Yesterday was, amongst other things, the day designated to get panels for making the Artists & Models paintings, five in all.
Scouted out materials at a Home Depot, made an art image for an art postcard for Dean, picked up Jana at work and drove to another Home Depot more conveniently located regarding the whereabouts of said materials to barn.
Where the special art magic will happen.
In the midst of the aisles I had a revelation that ceiling grade drywall would mean no pesky priming of wood for the paintings. Years ago, for another A&M, I made large paintings on cardboard and had to prime the surfaces twice.
So we wrangled the panels onto an unwieldy cart and then wrangled some nice young workers to toss them atop the car.
We did some winding and knotting of nylon tine and after one lurchy and ominous sound all went swimmingly - no drywall was lost.
I felt so confident of our knotting abilities I contemplated taking the Skyway back to the Middling City.
But then did not, opting for the long and scenic doglegged route instead.
Now is the time for the opaque projector sketching and filling in of images.
Mega thanks to Todd Treat, artist and racecar driver, for the big lend of the projector.
In case You do not know, A&M happens on June the 2 at Central Terminal from 9ish to 2 in the morn. This installation of Perfectly fun and audacious interactivity will be on the main concourse of party mayhem.
A&M, major Hallwalls fundraiser, is a nice way to usher in the MC's summer, a nice way to say Hey lighten up.
What are the images to be made. You will have to come and see.
On a much differing tangent, Literal Harold is in town for one month to attend to his regional matters at hand.

Nocturnal Love.

You wonder.
Why, fercrissakes, a mushroom cloud.
If ever there was one person on this atmospherically-challenged planet who should probably never touch the knobs of a microwave oven, it is Yours Truly.
Despite the apparent widespread acceptance of these contraptions into everyday situs, YT has really never developed an affinity.
Did not grow up with one. Did not own one in college. Did not own one in salad years. Worked with a chef who loved to intone Slow cookin' is good cookin.'
Kennedy has a microwave oven, probably a first edition.
It has faux woodgrain.
No, come to think of this all, I have seen older microwave ovens.
Oh, now I do recall a beau way back who owned a microwave oven and it had a small hole in the door and when he fired it up everyone ran out of the room.
I made a handy DYMO label for the door of this microwave - DANGER.
So today.
I decided to whip up, mid-working, a lunch for me and Kennedy. And on the lunch to throw some melted cheese, perhaps inspired by all my recent thinking of Richard Serra who has tossed molten metal about in his day.
I was working with rice cheese.
I put it in a bowl and set all knobs to high and I think five minutes on the timer.
I could smell molten rice cheese after a while.
I opened up the door and there was the image You see above.
When air hit the mushroom molten rice cheese cloud it slowly slunk back into the bowl.
Despite this I am a worldclass student chef, in my Perfect world.
Things are coming together for my Artists and Models installation, an old-timey stick-yer-head-through-the-holes-and-trade-your-self-for-a-thematic-alter-ego stand.

This week I was in a Wegmans and noted that there were no more of their DIY black nylon shopping bags for sale and commented upon this to the checkout kid, Kevin.
Kevin said Well, since the bags came out shoplifting has risen ... Americans SUCK.
I kind of felt around for what inspired Kevin's words and, no surprise, he had a favourable exchange student experience. And now is imbued with the Other. The tramontaine now is within, that exciting post-experience experience.
I did agree with him that this is a tragic and unfortunate thing, that people stuff bags meant to ease earth back to better health with goodies and wend their selfish (probably overstuffed) asses out the door.

Thematic and experienced Love.

Sunday evenings in the Middling City have redolence, they feel like something.
But since Yours Truly works every day I don't think it's that pre-Monday feeling.
It feels unlike Sundays in other cities – anywhere.
Kind of celebratory, sleepy, relaxed, depending, perhaps, on the season.
Onwards.
This Sunday evening is bright but an autumnal chill hangs over everything and for this reason dinner tonight is asking to be baked.
Speaking of baked, the Sabres are like so over.
Shot an event yesterday and did manage to hear in the automobile snippets of the game inconsistently so sometimes it alternated hopeless and hopeful.
Ultimately the former.
YT was on cusp of deciding to document all the homemade Sabres paraphernalia about town: the homemade Stanley Cups on front lawns, wishful spraypainted words, shoepolished car windows and the like.
During photo gig someone had the game on and as I breezed through a room I stopped on someone's nickel and on a proverbial dime to watch as much as possible and just at that moment Drury took the friendly fire puck to the face, resulting in biohazard blood droplets dropped off to the locker room.
Fires raging in this Perfect world include excitation at the pending Richard Serra show at the Modern, the Matthew Marks show of (holy shit, right, like happening now) Andreas Gursky, and, despite the fact that I'm booked for gigs and cannot wend my way to not Wembley but Giants Stadium for the 7.7.07 Al-created Live Earth show of rock legends, wannabes, has-beens, must-sees. For the halibut checked to see how much tix were in the algore.com section as well as another inner sanctum.
Naysayers naysay that rock cannot change the world and to that I say Are you freakin' kidding me. Money raised goes right to Alliance for Climate Protection fercrissakes and even more and more pedestrians will be inundated with Inconvenient Truths.
Rock saves the day, rock may save the planet.

Love of rock, rocks, planets.