The State of My Ass Address

I'm in tight-woven navy blue gaberdine, a serious rayon neck tie, and white button down collar. This post pre-empts other blog drivel. This is an important, once a year thing, like a medical exam, but with personal fancy and screamed out through a bull horn while driving around and around the downtown cultural district there about Penn Avenue and Liberty. It's where I'm at, and I'm belting it out the way US presidents do the State of the Union Address.

I'm old enough to croak of more or less natural causes, depending on how you look at it. When you are 35 years old, you are too young to die. Fifty-one is a reason to be more careful. It's a good time to be sagacious, if possible. A calm, goal oriented approach to gluing my personal history into the scrap book of now is in order.

Here, here. The project on the front burner is boomerangs. I am in the process of refining some of the boomerangs I first made om 2005 and 06. Some of the 'rangs made back then were better than others, and I am in the process of filing, sanding and re-sawing to produce a family of boomerangs to make you proud. You will be proud to own a relic from my studio here in Perryhilltop, a neighborhood I think of as my own personal third world fiefdom, named after me, Brusistan. A boomerang producing third world slum in Pittsburgh.