Why run with the crowd when you can run around in circles?

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Those darned monkeys again


I thought I was being facetious about that lovely monkey with lollipop paws; that the idea was completely absurd. But if modern science can do this to monkeys, then it's not so silly after all , is it?



Wouldn't it be cool to glow in the dark?*



*What did you want, a real post? Forget it. All my time is taken up with the difficult task of trying to suck enough air into my lungs to get some oxygen to my poor brain, which isn’t really working. All I’m getting is pollen choking off my airways. Factor in 87 straight days of gray skies, rain, and temps in the 60 degree range, when it’s supposed to be freaking summer, and I am definitely NOT a happy monkey.

Monday, May 25, 2009

The New Place part 2

Today is a work day, and my commute has changed since moving here. Now, I have to go from here:
(Bed cops look away: this brand of bed was identified and purchased using stolen tags)

All the way up the stairs:


To my workshop:


Unless I decide to stop by the well gaurded office first, then it's not as far to travel:


It's a tough trip, but somehow I manage it every day. Usually, when I walk in, I say to my boss, 'sorry I'm late; traffic you know.'

And then my boss kicks my butt, docks my pay and makes me stay late to make up the time.

Mean old bat.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

The new place

I've moved into the tin shack in the woods:


As you can see, it's well hidden, making it all the more difficult for the people with the straightjacket and padded van to sneak up on me:


As a hobby, I breed mosquitoes in the backyard:


I hide behind the screens in here, because they get agressive when they haven't had enough to eat:


This place is way bigger than a boat. In fact, my boat even has its own room:

We'll continue the tour later. Someone just informed me that it's a holiday weekend and that the tradition is to cookout. Feeling way too lazy to fire up my own grill, I'm off to find a party to crash.

Friday, May 22, 2009


That image of the lovely monkey with the lollipop paws has sustained during this week from the black abyss. Although up until now, I thought monkeys had hands and feet, but what do I know, being a gosh darned landlubber and all.

Today, while shoveling nine months of grunge and beer bottles out of a college student rental, proving to myself that I hadn’t really retired after all, I found myself wondering if the monkey sucked on its own limbs when it wanted a tasty treat, and what happened when it rained. Did the lollipops dissolve? Could it get more lollipops at will, or, like the honey bee, once the one stinger was gone, was life over? Did the monkey have to defend those yummy appendages from sweet toothed marauders, or as self protection, did these lollipop limbs taste like pond scum? Although there are creatures that like the taste of pond scum. My dog for one.

As I scrubbed at a shower stall that hadn’t been cleaned since I last shined it up in September, I wished I had a monkey with scrub brush paws. Forget those useless lollipops.

When I took off sailing three years ago, I swore I would never clean another college rental again as long as I lived.
But, these same places are rented by the week in the summer.
And on that one day per week, I make more money per hour cleaning between weekly tenants than I could make walking the streets. It’s hard to say no to earning a week’s wages in half a day.

So, I pay the price in spring by scraping these houses clean after nine months of hard partying by college students, which my clients are happy to pay me the big bucks to do. And after 20 years, even though I’m less enthusiastic now, and slower (anyone who dares suggest that I’m not as spry as I used to be gets a monkey with brass knuckles), no one even comes close to knocking me off my cleaning throne. And yes, it annoys me greatly to be the best at something even a monkey could do.

Finally this week is over. Next week, I can get back to the work I love, the boat canvas creations. This is not work a monkey could do, even if it had seam rippers for paws. This business involves compound curves, oblique angles, and precision measurements to fit right and look good. Not to mention having to be able to sew in a straight line, something that’s difficult for me, given my dislike of the straight and narrow.

Speaking of, I believe I moved sometime last week. I promise to post some pics of the new place when I’m sure that’s really true.

Monday, May 18, 2009

And a Lovely Monkey with Lollipop Paws

I wish I could lay claim to inventing that title. I normally scroll through my junk mail before deleting it, just to make sure nothing important gets trashed. Often some of the spam titles are catching, but this one gave me the belly laugh that I needed at the end of a long day of hard labor:

"mylhyn_lovendino: And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws‎ - The Fimble Fowl, with a corkscrew leg -Where the early pumpkins blow -And your head so large doth …"

I was so tempted to open that email to see what other gems might be in there. But I managed to restrain myself, just in case giant trojans (no not the condoms) got released and inserted into the nether corners of my laptop.

I'm off to bed now, to dream of lovely monkeys with lollipop paws.

Wednesday, May 06, 2009

More Perks at the New Place

There's a new furnace:


And there's even a lawnmower:


To mow the grass:


I know I have it good, no, better than good.
I have it darnfreakintastic.

Moving day is a week from Friday.

Monday, May 04, 2009

Notes on becoming a landlubber

How did this happen? How did I, the person who spent the last 20+ years saying that I would sail until I someday sailed off the edge of the world, hopefully when I was so old and gray I could barely handle the boat, how did I go from that to deciding to go live in the woods?

Is this a permanent illness? Or is there a cure? Do I want to be cured?

I had always viewed landlubbers as, well, somewhat lacking. And, dare I even say it, possibly even slightly retarded. No offense meant to those of you I know and love, and even those of you I don’t. But I failed to see that given a choice, how could anyone stand to live in a house? Houses, for the most part, barring earthquakes, landslides and termites, just sat there. They didn’t carry you to far away lands. If you wanted to go somewhere else, instead of merely raising an anchor and sailing off, taking along everything you owned, you had to pack. What a silly thing, trying hard not to forget anything vitally important, like your Viagra. Although if you were going to Mexico, ‘hay no problemo, tengo aqui’, on every street corner of every village. That and valium. The magic ‘v’s…

I had visited people who lived in houses, and while unlimited hot water, heck, even running water, period, could be a real novelty, was it worth the price? Was it that great to spend each and every day in the same place, watching the same cars come and go at the same time every day, listening to the same screaming drunken fights, or having one, every weekend? Where was the thrill in that, when you could be out in 30 foot seas getting your butt and your boat royally kicked by mother nature?

What was wrong with everybody? Damn landlubbers.

And now here I am, one of you. Waking up looking at the same squirrel in the same tree every morning.

???

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Tear it up

Has your lovely cruising sailboat gone from this:


To this:


Did your interior morph from this clean, comfy home:


Into the dumpster from hell like this?

Is your family now sheltering in a hotel, threatening to hire a hit man if you don’t put it all back together ASAP? At night, are you having trouble sleeping in a pile of nuts and bolts? Can’t find your clean underwear in any of the sailbags piled in the head?

Never fear, this is what the sailing life is all about. Days, weeks, months of upheaval, all for a few short weeks of getting the crap kicked out of you in squalls one after the other, giving you the opportunity to see what projects you forgot to do when stuff breaks while you’re cruising in a country that your government does not approve of.

Is there anything else in life worth doing besides messing around in a torn apart boat, putting it all back together for the challenges that come next?

I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.
Unless it's becoming a landlubber and gardening.
Ain’t life funny?