Above is one of the gifts that Yours Truly presented to Kennergy, a lovingly restored Tarzan Zerbini ad from the 1960s gleaned during research for the Buffalo Spree Mayors Gone Wild piece.
It began with a small ad, microfiche copied to 8x10 and then cleaned up for hours as it was all scratched and falling to bits.

This is the sort of Middling City morning that this is: Neil Diamond vids (NB: this here's a rollicking v. of Cherry Cherry sans live image, instead one must gaze at one still image of Neil, not a terrible thing - here's another Cherry Cherry in unforgettable brown leather pants) lovingly selected via YouTube whilst working on laptop; was nearly been whiplashed out in the great outdoors as the weather is a confluence of some warm and cold fronts and all flat surfaces are rutted with ice, and it's the intermezzo interzone between Christmas and NYE.
When seemingly everyone is comparing thoughts, plans, and aspirations for NYE.
Should it include public events.
Should it feature lots of others, lobster, a flowing situ of Veuve Cliquot.
Always.
And thoughts are already thinking ahead to Red Dinner in mid-February.
The HoldTheDates, the decorations, the menu of course.
Penultimate stop on Christmas night was Mark and Polly's, always a cheering destination.
Polly made latkes and another sort of latke with parsnips and ... beets.
These will be a new addition to the Red Dinner menu with its other trad items like Nance's Famous Red Caviar Deviled Eggs.
You know, the ones that made the BNews reporter break into a sweat upon being offered a taste of one.
But ... I ... don't ... can't ... eat ... eggs. Never ... had ... caviar ... thanks ... No.

Your homework assignment du jour.
Go here and Perfect your technique, carefully selecting angle and distance.
It does indeed take a few attempts but - mark the words of YT - when you have Midt I Fleisen/success you will be oso proud.

Holding an Inauguration Gala at 888 on 1.20 with black tie tendencies.
Long dresses, tied, tiaras.

Shoe Love.

Voilà moi, self-portrait whilst shoveling per request.
Please note the bundled status, the shovel piled high with snow, the drifts to the left and right of Yours Truly.
Posted this on FB and noted that this is in sooth not an astronaut being chased by a crescent moon, but YT being chased by a cold front.

The last three days or so have been all Middling City blizzard action and the subsequent, requisite shoveling.
City plows do their gig and deposit pounds and feet of icy melty business.
Yesterday Kennedy and I dug out my drive while a plow came and we, helplessly, got buried as they rolled along.
Kennedy, as is his nature, gave the last of the two plows a gloved finger.

We here in the MC need fluff-related gear.
So, to conclude today's snow-related thoughts, sped off (figuratively) to the nearest big box to buy the best shovel offering.
They had a palette full of crappy shovels, and two priced just over $20.
One with a pathetic blade, the other with a respectable one.

More holiday gatherings tonight, tomorrow, and the next, and the next.
And then Boxing Day.
A day to reflect upon pugilism and all that that encompasses.

Shovelfuls of Love.

Today is Nephew's 17th birthday so therefor called to give him my trad harmonic-blast-o-rific birthday blues-esque spoken word greeting.
Who does not remember the magical age of 17 when you're teetering at the precipice of adulthood and drifting out of the less-assured childhood years.
Teetering and drifting entirely sums up the teen miasma.

Today is also the birthday of my longtime rock&rolla pal Marty Boratin and Erin's baby boy who got his first taste of Middling City Bison chip dip from his Auntie Nance this past summer.

∞

The Middling City is in beautiful, blizzarding throes with snow raining down.
Just looked out window and there's a respite in process. Pro-sess, as they say up in Canada. Time for more snow removal before a snowshoe date in the wilds of Delaware Park.

Gathered with girls last night at Polly's and am slated to hit a holiday party this fine evening. Nobody in the Middling City lets a blizzard, driving ban, or any other natural catastrophe from keeping one from a party.

Have AWD, have chain saw, will travel and forge ahead.

Forging, shoveling Love.

Little dogs, whether in the Shiney Apple or the Middling City, enjoy window shopping, Yours Truly opines.

Spent a chunk of yesterday with the Niece, first brunching amongst the pop art and down the hallway from photo-secessionists. I speak, of course, of muse at the venerable Albright-Knox.
Afterward we moved along to the Hysterical Society as she requested, meandering along the Street of 1870 display that has been creakingly in existence there since Yours Truly can ever recall.
According to wall notes this modest display has been standing since 1959.
Five decades of edification fercrissakes.
After that we went to Burchfield-Penney Art Center's new digs to enjoy a look at the new white curves, the blonde wood curves, and the Kurlands on view - three in all.
As we stood in front of his panels we phoned him to tell him where we were standing at the very moment.
He enjoyed that.
We enjoyed his depictions of magnolias.
Bought the Niece two artful bracelets from the gift shoppe and told her that when she wears them she has to think of her Auntie giving her a loving squeeze.

