Yours Truly moments ago experienced a technical curio:
What in hell was Neil's Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show doing playing out of the website of a well-known band of hipsters.
How or why did Neil allow this, being the preeminent showman and perfectionist that He is.
Did he not realize that the Irony was flying in full force with his narrative tune the big brunt.
Well, as it turns out, YT had her pandora Neil Diamond station in the on position, and was looking at the site of the hipster band, not realizing the station was on.
It was ever so confusing and YT is relieved that Neil remains where he should be - in the Pantheon and not on some other band's site.

Onwards.

Just received this holiday wish from ChristineC:

Happy Fourth of July!!! May it not rain, and may there be Kielbasa AND Italian sausage served this year!!!
xoxo,
Christine

Very thoughtful as CC who not only sends a happy holiday sentiment but recalls that YT has told her that bien sur I love sausages as I am both Italian and Polish, creators of the world's best sausages ever.

And, to imagistically celebrate, at toppermost is my image made upon the visit by YT and AEDM to see a (miserable chop-job of Beckett words) production at Adam M Library and Dramatic Circle on Fillmore - FillMo to those in the urb.

YT does indeed love the pyro possibilities of this wack holiday, 7/4.
TA-RA-RAHH-BOOOOM-TEE-AY.

TA-RA-RAHH-BOOOOM-TEE-AY Love.

Above, the latest from the Accidental Frame Series.
A steamingly hot Middling City shot definitely not made today, when the skies darkened and a lady at a nearby luncheon table eavesdropped and, panic-stricken, asked Jana and I if indeed we were correct and a tornado was a-blowin' into Allentown.

Onwards.

Yesterday Yours Truly ran - and I do mean ran - in 3" heels in the Second Annual Shoefly-sponsored .5K Stiletto Run with all proceeds going to a charity that researches ovarian cancer.
YT, being ever-practical, dressed sensibly, and had trained a bit.
Like as in wore 2" heels the day before for eight hours whilst trailing behind the new SUNY Chancellor, another Nancy. And no word if all is Perfect in her world.
She, it should be noted, did have her own set of pumps on, some see-through stilettos.
And bright red nails.
YT asked Vincenzo to wrap my ankles to prevent any breakage or wobble and it looked, when he was completely done, like I had spats on.
Charlie of BuffNews fame did a fab job catching ladies mingling about on the start line just moments before the starting gun. Really a noise device such as is used to clear campers out of the waterfront.

YT is hearing now that - hooray - the Supreme Court ruled that the search of the thirteen year old AZ girl "went too far" and there was an 8-justice majority. Souter: It was reasonable to search her bag, her outerwear, slim basis for strip search ... there is also a limited danger of ibuprofen, this was extreme, and wrong.

Off to a diverse night of attractions - the Spree Best Of shindig at Shea's, and then Walking with Dinosaurs. YT works on the Best Of issues, is a panelist that sits in on a handful of meetings discussing what is what, what is bestest, and toppermost in the MC.

Time time to fly.
Not run for a while.

Love of good decisions.

As William Blake was wont to say
Exuberance is beauty.

There is much exuberance wafting about these days.
As of late a spate of gorgeous moments, music, memories-to-be.
Or is a memory-to-be suddenly a memory when dragged into the open air.
Indeed.

Jetted off in a flurry to the Shiney Apple last week for a marathon of art making, gigging, Beckett, Band of Horses, editing, visiting, and viewing.

Shot ports in Battery Park, a lovely place if you ignore the faux statuettes of Liberties, the molten ice cream cones, and profusion of memorializing.
Had just purchased myself some Perfect parfum and I do hesitate to give away what it is. Yours Truly nearly purchased it for its bottle, a sweet glass number with true golden bees screened around the bottle. Having a bee thing and all. That the scent inside the bottle is all mystery and lovely is a super bonus.

Went to Studio 54 with Justy to see Waiting for Godot (and please it is GOD-oh) with John Goodman, and Nathan Lane. A triumph.
Didn't know Bill Irwin (yet) but now do and he is a solid Didi to Lane's Gogo.
And Goodman is now embedded into YT's mind as thee Pozzo.
We sat in the second row and so were spat upon by the cast, merrily.
We were not underneath where the oversized coke spoon of yore was foisted up into the expansive historical ceiling.

Here is the production's tree of second half, with its merry seven or so leaves of green.
Afterward Justy and I headed to one of our fav haunts, ñ on Crosby for tapas, handclaps, various bevvies.
Next day was edit time on the rooftop of GPH, always Perfect.
Then on to visit with DKNY, and then dinner with ShineyApple'Phew at another haunt, Souen for health-on-a-plate.

Onwards it was then to Band of Horses for a much-anticipated gig, all acoustical, at Carnegie Hall. We were in first row of Dress Circle, a confusing name but what this entails is that we were essentially floating in the center of this acoustical confection. Openers were Arbouretum of languid melodies and lovely voices.
Then.
Then.
Time for BoH.
So anticipationalized, and so excellent.

YT took notes and here are some stats:
20 songs, 2 hours, three encore tunes, 3 guest musicians, 1 guest musician on grand piano, a guest femme fiddler gleaned from Pete Seeger's grandson's band. Her playing and harmonizing augmented and fit. Oh, and 1 beside-himself biggestfan behind me, ShineyApple'Phew, AllenF (aka Rachel but thank our stars she did not show), and ethereal StaceySongstress, groaning his devotion - and request for LDC until those around him finally convinced him to quiet himself. Until next eruption.

From my small purple n-book, NB.

My goodness, hello everybody.
First words out of Ben/lead.

Some songs were pepped up doubled-time, others slowed slower slowest, like Wedding Song, becoming a dreamy waltz. Window Blues became a subtly rollicking swing.
And of course they did Funeral, their best known, which drew a few tears, as No One's Gonna Love You nearly did except YT was too busy for a moment jotting down pomes pennyeach and fiddling with the iPhone Zippo lighter.
Great Salt Lake was explosive, as written.

Merch. Did acquire a nice sage green t. ShineyApple'Phew did want the BoH frisbee and YT did attempt to get it for half price but the lady behind the merch table, a CH volunteer, would not budge. It was $20, too much, YT believes, for flinging the 'bee.
Arose before the asscrack of dawn and jetted out on the first JetBlue flight, still hap-hap-happy from hearing BoH.
Landed and hit ground running, literally.
Had a gig and then visited with visiting musician pals, including CelloBoy.

Later that day, Friday, visited with olds & dears, including Cheryl and Liz - pictured in the dreamy late-day light from the appointed joint's large plate glass.


Next day was more gigging, and then a gig of musical proportions to see Great Lake Swimmers lead singer, Tony Dekker, solo at thee Terrapin Point which once chunked off killing a bunch of Victorian Era sightseers.
Heady and I fell victim to my sometimes-faulty internal GPS and I got us to another empty stage alongside the pathetic Hard Rock Café where YT took Liz a long while ago to its grand opening festivities that featured Goo Goo Dolls, and Soul Coughing of where are they now status.
So finally the right streets were taken (First Street, not first street, par example) and we were suddenly sitting in front of the small stage where Tony D was singing some beauty.
And then he stopped.
So we'd missed about 99.9% of his gig.
After that YT was quite sad and all and did approach Tony D to see if he just might be into the idea of serenading me, Heady, and Noah for 1 or 2.
And he did.
Under a Terrapin Point tree.
It was quite dreamy.
It was not a GLS tune but one by the ol' Carter Fam of Johnny Cash in-law fame.

Onwards.

Today is Bloomsday, a fact appropriate to epinw which runs on precious Beckett fuel.
YT will be reading a portion of Ulysses tonight with AEDM, Jana, Mish.

Exuberant Love.

Above is one of the falcon near-fledglings who began its hatch & fledge on the southern campus of the BigU.
Arrived at base of tower to discover a difficult angle so meandered to find this better angle, surrounded by birders with binos and men who work in the building below the tower with their own binos.
Up in the tower were, reportedly, three men of the DEC who had been harnessed to a metal ladder and who made the long climb in near-darkness.
Yours Truly, ever intrepid, asked if it might be possible to also make the climb.
The answer was a resounding, unwavering No.
Even after YT explained that there have been other vertical trips of such steepness/photo-operativeness/import.
YT cites past climbs up creaking and semi-non-existent stairs/ladders inside church belltowers, grain elevators, climbing scaffolding built over the Middling City's former Buffalo Savings Bank golden dome.

