Today,utterly minding my own photographic business, on the day's third or so gig, found myself holding a mandible. In a lab, a jaw formerly of a Middling City resident. Also found myself today in the jam-packed dwelling of Tony Conrad, making some portraits of him amid the collections of music, movies, canned goods. Had not been there in ages and since last there a drum kit (owned by his son, Ted) now occupies the apartment's most comfortable chair, in front of the kitchen window. I commented on some of the canned goods and we examined three cans of various items whose obscure names I cannot recall. One resembled a horse chestnut, the other a Japanese cookie.




By now, if it had been possible, I would be jetting back from Las Vegas with Literal Harold post-blow-up junket with the Navy Seals. O, well.
About to depart for another of Jana's reviews of a watering hole, replete with characterizations, quotes, cocktail scrutiny.
Little Laura and I just had our usual fab dinner out and she was awaiting a call from a famed comedian to take him to a movie - his choice. The call came, she yawned, I ordered her a cappuccino to go. Ahh, the life of us rock stars.

It is the Hunter Moon, night sky all full of light, illuminating the ground for the avenging kitties trolling the streets looking for little rodents and the like.
Extra is out there somewhere, hunting, his over-sized paws of Love turned into Objets de Mort.

Hunting Love.

This is a big hint.
The anniversary of the birth of Yours Truly is this pending 10th and YT wishes to have a burro. See illustration of Wish.
Thanks for Your attention in this matter.
OK, I just Googled said Wish and watched a short movie featuring a young person feeding a snicky-snack to a burro. Please remember, the narrator droned, these are wild animals. They like a warm climate. They originated in Spain. Perhaps my little burro will not fare so well in the Middling City.
The ring I dream about from Me & Ro is also still a nice possiblility - the green tourmaline, round, set in gold.
Last night hung with some of my favoured musicians - PB, Han, Eremite.
et al
Made a nice feast of various items that I gleaned from one of the favoured recipe amalgamations amid a gig photographing some wondrously bright young students who had been videotaped about their academic exploits before I whisked them away for some still photos and conversation.
Cobbled together was quite a lustrous menu, if YT may say so herself:
curried zucchini soup with goat cheese schmeared crostini, lobster salad in a delicate tarragon dressing, my trademarked smashed vegetable combo, Provencale haricot verts, Senegalese chicken, Asian-spice-rubbed pork tenderloin. For dessert I, despite the advice of one of the shining academic examples, attempted my premier soufflé. It was large. Then it was not. It was a chocolate soufflé shrunk large, ending up a mere 3/4" in height. With a chocolate spread atop.
I suggested, upon its arrival at table, that one of the boys in attendance rush out to one of the nearbyest stores of convenience to purchase a bag of marshmallows, that the cake be striated, boosted up by the marshmallows.
Chocolate is chocolate, how can it be bad if it is not burnt.
I recalled en route to this blogging the moments of co-written poetry with Patrick and how we created a dual alter-ego and how we entered into this alter-ego's space and wrote words very different from our own.
Lesson: collaboration, always, in oso many ways is the way to reach higher, baby.

Reached higher Love.