Downloaded some music by Alexi Murdoch today, a mellow selection for laptopping. Another primo artist discovered on pandora.

LisaF suggested a Frock Swap this past week and YT, ever suffering partially from Rock&RollEar, heard Frog Swap.
LisaF, originating from the midwest, would like a small bunch of ladies to gather to swap things that are not so worn any more. Have done this before but never called it a Frock Swap.
Frogs or Frocks, it'll be fun.

Book Group #2 met last night chez Kerly for feasting convo about Great Expectations - what I named this group, a good name. Especially as the first selection was the same.
Our next book is democratically up for vote.

Speaking of Democracy.
The shoe throwing incident involving our outgoing president.
YT was ultra-impressed by his comback aplomb with the quip that all he had to report is that it was a size 10.
Brilliant, actually.
And then he stated that that's the price for democracy, Calling attention to oneself.
As the journo who did the shoe tossing was being beaten in the hallway.
Goodbye Mr. Bush.
Please pass the change.

Change Love.

Quite an interesting surprise discovered whilst digging through old cam bags in preparation for getting together a starter kit for one of Vincenzo's kids today.
There, in an old Tamrac bag (always the bag choice of Yours Truly - woman-owned, good and hale designs) were these items above.
There's such a narrative here that it's overwhelming.
In summary (and this image does also pay lovely homage to one of YT's favoured photog instructors, Marion Faller):
Shiney Apple subway token, two sets of keys to two different living situs in the SA (undisclosed addies), love note from an X (who was in habit of leaving notes in bags of all genres), VS mints (for him, however, guess YT thought the tin less treacly than the XX version), a Fuji (always the color film of choice) creds neckstrap, and some turbo-powered earplugs as YT did for over a decade shoot at least five concerts per week.
As they sing in the tropics,
What a Lovely bunch of coconuts.
Happy memories, intense mems.
Onwards.

Paul T. Hogan's reading last night was a lovely love-filled affair with Jimmie and Geri doing intros.
I was pleased that they both, and he, too, mentioned our Writer's Cramp Series that we co-produced from '81 until '86.
I screened all the t-shirts that we gave as souvenirs to the writers/readers/presenters and Jimmie revealed that she'd never received hers.
YT also, with PTH, co-emceed, alternating our intros.
Paul liked to say Let's get the ball rolling, when it was time to lay off the sauce and get back to poetry/fiction matters at hand.
YT also gleaned all the sponsorships for the series, and designed very 80s-looking posters for the readings ... twice per month.
This was all pre-Mac and these were laid out with ... get this ... PresType.
And half-toned photographic images of mine, illustrations by YT, or images collaged from sources like NYT.
All this while YT had an 80s-era long hair with rakish chopped-off area/bangs that facilitated the leaning over darkroom trays of chems.
Last night YT was told that she inspired bravery in a man.
Because YT is a proud urban pioneer.
I liked this news.

Time to make and do more making and doing.

Love of all this.

So the above image, a beloved one, Hand and Skate Eggs, was conjured up by fellow artists - a pair/couple - who wished to own its likeness for their veryown as he makes images of watery things, Nature underneath.
We three are included in a holiday festivus artus and she asked if she could purchase above for his secret present. Only then he somehow read her email (isn't that always the way) so now the secret is kaput.
But not the gift.
It was made by me via the ka-chung Mamiya RZ, 6x7 (as in cm's), and they also dug the look of my standouts, a way of showing work sans the ol' mat & frame routine.
Took the neg to ToddT who superscanned it and made an el grande dig file of it which Yours Truly uploaded to the far-off lab.
ToddT printed up one image on etching paper, a Triumph.
The blacks are a little soft and would need some karate chopping for exhibition purposes but it has a nice depth.
Ordered two 8x10's on papier classique and those are sharp as photonic tacks.
This past few months have been fraught with magic.

I will be sending a note to a Shiney Apple artist who helped me to dislodge all kinds of muck in my mind that kept the Art Zen from flowing properly.
Thee MarkD, maker of lively/lovely semi-abstracted panels, said some sooth and kapoof. He teaches art and I feel lucky to have met him, as well as a few other artists at Justy's wedding in the stony Quaker clutches of Mohonk Mountain House.
Gratitude MarkD.

