In the midst of what I now refer to as Asphalt Planet, the suburbs outside Middling City, where driving is de rigeur and the landscape is all about shopping, trees in smatters.
En route to the morning gig saw what appeared to be a highly disgruntled hired hand for Liberty Tax Services, in full Lady Liberty neoprene regalia, heading away from her/his post at the busy corner a stone's throw from the expressway, heading down an embankment, torch low.
I feigned enthusing, beeping my horn madly, so Lady Liberty would cheer up. And she did, turning and raising the torch at me in a commuter-worthy salute. Bartholdi shone down upon the moment.
Listening to Canadian radio the young announcer announced that yesterday, the country's national election day, was the saddest in a very long time – much like the aghast feeling when the current president of the US (you know, the one mucking up all foreign relations save a few, the overnetworked rube) allegedly won here in the lower 48 +2 – as now their gov is the big C.
Kennedy and I saw that new Pocahontas movie and I forgot to sing Neil's (as in second-fav Neil love, Young) song of same name. Actually, this movie has the forgettable title The New World and I imagine that its Euro title will have more poesie about it. Jewel's cousin, the femme of same last name (Kircher) and complicated first name beginning with Q, did a fine job of being beautiful in deerskin. Not so much later in gingham and such. I would not know Colin Farrell if he literally bit Yours Truly on mine arse and I found myself cringing at his mutant eyebrows and could not get the horrific thought of Scott Stapp formerly of Creed out of my mind. He also did a fine job of reminding YT of her college pal David Coleman, another introspector.
Time to burn a cd of primo images and drop and dash and more business as usual.

Love, usually.