Mad Apple

I received all of my schooling in french so I'm barely literate in two languages.
I hate dolls; they give me the creeps. Especially those old-fashioned ones with the dead, glass eyes and the eyelids that close when you lay them down [shudder]. Those new ones with the massive collagen lips and slutty little outfits are pretty scary too, but on a whole other level.
I was a roller-skating eggplant in my 3rd grade class play. I fell on my ass in front of the whole school. I bear the scars to this day - emotionally, I mean. My ass is fine.
I tell people I have a seafood allergy even though I don't. I find that if you tell people you just don't like seafood they inevitably make it their life mission to convert you. Next thing you know you're backed up against the wall spitting out scallops onto your host's shoes, and that's just awkward.
I DON'T sing in public...not even "Happy Birthday." [That's right, I was faking. Get over it!]
I love hockey. I love the skill and the speed; the crash and rattle of a body hitting the boards; the raw energy and intensity of emotion. Anguish. Elation. Mischief. Profanity. Drama. It's kind of like therapy only with very big guys and overpriced beer.
I have a small accumulation of Mr. Potato Heads - to call it a collection implies intent & forethought, and neither really applies here. I just can't help myself when it comes to plastic tubers. I blame Hasbro. I mean, C'mon! Darth Tater?!? That's just not playing fair.
I make stuff. You could say I'm a compulsive stuff maker. When I'm not making stuff I'm planning the next stuff I'm going to make and collecting all the other stuff I'll need to make it. This consumes a fair amount of my time and an increasing amount of real-estate.
Here's some of the stuff I've recently made or am currently working on: