Growing up, as I did, on the mean streets of Yonkers, NY, I know a thing or two about rapping. It is impossible to come of age with such hip-hop luminaries as Mary J. Blige and DMX and not have some of their style rub off on you. Ok, so I never actually knew Ms. Blige or Mr…um...X, but we were linked by spirit, and the #2 bus. They would be proud, as would all of my peeps in the Y-O, that I am ‘keeping it real’ up in the hills of New Hampshire. For the last few days, I have been wrapping.
True, my style of wrapping has less to do with booming bass and trippin’ rhyme schemes, but that doesn’t stop me from getting down with my bad self as I wield my staple gun with reckless abandon. I got so caught up in it that I decided to call DMX and invite him up for a workday. To my surprise, he accepted. But things didn’t go so well:
Me: Hey, D, hand me that roll of typar.
DMX: What? Get it yourself, you %%## !!** $$##.
Me: Alright, I’ll hold it in place and you shoot it in.
DMX: That’s what I’m talkin’ about. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
Me: Dude, you just shot my house.
DMX: Yo, it was frontin’, dog.
In spite of setbacks such as these, Anne and I managed to finish wrapping the house in Typar today, and began applying the insulation and strapping boards. The upside of this is that the house is pretty much waterproof now, which is a great load off of my mind. The downside: well, the house looks sort of funny, since we decided not to cut out the windows until we absolutely needed to, to preserve its water-tightness. Ah well, beauty is fleeting, as they say.
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