Had a good time with the Chief Art Mentor this night and although we speak different languages (meaning the diff between one who paints and one who speaks the photog dialect) it was inspiring and reported of the sights seen in the Shiney Apple.
Chiefly, again, Sugimoto.
YT would almost jet off to the SA to spend another few hours in that exhibition, Seven Days and Seven Nights.
It is what the Best Ofs have: Aura, Purpose, Words, Lyrics, Passion.

All for now and over and out.
Time to draw with big fat graphite implements.

Implementing Love.

Blogging, as is my occasional Shiney Apple wont, from the Clubhouse, one of thee Clubhouses, on W14th Street.
Yours Truly, of course, speaks of the apple store.
The tidy, lovely, organized world of mac.
And i.
Just walked through Chelsea with a lovely group of ladies (Heady, Annie, Dana, Sandra) and ended the sightings Perfectly, in the Gagosian Sugimoto exhibition.
Seven Days and Seven Nights, fourteen pieces made evenly in both dark and light.
Seven significant bodies of water, still and reflective.
Also looked at the new Sherman work at Metro Pictures, yet another triumph.
Not sure if I like these new elderladies as much as the clowns.
She green-screened the work, putting her made-up self in front of, via PS, backgrounds that are occasionally further altered with swirls and the ol' watercolor filter.
Supped last night at Tabla, a lovely combo platter of Indian spices (thinking my newfangled v. of plural for spices could be spix, similar to the resto plural of chix for chicken) and various viandes.
Tonight is another large part to dine at the raucous Rosa Mexicano, where guac may be made to order tableside.
Another triumph.
Time to touch more macs.
And continue on walking and looking, another SA wont.

Wonton Love.

In throes of Perfect Shiney Apple Zen.
PSAZ for short.
Texting this epinw post so You know this is not only finger-intensive, but tossing Yours Truly into that curious time and space of text narrative when act of writing lags way behind thought.
In Whitney where YT has had a plethora of wondrous moments.
Just and finally became a proud member.
Arranged an ever-expanding cast of characters for supper at Tabla.
Think it's up to 9.
A nice lady called me to confirm and she thought the amorphous Love blob is "wonderful."
Started a new notebook and realized moments ago my fingers are covered with errant green lines.
Walking.
Thinking.
Writing.
Shooting.
Living.
Loving.
As the character in Sam's Rockaby utters: "more."

Amongst the themes, John has made several appearances, including a short 16mm film around the Penny Lane narrative.
What energy, what a nose.

Love of Lennon's nose.

Open Letter du Jour to God.

O God, venerable life force that hovers above everyone on this planet, why arest thou punishing me.
I finally drag myself in to get a pedi - post-gig - and what movie does Team Nailbuffer have on the set but the most godawful piece of poop ever made.
I speak of course of Forrest Gump.
Trying to recall how or why I sat through this cinematic marvel.
Perhaps a pal dragged me into that.
It's just at the part where Dan is sitting on the dock and Forrest waves and swims over to him, leaving the shrimp boat chugging off on the horizon.
Oh, and Jenny just tried to kill herself and her pedicured toes were clinging to her open-toed sandals in a last-second change of mind.

Hillary is officially to be the secretary of state and that is a fab development.
Go Team Obama - Go.

This past weekend brought Little Laura to World's Largest Disco, one of the most festive holiday events known to Middling City Man.
Emailed Dave Pietrowski yesterday morn to let him know that I thought this year rocked, in a disco way.
New disco ball, huge. New lights.
Four of the six Bradys in attendance.
Little Laura and I had our portraits made with the following Bradys: Greg, Cindy, Peter, and Bobby.
All have been to WLD before and I welcomed Peter back to Buffalo.
He deadpanned Have I been here before.
As the photos were being a-snapped I put Cindy in a little lighthearted headlock.
I haven't scanned it yet but below is an iPhone rendering of the moment.



Headlock Love.

(all this written whilst listening to downloaded concert - non-bootleg - of Iron and Wine gig at Babeville on 11/14 ... a lovely long fest of beauty)

And what in tarnation, You ask, is this, oh epinw creatrix.
It is the art trouvé, public art, that Yours Truly nearly stuffed into back of vehicle as a new art acquisition before Little Laura introduced some sense into the situ.
It's got rusty nails on the back, she said.
The mention of those stinking nails brought my hopes of owning now-defunct Rascals's Spag & Balls signage.
There are other gems waiting for an art connoisseur in the know, who loves outsider food adverts.
These are on panels about six feet long, Perfect for a big wall in a nice urbane kitchen.
YT already features on her cucina wall a swell formerly public art piece by the Art Guys. Also crowbarred a piece by them for Alan & Liz.
Somehow Little Laura and I were trapped in a vortex and could not seem to find an art opening so visited that classic other, non-defunct spag & balls joint, Santasiero's, for some sustenance to-go and wine not to go.
A sad-assed carafe of god only knows what.

