Where Can I Get My Giddy Switch Tightened?

I got a call from a buddy and he set me up with a tiny gig. Get, crate and ship a painting for a guy back east. This guy's x wife had this painting that he painted back in the 60's. I think they have been divorced for a long time and she has had the painting for something like 30 years.  He likes it and wants it back. There used to be another one that was green and said something like "red red red" on it in green but it got lost. I know. How do you lose a painting that big?

It is a big 6'x6' red canvas with the word 'green' written in red on the red background. 

I grabbed  the giant painting and got it home like Jed Clampett meets Sanford and Son. You try driving on the highway with a giant 6'X6' floppy ass kite covered in cardboard boxes that had been patched together with 30 year old tape in a little Japanese sewing machine pick up truck.

It turns out that the guy who painted it is involved with a  fancy gallery in NYC and this crate was going to his house.

I made the crate for it and I stepped back and thought about this opportunity. I called Ruppert and told him the story and said that if he wanted, he could come over and paint something on the crate but he had to do it instantly. He rode his bike over and knocked this out with the dregs of paint we found in my garage (not bad pickin's) and some borrowed colors from the woman who lives across the street. The brush he used was fashioned from a tuft of dry aged nostril hair, gum and a doll arm.

Conception Execution Celebration: 2 hrs.

Nailed it.
This is what it was like:

I Shook The Baby!

I did, I shook the baby, the little bastard.  It was the turbidity that made me do it. My numbers were high, my resources are low and I have a school of fish a floppin' that need to be fried. What am I talking about? Good friggin' question. I am not saying that I have bitten off more than I can chew but I am definitely talking with my mouth full.

Last week I pushed my precious Garnier Merlot through a two penny rental filter and now I am feeling guilty.  I swear I could almost hear baby Baccus cry as I basically disassembled the wine that had a year and a half of pampered barrel life. Then I throw it into a tub and expect it to find itself again. In an ideal world, I add no sulfur, I use no pumps and I let gravity assist the wine as it flows through unhindered lines from the vine to the toilet. Unfortunately, in the words of the venerable Ice T, "shit ain't like that."

Life throws you curve balls and what you have to do is adjust your swing. I would still consider this wine a base hit. Don't discount the Texas leaguer. If it weren't for mediocrity, greatness and lowliness would share a thin wall and I am not a proponent of that.  Some things are actually better than other things and if I have to fill the space in between, I'll do it. There is a lot more room to play between the end points. Besides, extremes get too much attention.

I should get my own turbidity tested.

tur·bid

   [tur-bid]  Show IPA

–adjective

1.

not clear or transparent because of stirred-up sediment orthe like; clouded; opaque; obscured: the turbid waters nearthe waterfall.

2.

thick or dense, as smoke or clouds.

3.

confused; muddled; disturbed.