So, (im)patiently YT waited and waited to see - finally - a hand reaching into the falcons's nesting box to net the fledglings one by one.
They were each banded for their safety and the like.
This took a long time and what we could see on the ground was a white bucket appearing, disappearing, and reappearing in a window pane.
Then a parent falcon swooping in to perch and whoop when it was discovered that the chicks were MIA.
And then the happy reunion.
And then a happy photo op with some men of DEC, sweaty and harnessed.
And, as promised, one of the men of DEC was highly Cute, as promised by a birder lady.
She stressed this point, as well as others about falcons in general, several times.

Tomorrow is jetting off, merrily, for work and fun in the Shiney Apple.

Tomorrow night Justy and I see Waiting for Godot at Studio 54.
Have not been there since attending a gigantic, fantastic HipHop party there in the early 90s. Cast includes John Goodman and Nathan Lane.
Seats seem to be fairly excellent.

Details of Sam Experience to follow, You can bet your B'Way Dollar on that.

Shining, Happy Love.

Noah Allen est arrivé.
Today, 6/3/09, he showed his happy little face.
Yours Truly, along with Jeremy, Toni, Maria, and various medical types, ringed Heady who pushed for one hour before her deliberate doc decided it was time for a c-section.
YT is about to see Heady again, who was in recupe mode.
More photos forthcoming.

Love Life.

Yours Truly did not believe the sign, not being a natural skeptic, but believing that the fishmonger was preying upon Middling City pride and such.
YT, peering into the case in Exhibit A (aka the photo at left), thought this was a laugh, a kick, a biota-driven bit of whimsy.
Buffalo Fish, hilarious.
Following this illustrative visit to Broadway Market in formerly incredibly thriving Broadway-Fillmore District, YT did some quick R&D of sorts.
There is indeed such a thing as Buffalo Fish.
Not to be served up with sides of Buffalo Fries, and Buffalo slaw.

Onwards.

Did some power gardening here & there over the past few days with dahlias taking the species lead in all things planted.
Amongst others were eternal favourites: nasturtiums, moonflowers, lobelia, pumpkins, elephant ears, canna, and more more more.
Plants and seeds.
YT does always, annually, experience the wonderment of wonder upon gazing at a cart laden with plants and possibilities during every garden centre/growing opportunity center visit.
Suddenly the cart is teeming.
Upon checkout at garden shop stop numero uno checkout lady said Well that looks like plenty for now.
Indeed.

Onwards still.

Tomorrow YT will be accompanying Heady to l'hopital for the delivery of baby numero duo for good vibes, and photo documentation.
YT has already made the executive decision that all will be ambiently lit for who in h-e-double-hockey-sticks wishes to arrive into the world in a barrage of flash, red carpetlike bluster.

Big Green Love.

Well. Well. Well.
Here is Yours Truly with newest pal, Prime Minister Odinga of Kenya.
This image was made by the Big U's Law School Dean, a special request by YT.
We three were in a brief moment at a brunch on the 24th and in a flash I asked the Dean to make the image.
And voilà.
Odinga has a great sense of humour and travels with his handlers - his wife and daughter.
I photographed him all last weekend.

Things have been merrily hectic as of late in the Middling City and today Heady phoned to let me know that on Wednesday her newest baby will be extricated.
YT will be there, coaching–and documenting.

Onwards to special deliveries.

Love of all things documentary.

This here's Yours Truly's favoured YT-crafted image of Marshawn Lynch the other day at New Era Cap Co.
YT enjoyed watching him watching others in the room - like YT he is a professional watcher.
Photogs and defensive linemen have a nose for news, so to speak.
Is he in fact a defensive lineman or did YT just pull that our of her arse erroneously.
I do wonder.
I do not wish to Google.
Perhaps he is a tight end.
Perhaps a corner launcher.
That last was a test for there is no position called a corner launcher.
YT does know that Marshawn Lynch gets the ball and runs like hell, reportedly at times off the grid so to speak, off the clipboard of his coaches.
He is as improvisational as a well-tested, tried and road-true jazz musician.
In terms of his cap YT was impressed that he was apparently going the route of the New Era 20's-era worker cap.
But by meeting's end he was then veering toward a soft model of ballcap.
YT gave some thought to the possibilities of designing her own New Era ballcap.
Should Dana or anyone else over there call YT to say Hey Nance, come on down and design something special, YT has this in mind:
Green on green, some nice embroidered 10/10's, some other important and significant iconic objets.

Onwards.

Onwards to deadline fun.

Love of Football Terminology, faux and non-faux.

This delightful and informative epinw blogpost is all about apps.
And not that kind on page two of menus of note.

Utterly minding my own business - yet again - found myself in a common photog moment (waiting for some files to export) - and, to optimize productivity and such, found myself searching iPhone app store for LightRoom.
LightRoom, as You may know, is the recent new software tool that Yours Truly has plunged into and is slowly mastering.

It's been about six days but LR is not the bottomless pit that PhotoShop is.
Thankfully.
It's for photogs and more than any other app emulates the language of temperature and the like.

So YT searches iPhone app store for LightRoom, out of curiosity.
And up comes a free app called Photon.
Promising.

Here is documentation, in real and Warholesque time, of YT exploring this new app.
As, delightfully, a guilty pleasure tune comes on pandora - Dave's Grace is Gone.

1. Push Photon icon.
2. It wishes to use my current location. Henh.
3. OK.
4. (thought) Why in hell.
5. Create new account. Come on, this is a fun photo app, I thought.
6. Jeez. Link to confirm sent to yahoo account.
7. (time lapse) All things are a green light g.o. go.
8. (more time lapse) After looking at online version of this app am horrified to discover that it creates access (albeit Private) to my harddrive. YIKES.
9. Deactivate app quick fast in a hurry.
10. The End.

Quickest download to deactivation in history of the iPhone.

Love of Security.

Quel day.

Finally feel like things are way underway and under control with newfangled and most excellent LightRoom - post-SOS fix by LukeC.
Heading out shortly to see a Sam play with Annie - Endwords at Adam Mickey's where annual Dyngus magic happens.
A nice warmup and prequel to seeing Godot with Justy in the Shiney Apple in a few weeks.
Time for poesie, breath - kind of like yoga, but it's dramatical.

Above is the sig of our President v44 and Yours Truly was most inspired and awestruck by its inherent artfulness.

Spoke with Brucey earlier about art supplies - namely Yupo, mastic crystals, and the like. Will bring a sketch pad to the Sam event tonight as sometimes his words can be oso inspirational.

Last night's all-gal gathering chez CJ for her b-day was full of good friends, and hilarity.

Onwards to the theatre.
In the Polish rec hall.
On the Middling City's fabled east side.
On a semi-balmy night.

Eternal Love of Sam.

Finally the big, LED-fueled word is out.
The Peace Bridge, it was printed in the Middling City News, is superbly lit with chaser lights - much like venerable and encroaching Pano's resto on the Elmwood Strip.
Yours Truly several times drove along the 190 to witness the Peace Bridge in blazing technicolor©.
And when YT asked others if they had seen such a lighthearted display they had not.
This happened three times - and three times I beeped my horn heartily to let whomever might be up on that bridge tweaking (and listening) that one enthusiastic motorist like totally gave it a non-hands-free two thumbs up.

Onwards.

In the midst of editing out the proverbial wazoo yesterday took a brief ten-minute respite to watch the vid of our delightfully left-handed and handsome president deliver his comments to those black-tied and little-black-dressed correspondents at their annual dinner in WDC this past Saturday.
A favoured quote:

I believe my next hundred days will be so successful that I will be able to complete them in 72 days," he said to a roar of laughter. "And on my 73rd day, I will rest.

And here is the link, Your homework assignment du jour is to watch, and chuckle along with the infectious (ooh, perhaps poor adjective in these troubled H1N1 times) chuckle of Obama.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0GwZFAV1Lw

YT documented thousands of wondrous minutes this past week, as is my wont this time of year - including commencements. Commencements in the parlance of YT are always referred to as BigC's.

At one of the biggest BigC's, a pre-BigC warmup in the shape of a dinner to introduce various honorees to one another, YT witnessed a poignant moment.
Nobel Prize Winner Doctor Herbert Hauptman gave remarks after receiving (unofficially) his honorary doctorate from the BigU and stated that he never thought in his lifetime (he is 92 years old) that he would ever see an African-American president in this country.