Still to post:
Images from my wonderful art opening this past Tuesday featuring a cast of luminaries, as well as new work by YT, and work by Linda Gale, and Bob Schulman.
And cheese.
Of course.

Of to dinner plan and the World's Largeesssssst Disssssssssssco.
Boogie Oogie Oogie.

Boogie Oogie Oogie Love, Love.

Toppermost to undermost these are: Hand with Cyclamen Roping; Bulb, Roots with Aster Sprinkles; Driving Rain Hand; Homage to Aunt Marion; Bee, Smoke, Sage.





The new art.
There are ten pieces, actually eleven, split between Studio Hart and Neighborhood Art Collective - opening officially tomorrow and Friday, respectively.
Hung ten new pieces at Studio Hart this brisk Middling City morn with the other two artists, Linda Gellman, and Bob Schulman. With Dan Hart in attendance. He was impressed that I showed up with my own hammer, a holdover practice from two decades + of Artists & Models and other various installations.
+ duct tape, various nails, extension cord, chutzpah, and scissors.
Never forget the scissors for You will need them, guaranteed.
We four hung the work in a record hour and a half. As always work spread out along baseboards of a gallery never looks as good as when it takes art show form up on the walls.
Work is still lifes, and new hand work.
Thank you to Heady and Jeremy for their Perfect hands.
People have been asking to see the new pieces - here is a sampling of.
Forgot that not one and all are FaceBooking.

New Art, Love.

Amongst yesterday's happenings went to the fully-formed Burchfield-Penney Art Center's first members' op in the new 33mill digs.
Walked on over there with Annie and met up with Kerly, running into a plethora of favoured individuals, including the parents.
Deciding that carpeted galleries are a no-no and now the BPAC is carpet-free.
During the pre-op tour months ago decided that their new sky-high gallery would be, as PB says (in German accent), THE SHIT.
It is.
In it is a lovely Christy piece that I had forgotten that I'd ever seen, and a moth piece by Sean S., and a Juan Puerdigero that I always loved.
Could not seem to get a glass of vino and after the day wished for one.
Kept hearing sad tales of friends waiting for half an hour for a draft beer.
And the guards keep everyone from sipping through the entire space.
So waited until afterwards and had some lovely bottle with the ladies at the nouveau wine bar at Main and Va.
The owner of the wine joint came over to say hi.
I told him he should consider some thick cafe curtains to soften up the windows.
Kerly said he should consider buying better bread for his little sandwiches.
He agreed to the latter.
At the BPAC decided that I really should check out a few things.
Touched one of the little glass mushrooms on an upper level and a guard sauntered up to ask me if it was in fact my own work.
I gave her a demi-hairy eyeball and said No, I'm just touching it.
She said not to touch it.
In the presence of John Opera and a few other friends I stated that I had no regrets, I was glad that I'd touched it and I'd do it all over again.
We are now friends.
Yours Truly enjoys a wide array of friends gleaned from many modes of friendship, including the rare haranguing of art security guard.
So went into the auditorium, very dark, with Dawn and then Annie.
Trying to see how it looked.
Finally Annie and I decided we could use our iPhones as little torches.
YT employed her new virtual Zippo lighter app to little effect.

All in all a lovely art-ridden day.
Today is all work, some play.
The MC is crisp of air and scorching of sun.

Scorching, crisp Love, Love.

Perhaps as of late You have heard Yours Truly refer to something she lovingly calls an Art Bomb.
What in H-E-DOUBLE-HOCKEY-STICKS is an Art Bomb.
Following is a pictorial essay on her Art Bomb privée.






Showing some new and older pieces at Annie Adams's Neighborhood Art Collective and also have a three-photog show opening on Tuesday at Studio Hart.
All new work for the latter, a blend of still life images as well as a return to the ongoing hand series.
Below is YT, the one responsible for the strewn bubble wrap, boxes, flora, fauna, and Sharpies.
Onwards.
Today Liz and I spoke to high school guidance counselors about the merits - no demerits - of becoming wiser/stronger/faster at the Middling City's BigU.
Quite happy to do so, always.
A few of them took my bizcard so that some journos-to-be may contact YT directly for some hap-snappy pep talks about the BigU and the BigF. As in Future.
Time to race back out to the former wetlands for a big delivery.
Always.

Love of only bombs that spew Art.

Originating from the Middling City, with it as orientation both conscious and sub, view first snow with glee.
And then, completely automatic, comes the beginning strains of It'sBeginningtoLookALotLikeChrissssmussssss.
There have been random vehicles for the past few days showing up in the MC with piles of snow on bumpers and the like but today only a smattering.

