Early this morning Yours Truly actually overheard someone use the phrase sticky wicket in a seemingly normal conversation.
YT was flailing away at laptoply matters. The woman who uttered the phrase sticky wicket was one of those irritating mothers who speaks to their children as if everything is a delightful debate, or as if their lives in that moment are entrancing television shows with the volume just a touch too loud.
I felt the need to text Sparky to ask that she please never use the phrase sticky wicket. Ever.
And this means You, too.
Sparky sent along a message that she would never utter that phrase.
I really could not ever imagine Sparky saying those words together in one sentence but the occasional bandying about of suggestive quips in the midst of an adrenalized day is a primo way of taking a microscopic vacation.
Onto another, blazing pet peeve.
Last night had a gig and observed many people eating the catered finger foods as that is my job fercrissakes, not only the documenting of such occasions, but avoiding getting people in throes of enjoying said food.
Between frames if You will observed the pet peeve matter, saw a woman not only licking a finger but all her fingers. Con brio. In public.
Her disgusted pal, at least I hope that he was disgusted, hastily (but not soon enough) handed her a paper napkin.
But she had already licked off all the beige cheesey dip matter.
At the evening's near tail end sat with Liz and discussed several other types of matter, including YT doing a piece on Steve Kurtz and his artistic/bacterial super-woes.
YT will be attending, if allowed, hearings and the like.
One of YT's several heroes is Dominick Dunne (who I just discussed about fifteen minutes ago with Lorne and his uncle, a snowbird with a fading tan, about how DD is one of my favoured writers amid one of my guilty pleasures - VF - in midst of discussing favoured periodicals), and YT will channel his various prowesses to tell that Big Kurtz Tale.
Onwards, time to climb another tall downtown Middling City building as it is a ferocious big blue sky day.

Ferocious Big Love.

Happy Beggars' Night to You.
Sometimes I recall meandering the streets as a child on Beggars' Night, not a very candy-lucrative night as the following, I recall.
This image was sent to Yours Truly this fine morning by Paul and Mark and YT informed them that they are now my MexiCali Heroes.
Today and tomorrow I may just wear my dental (under)world badge to allow me a presence on the concrete floor of the Middling City Convention Center - for a conventioneer costume, of course.
Tonight going to the big screen screening at Shea's of Nosferatu, the horror classique of '22, with Annie, Sparky, and meeting up with Deb et al in the Spotlight Lounge for vino, and cheese cubes.
Been listening to ChemBro's latest in the car and have to go on record as saying that I am not sure I share the wonderment of Justice's latest. But perhaps JW,Esq. can fill me in on the special inter-molecular raison d'diggin' it.

Time to wend up north to dispense happiness and pixels captured on plastique.

Northern Love.

Interior shot made at Vive on the Middling City's east side yesterday during a gig there. Was there once before and it's on Wyoming Avenue off of East Ferry.
Observed that thee charismatic Reverend Darius Pridgen now has a Subway in a corner of his huge space of worship.
At Vive the vibe is subdued, adults in sort of living room areas watching television as kids scramble through the hallways. It's a far cry from the very funded, colorful lobbies and common rooms at places like Ronald McDonald House, Gilda's Club, and the like.
Observed the unpacking of clothing donations, most surprised to see that a donor saw fit to include a tea length beaded black dress. Just what your average refuge lady needs as part of her survival wardrobe.

Astonishing is, Yours Truly thinks, how most would have described the excellent Al Gore Halloween costume worn by YT on Friday night for Heather and Jeremy's hopping fete.
Wore the usual out stumping khakis, woolen blue blazer, striped shirt, and rep tie. Latter compliments of Kennedy and his late father.
Wore a name badge which read Hello My Name is Al.
Sparky looked fab as Global Warming with blacked-out front tooth and black eye. When asked we would reply Because Al beats up on Global Warming.
Last night rushed over to a Halloween disco at StillWater after another work day marathon. Met Sparky there and whilst meandering to find our dance spot saw Jana, Dean, and later Siobhan. Also spotted requisite Elvis, a few Britneys (though one claimed that she was so not, and no, the other was not my pedi girl), a Little Bo Peep, a raquetball player, and, amongst others, an ill-behaved Dorothy.
Dorothy was beyond impaired and YT had a word with one of her handlers, suggesting that they get Dorothy home in a jiff as she was about to be unconscious - or barfing.
Despite all this apparent activity the disco vibe was not optimum.
The dance floor was faux cobblestone and carpeting in StillWater's narrow faux courtyard. Still a nice moment, a nice weekend distraction, a valiant effort.
As we were uncostumed, Sparky and I decided to tell people that we were robots and moved as such.
You see, costumes may be conceptual, far from the madding world of celebutante and porn-inspired duds.
Time to further make and due as my pixel-rich world is a full and lush one indeed.

Pixelated, robotic Love.