So guess who is chainsaw laughing now.
Just about Everyone known by Yours Truly thought the purchase of a shiney electric chaiinsaw was madness but as the Middling City has trees in heaps this record-setting day, it has become a necessary tool du jour.
First, chainsawing was necessary to get out the back door sans peril.
Next, chainsawing was necessary to get the driveway cleared out and to rid the bottom of the vehicle from some tree limbs when YT got a little risky with the gas pedal and the to and fro that all MC drivers know oso well.
Somehow I thought I could plow backwards through major brush.
Somehow this really did not work out so well.
Then onwards I drove and got petrol at Delta Sonic, as well as a petite coffee (only size available), and some cheese sticks-for sustenance's sake.
Then made a slew of images of trees everywhere.
Called to see who needed chainsaw aid and landed then at Kennedy's.
Onwards then to SPoT which is full of my restless brethren and we are all sipping and laptopping and such whilst dance hits blare from above.
It is impossible to not notice that the mural to my immediate left has been altered. Now the newspaper sitting atop the table in said image shows The Beast, the snarky newspaper intent on blasting shotgun blasts into anyone's ego, has replaced the newspaper at which I toiled for fifteen years.
Wondering how this may have transpired.
So the snow is deep and heavy and there are thousands of ruptured trees.
This city's landscape has been temporarily altered.
Trees grow back but this pruning has been quite excessive, collective.
Some radio types are already calling this The Friday the 13th Storm. It began whilst YT was lunching with Leah and Matthew at the Thai joint on Hertel, the flakes were diagonal and non-stop.
According to the Day-Timer, they are like so right.
Again, to reiterate:
I have a chainsaw, and I know how to use it.

Powerful tool Love.

This is my special day. Actually, also of niece Katharine.
This has been a most magical day. It's been a magical day in stages and the final stage is upon me, a meet-up at some joint. And then there's another celebration tomorrow night post-reading by longtime acquaintance Marten Clibbens. But that is another day, another small story.
Following is, in entirety, an email from JW,Esq. Yes, I did have chocolate cake today that could make You weep with its precision, the perfection of a white chocolate mousse centre. And I did get many fab shiny new presents. Well... just read.

Happy Birthday!!! I hope you are having a very nice restful day, and that you get a nice big double chocolate birthday cake and lots of shiny new presents. You deserve it all.
To celebrate your birthday, I am going to see Roger Waters tonight. He is performing Dark Side of the Moon in its entirety, all the way through. I could think of no better way to celebrate.
Luv,
John

1. Yours Truly is completely flattered beyond belief that Everyone, and I do mean Freakin' Everyone, knows about my SLM (seminal life moment) when Dark Side of the Moon landed in my ten-year old hands. And many Pink Floyd points beyond. I am thrilled that JW,Esq. knows this and sees the beauty of seeing Waters perform such on this most YT-centric of days.
2. I think the appropriate thing to have done would have been to jet me out to said performance for the most superb of presents.
3. I think on this most special of dates I want to, metaphorically of course, scratch out JW,Esq.'s eyes in a small stormcloud of rock & roll-related candour.
4. OK, I forgive him, re-reading point #1 and am carrying on in a glamourous vibe of grace and elegance, tottering along in my sky-high heels and captivating birthday twinkle.

Onwards to the final stage of revelry.

Love of Perfect Revelry.

Christopher Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
John Lennon came across the ocean from Europe to same destination, accidental or not - America!
Christopher Columbus searched for spices, women, high times.
John Lennon searched for drugs, women, high times.
Christopher's people killed natives who stood in the way.
John's people broke hearts of fans who did not get the game of rock & roll.
Christopher is a legend.
John is a legend.
Christopher gets a national holiday.
John does not.
Christopher, as far as Yours Truly knows, did not write music.
John wrote everlasting music that supercedes the realm of what is termed pop.
Christopher was not an artist.
John lived his life as an artist.
Christopher does not have much social, or modern relevance.
John has continued grace, relevance through his messages of social justice, and peace.
Columbus Day unfortunately sometimes falls on the birth anniversary of John Lennon. Sometimes of Yours Truly.
John Lennon was born on 10/9.
Yours Truly on 10/10.
Hooray for being in this complicated world of wonky politics, art of varying degrees of competence and genres, difficult people, dogs, stray cats, gardenias, burroes, great sound systems on dance floors, friends who make laughter possible, parents who squeezed us out into this world, siblings who make us grounded, nieces and nephews who reflect the life force, and shoes.

Love to One, to All.

So there I was, minding my own business, under the bushes, when I hear a ROAR. A ROAR so roaring that, despite the fact that I was using the sanity-saver (a.k.a. the cd walkman to blast some Nelly Furtado down into my eardrums to drum out the drumming and screaming emanating from Church of the Perpetual Disregards) I turned my head to witness Andrew, teen gang member, riding a contraption down the driveway about six feet away from me, under said bushes.
I scrambled out from said bushes and surprised Andrew, teen gang member. I am not sure why. He saw the barn door open (actual barn, not the metaphorical sort below waist) and headed over, he said. We talked, as is our wont, about the 'hood and, as is his wont, he gave me the dirt. The African refugee family has moved to Grant Street. (yikes) And more news. What was roaring was a mini dirtbike, really I think a lawn mower on two larger wheels, that he'd purchased for $80 off of some friend. So Andrew tells me there's a rallying bunch of teens who off-road it down at the end of Smith Street. We usually talk as pals but suddenly out blurted from my lips the maternal Just don't break your neck. I think this surprised the both of us. So Andrew is heading to college, a program of sorts, and I suppose this beats his usual destinations like shock camp. Andrew is expecting his first child in May, is living with his girlfriend and her two children, and is already calling in sick to his new security guard post so he can rally about on a lawnmower-type device not breaking his teen gangmember neck.
Speaking of gang-related activity, Jana and I headed to some University Heights joint that calls itself a wine bar. Upon entering what was once Blu (where Allen and I saw one unforgettable Odiorne gig), I could tell that this was no wine bar. First hint - sports regalia. Television sets.
So we get to talking to a Mommy Escapee, Nikki, who was on the town solo to celebrate the fact that she had wrenched herself away from her premier role, and her new job. Upon further noting and talking and such the drug activity became fairly obvious as it is in most night places. Jana will not, of course, be able to mention such in her newspaper overview of the place but really, is this not understood. I recall a big verbal brawl with a long-time pal who was plotting the closing of a neighborhood bar frequented by African-Americans. And some in the drug trade. I remarked that all the bars in her neighborhood had these goings-on in their dark recesses. What exactly made this place more despicable. I think We know. I did make her go into this bar with me that night and we did end up, or, rather, I did, have a fine time. People were doing a newfangled bus stop-type dance. Music played jubilantly. This place is closed now, the neighbors succeeded and now this storefront is refurbed.
Onwards to a meatball meet-up and work points beyond.
Literal Harold mentioned to Yours Truly that surrogate motherhood is très illegal in this Empire State yet I just read an article about Annie Liebovitz's pending exhibit and the NYT reporter stated that she's got two children - via a surrogate.
Now time for the departure.

Roaring Love.