Yours Truly tells those who inquire about precip that the MC has a Multi-Month Appearance & Disappearance Snow Plan.
But, here's my $50 advice, buy good boots, colorful hats and gloves and scarves and you'll look forward to the precip, the smatterings, the blizzards.
You, tossing colorful scarf over shoulder, pulling hat down to eyebrows, stomping into boots with good socks, will scoff at the swirling flakes.
Unless, of course, your car has skidded off the roadway and You are doing the ice rock & roll.
Onwards.
JW,Esq. wrote to a bunch of MC Advocates lamenting the wide right of Bills last night, believed he saw the ghost of Scott Norwood.

This is a very very MC blogpost.
Onwards to more universal matters.
And Hello to COBoy.

No One is the Same, Love.

Had la famille Allen over to the inhouse studio for some swingin' art making moments yesterday and they refused the VC as they had yoga later in the afternoon.
Image above is Hand and Daisy Pieces.
Thank you to the Shiney Apple artist, a new art mentor of sorts, for words to move past lodged thought to making and doing.
And all this still action makes me miss digvid, a shocking development.

What is best about making & doing.
Well, lest You do not know I tell.
Creating your own language, a place that is another world, a parallel place informed by all that is.



Is Love.

Oh right, perhaps You don't FaceBook.
And therefore did not see an album of images created for entertainment purposes.
And perhaps you missed my 2nd annual Old First Ward Pub Stroll, but would like to see images from that night of special interval training.
To see what I mean, go here.
And just what, You ask, are You looking at.
I shall inform.
At stop/pub #3, Cook's, this is part of the decor – it's a carefully-constructed shotgun shell garland over the circular bar.
As You can see, in alternating red and green, very yin and yang.

nancy...now that i've had time to reflect i'd like to thank you for making my last show special....and thanks for the traveler's gift package...you're very personable.....gregggggggggggg

Appeared on the final Sterlace show on Halloween and now Greg and Paula are wending their way here and there, to and fro, yonder and yonderer.
Texted the travelers yesterday to say hi and to check on their whereabouts and they were walking along thee mall in D.C. - as in monuments, not anchor stores.
Ordered them to march along to Maya Lin's Viet Nam memorial pronto for me.
Planning a trip with Kennedy to see her wavy fields of green on the Hudson in the spring.
The last Sterlace show was as chaotic as usual, with a panoply of guests who come on and riff along the mental lights fantastic.
What I enjoy most is free jazzing along with Greg, we usually end up haranguing the guests: that night he was upset that whomever sat in the ol' hot seat didn't spend enough energy mourning the loss of his show, or presenting him with gifts.
I made up a bag of traveling tricks, including ear plugs which he said came in quite handy on the NJ turnpike (where, You may recall, o faithful epinw reader, Yours Truly spun out and did a 360 in a rainstorm on her way to Dragon Boy's lair).
That night YT was a scary clown.
Is there any other sort.
I think not.
I summoned forth all my mime and modern dance training which, along with my rapid-fire piss & vinegar Sterlace-inspired wit, made for some of the best comedy the Middling City has watched in ... well, since the previous YT Sterlace stint.
I jest.
No, come to think of it, I do not.
Onwards.

Nephew and I acquired the verylast two tickets to Iron and Wine last night (see iPhone rendering above) at Babeville/Asbury Hall, thanks to Mary and Susan (and my fast car and legs) waited alongside the ticket printer machine to see what remained.
Got to hear part of the soundcheck with Beam and backing band and knew the show (which was just over two hours) was going to be magical.
Yes.
And then slapped down cash and made my way back to my home office hovel to pixelpush until time to get 'phew.
YT has been taking her nephew to shows since he was six when she was photo editor of Artvoice and making my column WhatHasHappened and we'd hang backstage and cavort with roadies, merch girls, and sundry others who make rock & roll roll.
We did that up until 2003 when I split the gig but still we manage a few shows a year, and still cavort with our rock pals.
Speaking of such, saw Scot making sure that nobody misbehaved, as is his wont.
Said hi and such and still think of Scot as a housepainting colleague (with Ani) all those years ago.

We are all who we are at rock shows.

