Minding my own business and motoring in a southerly fashion down Elmwood Avenue in a Middling City blast of this day's late-morning sunlight, did spend a red light's amount of time gazing up at Bubble Man's efforts.
Despite the 30 or so degrees his apartment window is open wide and a fan, facing out, transports bubble making liquid from his oversized wand to the open air, the MC's Allentown landscape below and beyond.
Yesterday, speaking to a couple of architects in verysame neighborhood, discussed briefly some of the characters of the neighborhoods: Walking Man (who has been M.I.A. for a while, who has good luck charm), Wesley, The Lady in White.
We all know their appearances and just run on rumour with their backstories.
Is The Lady in White truly a nurse into keeping germs at bay, or is she afeared of the sunshine.
Is Walking Man an OCD sufferer who must walk and see every square inch of these parts, or is he overcaffeinated.
We just do not know.
Yours Truly is coming up with a sketch for Squeaky Wheel's Peep Show in February, their Artists & Modelsesque benefit event. This year to be happening in the beyond-its-prime-by-about-half-a-century B'Way Market.
I have an idea.
It will fairly rock.
It involves cardboard, and a child lit figure.
Who, like the MC's characters, we just do not know they why's, the whereabouts, the provenance, and the like.

Time to head out to meet, greet, document, and soak up sights just out there for the taking - and making.

Love's Provenance.

There is a time when one may look down at one's toenails and, after some light soul searching, realize - or admit - that the nails in question (and in gaze) have become weaponry.

So, minding my own business, and on a deadline, was heading towards a familiar suburban Starbucks to edit & burn.
In front of me, in the line of characterless businesses, was one of those instant nail joints that had sprung up in the Shiney Apple many years before they migrated to the Middling City. Its name. Who cares. They were open, and empty.
This short tale may be entitled Tuesday's Pedi.
So, as is custom, signing in is necessary. Probably so the evil owner somewhere else can see that the girls are not ripping them off. You write in name, circle the reason why you are there in sort of a clinical fashion. Then choose your colour.
At this particular joint you also choose your lotion - all polishes and lotions are behind some glass doors, not the usual immediate snatch from a wall display.
Also noted some faux palm trees, requisite waiting area mags & sofas, and a tiki bar in the back.
The place was screaming Welcome to Your mid-day get-away.

Yours Truly is an unrepentant laptop worker during pedicures: one of my ultra-fav nail emporiums features a hefty four-bar wi-fi signal.
I was happy to note that there was an outlet just behind my massage-o-lounger, and even a small table to rest the laptop.
The woman who did said pedicure spoke less of the U.S. lingua but no matter, we were both hard at work.
No mishaps ensued - no overzealous filing, no over-tickling of feet whilst in the smoothing process.
Zoom forward to the drying step, feet are under a UV light. For a long time.
Whilst in this phase of pedicure I've got the laptop up on a shelf and, while waiting for some files to open, look over at the holiday display of airbrush design options - tiny pine trees, snowmen, Santas, etc. And ... hmmm, what is this, leaning in ever closer. A silhouette of some tropical animal ... a couple in flagrante delicto ... on what appears to be a massage-o-lounger. I thought perhaps this had been mis-displayed, that one of the mani-pedi girls didn't realize that the tiny gettin-busiests should be in with the Bachelorette or Valentine's Day options.
So, feet drying when pedi lady comes over to check the polish.
She reaches for a maroon can of what appears to be good ol' Aqua Cement but this stuff she's spraying all over the feet of YT smells so utterly cloyingly sweet that not only am I gagging from the smell, but the fumes are making my post-standing-in-cold shriveled lungs fighting off a cold quiver.
More minutes.
More spraying of mystery canned napalm nail drying agent.
More minutes.
More touching of polish.
One more ... No, YT says, please, no more of the spray, I'm kind of sick and it's bothering my lungs.
Back to drying.
At some point, while the disc of images is burning, YT peeks around the corner to spy an older lady's feet slathered with what appeared and smelled to be Nair.
Now I touch the polish and off it swooshes in one swoosh. Another nail, same swoosh.
I point this out to pedi lady, who had come trotting over, and say I think you left oil on my nails, the polish just comes off.
She takes it all off, and repolishes.
More drying.
She comes back (not with the drying agent mushroom cloud) but to pantomime the act of driving.
You drive, she asks.
Yes, I answer, not sure why she needs to know if I drove.
She wished YT to keep the disposable slippers on and leave with my boots and socks in a plastic bag, she put them in a bag, and I explained that as I'm sick and it's cold I would like to leave wearing boots.
She looked cross, and concerned.
I left with boots on, much to her chagrin.
In all the other MC seasons a girl who has just meandered down the pedi path think nothing of shambling out the door of a nail joint in disposable flip-flops, careful to not scrape up any asphalt in the parking lot or street.
So, in summation.
YT had not the good sense to wear winter coat during outdoor shooting on Monday.
But fercrissakes I was not in hell wandering about in foamy sandals on Tuesday after Tuesday's Pedicure.
The End.

Shambling, shiney Love.

Nature. Nature. Nature.
This is an outtake from today's blossomy photo shoot, helped the proprietess and workers to select one for their holiday greetings card.
A delightful bonus was a little visit with Ben, who works there now.
Still have to post images from The Fern Room in ChIll, where Fred's sonic installation made small and unexpected and solar-powered utterances.
Taking Little Laura out for her belated birthday dinner this fine evening after the alleged storm.
Alright, there was a storm but in these Middling City parts it was nothing to even sneeze at - blustering happened but is that not what is the wont of Winter.
Thinking that that is the sort of day on order for the pending Ice Bowl, when JW,Esq. will be jetting in for some iceside hoopla, along with - what - 80K others.


Voilà, Fern Room image.
Time to Judy Jetson yet again.

Verdant, sylvan Love.