Inspired quite a skid mark today, a good seven feet of burnt rubber along the Avenue, as Joe Rozler concurrently shouted my name as I was walking in the Middling City sun across said Avenue and laid hard onto his bike's brakes. I had just said byebye to Mary, Kunji, Allen and was wending back to the historical Old First Ward allegedly being bought up like beautiful wampum (according to Gilian Brown, Esq. and old college pal who I also saw at the coffee joint). Joe Rozler said he was just recalling my gracious thank you note for some vino he bought me for my last b-day and thinking about buying same bottle for some person who has a b-day today and all when *ka-poof* there was Yours Truly. And then the skid mark.
Two things of yesterday.
1. Gig was jam-packed with hundreds in a poorly-designed new build in the exurbs and as I elbowed (OH! what training not only being a camp's art lady for a decade was, but shooting rock shows for two decades was too in this madcap world. . . patience, resilience, respectively) others away for a set-up moment featuring five VeryImportantPhotographees a man's voice slithered into my ear. Do you EVER photograph yourSELF, it asked. Not taking eye away or turning head I summoned the paint melt stare© in audio out of the edge of my mouth:
Absolutely not.
Marky Mulville showed up amongst the throng and I shouted Marky, surprising him greatly and he looked up from his, he said, malfunctioning D2X, which had made several black frames = really, really bad news. I suggested he pose the honoree with her sheet cake. It was festooned with flowers of an odd brick red.
2. Approaching the bar to approach a social gathering I then approached the actual serving station manned by Scott leaving for a rock gig. I asked what position do you play to which he exploded DRUMMER. I asked are you a power drummer. He said I am THE drummer. Apparently, he's in the Poptops and he was grabbing champagne splits for his Mohawk Place gig. So Lovelorn Jeremy was left and so as I waited for the others I asked Jeremy, you hear a lot of things, you offer up lots of answers as a bartender. What do you think I should do with my hair, let it grow, cut it. He spent some time looking at what it is doing and then said Keep it like that. Noncommital perhaps. But I agreed.
Hair, like dreams, is not only subjective but ephemeral.

Love ephemeral tales.