It turns out that my nouveau dentist is a Deadhead, and he proudly states, as all fans of that genre do, how many shows he's been to: 45.
It turns out that he and I were at the same ultra-memorable Phish show at Arena Rollerskating Rink in 1990, when the vacuum cleaner was played and Trey skated through the crowd.
Told him that Phish bought some of my work, documentation of one of their Darien Lake shows, for their live series of recordings.
Again speaking of crowds.
At the Iron and Wine show a woman yelled Call a doctor as Beam was beginning a solo song (two drummers/percussionists, pianist, keyboard/accordionist, violinist would join him in a few) and I said to Kennedy later last night Who in hell yells Call a doctor.
He added it was as charmingly cliche/antiquated as Is there a doctor in the house.
So it was a fainting femme.
YT in her long journo/photojourno career has seen her fair share of young ladies crushed up against barriers until saved by security thugs, mid-show broken arms, women at gigs concurrently out on town and amateurishly partying like rockstars and collapsing.
Suspect it was the thrill of seeing Iron and Wine doused with the gasoline of imbibe plus the crush of bodies.
He stopped, he began again.

My nephew commented on the number of plaid shirts and beards in the crowd.
He revealed that he's unable, despite his height of over six feet, to grow a beard.
I commented that I thought that was a good thing.
So, show over.
Big applause applause.
And now the next shows in sights:
Band of Horses, biennial in New Orleans, Maya Lin at Storm King, and oso many many more.
Today is a day of art making.
Flowers have been purchased, organic objets and models amassed.


Many More, Love.

Minding my own business and driving down Ganson Street in the Old First Ward noted this flaming tree and nearly-requisite grain elevators.
Voilà, the confluence of Nature and Industry.
What is really charming about the OFW, amongst a few other things.
Am in two - count 'em - two art things in next little while: a small group show of photogs (3) at Hart Gallery and a holiday art show and sale at Neighborhood Art Collective.
As all the best emcees say, it's time to Bust out the jams.
King of the Rodeo, by Kings of Leon, is today's special song, this bright Middling City day.
Time to wend to gig.

Flaming, wending Love.

Yours Truly, You will not be shocked, was minding her business.
There I was wending behind a group on a tour of the bigU's dental school when confronted with this Perfect moment.
It resulted in the image above that YT has entitled, ever so succinctly, as is my wont, Exit/Bald/Duck/Rack.
YT did not recall that the denizen of the laboratory just about to be entered is a connoisseur of all things taxidermy, also one of Eremite's sub-specialties.
NB: This taxidermist lovingly placed some grass, much like the type ducks like to walk upon when vital.
Yesterday was a flurry of gigs, with pixels fluttering behind me, a veritable cloud of productivity surrounding my ever-imaging head.
YT did use her patented phrase Watch my squeezy dog, to get the attention of adults and children alike.
When not questioned about the statement's sense, or veracity YT feels like she might be among people of her ilk.

Today has been dubbed Cello Day by me.
For the past hour or so have been listening to Yo-Yo Ma's solo cello release, enthusiastically downloaded after listening to Fred's cello mastery, after listening to all the songs crafted to date by Kings of Leon.
For, You see, YT has been up since post-asscrack of dawn pushing the pixels to their respective proper places - online orders, albums, folders, and the like.

Images from my 2nd Annual Old First Ward Pub Stroll (another blazing success) will be online later. Thirty or so came and went and strolled and sipped.
The night was a wondrous 70º so it was a fairly jacket-free affair.
As per the special request of Deb, we strolled to Malamute (which, btw, last year smelled quite rank) after Swannie - our last two stops.
The itinerary: Adolph's, McCarthy's, Cook's, Swannie, Malamute.
At each stop we would request sippy cups to go onwards.
One cocktail was tragically dropped, to which one stroller shouted That's why we can't have nice things.
Everyone was in good humour, and, as I texted to Heady yesterday during a weddingshoot, it all felt cozy.

Onwards to ever more pixels.

Ever more, Love.

That lovely Tuesday night, November 4th, began with Yours Truly shooting some football out at the BigU, a nationally-televised throwdown.
That they won.
At one point went up to the student seating sections and wended between shouting spirited co-eds, making images of their various headgear and mouths in enthusiastic agape condition.
Tim Russert's sister did the cointoss and there was a vid of his son, Luke, saying hi to the nice folks in the stadium.
Yours Truly recalls that when things went dark for Russert there was much discussion that he had pushed himself to the max in preparation for the presidential election.
Little Geo Stephanopoulos has claimed, or more fully claimed, the mantle of the country's leading popstar of punditry.
A femme of red party status said of George that she'd like to prop him up like a teddy bear in the middle of her bed.
Geo reminds YT of a puppet from her childhood's distant past.
Is it Harvey the dentist of Rudolph fame. This will require more subconscious delving.
Which brings me and You to the next matter at hand: the presidential election.
The one that began, truly, in February, and that stumbled and glaciered along until last Tuesday with the glorious results.
Two favoured images from the evening - a couple gleefully dance on Allen Street after hearing the results, and the screen and history writ large in the lobby of Ellicott Square Building downtown.
Where all good Dems go to say a gracious thanks to their voters, and volunteers go to tipple, and publicans go to feel part of big history.
Big, historical, pixel-rich Love.

