Off to shoot a kind of vehicular event taking place next to the baseball stadium. The event has not a thing to do with sports and usually this event takes place at the zoo, and it has not a thing to do with caged live animals either.
Speaking of such, went to see An Inconvenient Truth last night (with Jana and behind us sat Scott, Ron, Don) and was thrilled that Al Gore has what is called in the industry face time, loads of it. Yours Truly cannot get enough looking at his nose, one of the finest. There's also just the right amount of back story about Al to know how he did come to be this type of emissary. YT nearly wrote missionary but that word has baggage, to my understanding, that would fill JFK's missing luggage area and each and every terminal of the complex. Speaking of that depot, I'm missing in a strange way my weekly commute to its familiarity and points beyond. That and the hard-boiled eggs. And did I tell You. The last time I snatched up a packet of hard-boiled eggs the eggs were frozen solid. It was like an evil trick, standing on the platform waiting for the A, cracking the egg and not being able to break my fast.
Homework assignment. Go see this movie or at the very least spend time on the related web page. If not for the future of the world, then to look at Al's nose.
Time to Judy Jetson to the gig.

Outer Space Love.

This just in.
Back from the gig, a pitstop of sorts to disemmiate the images at large. Well, not so large as they're electronic information, all 1's and 0's, not even an image as yet.
Saw my former division director Bill Hooley et al at the shoot, from when I was cultural and performing arts chair of UUAB out at UB. He reminded me of all the old high times, cast of characters, how he had wanted me to succeed him as the director. Shudder to think how I could have gone down the admin rather than photog path. Then there was that time in Philly when I had had another bout of thinking I was an admin person only to realize Uhhh, Nope. And then I escaped a seminar, called Dave Harrod from a payphone and he rescued me from that Bad Idea in a jiff, and on the back of his motorcycle all that Bad Idea just blew away.
Forgot to mention that on the answering machine there was, a few days ago, a message from a man I've never met that went something like this, edited hearily as it rambled.
Thanks, Nancy, I want to thank you and Jennifer for the novenas for my mother. She passed, it was a bad end, Hospice was great, thanks again for all your novenas. (giddily) I'm starting an Italian-American Women's Club, you know, I like women a lot more than men. I've decided it's time to settle down. And on. And on.
I do not know this man and I would not know a novena if one bit me on mine arse.
There is another Nancy Parisi in the Middling City, about, I've heard, 20 years older than YT. We once banked at the same bank, Permanent Savings Bank. This confused the heck out of the do-gooders behind the counter. I was about 9 with a meager Christmas Club account. I'm sure she had more than I. This, You see, was in the passbook days of yore. When you were forced to speak to the do-gooders.
All and out.