Just completed shooting a house wedding, truly the most enchanting of the wedding genres usually. There was much tear-shedding by bride, groom, two singers (one of which was Sean whose drag name cannot be recalled at this juncture), various guests, and Yours Truly. As I am wont to say Any wedding that inspires a few tears out of this wizened/hardened photog must have Something.
Annual Friend Dinner was fab, as usual. Actually, there was some early sniping and I pointed out that as a gang of old pals this was actually very good that we could verbalize our various annoyances whereas with family and others less familiar all that irritation is encased.
So today is the final day of this year.
A year that was fairly positive and suddenly I am recalling a most horrid year, I think it was 2003, and I shouted from Matt Kantar's rooftop on East Huron out into the fireworks before our faces GOODBYE 2003 YOU SUCKED with such vitriol. That is past.
Onwards to another year of travel, art, friendship, general bon vivant ways tempered with general workaholism.
At today's wedding I had a brief, parting conversation with the mom of the bride as we stood near some true Anglican Christmas cake, aka fruitcake. The real fruit cake. Actually, I can imagine legions of Americans still not digging this but who cares about their pedestrian tastes for fast and fried foods, religious zealotry and Republicanisms.
So, there we are, mom of bride and YT grooving on the fruitcake. I asked her, the mom of the bride, Paula, So, do you find that you are the only person that you know who loves fruitcake.
She replied a Yes.
I said Same for me. Did not mention I've been known to enjoy very antique fruitcake found in and on top of refrigerators.
We merrily munched through some slender slices when the groom and groom's father (both Scots) appeared from around a corner.
I merrily blurted This is the besssst fruitcake I have EVER had.
To which the mother of the bride/Paula spit out her mouthful of the imported cake crumbs in a quick, heaving gesture.
I pretended to not notice, as did the Scotsmen.
I was not sure, as I made my exit then, if she spit uproariously because of my unbridled enthusiasm or because she thought I was a fruitcake newbie.
In either event YT wishes she had more.

More Love.

parting. thought.
Passed a bunch of flagstaffs the past few days and marvelled that the Middling City was so musical, so on top of pop milestones. Wow, City Hall's flags at half-mast for the passing of James Brown. Only about an hour or so later did the sooth emerge that it was all, that half-masting, for departed Gerald, who YT sent a fan letter to as a very young person despite the fact that deep within my heart even back then I knew that I was a liberal Democrat.
The body of James Brown, I must docublog, made its way from the Shiney Apple to Augusta, GA this week.
And there was a wardrobe change - purple suit in the Apollo. Black and red in James Brown Stadium.
What next.