The other honorary doctorate this year was former SNL writer Alan Zweibel who hilariously compared himself to Hauptman. He noted that Hauptman studied the atom, and he has a son named Adam.

For your delight, here is an image of YT with Zweibel, as You would expect good fun to talk to with a slight shy streak.


Love of Occasional Documentation of YT.

This just in.
Above is primo example gleaned today of Buffalo-ese sweeping this madcap internationalized world.

Yours Truly considers this A triumph.

Also a Triumph is that today on BBC, or was it CBC, YT also gleaned the press corps at the venerable White House is standing patriotically and respectfully for Obama, whereas they did not for ol' Whatzizname.

YT, in a May flurry of events that does not include imbibing of 5-O May-O beverages, is ending this epinw post with a tip of her laptop sobrero to You.

More Love later, Love.

Image from CEPA Gallery Visions of Greater Buffalo charity auction event this past Saturday night. Yours Truly, wearing fav green belt, in a self-port milieu, next to Sherry Burns.

YT wishes that she could recall with absolute clarity just who in H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks it is who is her pal who revealed that they Love their dentist.
And, in reply to their expression, YT stated that she feels the same.
One should Love their dentist.
YT had the verysame dentist from childhood until late 20's, until his retirement.
I adored him.
He was a lefty (as most good men are) and was prone to getting tangled up in a good story (always egged on, as they say, by YT), lowering his mask, leaning back against a counter, arms crossed.
He worked in the Brisbane Building of downtown Middling City and YT always loved going there and going up to his office in the shambling elevator.
The waiting room furniture never changed, there was a faux lemon tree.
YT has some signage from her childhood shoe store and desperately wishes that she had the faux lemon tree of her childhood/near-lifelong dentist.
Onwards.
So there was the retirement.
Then there was another lefty dentist who acquired some of the practice.
But as wacky of a sense of humour that Dentist2 had, the drive to his office was a bummer.
So then there is Dentist3.
A delightful Deadhead and he just simply adores YT (a fact intuited but also backed up by the receptionist who stated today that Some patients are ... you know. But others are just so nice to see. When I told Dr. Deadhead that You were coming in, he said Oh good.
Dr. Deadhead and I talk music - concerts, recordings, and the like.
What we've seen, You know.
I told him that Phish hired YT for images for one of their live recordings, at Darien Lake.
And Dr. Deadhead and I, as it turns out, were at one of thee finest, earliest Phish shows in 1990 - at Arena Rollerskating Rink in the MC.
Dr. Deadhead today removed the last of my silver fillings and now I am like a house rid of old lead paint.
(sidebar: So loving Kings of Leon once again, immediately.)
Dr. Deadhead so juiced up my jaw with novacaine that YT is still a little tingly from that.
Fercrissakes, Dr. Deadhead, sometimes less is more.

Less Love is never an option Love.

++
This just in.

Latest of the Accidental Frame Series.

Yours Truly is returning to Street Green Series as it is the season of streets springing to life with green.
Above made along Genesee Street in the Middling City, post-gig.

Writing of sidewalks, three vignettes:

1.
This morning saw a curious bundle of pussy willows, branches all of same length and tied neatly with red string.

2.
In a suburb of the MC, also this morning, saw a sheared-off ten-pound weight sitting end up underneath a mailbox.

3.
Saw, today, a sight much more common in more x-l cities - the broken and abandoned umbrella, black, upside down and opened.

Onwards.

Last night attended dual birthday party for Susan and JT, at Broady's home in picturesque Allentown. YT, as was promised, brought a piñata to the party, a nice skull model filled with airplane-sized bottles of liquor, appropriate candies, lip gloss, and a hula bobble head girl.

As YT had just run a marathon day of typical Friday proportions, arrived later than planned to discover some disgruntlement. A party. A Friday. A piñata. Fercrissakes.
After some initial shit was given and the like, got everyone together, with help of Liz, outdoors to wack the crap - literally - out of the papier maché skull. Much to the chagrin of an early-to-bed next-door neighbor.
But the goods were finally wacked free and indoors we went to enjoy those items, and more cheese. Including a most pungent variety that Deb had brought, presumably from the foreign soils she had just visited.

Tonight more more more.
How do You like it. How do You like it.
YT was just informed via SherryB that YT is nominated for Best of Middling City, as Best Photog, by the paper where she toiled most diligently as a founding staffer in 1990 and worked as intrepid photo essay columnist for fifteen years.

The past, oft-repeated words of nominees the world over appeared in the mind of YT:
It's an honour just to be nominated.
And so it is.

It is Love, Love.

And who, You query, is this.
Well, Yours Truly shall divulge.
This is Uma and she is just about the most serene caninus fervidus You could ever hope to sniff. YT made these Uma ports, along with some of Uma's handler, earlier today.

YT is practicing some Band of Horses yoga before embarking on yet another night of jazz, some pals from out of town and out of the country. Same tomorrow evening. An aural treat of free jazz proportions.

Today, whilst motoring down Oak Street, YT was nearly in a head-on collision with some geriatric Deadheads who wanted to drive down the one-way Oak Street in the wrong direction: whereas the street heads south they really really needed to head north, by golly.
YT, having survived one crash via an asshole downtown, began to lay on horn and then flail at them. They still wished to proceed in a northerly fashion.
YT was close enough to their equally-geriatric van to note that the Deadheads had a handicapped hangtag, were each wearing raucous tie-dyed t-shirts and one of the couple had some sort of hat on.
They hesitated, not believing, then finally stopped.
As I passed them I motioned that THIS IS A ONE-WAY STREET YOU FLIPPIN' ...
anyhoo they motioned back in a manner that we humans can really excel at, in a manner in a flash of CHEESH, as if I was stepping on their hi-jinx.

Kennergy was down at sadsack Exchange Street AmTrak station to pick up some musicians for show #1 and was suddenly perplexed at the large number of homeless people, folks wrapped in blankets.
Then, suddenly, noting the presence of hemp and tie-dye recalled that the Dead plays the Middling City this fine evening.

Onwards.

Tomorrow is Earth Day and for the occasion YT is singing, so like non-sotto voce, the theme song from Big Blue Marble.
A show that taught us that we are all the same.
All the stinkin' same, on this same mass surrounding a ball of fire.

YT is going to see Waiting for Godot once more.
Next in the Shiney Apple, via a director who knew Sam.
So it has a cosmic stamp of approval.
But for the non-bare stage.

Onwards once more.

Love of jazz, elevated and percussive.

My latest self-port, part of a sub-group of self-portraits made in dance studios.
No, this is not metaphorical, like Yours Truly is always the bridesmaid, never the bride.
Nor always the photog, never the twirling dancer.
For YT prefers to ever be the bridesmaid, ever the photog.
The Clash (specifically Janie Jones) is presently on my pandora Feelies mix and it's as rejuvenating as this nice cuppa tea - both British.
Coincidence.
I think not.

Last night's gig ended at the appointed hour and a word about the gig.
A few people who I know were at said gig and marveled at my mad wrangling skills, namely, how YT is able to turn a group of conventioneers/reunionists into a cohesive group displaying excellent body language skills.
Most of this YT attributes to a decade of camp counseling, working with some of the toughest and, at times, saddest kids on the planet.
A decade of prepping, planning, crowd control, pop psychologizing, step-momming.
After that all of You are a breeze: conventioneers/reunionists, shy/displeased/out-of-town wedding guests, over-sugared children, rock & rollas, and the like.

So the post-gig gig was that of Cecil Taylor, jazz pianist and irascible person in general.
I arrived for the final 10 minutes of his first set, receiving updates from a few folks in the audience.
After those 10 minutes there was an intermission of crowd-challenging proportions: Cecil (in comfy sweats) left the stage and resumed the sipping of Veuve Cliquot.
In his rider, in his major agenda.
His intermission was approximately 1.5 hours and about 1/3 of the audience lost their mettle and split.
I likened it to the watching of certain Andy Warhol movies.
And now, upon further introspection, it might be likened to the climbing of certain mountains.
You presume there is a course, a zenith, a purpose, and an ending that is logical.

So Cecil reappeared, read from some medical treatise.
Then sat down at the piano and took we remaining listeners on an interesting journey.

Thanks Hallwalls friends for allowing me to come in gratis for the second half. I'd been in their offices running a show-related errand earlier in the day and explained I'd be coming late from said gig.
And thanks, too, Hallwalls, for serving some decent post-extended workday, jazz-enhancing vino.

Onwards.

Love of all things spontaneous and non.

