Maiholic - Under The Bridge

me: i think this sentence is already too long

the tiny allen ginsberg that lives inside my head: add another adjective

Small town culture is knowing that there are Old Folks with strange nicknames but never knowing the stories behind them.

Of course, I made the mistake of asking why everyone calls this one guy Brickaday and it turns out that he worked at a brickyard for 40 years, stealing exactly one brick every day and making no particular efforts to conceal the theft. Nobody thought anything of it until years later he was discovered to have built three houses.

His boss is said to have shrugged and made some remarks about the importance of coming up with a plan and sticking to it.

I‘m trying to arrange my face into an appropriate approximation of silent bafflement and failing miserably.

Who up stroking they sword while lamenting the social realities.

Just got to do some woodworking for the first time in a long while, and I am once again reminded of why I enjoy my favorite type of word to work with: Purpleheart.

Why’s it called purpleheart?

Muthafuckin’ purple wood. How cool is that? It’s brown when you cut it, but due to oxidization, eventually turns to a beautiful purple color. (if you don’t seal it at this stage, it’ll eventually turn red, I believe, which is still pretty, but you buy purpleheart for purple, damnit!)

And everything you make with it turns out amazing.

Purple floors?

Nice.

Purple stairs?

Fancy.

Purple table?

Sweet.

Purple guitar?

Awesome.

Purple whatever the hell is going on here?

Epic.

It’s just such a cool wood to work with, and it’s sturdy enough to be used for just about anything. If I ever get a house, half of it might just end up being made out of purpleheart.

Anyway, that’s enough nerdery for one post. I will now return to reblogging stupid pictures and recipes.