Although it is reported to be the thirteenth he was never quite sure but did relish that the anniversary of his emergence was this very auspicious day on the calendar of Christians.
Happy Birthday Number 100 to You, dear Sam.

Neglected to state one thing that I did witness at the teahouse the other day, the near-death experience of a famed Middling City draft dodger who now leads a very nautical life.
As I laptopped away there first came some voices down the twisty stairwell, and Jen and I observed the MCdd falling forward whilst holding a tray of tea-related items.
He plunged forward, hitting his large head on his tall body *crash* into the bar about five feet from where I sat. He was still. I thought he had expired.
A small bit of blood was on his chin. I called 911. He awoke, insisting he was fine.
I suggested that he not move. He did. I guess that comes from being a draft dodger, that resistance to law, strong suggestion.
Last night watched Beth Elkins's dance performance on Allen Street featuring three, count 'em, three, video projectors, some stiff folding chairs, good dancers, a narrator, snippets of music, snippets of Geisel's Butter Battle Book. Afterwards I told Beth that she should be proud of what she made, a combo platter of girlie experience and wizening as well as anti-war sentiment that at one point verged on hysteria. There were curious breaks for vino and hummus.
Afterwards traipsed about with Cheryl and Liz, ultimately meeting two Michaels at one of the MC's better bars de gaiment. Both work at the ad agency I did a gig for about a month ago. They knew the work and basically it was decided we would like to cross our farflungish paths again.
Listening to Damon and Naomi but the vrai song du semaine has been Bjork's Real Life Sensuality. That missing blogpost a few days back due to my generous and perfect heart wanting to share with You an mp3 file of said song and suddenly Blogger went all to hell.
Oh, speaking of hell. I am going there.
Today I exclaimed Jesus H. Christ on the very day he sipped vinegar on a sponge, croaked his final words, and then the sky got very dark when he died.
That is why, my Perfect theory, that black jelly beans/eggs are ingested. They represent death. As do Peeps with their odd, somewhat crumbly exterior and liver-coagulating materials (not to mention lethal faux colourings), that do same.
Tomorrow I meet with my maternal and lovely tax lady, Valerie.
I am bringing her some beautiful dianthus as she, Valerie, reps all things lovely about (no, not taxes) femme charms and super powers.

Power of Taxing Love.

I finally took the plunge I had been so yearning for and bought a chainsaw.
Not really the Husqvarna of my dreams but a good starter Remington, despite the admonitions and such of Everyone.
I tell you, in this Perfect World when Yours Truly wants something she does get it.
And also in this Perfect World YT will not, repeat, will not lop off any limbs - except those that are evergreen in nature.
Brucey asked how long the something-or-other was.
The what.
The casing, the chain.
Oh, YT, answered, glancing over at the box, Ten inches.
It's a small one.
A starter one, YT rebutted.
As luck might have it the father of YT noted that a critical piece of the machine was missing, the trigger, so my dreamy moment was (temporarily) dashed on the rocks like a ruined and rusty chainsaw blade.
I feel power.
I have tools.
I have a goal.
I have things to slice and dice.

Sliced, diced, dreamy Love.

Working/blogging/editing at the teahouse, basking in the glow of Teahouse Jen who has an actually, surprisingly good Muzak station on... nu-lounge.
Yours Truly has gleaned some info over the years being on the scene and documenting it all and this includes this Fun Fact: Those who work in secret ways are, generally speaking, kooks.
Note yesterday, gig #3 in a tight series of 4.
A super-secret laboratory with contraptions that could be looked at by YT but not photographed in any way. I might not even be allowed to be blogging all this to You.
The address was approximated... look for a tree with a little curved branch, walk 10 paces towards the north and when you spot a little yellow, seemingly-random mark on the ground you are within 5 feet of the lab and suss out the rest.
YT asked a handily on-hand cleaning man where in blazes said lab was. He pointed to a door.
The door had blinds and was locked. They were expecting me and the cam but still it took them a while to open the freakin' door. A woman opened it and basically marched me in about 2 feet, imploring me to stay there. After about 1 minute I queried thusly, seeing her fluttering nearby. Am I really supposed to stay right here. She moved me into a very odd area with partitions and no humans where YT read the NYT until all was ready.
What was most enjoyable was the booth designed for training those to interrogate, I was sealed into it for effect. I had enough effect after, oh, about 30 seconds.
I asked about the small, de rigeur, badly-painted landscape on one of the booth's walls, propped against an alcove of sorts. Oh, the lab leader stated, That is for helping those who are being interrogated to feel less confined, that they have a psychological escape if need be.
Have You ever heard such nonsense.
There You are, in a sealed interrogation booth, a man with a clipboard asking questions, five cameras pointed towards you, an infra-red cam noting your twitches and sweat, a super-secret device to your right monitoring your heart. In the midst of this sound-proofed moment you glance to the right and AHHHHH, a moment of serenity wafts across your mind as a representational bit of hillock evokes.

Love the POWER of Art.

SuperBonus:
Go here for some Art Power.

Most of this day, motoring from gig to gig, I've been listening to Bjork's first release as her post-Sugarcube self, Debut - most notably one of the world's to-date heppingest songs, Big Time Sensuality.

BTS:
I can sense it
Something important
Is about to happen
It's coming up
It takes courage to enjoy it
The hard-core and the gentle
Big time sensuality
I don't know my future after this weekend
And I don't want to
It takes courage to enjoy it
The hard-core and the gentle
Big time sensuality

+ cannot wait until the release of Drawing Restraint 9, the movie with Bjork and her big man, Matthew Barney.

Drawing Love.

Whilst singing Youuu are the TYMPANIST Yours Truly clapped her hands most enthusiastically, to the utter surprise of Middling City Orchestra's Jesse Kregal, spotted in Coda, the site of Michele's swinging b-day gathering last night. He was so overcome by the claps and con brio singing that he did not note that it was YT who was cheering his entry.
Coda brought out a flight of ice creams for Michele and it seemed the challenge there was to out-do the former flavour. Kate Elliot explained them - Tarragon/blah-blah, peanut butter/garlic, roasted beet/blah-blah... Despite the wacky iced concoctions all else rocked.
Deb says the owner/chef is superb of visage, did not get a look.
To facilitate getting to Coda in a safe and timely fashion TY pressed the Forester along Kleinhans Music Hall, in a spot labeled For Middling City News Music Reviewer. It was 8:05, if said slacker reviewer was that late, oh well and hoof it.
Yesterday was my faux b-day. The date selected by me to glean some faux docs to hang with my older high school pals who were of legal limits.
I do accept gifts for the faux b-day, much like the other. Same sizes and such apply.
I fauxly thank You.

Non-Faux Love.