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.

10, 9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1

Yes, we have a connection.  I am distracted as I just saw a mouse in my kitchen.  My wife is going to kill me.

I am actually even more distracted by the good news that a blog called Designsponge just picked up the Derby car picture and put links to my blog and my website.  I am very excited to see how many people are going to look at my blog.  So far 244 visitors.  Sometimes a mention on a thing like designsponge can really make the mouses click.  

I even have a follower.  I don't know what that is but I like it.  It means someone is going on record as a reader of my blog.  

It is funny that we were just talking about how to edit and what subjects to avoid.  Of course I have just posted a completely stupid blog about clowns as I am about to get a ton of traffic for the cool soapbox car.  I almost want to erase it but it is too late.  My stomach is turning over thinking about it.  I just got to hold my line.

I think we should let it fly.  For proof, I will break the ice with the official launch of the chinese artist cartoon

What does a Chinese artist do when his butt itches?

Hey Charley,

are you there?