietal

Lil E looks good.  Although I wish we had started this form of communication plenty of years ago, I feel like it is nicely timed with your budding new career.  It isn't really a new career though.  It is just the same old stupid career but with a viable medium.  By viable I mean... you might just eek out a living doing what you love to do.  Well, one of the things you love to do.
I don't want to jinx it so I need to maintain a high level of sarcasm to offset any real enthusiasm I might have.  The powers that be are a tricky bunch.
I start wining on Monday.  I hope those little grapes are ready for a good crushing.  I am getting a pedicure tomorrow.  Complaints have arisen that there was a little too much Charley on the nose of the 08 vintage.  It tasted good to me!  Of course, I like the smell of my own farts.

ps: what do you think about asking Greg to join our little celebration?  I kind of doubt he will do it, but if he did I can promise nectar.  He not only lives on an island but he is an island.  Below is an example of his earlier work.  Inspired?  I believe so.  Babycryer:

Remember who you are and Little Eric

I'm posting a reminder for you, my friend, as you commence the crushing of the grape. You are going into battle and although last year you emerged bloodied but victorious, the giant  awaits you again.

"10,000 bottles of wine on the wall, 10,000 bottles of wine...."

 I expect a bottle of wine (which I'll have to give away to my brother-in-law). You remember Bruce. You snapped a picture of us with my sister and Mom on top of the Empire States Building. I'll have to send you a copy because he looks like an anthropologist who has just befriended a tribe exclusively devoted to the production of hair. That's also when you asked  two workers what time it was while they were carrying an actual 10' x 10' tower clock into the building, and one of them actually tried to look at his watch with out dropping the clock (which must have cost at least as much as his salary).
I hope your full harvest submersion will not mean complete radio silence. If so, I will do my best to pick up the slack and give you something to read.  Of course, sweeping chimneys is no walk in the park either, but I'll post....O yes, I'll post.

This is little Eric. It is a my first tattoo portrait (on practice skin). It is for Big Eric's right bicep. Eric is 42.  Perhaps I am not being clear. This IS a portrait of big Eric when he was little Eric!

Some fools will spend a small fortune attempting to recover their inner child.

Eric is going to spend $75  "and get dat bitch inked up,Yo!"

By the way, I'm exceedingly proud of this initial attempt , considering the tattoo machine still feels like a cross between a crow quill and a beard trimmer to me.

It appears I have been invited to apprentice at one of the swankier shops in the region in a couple of months or so. We'll see. The funny part is that it is going to be in a high-end mall in Annapolis, MD (which is one of the yacht capitals of the world). Why do I mention yachts? Lot's of ankle tattoos which hurt a great deal and for which we will charge an exorbitant amount of money!

C.

Charley,
Thanks for the video. A mild but timely cathartic for my grieving process. Your touch is deft. It was the first thing I took in this morning, squinting through the glaze of my naked, feeble eyes. I wonder which rock  delivered  our little goat. Probably the first one.
 I spent yesterday alone (Beth worked a double) involuntarily groping at the rim of Ye Ol' Abyss so that by the time she came home I was totally deaf, dumb and blind with my buttocks firmly pressed against the back wall of my 'cave' (which doubles as the aforementioned rim). She wanted to come in but I didn't know the password to my own threshhold. She wouldn't have been able to hear me anyways over the cannon roar and screeching birds.
She drew me a simple picture of my problem this morning, after a heated engagement, complete with an arcing line, an eliptical hole and 4 blockish gaurdians.  I marched right up to the eliptical hole in her drawing, through the gaurds, to prove that, even though I could look right at it, I still wouldn't be able to explain the sight of it. A sight that makes my eyes water, which they did. This seemed to satisfy her.That and a long hug. I guess these are not places to go alone.
What I do know is that I would have given anything to wrestle a cast iron tub instead.
I may be joining you in a Fall harvest of my own. In a scramble for work  my friend Cullin may offer me a job for the Autumn push ( a very busy time for the chimney sweep). It is actually the perfect training ground for an aspiring fire fighter. 
This entry was supposed to be about tattoos. The  flyer below was what I posted at the art school. I got a call yesterday and when I returned the call today, the girl answered with the dreamy annoyed yawn of someone waking up at the crack of dawn. It was noon. We're are meeting next week hopefully.

This flyer is a little risky because my tattoo teacher's teacher (and best friend) told me that a fine artist running around with no tattoos of his own, doing learner tattoos on the cheap is eligible for death threats . So much for nuance. I explained that my girlfriend has threatened to stop shaving her legs if I get one (to which he visibly shuddered) although I now think i've talked her into one. More on this later. 