Yours Truly saw two quite incredible imPerfect situs yesterday, both involving trucks if You can freakin' believe this.

1.
Driving down Kenmore Avenue to a gig, minding my own business (of course, You proffer), was suddenly behind a truck behind a city bus that had stopped in its tracks.
The truck pulled around.
The bus was still, flashers flashing.
Immediate Middling City thought: OFCOURSETHATBUSISNOTWORKINGPROPERLY, it's MC transpo.
Passing the stopped city bus Yours Truly spotted the problem at hand - a downed power line at a rakish 45º angle as another truck, an oversized semi, had brushed the power lines and got stuck on them and then sheared the power line's wooden pole in half.
So, being ever-intrepid, sussed out the situ and drove underneath the power lines, figuring that the compactish vehicle would make it through sans worry.
Later, coming back from the suburbs, drove back down Kenmore Avenue to see that police of all stripes had that section of the Avenue blocked off, a number of signifying items in place.

2.
Later, still in the yesterday category, whilst driving with Kennergy to Nature for a Shiney Happy Mag story on Urban Nature treks, witnessed this moment.

YT has actually seen this scene before, where a semi does a crazy swinging around maneuver that looks like a left turn to suddenly crush a car or two on their left sides.
A bummer all around.

3.
In the Old First Ward there is a trucking institute of sorts so there all kinds of hacks, wannabe truckers learning how in h-e-double-hockey-sticks to accelerate, decelerate, BRAKE, and avoid killing innocent motorists and the like.

4.
Driving, ever a source of good old-fashioned adrenalizing moments.
And photo ops.

Love of

Snippets on this Good Friday.

1.
There Yours Truly was, truly minding her very own business, meandering back from a coffee expedition to Grant Street of all places, and heading in a southwesterly fashion. Suddenly it became of immense import to divert to LaSalle Park to make some images of ice on the water, in lieu of preparing the box of tax crap for the nice tax man who YT does not know but who was referred by Dorota and who is now lovingly referred to as YT's tax guru of sorts.

2.
Yesterday after a gig and shopping for some birthday gifts for tonight's SGB birthday throwdown, went to get a pedi at some joint in the suburbs, probably former marshland. As is my workaholic wont, laptopped the entire time. It is important to YT to make productive use of this time in midst of Asian arcana, oversized vinyl chairs installed with rollers and pinchers, curious signage and other women on the g.o. go.
At the end of the pedi the nice man at my feet required my attention, pointing at my large toes. Yes, I said, nice job.
He looked flustered and walked away. To get a dictionary, YT presumed.
He reemerged with a faux nail display with all sorts of strange hashmarked nails - art.
I pointed vaguely at one and he said Flower. Flower, I replied.
So back to work and when he was done he tugged at my rolled-up jeans.
I looked down and lo and behold he'd crafted tinyflowers with toothpicks and sparkles and paint. A tiny triumph.
Quite a master miniaturist of floral pedi creations, he was quite proud of himself.
And then YT proudly showed off her toes at the dinner party last night.
After first inquiring who'd like to see my toes.
NOBODY scowled Liz.
As YT unlaced her bitchin Pumas.
The girls did marvel at the Asian man's handiwork.

3.
Time to make and do, wrap and roll.
Off to fete three at once over birthday dinner, an artist pal's exhibition, some arcade games, some meeting & greeting.
And tomorrow, another visit to Broadway Market to make some stock images of all things sausage, butter lamb, and lily.
Another fine band name.

Love of naming bands.

Above is a festively flowered-up cart at the co-op yesterday and Yours Truly could not - once again - resist buying more hyacinthius domesticus to get full spring sniffs.
I also bought one of these purple plants and left it, with a card, for Robert & Steve, outside their apartment door.
YT is completely numb and heartbroken for them and their families after the car wreck that Steve had on Monday night on the thruway, when his car skidded and went down and embankment. Steve's two children were killed.
YT will be going to the wake and funeral and there is nothing sadder than a funeral for a child.
If I had seen, ever saw, a car near me on the thruway going off the road there is no way in H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks that I would simply call and keep driving.
YT, being the consummate big sister/camp counselor type, would have stopped, parked, and made sure I could do as much as I could.
I would never call and proceed.
YT in the past has aided people all over the world in perilous and not-so-perilous moments - and angelic strangers have done the same for me.
One moment that immediately springs to mind is a woman on her bicycle in Amsterdam who slipped on ice and had a head injury.
YT not only stayed with her assuring her that she'd be alright, asking someone to call for help, but made sure that her bags spilled all over the scene were not stolen.
This is Karma, and this is what we're here to do: share our strengths.
∞
YT began epinw on a day of chosen significance, Good Friday, the alleged birth date of Samuel Becket, 4/13.
Tomorrow is Good Friday but it is not the 13th.
Yesterday was the anniversary, 15 years, is that possible, of the suicidal death of Kurt Cobain and YT recalls that moment with complete clarity: where I was, how I heard the news, and the impulse to tell others around me of the horribly shocking rock & roll news.
Yesterday was also the Faux Birth Anniversary of YT, as YT was a year younger than her classmates and that was a social disadvantage. So YT, with the assistance of Loomis, created a lovely faux bit of identification that, when asked, would grant entrée to the public social gatherings of my classmates and the like.
∞
YT has just finished a gig that involved documenting some earthworks of a non-artful sort: a state-sanctioned improvement involving giant holes and PVC pipes. This necessitated the handy standing-on of trusty little Subaru.
YT forgot the SPF 5K so is now a shade pinker.

Pinker, Purple, Gracious Love.

Image from meandering through the newly-improved AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario) which has now a capping of Frank Gehry goodness and a Vaticani-reminiscent complicated staircase to boot.
Whereas the AGO of yore was kind of musty with a smattering of good bits in the collection and some curios that you would marvel at for a short while, now it is, as Yours Truly is wont to say, A Triumph.
Inside there are some traveling shows and a Whitney-esque comprehensiveness to follow along the various decades of art making and doing.
What is beyond the Henry Moore which was once the outer wall, is now the expanded facade housing what is called the Galleria Italia, a dreamy space of wood and windows and filled with tree-related art by Penone.
Favoured & featured piece shown is a large tree gutted except for an intra-arboreal work, a small tree.

Time to leave TO, now pop. 2.6 mill.
Cranes and clouds in the sky.

Northwestern Love.

Post wedding gig on Saturday Night met up with Mish & TD at Big Orbit to see some rock & roll - Dear Leader - a gig that ended early to keep the neighbors oso happy.
Rich Wall (below) did his managerial/lighting thing and, as always, eerily resembled lead singer Aaron. TonyC was there, who merrily handed Yours Truly an Amstel Light upon entering the venue stripped of all art on the walls in preparation of rock & roll mayhem. All stayed constrained with some hippie-style girl choogling in front of the stage. Rest of weekend was not rest at all with editing, a jazz show to watch at venerable AKAG, an all-girl brunch at Left Bank, a dinner later at Left Bank, and oso much more.
I did see MikeC (cuz of TonyC) and did inform him I'd be at his resto, Left Bank, twice on Sunday and that I'd like a prize. He said No.


Speaking resto speak, partook in the Middling City's version of Restaurant Week last Thursday, supping a late sup at Bacchus with Heady. Their curious rendition of RW was 1 choice of 5 choices of a glass of vino, 1 small plate, 1 dessert choice. In lieu of that Heady and I opted for a better combo platter. It was a primo night out with the room full and vibrant, but their RW concept was a little weak. My experiences in the Shiney Apple for their v of RW is that most places offer full dinner entrees, limited but full-portioned, and let diners fend for their own tippling/desserting selves.

Fending for one's own dining self, Love.

One image that was floating about the desktop, from the Los Angeles/Beverly Hills/Little Laura foray.
Lest you need anything horn-related in LA.

My Letter to the Middling City News Editor appeared yesterday and got some emails from people giving me e-pats on the back for speaking up regarding an insensitivity matter that several read/see but don't feel compelled to speak out about. Several are employed as freelancers, and depend upon the MCN for reviews and such and don't want to nip at the sole inked-up hand that feeds them.

Just downloaded Andrew Bird's newest, Noble Beast, in preparation for the TO gig Yours Truly will be seated amid on Friday night - Heady's b-day. Gave her a gentle, photon-related nudge about doing her pregnancy portrait: YT loves doing this genre of port, it's important self-documentation that some people let slip on by.

