Preaching is fucking / insides of rocks
◊ I need to think of something clever to make out of Newcastle bottle caps, now that I have something like 70 of them in a jar on my counter. I've done the wallet-chain thing; now I'm feeling a little more ambitious. Bracelets? Boxes? Belts? Other things starting with the letter "B"?
The DIY (do it yourself) gene runs strong in my family. I get the feeling that if my dad had been a stoner he'd have been a bong-making legend, judging by his ability to fix everything from cars to washing machines to furniture with duct tape and glue and aluminum foil and paper clips.
If only the Force were as strong as the making-things-out-of-other-things ability in my family. I wouldn't need pliers if I could flatten bottle caps or bend wires using only my mind. But it's cool. I've got curved and straight needle-nose pliers, super glue, white glue, craft glue, two-part epoxy, duct tape in several colors, electrical tape, small-gauge wire, lightweight hemostats, a cordless drill, a heavy-duty box cutter and about a million fresh X-acto blades. I am invincible. I can do anything from making neat-o accessories to disposing of corpses.
The corpses take a while, though, since the largest blade I have is on the box cutter.
(Oh, and the title of this entry comprises two of my favorite recent search engine strings that lead to my site, if you were wondering. Satan bless Google.)
I posted the essay that Dan referenced recently. Please don't do that "pat on the back to the young author who's trying so hard" thing if you read it. That would be gross.