Big Blue Love.

The image above is entitled Haybale House Still Life, made during yesterday's gig in a suburb.
A woman is building a new home on her old property and it's all hay, wattle, and daub. It has boulders cemented into the new foyer floor, a tree de-barked as a central post. It will also feature glass block windows, solar heat, and two new kitties.
Her last kitties perhaps caused, and died in, her last house when it went up in a blaze.

Halloween was its usual spectacle-rich self.
Yours Truly went out conceptually, as a (successful) male Democrat politician - superheroes of sorts in my Perfect book.
Dined with Jen, Eric, Little Laura on Saturday night in newly-crimsoned Trattoria Aroma. I could not help but to think they need to commission me to do large-scale pencil drawings for their pristine glowing walls.

Onwards YT sped to two H parties, the latter a Mac jukebox dance fete.
Annie's costume featured faux two-toned nails and faux crackpipe burn.
You can fill in the costumary blanks.

Today is Election Day Eve.
Do vote tomorrow.
Recall, if You will, that Al Gore, according to red party lore, lost the 2K election by approximately 540 votes.
If You think one vote matters not, you is wrong.

Heading out now to Maggie Roblin's funeral, now free from ALS, sailing up between what we know and what we don't.

Voting Love, Love, Love.

Lesson. Above.
Dig.
Driving along South Park Avenue, a lovely, mixed-use avenue in the Middling City that spans to then South Buffalo, Lackawanna, Blasdell, Hamburg, and then out to probably Las Vegas fercrissakes, saw this image.
In sooth it was a beat-to-hell white coffin on a coffin gurney much like the one that Yours Truly owns.
The verysame one that was used as a prop in the last Artists & Models at the Terminus Centralus.
So there YT is, driving to a gig involving two dogs and Olmsted's best park, when lo, behold, and voilà: coffin on gurney alongside the avenue.
Plastic flowers decorated the opened lid.
As I breezed past I thought of stopping to make some images but then thought Oh, no, I'll catch it on the flipflop.
(You recall, CB talk for return trip. Popular in the 70s and such.)
Well, post gig took another street to the avenue and missed the coffin.
Or, perhaps, as it was just past 5 p.m. a business had rolled it back into its storage facility after business hours drew to a close on yet another Halloween.

Best overheard quote du jour:
Well, we aren't all Michael Jackson.

YT stepped out of the objective journalistic pose, hopped over the invisible wall if You will to say to speaker: Did you just say Well, we aren't all Michael Jackson.
The statement was oddly appropriate for this holiday.
Was unique in its locational delivery point: a science fair of sorts for scientists.

Onwards.
Time to help Greg Sterlace tape the ultimate Greg Sterlace Show at Home of the Futur.
French for Future.

Love of Future, Past, and Present.
All presents.

A new and exciting personal series created by Yours Truly: Wedding Still Lifes.
This image is made behind the scenes at a venerable wedding facility reportedly ceasing all wedding ops shortly.
This is a fine Middling City manse now in the public sector, moonlighting as a wedding venue.
Sadly, caterers have been beating up the behind-the-scenes portions of the manse and YT has witnessed heinous things there.
Like an antique demi-circle wooden table absolutely soaked with water after a caterer placed a large container full of ice and wine bottles upon it.
Ruined.
And this room was once a tidy breakfast room. Now a shambles.
NB: there, off to the left in the image is the terrifying dinner that YT partially consumed.
It was the third night in a row of Faux chicken.
This meal consisted of Faux Chicken formed off, I swear, preformed bones for each piece of Faux Chicken on bone was identical.
Unless the once-chickens were so cloned that their frail legs were identical.
Dead flowers and Dasani bottles complete the image.
Onwards to more more and more.

No Love for Faux Chicken.

Here is the latest addition to one of the several ongoing series, Girls With Guns.
This series has been in the works for about two decades.
Parameter is that the girls must be in parades or in marching operations, and the guns are always those clunky white faux wooden numbers.
They must also effuse some cowgirl energy.
To date one of the favorites shows a small girl and her gun, marching in the rain, the girl with a very sour look on her face. Understandably.
Just sent out eVite for the sure-to-be fabulous second annual Old First Ward pub stroll.
Invited those who strolled last year as well as those who have big love for The Ward. Or things ironic. Or things Middling City.