Got a text from a newsboy last night that a kid who was racing out on Beaver Island (about 15 or so miles from the MC, a beachy place of modest proportions, but does include the lovely River Lea) died after his volatile, air-borne crash. It did make YT recall how in her teen-fueled high school days (specifically, that strange limbo of one's senior year) Marie and I would take out her souped-up Chevelle (with a 442, I recall) and just drive muy fast out on that verysame road. And, one late afternoon, another driver (a teen boy) challenged us to a race. We did. To no ill effect. That was one of several racing scenarios of Young YT: the others featured the impromptu race track on Ohio Street and scads of motorheads, including Nick Beat and his Opel Manta.

Onwards to pixel pushing and deadlines of journalistic and artful matters at hand.

Muy Pixel/Portraiture Love.

Traveled with Kennergy to Northampton and another notable North (as in Adams) once again, in the Mass, to make & do, look & work.
As Eremite has sold his big old home we stayed in one of the rooms-for-hire places that I wrote about for my NoHaMa piece for the Shiny Happy Mag.
Image numero uno, the toppermost, is an exterior shot of the sprawling and mind-enhancing Mass MoCA, my second visit there.
There is an incredible installation by photog Simon Starling with ultra-magnified silver molecules, ultra-magnified stereoscopic images of Chinese immigrants who were imported to North Adams (home of Mass MoCA) to work in a factory that stood where the Mass MoCA campus now does.
Upon entering the expansive arts venue, a former factory, had the nice front desk lady remind me what was fabricated there at Sprague.
Capacitors, she said.
I thought to fabricate my own understanding of what in hell a capacitor is but opted for the big Q.
Capacitors, it turns out, store electrons.
And Sprague made the switch for thee H-bombs of H-istory.
Bad H-istory.
∞
The lines and spaces and concepts of Sol Lewitt are gleefully, thoughtfully drawn on nice white walls there, ready to be marveled at.
For your edification see image at right.
Whilst trundling through Mass MoCA came upon an installation and made my way through a little faux grassy knoll replete with music, some Gilligan's Island-worthy benches, some unstrung patio lights.
And, off in a corner, the sleeping artist.
Yours Truly sat there looking about making sense of the jumble before her, including a few computers and attendant circuitry.
After a few moments YT realized that the artist was simply exhausted and the installation was incomplete.
So moseying along was in hot pursuit.


Jubilant round-up of the journey's art sights.
1.
Finally saw Smith College Museum of Art which had Lauren Greenfield work hanging - two of her femmecentric series. LG has a lovely sense of light and her people always feel real. Upstairs had an excellent shoe conversation with a guard guarding a small gallery. She complimented my very new J-41s that I'd had for a whopping hour or so. She said she'd thought of purchasing them in black but couldn't commit because of the contrasting band across the top of the foot. That was the selling point for me, YT stated. Then I went on to point out other lovely features, including map of the Berkshires underneath. She was wearing Pumas. I pointed to the bag in my left hand stating that my own green Pumas were in that very bag. I also found, I told her, the comment of the shoe salesman to be most curious as he said How many pairs of black shoes could someone own. Not enough, YT stated with complete and utter conviction.
2.
Mass MoCa.
Full of wondrous sights - art and architecture. Walking distance from Porches hotel, excellent Gramercy Bistro, and a curious package store selling odd snacks.
3.
Williams College Museum of Art.
Nice compact arts venue full of grandeur and some lovely surprises. Sol Lewitt work makes an appearance here as well - drawn on walls as well as the sculptural pieces.
Nice room of examples of work by workaday photogs. Had a good time reading some of their collection of historical docs, like a copy of thee Declaration of Independence, not the fancy-schmancy copy that everyone signed, but one of 25 copies meant to be passed around to the VIPs and framers. Here they have a piece by the femme who invented cyanotyping, who used the ironific process to document flora.
4.
Clark Museum in historical Williamstown was another newbie surprise to YT. Some more surprises on the walls. The Singer sewing machine fortune translated into thousands of purchases, including some Toulouse-Lautrec prints and what made it all bigger and better and best was the inclusion of some historical documentary photos from thee place, Le Moulin Rouge, the ladies, and some work by other artists of the same era capturing the effervescence.
∞
Today/night documented the wedding of two favoured people, two I've known for a long time. One I've known for three decades, the other two.
YT went up to Niagara-on-the-Lake to capture the vows alongside the lake under the sun, a happy gathering. Onwards then to a dinner to celebrate but not before reaching the Peace Bridge with my very brand new pocket-sized birth certificate to show to the border patrol person in his booth. He was not overly impressed. He also wished to see my driver license. YT had just noted that this semi-impressive new card (all black and shiny with hologram of the Middling City's seal upon it) was not on thee list of acceptable docs to present in such circumstances in the near future to not be hauled off for further questioning and possible tears.

Onwards and Onwards Still.
Artful, Loveful Love, Love.

Snippulations.

1. Yesterday whilst perusing the Middling City News and multi-taskingly having tea and kissing dogs chanced upon a theatre review. In most usual circumstances YT does not read theatre reviews if the play under the microscope was not sat through by YT. But it was a production by Buffalo United Artists and YT is a pal of founder Javier Bustillos.

There, amid the dissection and such was some phrases that oozed ethnic stereotype, the last remaining unchecked sort - Italian American bashing.

The reviewer, who has been noted as having made other blunders of ethnic stereotypical proportions, stated that the onstage action was "strained and repetitive even for the often heedless passions that can run rampant in Italian households."

YT did a stop, and restart of this phrase. And then immediately stopped the onhand multi-tasking that was truly just a bit of R&D for the pieces YT was about to write for the Shiny Happy Mag. YT fired off a letter to the editors of the MCNews and then sent the article in question (offensive sentence highlighted), along with my letter, to a list of media friends, writers, and others of Italian-mix.

Today YT received a call from the MCNews to verify not only my whereabouts but my heretofors and ID. Yes, it is YT, I stated. We will be printing your letter within the week, YT was informed.

And, for Your edification, here is my letter to the editor.

I had to reread a phrase in the Sunday, March 22 edition of The Buffalo News, a review of the Buffalo United Artists play “In Gabriel’s Kitchen” by Colin Dabkowski. The phrase in question was a jolt in an otherwise innocuous piece.

In this short piece, that glowingly announces the new home of BUA on Chippewa Street, and in the very issue in which News editor Margaret Sullivan states, rightly, that “newspaper journalism protects our freedoms and guards our way of life,” Dabkowski pens a phrase dripping with troubling ethnic stereotype.

While mentioning that several moments of “In Gabriel’s Kitchen” could have used some deft edits to shorten some onstage arguments, he goes on to say that these dramatic arguments “seem strained and repetitive even for the often heedless passions that can run rampant in Italian households.”

“Heedless passions?” “Italian households?” Oh my. In our historical era of both democratic revamping and change, as well as ongoing international wars and lines drawn for tribal reasons, it seems that most journalists would be more careful to pen such a careless sentence. This sentence could be easily read over, but it does much to re-instill generalities.

Onward.

Seems a little sensitivity training might be in order here.
A pal was asked to attend such a genre of meeting of minds recently for a dissimilar reason and she did inform me and some other femmetastic pals of some facts and concepts gleaned over those several hours. I asked her for a recap today, as I recalled there was a handy acronym. A very forgettable acronym, apparently.

She emailed back that it was EASY.

She writes:

E.A.S.Y. is as follows:
E.xpress (example: "Nancy, when you throw strawberries at me it makes it difficult for me to work.")
A.ddress (example: "my clothes are getting stained, it's a waste of good berries, and i like blueberries better.")
S.ay (what you would like to have happen) (example: "I'd like you to stop throwing strawberries at me while i'm working."
Y. (ask a Yes or No question) (example: "Can you do that?")

Oso handy.

Love of the Sensitive, Love.

This is abso-freakin-lootly my fav image that I crafted during the Saint Patrick march down Delaware Avenue this past Sunday, which Yours Truly watched with pals Jen, Jamal, Sherry, Annie, Alan, and Liz.
Sadly, YT was only armed with a cam and a dream, no silly string.
This parade can be oso much more, have another dimension, when there is a can of day-glo green silly string to be squirted in madcap high-five fashion.

Today is Saint Joseph's Day so therefore a call was made to YT's pops - my main Joe.
After a schmmmooozzee for pro photogs, off to a Saint Joseph feast at 888.

Viva San Giuseppe Love.

