Friday, January 05, 2007

So Vincenzo hands me a bag last night. A reused holiday giftbag.

*sidenote, to be read/thought in bitchy intonations: I hate giftbags, especially those bedecked with Whimsy. Wrapping with personality is the way to go, is my gifto credo. End bitchy sidenote*

I open the bag to learn what the trinket, as he'd described it, is.
Two cd's with John Lennon's ultimate radio interview burnt upon them.
His vibrancy about the pending album and how grand his life was feeling that day, December 8, 1980, his last one.
I looked down at the cd's and, after Vincenzo told me what they are, I felt almost like I did when I peered into the plexi box those several years ago at Rock and Roll Hall O' Fame at the brown paper shopping bag from the hospital containing his personal objets, and the broken and blood-spattered iconic lunettes.
Just overcome with It.
I have not listened, yet.
+ +
With assurance I can say that Yours Truly began her day in a manner in which You did not.
I began my day, nearly, at Forest Lawn Cemetery hunting for the god-danged gravesite of one Millard Fillmore who did some nice philanthropical things for the Middling City and who, according to some, was the anti-christ who prolonged slavery via The Compromise of 1850 of which YT needs to learn more about.
To get to the designated photospot I had to wend and wend some more back to Forest Lawn's gatehouse where I checked in and checked out their bitchin' 2007 calendar. Actually, they need some art direction. There was a ledger on the front desk and my hands were doing their own wending toward it but really I needed to find MillFill's space amongst the still-wrecked trees, rolling hills, restive vibes in a flash. Please enjoy my small photo pun now.
A small woman with large hair with the features and make up choices and such that seemed utterly perfect in such a setting (a stone gatehouse in a sprawl of eternal repose) grabbed a map and drew a line for YT to follow.
I shoot this every year and I can't find, I follow the YELLOW line, right.
She, The Diminutive Messenger of Deathly Orientation, said YESS, follow the yellow line until here (gesturing, drawing) and continue here to here and you'll see it.
It was found.
The regular KofC gentlemen were not at graveside and, to be quite journalistically honest and photojournalistically frank, it was a loss visually but a treat to not have to shoot above and around the epaulettes, the swords, the Columbus-worthy caps with plumes out the Wazoo.
In lieu of the annual freeze-out today was all graveside mud.
+ +
I dreamed last night of dancing/swimming through familiar and sunny Shiney Apple streets, directed at one point by two aproned waiters on the patio of a French restaurant and then swam over to a flower shop where I swam/flew into a hummingbird.
It was magical and is stuck for a while.

So like MillFill, stuck in his mud.

Muddy Hummingbird Muse Love.

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