Minding my own business at the tea joint I did mention to Teahouse Jen that the back of my hair-do was a bother and now it is altered most subtly.
She took large, functional scissors to hair on the stoop outside the teahouse and this is the second time she's whisked the unruly and unsightly away in a flash.
I have just been asked if I'd like to show art - again - and, unlike the rock fest planned by Justy in Brooklyn, this will happen. I think. Soon. And this will take place in the Middling City in the gallery not a soggy teabag's toss from where I'm sitting. The Justy rock fest was to happen on a date that Yours Truly is booked and I would have not been at the op and we agreed to do something else some other time.
Leaving Kennedy's house passed the Albright-Knox where there was a giant crane on the demesne lifting up some new sculpture and from my vehicular vantage point it did resemble a sort of artful bus shelter but I imagine this is not the veritable case.
Time to speed off to the suburban campus, and rush about before I see Little Laura this fine evening. Blair informed me that he and Monique are having a summer v. of Soup Night and this only means one this to YT - a pot of my famed green gazpacho.

Green, green Love.

Well, as Al says, all h-e-double-hockey-sticks is busting loose in Warshington as the IRS and points beyond are facing a deluge. Computers all soggy, Warshington floating back to its primal, marshy roots.
Speaking of soggy.
The Middling City is also awash in rain, disenabling any garden or mowing plans.
Not too sad about the latter, and neither are the saplings sprouting up amongst the grasses and weeds.
Tonight is a bennie for Squeaky Wheel and Pam informs me that she is doing more of her super-primo catering for it.
sidebar: Perfect day for Murmur, still an REM gem.
Saw a film crew today in the MC hard at work shooting a character exiting one of the city's ineffectual buses, two squadcars behind the bus, flashers ablaze. Two. Not one, two.
This is zealousness at its finest.
Decided to give myself an art assignment last night and it was to draw a dragon from memory. Try this.
So there I was with a page-sized creature that resembled the iconic dragon of the beloved club of yore, Pipe Dragon. This Perfect subconscious grabbed onto the rock memory of then and transmogrified it into this on the page.
Funny how the rock memory works. Rock memories, a terrible thing to waste.

Rue du Dragon Love.