Yonder image is art, an ongoing series of found numbers of note.
10 being one of the magic numbers.
10/10 being the day of my emergence.

Yours Truly is oso elated as Shepard Fairey has become an art star.
YT met Fairey on the dark and historical streets of SoHo one late night on the way back to the Broome Street loft and talked about his work as he was busy wheatpasting Andre the Giant posters on late night walls.
At that time he gave me two Andre the Giant posters and a handful of stickers.
And who, You ask, is Shepard Fairey.
Well, I shall tell you.
He is thee artist who created the Obama Change/Yes We Can/Yes We Did portrait in reds and blues.
He also has a retro in Boston at Institute of Contemporary Art.
His work has aura, as does he.
Something a starspotter such as YT could tell all those years ago on the SoHo streets.
Yee ha.


Fairey/Andre Love.

Yours Truly has been enjoying the local transpo.
For that is where you actually talk to denizens; in a taxi you get the often-skewed landscape observations of the cabbie.
The 720 has been a trip fav of YT, a good solid all-purpose bus.
Met a security man from the Getty Center waiting outside the Getty and talked with him and a gang of 20-somethings.
I forgot to ask for a transfer, or did not know that I would be needing a transfer, so the nice Getty security man gave YT a token, Compliments of the Getty, he said.
The bus wended through UCLA, through Westwood District, then at my intersection of Change noted the Armand Hammer collection so perambulated through there.
Where some two-story high bamboo was observed.
A triumph.
Yesterday bussed to Culver City from Beverly Hills (where Little Laura and I rest our end-of-night weary heads) and saw the Thomas Beale show (image at toppermost, my fav of the show) at Kinsey-DesForges.
Another triumph.
Absolutely delightfully constructed and joined pieces of shell and wood.
He's the genius behind Honey Space in Chelsea so had to visit this show.
The other galleries were so bizarrely all over the arts charts - some really jawdroppingly awful undergrad-style painting, some wondrous paintings, an artist who loves John perhaps as much as YT and entitled his show I Am the Walrus.
Inquired as to the price of one of his pieces made from the distinguishable popular port of John with added googly eyes.
Size: 8x10.
Price: Four thousand five hundred, the gallery girl stated.
Reaction: Oh.
∞
Today back to the Museum of Tolerance as yesterday they would not tolerate one single more human in their large space.
So back to the street and the bus and the map.
A fellow bus rider day numero uno instructed me about the joys of 1-800-COMMUTE here and when you phone a nice lady listens to where in hell you desire to go and your preferred arrival time. Then, miraculously, she tells you your buses, times, everything.
Coming from the Middling City this is a marvel.

Today will be seeing Jodi at Museum of Contemporary Art.
Yesterday night ended the night at Viper Room, a small dark hovel where a hiphop band was taking the corner bar, and barworkers were oso friendly.
And, most importantly, the doorman, Dave, let me and Little Laura in pro bono as his guests, stamping our wrists and opening the special side door, really the front door on Sunset.
Tonight more fine dining, more adventure.

Adventured Love.

+ +
Stuffed alligator in the Beverly Hills showroom front windows of Nieman Marcus.
Gate 1 in Culver City, that curious industrial, wide boulevard string of good and bad.

Yours Truly looks at this image of Cali mountains and sees nothing but cowboys on horseback, lumbering along with rifles at rest, sure-footed horses wending their way around rock, and wild lupine.
As their enemies lurk somewhere along the unmarked trail.

Ceci n'est pas une pipe and aussi ce n'est pas en gai Paris but at the LACMA, where Yours Truly totally did not mind her - or anyone's - business but spent several hours loving art to its maximus.
There was also an installation of the Fabiolo collection - the flea market saintess collected by an artist. All there.
YT had read about this and was shocked - shocked - to see it there, in LACMA.
YT thinks how the name LACMA sounds too much like lachrymous and there is oso nothing to cry about in LACMA - except that it's far too far away from the Middling City.
YT needed to see such expanses of art and this wild sunshine.
Little Laura and I dined late last night on prosecco and sushi and organic chix broth under some palm trees at the BevHills Hilton on the terrace.
She is absolutely radiant in her new gig and YT says More prosecco to LL and her new fabulous chapter of consulting and traveling.


A view whilst leaving LACMA on way to points beyond.
Was happy to see Lee Krasner amongst the Broad Fam's holdings - go, Lee.

Western Love.

Yours Truly, ever minding her own business, found herself in Heady's car this fine morning, bright and early.
Then, still minding my business, 2 planes + 1 shuttle + 1 city bus later, ended up in Beverly Hills, having a late lunch outdoors at LACMA (art world code for an art museum) replete with a California white vino (thankfully low on FQ - pesky fruit quotient) whilst looking at some spindly palm trees over yonder.
Somewhere in this sprawling urban situ is Little Laura, who YT will see later.
Sherry Burns posted a link to the Channel 2 self-promoting vid/commercial featuring YT et al.
I would be the one in the rain with the flattening hair holding a sign that they added text to: something about what in hell is Albany doing for us.
I need to email Sherry to inquire if they digitally changed the tone of my lips from crazy lady searing red to a more muted kind of mauve.

Searing, rambling Love.

Nature is truly a wondrous thing, even when captured, killed, skinned, stuffed, and with faux eyeballs added.

Above is a red fox that never actually roamed Tifft Nature Preserve but probably a similar nearby community.

The dusty fox, with paw pointed toward prospective dangers, is up out of harm's fingertips at the visitor centre of Tifft, where Yours Truly visited today for a story for the Shiney Happy Mag.

Had a gig today documenting girls investigating the possibilities that science might be their chosen path to happiness. In one group they were stringing together marshmallows to represent monomers which, when joined with the marshmallows of their peers, became one big happy polymer.

Foxy Love.

The Governor came to the Middling City, where he announced that he and other legislators and administrators from BigU's and SmallC's are providing all children of crash survivors with scholarships to college for four years.
Excellent, Yours Truly says.
And then he sped off to speak to other constituents about the handling of other matters like the asinine fee to cross the Grand Island Bridge, and the cigarette tax being repealed for the Native population.

I admired the Gov from the moment I met him whilst documenting the Dem Convention in the MC several years ago, when he received the party nomination for Lieutenant Gov. Back when Eliot knew how to better manage his Affairs.
Today YT read that Eliot is going to move to real estate moguling in D.C.

Below is an image YT made last week during the opening for Ani Hoover and Saya Woolfalk's ultra-vivid scene shows.


Ultra Vivid Love.

*toppermost sidebar*
Above photo made chez Rice during the André Watts home concert.
Mme. Rice had lilies and hyacinths filling the rooms with their Perfect perfumes.

vignettes.

1.
Saturday's gig included making some hi-festive images of children running amok on a schoolbus. General merriment, bouncing down aisle, screams of joy, checking iPhones, and the like.
Before the youngsters boarded had a moment to talk to the schoolbus driver, who is a regular M-F driver.
I asked her about the radio. Was there one.
No, she said. The older buses had them but the newer models do not.
She reported that some drivers Abused the radios.
We then discussed that concept.
Yours Truly did proffer up the fact that YT has, seemingly, fried out one of the Subaru's non-mighty speakers by listening to music on 40. I think it's 40.
She said that drivers bring on their own music-playing devices but she does not.
The children were boarding so our conversation ceased.

2.
Arrived at the small chapel/church with the grotto this morning for Bonita Z's funeral. On the way in noted - of course - (being both an ardent photog and caffeine booster) that there was an idling coffee wagon at the corner of the lot.
YT is familiar with this coffee co's wagons as it is the same co that supplies hot bevvies and snacks to worksites, and to Guru Tom's business.
YT wondered how this wagon would be doing any business in such a lot, at that auspicious hour, at that location specifically.
As YT approached the bank vault-resembling front doors three funereal workers were leaving, chatting in a mid-workday voice.
Then one made it clear that he was on his way to the coffee wagon, asking if the other funereal workers cared for anything.
He did know their orders.
So, voilà.
The coffee wagon operator knows that pallbearers, and handlers of hearses will be in need of a mid-morning energy boost.

3.

Final Edition from Matthew Roberts on Vimeo.

4.
YT has decided that this is one of her most fav items. Ever.

This is from the giftshoppe at George Eastman House.
YT wanted it.
Her mother/Fats purchased it for her.
YT was most thrilled.
The monkey's eyes glow an evil LED blue and he chatters an evil monkey chatter when a little button is pushed.
I worry about what will happen when its circuitry wears out.


