I am in the process of moving and will be unable to change anything on
lilydale until I am able to access the internet through my own computer.
Lucy

OK, so the mystery person who acquired my image of Natalie and Mary wrote back but neglected to add how or why the image is on the site. How... appropriate.
Speaking of Natalie, shot her show mere moments ago and the venue was at 1/3 capacity. As is customary for her lights were dim and she was highly introverted of body language, seated at a piano for songs 1-3. Song 4 and VOILA!!! Lights, camera (no, no camera(s), action... lots of moving about and happiness!!!!!
Atta girl, way to make love to the press photogs.
All.
My love.
Off for more rockstar-style action.
Ding-Ding.

Today, and what a day.
Early was sitting wishing I had my big laptop-compatible sombrero on as wouldn't you know all sorts of people trundled by my restaurant worksite this AM to chat, chat, chat, chat, chat.
The last chatter was a really impressive musician - Joe - impressive for 3 reasons:
1. his long Lennonesque nose,
2. his breadth of musical knowledge - including the fact that, he says, the first time he heard Mahalia Jackson he thought immediately Paul Rodgers... DIG IT
3. his sense of humour.

Found myself at about 430PM today in a canoe with the famed ladies kayaking about the Greatest of Lakes... after, of course, sucking down a comp soymilk provided by one of their corporate sponsors. Both are very nice and how in hell do they do all that paddling? The world is different from the perspective from a sloshing canoe. That reminds me of the time I had to arise for a college gig at 4 to be on the waterfront for rowing shots and I'm thinking Cheez and crackers, hope the sun's up by the time they're done. It was and the whole event rocked.
Waterways, your path to transcendental thought.

Was looking for info to contact a psychic and made a guess as to the URL and came upon this site which has a stolen/pirated/usurped/appropriated image made by Yours Truly. I emailed the person to inquire How'd you get your greasy grimy hands on this image? The image of Natalie Merchant and Mary Ramsey, I believe (in love) was never in print and I gave a copy to each of them. I said Put my name on the image or I'll seek you out and rock & roll karate kick you or send bad karma your way - your choice.

Please, no more talk of dirty bombs. A dirty bomb-mentioning respite of a few days would be nice, conducive to collective mental health. But, oh wait, one more mention. Bush the Younger said of the dirty bomb planner He's a bad man. Won't he ever stop being our smug Texas daddy? Those poor twins, imagine having to hear this crap with more frequency.

Several nights ago Your Perfect Nancy had this dream:
I planned a Samuel Beckett event, after his April birthdate, and made the crowd in attendance say Happy Birthday! 83 times in a row, for the age he would have been. I haven't checked his birth year but I think he'd be slightly older than that now.
In the dream I was onstage, tipsy from the celebrating, and gushing to all how every spring I read his play for three voices, That Time, reciting part of it so one and all would fall in love with it, too.

Even in my dreams I am the boss.
Dig?
My love.

I say it was a turtle crossing the road.
Laura says it was an already-deceased bird.
Whatever it was I ran it over returning from Letchworth State Park on Saturday afternoon for a couple AOL assignments. Best part of Letchworth journey, well, one: bought a super flask, plastic, wrapped in a light brown suede pouch embossed with words 'Little Buckaroo' and an iconic cowpoke on bucking animal. It has fringe. It rocks. I didn't bring it to BadCo who, btw, abso-fuckin-lootly rocked. From the pit the surge of passionate rock ovations was incredible, like an ocean on 10. Paul Rodgers looked down at me in the pit shooting and said 'Hey Honey,' picking up on my beaming love vibes. He looks and sounds great. Foreigner was awful. Shot them and scrammed quickly.
Things I saw sitting in my excellent seats after shooting from the pit -or- casual observances of my fellow BadCo fans:
1. looking back see guy with big scrape on nose, obviously to-sted. He's holding his BadCo cap towards Paul Rodgers, about 100' away.
2. Several couples of all sizes dancing, slow dancing, in the aisles.
3. Requisite guy looking back at his fellow audience members, arms up, conducting others to get on their feet and raise some hell.
4. Requisite girl at railing puking her guts out, back being rubbed by a pal.
5. Most excitingly the first thing I saw was a man having a psychotic episode, being pinned down by 4 cops, him beyond wild-eyed screaming that the cops are communists, faggits, etc. Another cop or emt was rushing towards the guy with a plastic mask attached to some medical equipment and I thought Now wouldn't it be wacky if they gave this freaked-out guy some laughing gas instead of oxygen.

This AM stood at the brink of one of the world's largest MRI machines, on yellow tape with the strong suggestion to not get any closer. Wondered if my camera would be affected. Wondered if the change in my pockets would get me sucked in. At one point I felt my right leg moving toward the opened door towards the doc sitting on the edge of the bed smiling away, proud of his upcoming big story, patient with the photog having him smile every which way but loose.

My love.