I can see

yes, we are on track.  That is quite a photo of Arthur and the skull will make a better tattoo than a blue box with a question mark in it.
I am recovering from moving my new old cast iron tub up to my new old bathroom.  I start working at the winery on Monday and have several things I need to finish before the juice makes a wine widow of my wife.  The belong to the harvest until around Thanksgiving.  I am looking forward to it for several reasons,
not the least of which is the awesome sounds of the cannons and the amplified birds of prey screeches that fill the air to spook the birds.  It sounds like army tanks fighting with pterodactyls.
That reminds me of this:  Have you ever seen this?

ps Can you see the skull again? It's very important that you can see the skull.

I made a list

i made a list of people to get a message when ever someone makes a post cause now I'm paranoid I'll be hanging out there in the blogosphere and the world won't grind to a halt in rapt distraction with every thump of the keyboard. It's like playing catch in the dark, although you have yet to let me down. It's going to really piss people off, namely the close friends and family I've put on the 'list' to be notified every time I decide to play chicken with spell check. If I left all the typos on here it wouykld look like Hindi ,which by the way, is the only other language this is being translated to. I have removed our last names from the 'header' at your request ( a real confidence booster). Should I delete the people on my 'update' list as well  . I suppose they can comment on this violation of common decency themselves when they get the latest "See Above"

take a pill

Just relax Mr. Poopalot.  You are all riled up and it is effecting our blog.
Now just put your face in a brown paper bag and breath deeply.  Make sure there is no glue in it first.
Now I get an email from "See Above" everytime there is a post.  I will probably get one this time too.

John Fishman tried to learn the trombone on stage.  He never practiced or even picked it up unless he was on stage.  Use him for inspiration.  Of course, he has always and will forever suck at the trombone, but that is besides the point.

Something happened.  I can't see the pictures you posted anymore.  I saw the skull this morning but now I see a small blue square with a question mark.  Perhaps a more accurate symbol of death than the skull but I am not sure that was the desired effect.

I would also like to remain less nonomous until things are in a presentable state.  The thing is that we have a few seconds to capture people's attention and until things mature and take form, I don't want to be married to it in public.  By putting our full names in the title, there is a good chance it will come up in a search of our names, and I don't want people to go there first, if they are trying to find me out.

Also, when I have time, I will look into how to share this blog properly so that we can both post from our own computers.  Right now you get all the credit.

Let's just skip regular email for a while to force ourselves to think blog.

Picture of Arthur

Arthur, You are loved and missed. 

charley, you are free to make fun of the shirt.I already did, to his face.

Death: A Hard Act to Follow

Arthur went out and bought a crotch-rocket, apparently, at the tender and not-so-sane age of 55. My friend Cullin, the chimney sweep who makes more money then a lawyer, said he saw Arthur at a Starbucks a month ago and Arthur told him he was taking motorcycle driving lessons. I want to know where were the 200 friends (who were at his memorial last night) ,  when he told them of his brilliant idea of getting one of these high octane body bags. For the record, I had lost contact with Arthur for a few months or, trust me, if I knew what he was up to, would have stood outside his house chanting "No, No, No, No,..." until the neighbors called the cops. An ear splitting, hog of a Harley is a completley different animal but these little rolling cod-pieces are just plain idiocy. Charley, I applaude your brilliant navigation of the same mid-life impulse that killed Arthur, with your brilliant machine 'Twin Barrells' topping out at 7 knots and producing the whitest knuckle rush on the road. 

 Apparently, Arthur was waiting at a red light ( with some fantasy of a drag race ping-ponging around in his helmet and, when he successfully guessed the exact nano second the light was to turn green, roared (or whizzed) out into the intersection. Unfortunately, some guy in a mini van ( who obviously could feel his penis getting smaller every time he sat at a red light) was triumphantly cheating the the yellow light, which, to a man in a mini van, can only offer you the split second opportunity to decide whether or not you will risk the abyss or defer and endure yet another excruciating 60 second sensation of your life slipping away . Instead, both men rushed forward, with the Reaper whispering his song in their ears.

Yes, this is a brutal start to our blog, my friend, and you didn't even know Arthur.

ps I got the 'Twin Barrels' t-shirt yesterday. The faux thermal underwear sleeves are REALLY soft!

Love it. 

ooof

Responding to that is like going on after Zepplin.  Sorry to hear about your friend. 

jesus, you fucking stumped me.  Cometh not wit nor wisdom in the dark face of death.

I just changed the name of this blog like 12 times while you were posting. Way too much pressure. Now it's two hours past my bedtime. I'll have to get back to you about the mouse, etc...although it is really great Twin Barrels got picked up.

I literally just found out a good friend of mine died on his motorcycle last week. He crashed just outside of Beth's work across town and was the anonymous helmeted dead body surrounded by yellow police tape she had described to me when she got home that night, in part, because it screwed up her commute. His name was Arthur. He's the guy who snapped my website headshot.