Just a Quickie

Just a quick shot of Gary and I in the "man" lift putting on the new roof. This is on the back side of the house, and this dormer is for the new master bath. I love the new black shingle roof, especially how random the pattern is. This job would have been a real pain in the ass without the lift.

...and a few more remod pics...

For those of you who give a damn, here are three more pictures from the remodeling project. Things are going well, and the new roof will be on by Friday. Thanks for checking in, and I hope everyone is writing their asses off. Have a shot of Jack for me this weekend, will ya?

Drywall in the new editing suite...coming along nicely.

Here is one of Gary on the manlift adding on to the roof. I am changing to a nice black shake roof, which will work better with the yellow siding. With both of us in the lift's basket at about forty feet, that thing sways like a damn politician!

One of the negatives about living in Nashville is the constant threat of late-winter/early-spring thunderstorms. That's yours truly on a ladder about thirty feet up trying to pull a tarp over the new master bath dormer.

More Remod Pics

Here are a couple of updates on the new editing suite. Gary and I are making good progress and should be finished with the front dormer this week.

Starting to take shape

Getting ready for the rain storm coming tomorrow.

Hope everyone is having a productive (and seductive) week.

The New Editing Suite

I finally had a (slight) break from manuscripts, and began the remodeling I have put off for a year. This is going to make a great new space to set up a writing and editing area. I am doing the work with the help of a good friend of mine (who is one of Nashville's better song writers, by the way) and it is turning out quite well. Except for...see below. Thanks, Ask This Old House!

The Tear-off Begins

Gary in the Hole. No Turning Back Now!

My Leg After a "Mis-step" @1#!@!?*!

I will post more pics as progress continues. If you are a person of faith, please PRAY FOR ME!

Man, Did I Pick the Wrong Fucking Team!

Bears. What the hell? Everyone in Nashvegas is playing with themselves because Payton played for UT. Well, screw this one-horse town (no pun intended). The Bears should have taken it all, damn it!

I Think the NFL, with all its forgiveness (Tank) and charity (Big Brothers) should spend the money on special footballs that a young, inexperienced QB can grip in the rain. I mean, C'MON! Did anyone else see the ONE GUY on the sidelines who made sure Payton threw a dry ball (no pun intended) every time? I sure as hell did. Total Bullshit.

I hate picking second-bests. The money is no big deal...it's the shit I put up with for five hours after the game because I was the only Bears fan at the F'n party that I despise. Not only do I get crap BEFORE the game because I have chosen a misunerstood career (Block Heads think all writers are emotional misfits), but to have my ass handed to me AFTER the game...let's just say the impromtu wrestling match at one-in-the-morning brought my 335 lbs. body some SERIOUS satisfaction. Yea, say "uncle," bitch!

Hope everyone enjoyed the commercials as much as I did. And what about Prince? You go, Big Daddy. The eighties will forever rock! Oh, yes. All you Colts fans...congrats, but LICK MY BALLS!

No, No, No! Be The President...

My lovely niece (who I'll call "M" to protect her identity from vulture agents looking for an easy shop) was over for a visit. This picture was taken right after she came up to me and said, "Uncle Jerry, I want to be a writer when I grow up." What? Obvioiusly, I was in shock. Paramedics were called. Family members pounded my chest cavity. Bottles of Jack Daniels were opened and poured on my face.

When I came out of my mini-coma, I composed myself and said to M, "that is just wonderful, sweetie. Why do you want to be a writer?" Please, for the love of God, tell me why you want to be a writer...

Then it happened. My heart was split open like a sausage cooked too long in the microwave. Benevolence flooded my head as the face of innocence looked me straight in the eye with that cute smile of hers. Okay, this is just a passing thing...be supportive, idiot. Then M said with a straight face, "'cause I want to make the big bucks, Uncle Jerry." Blackness. Darkness all around me. No pulse. Clammy skin. Convulsions.

"uncle jerry." slap on the face. "Uncle Jerry." Two slaps on the face. "UNCLE JERRY!" My little niece bitch-slapped me so hard, I can still see the outline of her tiny hand on my left cheek.

After an hour of manipulative pleading and prodding (by me, of course), I realized that M was really interested in her writing. I was impressed by how much she knew about my gig as an editor. "You can help me, Uncle Jerry, like you do for all those other writers." That was it--I was trapped.

We sat down at the kitchen table and began M's first short story. It is about a dog that M rescues and trains to help vision-impaired individuals. His name is Rex. He is big and fluffy. He likes to eat candy. The first draft turned out quite well, and M has hired me to edit her ms (all three pages of it).

When I asked M how she was going to pay me for my services, she said, "I'll hook you up with some Girl Scout cookies--what flavor do you want?" Hook me up? What? This could turn out to be a cool project for us both. I'll post the story when I get the green light from my client (or I run out of Thin Mints).