Mid-day, vignetted Love.

So apparently the world is still crumbling and a newsybits type just said that the economy of Japan is Falling off a cliff.

On a much lighter note.
With much laser-focused intention that is the moment of looking through a camera with such ferocity to document something - anything - of great import, hit the laptop running adrenalized to acquire Band of Horses tix to the acoustic gig at Carnegie Hall.
The dreaded message of huge traffic kept things from big fruition and 20 minutes after the BoH tix went on sale It finally worked.
They are performing the last day of Bonaroo and really that would have been a solid Plan B, and Myrtle Beach's House of Blues may have been a good Plan B-2.
Oh, thoughts now drift to the merch.
YT has been known to zoom to merch tables the world over to acquire t's before their possible sell-out.
Yours Truly may be a (laugh) wizened pro photog adult with an incredibly huge rock & roll archive of images she's made all over the place but the thought of plopping my arse down into the Carnegie Hall's pitch-perfect ambiance to hear one of thee finest bands in the world makes my eyes all swimmy, my heart all tinkly.
Dined with Arts Mentor last evening and insisted that he will not only accept some copies of BoH discs, but Love them.
Ended the evening at 888 where YT walked into some political tumult, as some customers had just left in a dizzyed-up manner and there was much buzzing of how cabs were shunned and such.
Liz pointed out that some Middling City cab co. had a big barn fire (barn fahr, as the relatives out yonder would utter) so perhaps this explained the dearth of cabs.
Now, really.
Anyone in their right mind does not expect to take an MC cab in a timely fashion.
YT has posted about the lame-assed state of MC cabs altogether.

Onwards.
Backwards.
BoH and their loveliness.

Was told that Bonita Z has passed into the big art studio in the sky.
Some people pass and you cannot visualize them fully any more, some just the opposite.
I see her face Perfectly, its round jublilance.
I hear her growls of delight, feel how in Love she was with her beau, how they laughed together in their Love bubble.
Her pomes, her boobalicious art work.
Passed into a quieter place.
Bye, Bonita Z.

Love of all that is green, passed, and sonically restorative.

+ +
And hello to GFS, who hides behind the lyrics of the song that I listen to at this juncture, track 3.

At left is pianist André Watts during a concert privé at the Rice Residence on the one-blocked Tudor Place.
Watts, with the warmest eyes and sparkling personality to match, did the concert for a benefit for AIDS Community Services in the Middling City.
Yours Truly was asked to doc the event, allegedly they'd have no other.
YT also is a past arts auction chair for ACS's now-defunct Cause! for Celebration, and an arts donor for several years.
Watts' programme included pieces by Mozart, Ravel, Chopin, Beethoven with commentary by him between.
What YT has always referred to lovingly as Inter-Song Banter - ISB if You will.
I had a moment to make some lovely ports of Watts with the Rices in the concert room (formerly their living room), and told him that I'd like to make some images of him from behind to show the 100 or so in the room, and make some in the beginning - sans flash, of course.
He, for a musician of that genre, was so agreeable and gracious.
It was so packed in the room that YT found a Perfect seat in what I dubbed The Cinderella Box Seat - in the fireplace.
It was enough room for me and my gear and for me to stretch out my legs.
YT has never sat that close to a concert pianist and was quite surprised to hear that they - or at least this one - growls and hums along to his playing.
The concert ended with Chopin, and a large surly growl from the pianist.

Growling, hand-fluttered Love.

There Yours Truly was, minding her own business. In Rochester, in George Eastman House, specifically and for GPS or geocaching purposes.
YT's mother was also minding her own business.
And, in an adjacent room on the GEH second floor, YT's father was minding his own business, too.

As is my GEH wont, I like to tell whomever I am with there that thee George Eastman, a perfectionist of frightening proportions, committed suicide in the house, with a gun, because he was in pain with spinal stenosis.
So this fact was regaled to YT's mother as a slight and well-coiffed woman was eavesdropping.
First it should be mentioned that YT's mother had been searching for any documentation of GE's secret lover, who she knew by name.
I suggested, wrongly, that the family photographs be pored over.
This is perhaps why the slight and well-coifed woman began to listen.
She was floating ever closer and asked what stenosis is.
YT's mother, who suffers from this painful affliction, told her.
The woman asked if she is in constant pain and she said Yes.
The slight woman, speaking in a southern (sutthern) accent asked if she might do a laying-on of hands on my mother as she is a Prophet.
What can one say.
My mother said Yes.
So there the three of us were in a small upstairs GEH room, no longer watching the informational vid on display as the slight woman is appealing For a MIRACLE for ...
she then asked my mother's name
... for ANNETTE.
Then she kissed my mother on the cheek.
My mother, Professional People Person, gave the woman one of her most beatific smiles and thanked her.
I asked the slight prophet's name and we were then informed that she has a television show, that she's published books, and has a website.
I Googled her the instant she was out of the room and lo & behold, there was this slight lady - and her spouse - in all their sutthern and prophetic glory.

Onwards.

Had luxe dinner at The Social down the avenue from GEH.
Highly rec.

Highly rec Love, Love.

A newbie for the Accidental Frame Series, entitled Valentime.
This was made at the out of town and out of sight Valentine Wedding which, to my humble op, did not include enough red.
Did note that both moms in attendance, and a gramma, had on red.
Long live trad.

So FB is all in throes of figuring out how to navigate between online accessibility and privacy - it's more than the appropriation of one's posted party shots of pals and the like, but the ability for FB administrators to share a user's email address, or other contact information.

As an early FB user I was appalled to discover that my visits to epicurious and Pandora were being documented on my FB page until I fixed that prying little wagon pronto.

Speaking of red and all its bawdy connotations, it is time once again for Yours Truly to construct yet another lovely lively interactive photo booth for charity. I have a list of fav causes and one that perpetually has made the cut since the org's inception is Squeaky Wheel and their Peep Show.

This year 'twill be Nunzia's Boudoir Secrets Photo Booth with naughty shopgirls to assist customers with the selection of a perfect secret to hold aloft to document one's likeness.

Last night there was a man passed out at the wheel of his idling automobile blocking the drive of my property. I pulled up and blared the horn for some time to no avail. He was slumped down.
In these strange and armed times it is not advisable to rouse a sleeping man in a vehicle when it could result in an odd and punchy reaction.
Another person noted the slumped man and they called the authorities who knocked and sent him on his way.
One night out with Elba, we were returning to the Shiney Apple from a snazzy party in Brooklyn, we discovered a man in sports car slumped and snoozing. We did get out (that was indeed a different era, less armed) and noted his breath.
I at that time was driving what I drove in my salad days - a functioning wreck.
Light on looks, but dependable, with working radio. Critical.
So we discussed the possibility, for hi-jinxal exercise purposes, of removing the man from his sportscar and placing him instead in the wreck and making off after the swapping.

Had to abort plans to hike down into Shale Creek this fine afternoon as it was icy and on the driest summer day can be slippery with all that prehistoric shale and all.
Wished to show Kennergy the joys of the eternal flame, the methane that leaks up between the rocks.
Another day, another trek down, another match to mysterious gas jets to ignite what is truly a recommended and lovely site - compliments of Nature.

Gas-jetted Love.

side self query:
Is it possible to shrink an acrylic sweater.
If so, I am in the process of doing this.
Just twittered for some guidance before it's too late.
I think I may have shrunk articles of said material before: maybe I'll dial down the shrinker/dryer.

Onwards.

Documented the BigU's memorial for the plane crash 50 this morning.


There was music, candles lit for each person, a brief slideshow showing each person's name and bio, and readings.

And now here is the scoop of how Yours Truly was benched this past Sunday by the Saint Joe's coach.
First a synopsis recap, then a play-by-play.
Vincenzo, moved by my FB e-daydream of one day singing the national anthem at a sporting event and singing the part of Acid Queen got me a gig for the former.
The game in question was a huge deal rivalry match between Saint Joe's and Canisius high school b-ball teams.
There is much ill-will, apparently going back since the schools' inceptions.
YT went to the so-called sister school of one of the schools.
So, having said gig, YT busted out all the vocal exercises from lessons and choirs and musicals past.
Fun fact: YT is a soprano but finds it more fun to sing an alto, harmonizing, part.
YT was coached by various pals, some who worried needlessly on my anthemic behalf.
The appointed tip-off time was 3 p.m. this past Sunday, February 15th.
Annie was designated winggirl and documentor and as I was in the midst of picking her up at her home, as she was bounding down her front steps, I received this text from Vincenzo, who was calling first the JV game and then the following big boy b-ball game.
Annie and I were about 15 minutes away from walking into the gym.
It might be interesting to note that this verysame gym was the site of several h.s. dances enjoyed by h.s.-aged YT and gang.

