Was it the grappa or was Justy sooth saying that he'd get a gig for my laptop band, Knife Call, on a double header of a bill with his own not blunt but sharply -named band, Knife Fight. For the musical record: I told him my band's name well before his quote unquote Knife Fight was a twittering blink in any guitar monger's eye. I rest my pickless feckless case.
Amongst other things learned today was this: Stuyvesant built a wall to keep out pesky native people and hence that's where Wall Street got its name.
I also learned that the depths of some people's pedantic tendencies is fathomless, striking an ire-inducing chord of sorts in Yours Truly. Talked to JR aobut this, during our Perfect Art meet-up this fine evening. A seminar, in my mind, should be an open-ended conversation, one in which relevant ideas are tossed about and adding to a collage of thought - as opposed to the I'm giving correct answers at the teacher methodology.
Discovered that pineapple lilies are what grows in Kennedy's garden's northeastern quadrant, via thrilling gardening mag appropriated from that knee jerk reaction doctor's office.
Had a horrid fright as I crutched along to the 6 Train. Thought, out of corner of one eye, the left, same side as bum knee, that my X was approaching and my instinct was to run in opposite direction. It was a mournful stranger, giving a hairy eyeball to a homeless wanderer.
Art art and more art.
And Love.
+
And Joyeux Bastille Day, belatedly. Bastille Day signifies the ancient pagan festival of towers where both the insane and political prisoners were mercilessly kept, beaten and released and, annually, they were made to run alongside a troupe of bulls who could, at a moment's notice, gore them and/or ungainly tourists. In celebration of Bastille Day the French have been known to put plastic babies in "King Cakes" and to toss handfuls of red pigment at their foreheads. Holidays, as it is known, is a delightful mishmash of myth, reality and practicality.

Humourless Doctor Howard Levy did not give Beth the ol' backstage photo pass to shoot the knee procedure of Yours Truly. Well, actually, the knee procedure of tapping like a maple was nixed by Humourless Doctor Howard Levy who said all will be virtually evaporated like maple syrup in a sunny bucket in the woods.
Crutches I did get. Navigating on the streets of Manhattan is a workout and I did ask the Humourless Doctor Howard Levy to mentor me in the usage of them. He declined. I did, however, encounter an MTA man, working outside the hospital, in orange hard hat with tools hanging off his belt and other macho regalia, who, without prompting, gave me a very thorough tutorial. Hey, slow down. Get your rhythm going. Get the swing down. Then he meandered alongside me and showed me the technique for navigating subway steps. He, unlike Humourless Doctor Howard Levy, knew the Zen of crutches.
Tonight opening of Yours Truly et al at Thomas Werner Gallery in Chelsea.
Hello white wine. Hello cheese cubes. Hello crutch art opening tottering.
Tottered Love.

Me (in snark) to doctor (in sandals), mere moments ago.
Under glare of mandatory medical fluorescence, surrounded by health concerns, re-re-xeroxed NYT health-related articles, helpful hints.

I am a Francophile, this much is true/vrai. However. I don't want to live - LIVE - a vrai Jerry Lewis and furthermore Chaplin moment by wrangling my limbs and attendant bags/sacs up and down the subway/le metro all the day/jour long with borrowed crutches angling out and about.
Mercury buckets/thanks... thanks for the ref, thanks for the memory, thanks for not tossing my western medicine-skepticizing self out of your swell office/bureau.

Equipment malfunction, left knee is still all peculiar and so tomorrow, not today, I go off to a knee specialist. I wonder about a person who only looks at knees all day.
No crutches, just a bunch of grad school readings to plow through in my bag, and a song in my heart.
The song.
A nice techno one You would really really like.
Off to Chelsea gallery to deliver the piece that was mis-delivered by post orifice, for the show that happens momentarily.

Momentary Love.

Just in case you didn't comprehend that Yours Truly completely, utterly, certifiably rocks I have a few free-wheelin' statements. Of sorts.
1. The review is in and it does not look so good. Of course I do not blog of any art gig or show, I blog of my performance a few weeks ago in the role of wedding date to Mr. Daniels. Heretofore known as Mr. Daniels, he once had another brandishment that shall not be continued.
Yours truly, in true form, schmoozed merrily and you may recall the regale of the story I conjured of me committing circumstantial homicide (just toggle back if you don't know what in heck I'm criminally referring to) and recalling a much previous meet-up with a boy named Obediah.
Onwards.
So Mr. Daniels sends me a letter, one dramatic page, deconstructing what I thought was a fine fine job of role-playing. I had had my nails done and I looked damn good. Apparently, in a gesture of jest, in my sub-role as castmember of the show "The Three Siblings, The 40-year Old and The Gay Guy," brilliant and hilarious and being pitched as I blog to folks at MiraMax, I touched lips with one of The Sibs. Much to the astonishment, the righteous indignation of a gaggle of MidWesterners. And to those of you so in the know, you know how I feel about the righteous. Down with the righteous ones, no tolerance for the intolerant.
Mr. Daniels sent me a check with the letter, payment for a piece of art by Yours Truly which was a most suitable and luxe wedding gift. And to that I say Thanks and Sayonara.
Mr. D says my "impish, rockstar and blogger" ways just don't gel with those of the MidWest. Oh well, other stellar roles and roads await my luminosity in the northeast, the east, the north, the south, the outwest, the northwest and the west.
2. In the throes of working a gig on Saturday, the rooms of the building chilled to ice cream happiness levels (niveaux that is in the country of France), my knee did a wonky snappy thing and now I am hobbling about with a left red knee. While mid-break during seminar Teaching Methods I practiced some good old-fashioned chalk & talk by approaching the green black board and diagramming out the two knees - for comparing, for contrasting. JamMasterV, Madge, Justice Wild Bill, S.S., Phillippe, Pam, Beth (in rockstar ballcap and shades because of a three-day migraine), Yong, Lexie and Lori gleaned much from the kneely psa.
3. My Knife Call bandmates are coming to the Shiny Apple for some music event at Coney Island, with Michael Baumann. To that I say bring on the noise, bring on the funk, bring on the Oban and pass the joie de vivre.

Tales of love, never woe.