Went to that Middling City theatre extravaganza many get all jazzed up about with a posse of girlies. We met up at the CEPA opening where I was harangued by Aaron and where I was (whewww) not recognized by one of my (former) stalkers as apparently I've successfully avoided him up to now and he doesn't know me with shorter hair (whew again). But the stalker did strike up banal conversation with one of the posse and when he asked her Where do I know you from I proffered up quick fiction that he might recognize her as her job is as a Kenmore (M.C. suburb known for hosting the hellacious private high school where Yours Truly, Loomis, and AEDM attended, amongst others, brutally racist cops, and a strident and long-running sex shoppe) traffic cop. Lauren looked at me with eyes awidened but somehow the stalker didn't grasp that or that we might all be trying to give him the ol' Slip. Onwards. Meandered along to the Hallwalls opening where I bumped into Leslie and Bernie of days of yore. Bernie once wanted to beat me up for some (here's that word coined by the mechanic, this logo-gem) misconfusion - really. We were near-teened folks in our 20s when spirits run high and quite erratic. After the near dust-up we became fast friends and engaged in very Bernie-esque adventures such as, for one, canoeing from Manhattan to Brooklyn. You know, things of that nature. So the Hallwalls situ was wide-open, dusky, full of odd chip dips. And now this is where the posse fell to bits as Laura called me on my cellie to say that everyone was upstairs at my pal Deanna's joint. So up I go. To then bump into several people I know, including a feuding newbie couple. I lost all the girlies. Then I got calls from all of them. You know, that happens. Let us call is The Party Scatter. But it is not a tragic thing, I liken it to a good abstract painting, a rarity. The deft layering of things to a fetching result. Laura and I created a little side project that never came to fruition. I really wanted to trip someone and I spotted a small gang of cops lurking in a doorway on dead-to-the-world Main Street, glancing (I thought) discreetly at them. Laura shouted OHNO. Whaaat, I asked. She said You can't trip cops. I said But I wasn'.... no use. Laura, Gestures Specialist, read the whole thing transpiring. I think Laura is missing her calling as a Border Patrolist.
Time to wrap things up here before I make my way out to Middling City U to shoot the president of it all entertaining displaced New Orleans, LA students in his private special catered box to watch the worst college football team in history.

Historical and Sporty Love.

So I tell my dad about my recent vehicular woes, mostly because he noted I pulled up in a very different car from the usual. To be specific: a piece of poo Neon or is it Freeon, a car that is nearly impossible to see out of. A car that gets fab AM reception, however.
He hears the ins, outs, details and says he will call the repair shoppe on my behalf. I dial the number, hand him my cellie and he goes into his house. The screen door is open but the kitchen door is closed and I can hear his voice. Then I hear his voice get much much louder. And then louder still.
He comes out. In a nutshell (oh, let us say a nice crackly pecan shell) he says that they did the Evil Mechanic Flipflop, the Well you said X and we did Y. Which later becomes Well you said Y and we did X.
The EMF includes this important detail - rims were ordered and there was a choice. A mechanic asked me what type of rim I have/had on car and I said, in that nutshell, Ummm, Mis-TER what in hell, how would I know that. He asks for the VIN, which usually tells a shoppe Everything about a car, especially juicey for a dealer, which this is. So there is VIN confusion.
Oh, one more fact is that one of the mechanics last night kept saying misconfusion. I really thought he was joking. He said it a few more times and then Yours Truly had to give this word a spin. To use it in a sentence, EMF style:
Look, ma'am (grrrr) I don't know where this misconfusion came from. . .

Love, Misconfused.

Blogger has this neato newbie feature: type line number one of ruminations and quippifications and *ka-poof* it goes away forever. And I do mean forever. So Yours Truly has learned to toss off some (no, not cookies) cursorial thoughts before digging deep.
Mazzy Star's Among My Swan the disc du moment, specifically hovering along to Take Everything and duly note that there are songs that inspire different activities and this gem inspires drawing. Recently did a supersecret public drawing on a site and I do hope it was appreciated by some. One odd and recent day I had a hankering for my tagging and public artmaking self and She popped out quite surprisingly one eve and thusly the drawing, too. A one lined affair with some quick words of pometype thinking. Just had a delivery meeting with the sister of a recently-moved client and somehow we got to talking about the Middling City's Old First Ward (you know, in the esteemed and famed Cobblestone Districte, near the Ye Olde Elke Terminale Loftes) and, as it turns out, she knows the creepy baker, You know, the one who keeps paying other strange men to trespass onto my prop and cut down bushes as he believes that vermin crawl up the branches and wriggle their way into his building perhaps between bricks or from the rooftops, rapelling down the sides and kicking in little holes in the windows. At least that's what I gleaned from his creepo rambling, trying desperately to fade out before the sight of him in his wifebeater and baker cap sunk in too far.
It is a fine pre-fall night. Some flowers all blown out (like a lady's hair on a Friday night) but not the turtle heads who patiently waited their turns.
I end here and speed off into this fertile and pre-dark hour to points and adventures beyond, my head right now wrapped again in wishes for being on the Shiney Apple streets, wending, wending, wending.

Love Wish.

Blogging from a garden and, I tell you what (pronounced in my best Texarcana accent as such, for dramatic effect: AHH tee-EUL you what), that is a freakin' toppermost manner of doing such.
This late summer night there are murmurs from a nearby patio, a warmth in the air, and, if you zone into it, a deafening layer of insect noise.
This is the time to be jetting off to The Shiney Apple to make and do and then do some more. I have a slammin' b-day gift for Dorota and planned on hand delivery but, just in case, I will mail it tomorrow and cheesh I'd love to share what in hell it is but then there would be no big surprise. Laura, she informs me, is jetting over to the right side tomorrow morn and I got the JetBlue/early/queue/badcoffee/commuter pang.
Time to make time to make more art, to wrangle the late summer garden into control.
In case You are interested.
Ice pansies rock and this is the time to buy them and stick them in the dirt and then, in the sub-zero times just weeks away, they burgeon their heads out of the ice and tundric conditions to make flowery love to their environs.
I am being called upon to not only make photographic images but to do more public poetry, to co-host Greg's show again. I used Greg's show as finishing school in a way, which I have mentioned previously. One third of the night of taping is prepping for the taping. Second third is taping itself and all that lovable chaos that that entails. Third third is the watching of the net results whilst huddled together, camp stylee, muching on microwaved popcorn. There is lots of praise, self-deprecation, pats on back, guffaws so powerful popcorn threatens to be lodged deeply.
Today is primary day for my brand of voter.
I made my three picks in record time and realized had I waited for this day to make my voting digvid how freakin' fast it would have been - approximately three seconds.
I walked in and the bored ladies, some in bedroom slippers, asked You are a Democrat, aren't you. And off I sped into this moment.
The results of tonight's Middling Citycentric primary are sure to be low on surprise factor.

Love's surprising factors.