Serious change of plans. Superstitious coach has pulled the plug on your gig. So sorry ... sorry ... sorry.

I replied. Are you joking.

No. He just told me at halftime. He was not interested in my objections.

So then YT used her reserve curse, and sent it on its way, believing that this coach did not realize how wrongheaded this was as there was to be a special moment of silence for the plane crash 50 to be followed by my rendition, so it was all very divergent from the pre-game norm.
So the bad wishes were sent off as Annie and I sat in the front window of Left Bank, sipping cocktails that were in lieu of - and not in celebration of - my singing moment.
I had the urge to text Vincenzo for an update.

Joe's was down by 10.
Then 7.
Then 10 again.
Then 20.
Then 10 again with 27 seconds to go.
Then they lost by 2.

Moral: when one wishes to sing for You with utter glee, let them sing fercrissakes.

One good thing that came from this was a fun afternoon with Annie barside, and a c-w tune we penned for the occasion.

Over and out.

Benched but not defeated Love.

Q: Why do women put on lipstick whilst driving.
A: Because they can.

So there Yours Truly was, driving to the Central Terminal late last week, to be filmed for a Channel 2 promotional spot and suddenly it occurred to me that bright red lips would be a nice counterpunch to the rainy weather all about.
I mostly stayed in the lines, the overall effect was red.
I referred to this as Crazy Lady Red lips.

Readied house and self all week for the annual Red Dinner, with record turnout this year. At one point the oxygen seemed at a lowpoint and the back door was opened to let in a little bit more.



This image was made by Betsy Frazer of Yours Truly during the RD, demo'ing the effect of the fabulous plethora of red poly-oly-ester folds on the party dress.
Marty Boratin, it should be noted, hated the choice of green shirt under the dress.
YT loved the touch of favoured colour.

Curious after-party finds:
1. A lost lipstick underneath the green chair, upon which someone lost their green gum.
2. Left-behind winter boots.
3. A reveler found my tin containing my preserved bumble bee used for photo shoots (with a note upon it, labeled BEE), must've been startled, and dropped the bee. Now lost. Now keeping eye out for more dried plump bees.

YT thanks the following pals who helped slice, dice, advise, cook, warm, serve, fete, and pre-revel revel in the kitchen Red Dinner morn:
Jana, Heady, Vincenzo, Marty, Janine, Annie, Deb.
Mucho.

+ +
Was surprised when Donna Brazile entered the Green Room on Thursday night and praised God and repeatedly described the terror she felt before her plane took off to get her to the BigU for her speaking engagement.
I thought that as a politico she must travel a lot, how could it have been that bad.
She described her plane being rocked by the wind before takeoff, that she thought god wanted her to come to the Middling City as her flight wasn't canceled - as were many others.
She was engaging, her talk was insightful, and she warmly answered several questions from the audience.

This is my image of Donna Brazile with UB Law School Dean Makau Mutua, who hired me to make his family portraits a while back.

I left the venue at exactly 10:17, and noted this as I called someone who asked to be phoned when I was leaving.
I wondered later, when I heard of the plane crash at that moment when I was outside and walking a long walk to my car, why I hadn't heard the crash which was not very far from where I was, and which happened at that exact moment.
YT knew two people on the plane: Alison Des Forges, and Susan Wehle.
Had a gig a decade ago to make portrits of Alison at her home when she received a Genius Grant, and always found her to be serene and lovely, modest about her work telling of the world about what was happening in Rwanda, an under-reported story.
Susan Wehle was the cantor at Temple Beth Am and again I'd see her when working, always impressed by her positive energy and unforgettable smile.

Onwards.

Today YT will be singing the National Anthem at 3 p.m. in front of a big crowd at a b-ball game.
1.5 minutes.
I will be giving it my bestest, toppermost skillset of vocal range and jubilant high hopes that the world, although seemingly falling to bits at the moment, will rebound and be leaner, more collaborative, and a lovely shade of forest green.

Yesterday had a gig, pre-wedding, at the BigU, at a b-ball game, women's.
It was a cinematic moment as my gaze zoomed in on where approximately YT will be standing to sing the NA today, on a court, between teams.
Much like this:

This self-imposed Moment of Terror is similar in feeling to full-time working whilst pursuing the MFA - a good dollop of adrenaline, fear, and joie de vivre.

Joie de Love.

This is what is rather a secluded location where the Pleece stow their crashed vehicles.
It was always wide open and then one day an all-encompassing black screen on the chain link fence appeared, so no passersby would see the vehicular carnage on the lot.
Now the screen is falling off and so any ol' Tom, Dick, Harry, or Dick Curioso can see.
Was going to adjust the darkening dusky light but really why.
Left is east, right west, where the Skyway tossles cars about this time of year and when that happens at a red level the whole operation is shut down and commuters must remember how to use the street level streets to hightail it back to their exurbs.

Tomorrow bright and early Yours Truly is going to be filmed at a Middling City location, a significant icon so to speak, for a promo spot for Channel 2.
I saw this spot/commercial before and various people are standing and holding signs that say various things.
I told Channel 2 that YT would like to look less wintry and more springy so will tough out the elements in a sweater and down vest in lieu of parka and the like.

O, say I can sing.
I think it's a green light, my singing the national anthem at a big sporting event on Sunday.
Details to be hashed out, and finalized, and green lighted.
The idea, as I told Vincenzo, makes me feel exactly as I did when I received The Call from Parsons the night of Mardi Gras oso several years ago informing me that I was IN. That I was a green light for graduate school in the Shiney Apple.
The feeling of OMIGOSH what have I done.
And then onwards to adventure.

Below is the likeness of MC artist Jan Nagle, documented whilst seeing with her own eyes that she did indeed win top honours at the CEPA Members' Show. The grand prix being a solo show in 2010.
I congratulated Jan and she thought there was jest in the air.
I stated I would accompany her to her piece and show her, and document her.
Here is her reaction, the results of artistic foray on a few levels.

O Say, Love.

On the Pandora.com station that was just magically whirring from outer space, into the pixel machine (i.e. the laptop), just heard and fast forwarded over, Jack Johnson's version of John's Imagine.
Just who in h-e-double-hockey-sticks does this Johnson think he is to do such a smarmed-out version of this already-Perfect tune.

Have been hit up by three orgs this month alone for arts donations, most artists of the Middling City get about twenty appeals per year.
One org, a non-profit, sends out very dry letters but do manage to cross out Dear Artist and replace the word Artist with Nancy.
They don't explain very much about their org and its attendant cause and Yours Truly puts their letter through the shredder and moves on down the line.

Last night's bennie was for the newly historically-designated and listed Trinity Church on Delaware Avenue with loveliness around every corner, and a smattering of Tiffany windows that thee Cam Miller pointed out to me one fine day.
And others of amazing photo-realisticness in the looming faces.

So donated to last night's event, one of the newer industrial images.
And it was purchased by a woman, also an artist, who is a bit of an NJP collector.
She was the purchaser of my lovely art brassiere that was created for a short-lived charity event about seven years ago for breast cancer research.
I believe this amazing bra that YT made is image Googlable: it is b&w photos of various friends' breasts (including one pair that, as luck would have it, were feeding a baby), and cut out in the shape of a 60s bra that was used as a template. Then each piece (and there were many panels in 60s-era bras) were grommeted together - about 125 tiny red grommets in all - and silk ribbon made up the straps.

+ gap of about seven hours here +

Just back from CEPA opening, members' portion in the subterranean portion.
It's a trad and veritable hodgepodge of this & that.
Saw Jan Nagle and we talked as is our fun wont and asked if she had a piece in the mix.
She pointed toward it. Went to look, and noted the BestOf sticker on the base of the monitor showing her work. Saw her again momentarily and congratulated her.
She thought YT was joking and I assured her that I indeed was not.
I said that I would get my cam at the ready and document her surprised face.
And then proceeded to do so.

Met up with Liz out in the suburban regions for a nice late afternoon respite after a very pleasant meeting.
Turned down an invite to fly down snowy hills with pals tomorrow as I have a previous engagement. But do hope to do that, in addition to the snowshoeing, before all the snow goes south, so to speak.

Speaking Love, Turning Love.