Friday, April 13, 2007

Happy Birthday to Sam.
Happy Birthday to epinw.

Today photographed a feeding frenzy of sorts for students at the big U, a way to thank them for being good customers of food services there. Photographed some with sky-high foodstuffs carefully balanced before the students had to walk about one hundred feet to a seating area. I imagine there was a spilling crisis at some point. Student carrying sky-high plate, student running for a bus, kapow.
Tomorrow I am shooting a house made of haybales. Yes, haybales.
And the Shiney Happy has asked me to review the pending Eastman show of Ansel, as in Adams.
Just perused the catalogue of workshops and travel possibs via Santa Fe Workshops and a few sound just fab, one week of cavorting somewhere exotic with the like-minded.
About to embark to appear on the Greg Sterlace Show, sans Greg.
But featuring pals Annie and Michele.
Greg has had a meltdown.
He always had me on as a co-host and it was often commented upon that I was able to quote unquote hold my own with him. We would usually end up conversing or shouting at each other and forgetting the guests onhand. Or we would kind of harangue the guests, if need be.
I will be talking about the aforementioned b-days. Of course.
Am I glad that that Imus character is expunged.
You bet your straw cowboy hat.
As in the one sitting on my printer, the one I was given by some nice people at a race, probably as they noted my SPF 8000 was wearing a bit thin.
Time to regroup, depart, offshoot.

Offshot Love.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

so he goes
Shiney Apple DK just wrote to hear more about Sicily (apparently I did not provide enough big details and a few readers have inquired, there is another, trip-related blog in the works, Trinacria Tour) and to extend an open invite to languish in the happy, lofty vibes before the Big Move. In essence the Big E as in Eviction. Not Easy, and there is another slew of negative connotations now with that E. To ruminate completely.
She says she is awaiting a call from Mr. Fong. I know that feeling of waiting for phonecalls in the Shiney Apple - to find gigs, to find a place to rest one's weary head.
Just revisited an at-precipice moment, the one involving the overly-wrought mid-career photog who advertised a room for rent in her midtown east place. How she freaked when Yours Truly put a camera case on the bed. That is about the second I realized I needed to split *quick fast in a hurry* and call Dorota, the aforementioned DK (the other Perfect DK of this sphere).
An SOS was met with a Walton-worthy Come back home.
And the sad sidebar is that lofty days are coming to an end after over a decade as the building owner has decided to rent instead to a day spa and day care centre for caninus domesticus. She told me their shocking rent amount, what one could pay to purchase a modest Middling City home.
I told someone recently it seems like I've spent more time at the loft than at the building that I own, so much so that I know the quirks of the loft's wiring, dripping faucets and the like. Whereas the home office hovel remains a place for storage, occasional naps, wardrobe changes, and stray cat feeding.
Speaking of SCF, there is a newbie, a young female who seems in peril. I think the boys (and this excludes my precious darling Extra, as he is a ca(s)trati) have been hitting on her and she hunches at the door, ready to charge in.
Moments ago was editing a gig just shot at a smaller college in the region, a joint that is a pleasure to intertwine with, reconnecting with a femme who YT has known for a long time, who has joined their staff. I was just editing/flailing away and looked up to note that the cast of characters who were surrounding me when I began have all drifted away. That is intensity of purpose.

Today read two obits for Kurt Vonnegut, the more complete in the NYT.
Commented to Kennedy that KVJR (as Loomis and I lovingly always called him) and Woody Allen provided a glimpse into lovely, creative planets for young and impressionable teen writers and thinkers. That and an uncle named Billy (yes, as in Pilgrim) who played the harpsichord and was a priest and who absolutely lived the high life.
KVJR, just like Dr. Atkins, died from brain injury from a fall.
Never underestimate Balance.

Balanced Love, body/mind/spirit

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

... Born sour or does the problem go deeper.
Now that is a question.
Your homework assignment is to check out this educational, health-related vid via Internet Archive. Sound only is fine for flailing away. It is still educational.
At least fur keeps you warm.

The latest of Perfect, jazz-related post-gig feasts was another raging success with PB at the helm of the table, after full-blast trio of him and equally-imported rhythm section - Marino Pliakas and Michael Wertmüller. Told Michael and Marino, way late into the post-dessert musings, that the moment they created with a simple beat that spanned into for a terminal but interminal-in-moment moment made all sorts of blocked art ideas in the head of Yours Truly slip out. They were visibly pleased.
It was one of my most favoured PB gigs and I told him that the big triad of events in the month of my merry birth (nine days later, to be quite Perfectly pushing exactitude) in Chicago is not only inked in but looked forward to. An exhibition, a concert, a publishing party.
PB invited me to bend myself into his suitcase so I could mosey along on this full-blast tour. With all the yoga and pilates it could be quite possible. But then, of course, it is a real hazard with sub-zero temps happening out in outer space where planes fly.
Two shopping days until Sam's b-day and the anniversary of epinw.

Shop and rock on, Love.

+ this just in.
two jpegs arrived of YT with a whole shitload of flowing hair, just after a Phish show and before some other rock hoopla - cameras present in both instances, of course. I look forward to its re-emergence soon.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

As most people Yours Truly knows, and this includes YT, have turned that vernal pagan-x'n holiday hybrid–a.k.a. Easter–into Imbibathon, all plans for Dyngus Day sort of fell by the wayside/fell out the window.
Entertained, with Kennedy, ICP (Instant Composers Pool, not International Center of ... not for ... Photography, nor Insane Clown Posse although YT has witnessed and photographed them onstage) on Saturday night after their incredible gig at Hallwalls in The Cavernous Church of Ani. A large black curtain was added to the Gothic skyward arch but the sound still booms around the room. This was duly noted by Bandmate Scott and I who sat on the second level peering down at the mass of watchers and this tentet from Holland.
After the show sped back to the EasyBake Oven etc. where the hunks of lamb legs were baking away.
Served 18 supper and it all began with Oyster Shooters (raw, in a citron vodka/lemon/soy concoction) with raw quail egg atop each and dainty thin scallions. Bandmate Scott broke out into a sweat as he helped me construct them ... Are these raw, is this raw, he queried. He did shoot one. They are sublime.
After that lobster and crab salad in a YT-created tarragon dressing. Then the legs of lamb, Tandoori chicken, Americana meatloaf, buttery green beans, rosemary roasted potatoes, a few salmon filets for a chocolate-loving vegetarian who does eat the fish. And on the table I had a butter lamb, a Middling City specialty.
This perplexed just about everyone at the table.
Susannah, ICP's manager, had an incident with her Oyster Shooter and I had a flash of having to rush to get the vacuum to dislodge the oyster from her gullet.
Off to a marathon big U day, including documentation of thee man who created Earth Day, Denis Hayes.
Earth Day, yes, is each and every day. But it is truly on the calendar on the fifteenth of this month. Two days after the festive celebration of the anniversary of the appearance of epinw.
As YT was merrily wending her way through life yesterday received some frantic messages from editrix at the Shiney Happy, looking for some fun facts to add to the behemoth piece on this and that. Fhonecalls, fixed, filled, finished in a flash.
Onwards to there, there, there, there, and there, too.

There, Love.