Having a very 4AD kind of aujourdhui.
To glean a much better spin on things in general bought Dead Can Dance and Cocteau Twins, major aural nod to Justyworld. Only glitch thus far was the few holiday tunes covered by the latter. Why. Onwards.
So then spun along the biway to do some major retail therapy and bought a Dorota-worthy bag. It is much more her than I but think it will do wonders to perk up the bag wardrobe and, as You know, all photographers and commuter gals live out of bags.
Blue hyacinths, still-snow-drenched earth, flashes of images for art's sake, and more of spring.
And the other day I wondered why there are not more words for spring, much as autumn is a fine word for that season.
Now that it is done I can say on epinw that I snuck out of town whilst a deadline loomed over my sunshiney head. With a virtual gun to my head I completed my profiles that dragged on and on on the campus of UMass in Amherst and, with assistance from a teeny-boppin' frosh, tapped into their wi-fi and filed, missing only mere minutes of the ICP set.
Had a plethora of fun romping with Eremite, Miss Swinson, Merry Mary, Han, some newbies.
92nd Street Y is doing a Sam-centric event and I'm sure that I won't be able to sneak out of the MC again for that, planned for about a week before what would have been his b-day numero hundredo.
Sam at 100.
Yours Truly at the cusp.

Cuspy Love.

On this day, Yours Truly's mother's birthday, I saw the season's first bee - a skinny yellow jacket - in Kennedy's garden, meandering about over what will soon be real & live flowers.
En route to the latest in a series of wakes I was listening to the new WKBW, now a leftcentric radio station whose website, curiously, is still under construction. Their on-air afternoon host, Stephanie Miller, railed about the choice of Scarlette Johannsen (really, I don't much feel like Googling the correct spelling of her name and if this bums You out o velcro, as Yours Truly is wont to say) as FHM mag's sexiest woman list. Top of the heap. Pick of the crop. High on the hog. Were You wondering just how many other snappy agri-refs YT could make. I end here.
Dragon Boy dug FHM, amongst others. It has all the usual things - boobs, cars, boobs, butts, etc. Their website has along its banner a 'Send in your boobs video' contest of sorts. They refer to boobs as chesticles in the blurb about how to send along the vid via cellphone for perusal. So this Stephanie Miller, who, she says, commutes between LA and Buffalo (right), apparently has the same hair colorist as the starlette, who, once upon a time, did not like the blonde that was fabricated upon her and had the color guy work on the tones for 2.5 hours. Then Miller took calls. I called and was on the air within a few minutes, before arriving at the funeral parlour. I did some fabricating myself, I became a caller who really was not up on her starlettes - at all. I said Well, she's DEAD but I think Audrey Hepburn is one of the sexiest women. But for living, sexy women I think it has to be two Laurens - Hutton and Bacall. They're CLASSY, they seem SMART, they're OLDER, they're soo sexy. And they haven't had work done, surgically, they're aging naturally - like in FRANCE.
And then I warbled, like most of my predecessors, And Angelina Jolie is hottt, too.
Stephanie Miller said Well, thanks for that, Nancy.

Call in Love.

So I just heard from JW,Esq. that he is a dodgeball player. So not only is he an erstwile hostile takeover corporate Esq., p/t raver, but a purveyor of this violent sport. This here image is one of my favoured ones from that mayhem that they call intramural dodgeball, with five balls whizzing by at most times until nobody is left walking without a wince in their step.
Made some ports today of a group of mad scientists. One of them had a brainiac idea that the theorists amongst them should each hold a green Sharpie to denote who was who. Thought I would share with You this snippet of scientific humour.
Hardy petri dish har.

Howls of Love.

Being of Libran affiliation and persuasion and such I so grooved on the balanced dichotomy of yesterday. Largely the day was spent doing product shots of bottles of Patron tequila, rushing to rock-memories-of-yore-infused Clark Gym on Middling City U's urban campus to document intramural DODGEBALL, and then back to studio for more shiney bottle shooting.
Let us just say that upon leaving the sportier portion of my day my shins really smarted. I took three or four good wollops with the ball. Let us also say that that sport is probably not on my list of favoured things to shoot. A few weeks back I was sent to shoot a rollicking night of activities planned for MCU students, pre-mid-terms. I wended my way into the divided Triple Gym and made some photos of peaceniks shooting shuttlecocks about as on the other side of the heavy vinyl ersatz wall came a hurling body and screams. I wended over there and thought, in the interest of my favoured lens, I would move along. It was a mad, dodgeball free-for-all.
One guy last night got his face kicked, I'm not sure if that happened when he was down or not. There was a sound you could hear through the screams, kind of like when Jim Reddon did a sort of jitterbug maneuver to the best man at Leah and Todd's wedding reception at the Middling City Hysterical Society and garnered him one fractured skull after contact with the very impassive marble flooring.
The best team spirit witnessed at the dodgeball fete was that emanating from Team Jager, with their team name emblazoned on ultra-homemade t's, the team name scribbled in Sharpie.
Eight weeks until gardening season.
To date Yours Truly has spent approximately sixty dollars on perennial seeds, a few annuals, tossed in, as well as $100 in summer bulbs - hostas, gladioli, astilbe, and oso much more that suddenly I am filled with that wondrous and sunny feeling of sticking my hands in the earth, sprinkling the water, watching, watching every day until *ka-poof,* magic ensues. Kind of like the magic of the darkroom, only brighter.
Off to dealine hell once again after this pleasant blogly pitstop.

Procrastinational Love.