This is normally a comic-book related site.  Not right now, though.

I decided to build a house.  That doesn’t mean I’m shopping around for real estate.  I’m going to design, contract, and build a house all on my own.  This means I have to study building codes and learn about permits and do a lot of research on furnace efficiency and r-value and carpet fiber and refrigerators and wind direction and toilet height and backsplashes… I simply won’t have time for Tiny Life any time soon.

So, probably through 2015, the majority of these posts will be about building a house.  And possibly about living with the In-Laws while the house is built.

The Bus

I’m sure I’ve mentioned “The Bus” on this site more than once.  It’s my family’s “cabin”.  It’s a 1960s bus that broke down in the middle of the state, so we pushed it into the woods and turned it into a refuge (in that only refugees would want to sleep in it).

I’ve spent some serious time there.  Thanksgivings, birthdays, hunting trips, fishing trips… eventually though, because much of my family is so sad (my brother used to live there and my cousins would go there for extended vacations), The Bus became dilapidated from misuse and neglect.  Because no one really wants it, everyone gave it to my younger brother who decided to take it down.

So this week, we disassembled it (by “we” I mean “my mom and my younger brother”; I helped out for a serious 90 minutes); the junk has been junked, the reusable stuff has been reused, and the metal has been scrapped.

This is after the siding had been ripped off, the lean-to knocked down, and the steering wheel ripped out.

On a side-note (and more to the point of why I hate lawyers), we couldn’t have The Bus – which has been sitting in this spot since 1967 – just towed out because no one has a title.  The State needs a title from a passenger bus that doesn’t work and has been sitting in the same place for almost 50 years because they have to make sure sure no one else has a claim to it.  So we hired a guy with a torch and a flat-bed.

Nut Sack Sale!

363 types of nuts, none of them cinnamon. They have "fiery blueberry wasabi".

363 types of nuts, none of them cinnamon. They have “fiery blueberry wasabi”.

I love cinnamon nuts.  It’s one of the few things that I will eat a pound of, if allowed.  Unfortunately, no one sells them anymore.  Except Menards, the hardware store.

Whenever I go in there, I will buy one small bag.  Since I’m building a house, I’ve been buying a lot.  Today I saw this:


Pretty cool, ya?  I thought about buying a bunch of them.  But I’ve bough so many lately that I knew it didn’t sound like much of a sale.  So I looked on my phone to find a previous picture of the nuts (I was going to write an article on how, like chocolate chip ice cream, no one sells cinnamon nuts, but they’re always sold out).  Here’s what I found:


Take a look at the price tag on a non-sale day.

That’s right.  I had to pay one more penny for these nuts when they’re on sale.

I Have the Plumber!

No water yet, but I have everything that will delver it to me:

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I Have the Power!


  • Read about the first six weeks of this here.
  • Read about the second six weeks here.
  • Read about the last three weeks here.

As I turned the corner on my daily trip to the New House, I saw this:


As I turned to go in my driveway, I saw this:


After I pooped myself, I went inside and saw this:

photo 2

I have lights.  I have plugs.

As soon as I can flush the toilets, I’m moving in.


We had to put Shamus to sleep today.  He’s been sick for a while (as a matter of fact, two years ago, the vet said we might not make it another week).

Here’s a little tribute:

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A Liefeld Defense

Last week my friends and I were talking about late 90’s sensation Rob Liefeld.  I said that they were like Limp Bizkit: everyone loved them for about 15 minutes in 1999 until we all realized how they were fooling us.  I wanted to take that analogy further and say if they applied themselves, we would all love them again.

Limp Bizkit – famous for rhyming “nookie” with “cookie” and inspiring both Weird Al’s “Angry White Boy Polka” and Ben Folds’ “Rockin the Suburbs” – actually had quite a bit of talent.  Their singer could sing (at least by rock standards), they had an eye for talent (they brought us the mega-downer Staind), and both their lead guitarist and drummer were pretty damn capable.  But, like Rob Liefeld, they hit stardom too early and never thought to get any better.

If you look at his early art as a sign of things to come, you’d think he was a good balance of Jim Lee and Todd McFarlane; you’d think he was the next Art Adams.  We all thought that.  We all thought, “This could be something great.”  But then he got famous and stopped getting better.  He never had to.


The crux of the conversation revolved around this famous drawing of Captain America:


They say this is simply an awful picture.  I say this is proof of my thesis that Liefeld never had to get any better; he’s stuck in 1992.  One of the first things you learn when you draw is that although each section of art might look good, the overall piece might look bad.  If that happens, you have to figure out a way to fix it.  Even if you spent the last six hours perfecting a sexy pouty face, if the face is looking in a direction that isn’t possible given the rest of the picture, that face must be fixed.

Here’s what I mean: each individual part of this drawing is fine:

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But when you step back from it, it just doesn’t work.  Honestly, the only thing that’s wrong with this is the size and location of the head.  I fixed it:


Is fixing-up bad drawings from famous comic book artists a job?

An Example

I wrote an article a while back about ridiculous names people keep giving their kids.  It got some flack, but I stand by it.  I now have a real-life example.

We have water AND sand!

I took the kids to Saugatuck a week or two ago; it wasn’t anything planned.  We went to the “sand dunes” (from what I could see, these aren’t sand dunes, the beach is just hilly), swam in the lake, ate ice cream, and played in a park.

While we were at the park, there was another little girl playing on the same swings that I was pushing my kids.  She walked right up to my oldest and said exactly this:

“My name is Aiyea: Ae-eye-why-ee-ae”

Her parents gave her a name that she will forever have to spell.  Every time she meets anyone she will have to say “My name is Aiyea: Ae-eye-why-ee-ae.”  Every time she is on the phone on some sort of service call she will have to say “My name is Aiyea: Ae-eye-why-ee-ae”.

The only upside to this is when a phone solicitor calls and says, “Can I speak to … eye-ya?” she’ll know right away that it’s not a social call.

And I just thought of this: this stuff compounds.  What’s going to happen when Aiyea has kids and she wants to name them something original?  Will it just be animal sounds?  Like the See n Say?  “This is my son (click here).  He’s getting his MBA this winter.”  Will it be a body part? “Baby Sphincter has his father’s eyes.”  Or a dead langauge? “Little बइग doesn’t like water in her eyes.”  Will it be all emojis?  “His real name is :) but we shorten it to ‘colon-closed-parentheses’ whenever we can”.

Just stop it.  Before it’s too late.  For little Aiyea.


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