Tequila Maiden visited me as I was watching an unironic band of hippies playing Dead-fueled idioms. As she was working, and bored, the offerings came on the generous side. Robert Creeley filled in for an allegedly ailing Andrei Codrescu at Hallwalls last night and Bob was his usual engaging and tangential self. He ended the reading tearfully and you could see every slightly-shifting person stop suddenly as they noted Creeley's tears. At one point last night I spotted two teenage couples walking arm and arm down a street and as I drove past them I honked for young love.
Valentine's Day, to the relief of many, has passed like a busy Forester in the night.
Next on the public agenda: St. Patrick's Day. Time to shop for the perfect shade of green silly string. Memory flings me back to last year's Middling City SPD Sunday parade when some little kid, without any drunken adult prompting, silly-stringed a passing cop. That's chutzpah. Flinging myself out to the ye olde Winter Fest in the blazing sun amongst thousands of sniffling families and the curious.

**Famed Nancy heraldic harmonica blast**

O Mighty Valentine,
of indeterminate origin and shadowy historical past, patron saint of beekeepers, the affianced and epileptic, shine your celestial wisdom on the pumping biological, chest cavity hearts of everyone teeming with various blood types, to dig life and all its amenities. O Lupercalian wise man, millions of shopkeeps of flowers, candies and small gift items bow down to your libido-enhancing, pre-Spring hopes for love and motives of a more lubricious nature transmogrified from impulse hormonal to impulse purchase. Shine on, you crazy diamond. Amen.

Tempted to hunt down Dave Harrod, last know whereabout = Philly, to inquire thusly:
JUST WHAT IN BLAZES WERE YOU THINKING PAINTING A PERFECTLY GOOD CEILING DARK BLUE AND, ON TOP OF THAT FIASCO, CREATING ONE-INCH GROOVES INTO JOINT COMPOUND TO BOOT?
Still putting on the pro-block and then it's going to be 2, count 'em 2, coats of white to eradicate.
And how does one know that one is living the rock & roll high life?
When one is moving sofa and hears a bottle clinking across the wood floor and, bending down, discovers that there's an empty and dusty bottle of designer malt beverage under there.
When this little home improvement is complete there will be a crashing of full bottle of aforementioned on the bow of this repainted party ship.
Onwards.

So I walk into the home of a client to deliver some of my photo work this evening.
Her and her husband have the t.v. on CNN/The Paranoid Channel and so begins this scenario.

Her: Did YOU hear about the duct tape thing?
Me: Yes, I did... can you believe...
Her: SEE, I TOLD you that was real. He didn't believe me (dramatic over-gesturing at Him).
Him: (sends me over a little wink and head nudge as if to say Yup, I KNEW that whole duct tape thing was real but was funnin' with her)
Her: I went to a convenience store today to buy water and they were ALL OUT.

(And on this goes for a long while, her explaining the evacuation plan of her kids school and how there are bomb shelters in her neighborhood and how the terrorists could look just like anyone walking into any building - she repeats this 3x - until I steer her to the photo matters at hand)

Next stop for me was a board meeting for Buffalo Society of Artists.
Because of aforementioned I'm running a bit late and am surprised that half the board is not there.
Me: So where is everyone?
President: I guess the weather kept them away...
Me: Or maybe they're home taping up their windows.
Treasurer: GUH-HUH, someone with a sense of humour.

Moral: Gallows humour, laughing in the face of absolute crap, is better than pale-faced tomfoolery. Under the overarching orange-red of Code Freak-Out stay close to who and what matters. Know when to step off the news media trail.

Subtly bossy love.

Surreals.
1. Rewinding a video and then chancing upon Janeane (sp?) Gareafolo in I'mSmart! glasses being all sanctimonious and labeled Peace Activist on FoxNews rather than comedian and, eschewing her usual label, she played the serious gal whilst looking stern. As I stated moments afterwards, she looked like a comedian schooled at the Stipe, Merchant & Bono School for Causes. I feel differently about her. Yes, war sucks. But her delivery was too... too... out of character.

2. Minding my own business I attended a girlie dinner soirée which ended in a Joe Millionaire debacle as we sat around a television set at the behest of a Girl Scout Leader who was so enamored that we enabled. So after 60 minutes of poofery nothing happened. I counted down, à la New Year's Eve 10 more minutes to resolution, 5 more minutes to resolution, 4 more minutes to resolution. And. Nothing. No resolution. As one of us pointed out, ohso wisely, we watched because we thought it was theee last. The apish man had two bimbos to select from, both non-prizes. All further tossing gasoline onto Osama's Anti-American fire, if you ask me. Where was Garofolo to stop this pithy nonsense? Probably busying herself spraypainting No Bush League Presidents for Oil Wars placards or the like.

My opined and obvious LOVE.

ps: in the spirit of love go here to make someone something really really lovely and nice.