Amongst other things, like the requisite groomsmen sloshing of pre-beers, all-around jitters and last-minute panics, there was one thing I never saw at a wedding before and never hope to again. It was as I was leaving and it was a heartwrenching thing to see and is amongst reasons why I am sometimes drained, as an Empathetic, from such emotion-drenched affairs. As I wended my way to the golden Forester the bride's dad was stomping across my path and I noted his gait. As he passed to my right I heard a bellow whose emotion to Yours Truly is oso familiar but a thing of the past - a PleaseDon'tLeaveMe. And there she was, in her flowing gown and veil, running to her father as he turned towards her and yelled I am out of here. As I drove away they were talking and I was sad for them both.
I am in my post-school, end-of-summer mindset which involves a rather feigned enthusing for the Middling City. And truly it's the mark of being a vagabond, of feeling that I am not sure where my home is or where I belong. And this is not a bad thing, in my Perfect mind. I explained this to Brucey. I would prefer at this juncture to have two places to stay - one in the MC and one in the Shiney Apple, flowing between them. An experimental sentiment.
Brucey told me he drifted into sleep whilst holding a smoke and awoke to the scent of scorched trousers. I told him I'm buying him asbestos overalls to wear after our cocktail forays.
On a related note, my Perfect dad turns 70 today.
Mr. Leo Man, I've always been compatible with those who are of Leo blood.
I made him a from-scratch cake and it was not so perfect and I blame the humidity. Really. So I placed 70 + 1 candles atop and we family people met at a restaurant in a suburb. The staffers whisked my cake art away and it reappeared as we had some coffee, I spotted it coming at us, held by three waitstaff behind a sizable tray. We all began to sing the requisite tune when they dropped the tray alongside the table and all one could see was a sizable blaze, the melding of candle flame. It was spectacular to one who relishes the flame.
We got one half of one stanza of the requisite tune out when my dad, in an apparent Safety First Mindset, blew the goddamned glow out completely and Yours Truly has not laughed that hard in geez a long while.
I sign off.
I think, plan, conquer, rest, think some more, and shoot.

Love's Agenda.

I am a video art star.
Lurking in the corners of the specially revamped room, I watched watchers watching the entire cycle of the thesis piece of Yours Truly. Did I tell You it's called Endmatter. Happily, wine was in the next room/lecture centre so I could tell my guests to just pop around the corner for a thimble of oso mediocre red and white.
The screen worked and to that I say hooray to the inventor of gaffer tape.
I got many congratulations from strangers and unestranged and it felt wonderful for a newbie like me in the video showing realm.
One of the evening's most memorable moments arrived with Anthony and Martha who absolutely gushed at me and the transformation of the room, AA shouting over the hush of the crowd THIS IS GREAT. Towards the end I talked with Adjunct John and I said You know, I think I should go and thank my mentor, JR. He pushed me towards that edge so I found JR and gave him a hearty hug, kiss, thanks. He said Thanks back. Now that's a mentor for you, always doing this guruistic Give & You Receive Thing.
Afterwards, as the crowd waned, I had a small after-party soirée at nearby Marquet and lavished wine and snacks with the help of Nana. After that the Brooklynites encouraged me to jump into a cab (with them and the Buffalo triad) to make my weekly foray to Boat, home of Brooklyn's best jukebox, where Renata does a bang-up nurturing barkeep trick, and Steve Bartoo makes drawings. He and Jen are having me over for some sort of dinner and art gifting extravaganza. I explained to him how one of his works would work magic in my straggling and emphatic collection. Speaking of such, one artist whose work I have followed, who I met in the Middling City and who now lives and works in Brooklyn, has a new smallish showing in the MC and I am sorely disappointed in his late-in-life turn of interest toward what I see as an attempt at what he should leave alone - still lifes.
Yesterday, speaking of still lifes, told my parents we should meet for art and lunch at The Met. The Matisse Lovin' Fabric show is fine for seeing another informative facet but some of his earlier works are cartoonish, with a heavy reliance on black lines. It was while I was studying some tiny drypoint I thought Hey, where are those parents and went through entire show and swung back in again thinking all the while Wow, my parents gave me the SLIP - if they wanted some alone time they should have said so. Then I found them, intently reading wallnotes in the first room.
I said Hey, have you two ever been on the roof. So up we went to see the master of idea, Sol LeWitt. Then I said goodbye to the parents and told them to Read faster.
Now time to fashion a short paper for Mark the Shrink and head back out to The Guggenheim of the Far Rockaways.
Time to time to time to.

Love is Time.

Seven of us (Pam & Pat, their three daughters, Alex the Bearded Tech, and Yours Truly) hauled ass last night to get my exhib space in order for tonight. After trying to visualize the prefab screen in the room - hanging - with desks and classroom amenities Pam and I asked the daughters to store the desks in the storage space in the room as we hauled a podium and chalkboard and garbage can out of there. Then, while Pam stood on a chair and held up the prefab item I could see it could work but would not be parfait. Looked again at the screen in-room = damaged piece of shit. Pam said What about seamless and the rest is now the stuff of grad show lore. Alex and I searched about the studio upstairs and found, finally, a bright white paper. This was then carefully raised to the wall by me, Pam & Pat and gaffer taped to the wall to match the size of the largest-possible projected video image. Hours later it was done and it looks amazing. The daughters hauled the two wood benches I relocated after their disappearances up on 5. The room is done, the dvd runs sans a hitch, the screen is huge, we worked out the lighting, the classroom accoutrements are nearly all cleared out (defending happens in the very same until 2ish) and I hope beyond hope that someone might think to get the two tables and six or so remaining chairs out of there and into the next-door room, an auditorium. I have a seminar today at 3. I will ask Mark the Shrink if we can have class in the aud. At 530ish I will begin putting my artist demeanour on and at 6 the hoopla (hopefully) begins. The post-exhaustion, adrenalized jubilance of an art opening that follows all the harrowing ups, downs and in-betweens of getting a show together. In some ways it is a lot like the newspaper racket: the work is huge, the stress the same and, when all is done, there is a (for YT) a curious sense of amnesia and a sense of Now What.

Now What Love.

Well, that can be filed under P, for pleasant and P, again, for unwarranted Paranoia.
I blog, of course, of the thesis defense, which went swimmingly this late morning after a panic of lost file on laptop, some turbo-powered coffee via Dorota, a run to subway, and a wait as the committee people straggled into the classroom/auditorium/exhibition space of Yours Truly as of tomorrow night.
Several of them (and them is Martha Burgess, Stacy Miller, JR, Anthony, chair Michelle Bogre) commented that they'd enjoyed reading the big D, and watching my presentation.
Michelle asked about Beckett refs and I said I'm glad you asked that question before trailing off on a short talk about all things Sam, the Middling City's illustrious Sam-infused past (productions by Josef Krysiak, and Federman, bien sur).
One of the commmembers commented thusly You would be a great visiting artist. To that I stated Well, ask me back.
It is over.
Now it is time to get my screen in order and get ready to hang the damned thing and get the digvid up and running and then clear much of the classroom accoutrements out of that room.
I think the fly has left that room, thankfully.
Time to keep working on art installation prepping and hear more tales about the post-D states of my classmates.

Post-D Love.