Gleaned some errant fascinating facts about the MC whilst performing microfiche surgery/research a good chunk of yesterday at the downtown library.
There's a book to be written about department stores and clothing boutiques downtown.
Another book about the history of the mayors to boot.
Breezed through the small book about the KKK attempting to get a foothold in the MC, during Prohibition they viewed this area as a prime op to get more members and, shockingly, thousands signed on. The hateful org was invited up north by a prominent physician.
There were cross burnings, including a huge display along the shoreline of Grand Island and Buffalo's Mayor Schwab infiltrated the group with spies and finally shooed them away back to the further reaches of hateful minds.

Too many people lately seem to repeat their fears that Obama will have an untimely ending if and when he wins in November; an illustration that no matter how far we've come we're aware that the most evil racism continues - but does not prevail.

Prevailing Love.

Today's Accidental Frame.
I call it "The Tilt of the Suburban Landscape: All Good Carpet Wears Well."
Had to faux up a moment whereby Yours Truly was asked to make some Lawyer Ports and me et al were standing in a benign boardroom.
Brain storm, synapses firing.
Off to a handy nearby Library that happened to have Law Tomes on hand.
Here, YT stated, stand like this, picking up the lawyer's specs on table and one of the tomes. Do this, I said, miming out some weighty argument while using specs as handy pointer.
This is along the lines of the Politico Gesturing Image when YT stands in for the subject to be quite specific about what It is.

Watched the clip online of Colin Powell's lead-in to and endorsement of Barack Obama.
I respect Colin Powell immensely and especially so after his talk at the BigU.
He has what a good photograph or painting should have: Aura.
Nutshell: He doesn't care for where the Republican party is heading.
YT talked with Vincenzo today and stated that what Americans should be wary of (and perhaps, wonderfully, they are becoming ever more so) is the ever-expanding inclusion of religion in politics.
Ixnay, I say.

Onwards to pixel pushing, then on to research about Mayoral Matters of the Past within Middling City limits.

Solo show for YT in 2010.
Was asked to be in a group photo show next month (a yes), and a solo gig then at the same small MC art venue.
A green light.
A good solid personal photo project.
Details to follow.
But You knew that. You surmised that, undoubtedly.

Undoubted, true-tested Love.

Yours Truly finds herself in divergent experiences each and every week.
YT welcomes that sort of thing so therefore it comes streaming in a regular and fascinating fashion.

Yesterday a gig was to feature pre-Bulls big weekend game activities with rallying burgers, speeches, and music.
After giant tailgate parties (sensibly held indoors as the Middling City can unloose incredible downpours in the tenth month), meandered along and into the tunnel for the visitors.
After spotting their mascot which YT thought might be a BURRO.
After a quick call to Kennergy I was informed of the correct species.
A mule.
Not quite as dashing as a burro.

So there YT is, in the tunnel and then on the field.
Blazing sun, pumping music, walked over to speak to some Campus Officers that YT knows and discussed their pending color guard duties.
YT frequently photographs them doing such and emails images to the officers for use here and there.
This is a good not only for The Cosmic Favour Bank, but to keep the driving vibes good at the BigU.

Suddenly it's time to make some images of the Bulls charging out of their own tunnel so YT gets down low on the faux field to get the drama of flag people, smoke, players, a whoosh of blue and white.
YT is just underneath her pals who are documenting via vid for ESPN.
That over it's time to move along to other marching band moments, and then the line-up, hats off Star Spangled Banner.

YT realizes that she's standing amid the Army teammates.
Basically standing as if she's one of the lineup.
Not only am I not then able to make a real objective image of the Army team, but there's a chance that YT will be showing up here and there in the documentation of others as one of Them.
So YT nicely asks two players to part so that she may stand on the other side of player things. We all laugh.
During the coin toss I make my way into the circle to get Willie Evans, from UB's team of '58, doing the honours.
Willie et al are in attendance to commemorate their golden anniversary and be documented by ESPN, taking up their story of boycotting the Tangerine Bowl which was segregated.
UB had two African-American players and the team voted unanimously to skip the Tangerine Bowl, having better more positive and non-segregated things to do.

Up the quarter flew.
Your pal Nance, so intent on exposures and thinking in the full-frame moment, didn't think to really pay attention to heads or tails.
Just then suddenly players all pressed up close to each other, speaking in gritted teeth and then Army kicked off.
UB Bulls won.

Go Bills, Go Documentary Love.

Latest Accidental Frame image, made during the shooting of a mural of a Saint.
Clare, to be exact.
Could this image be like the various likenesses spotted by believers in places as divergent as clouds, oatmeal, toast, a corn flake.
It is a black & white image during a colourful photo shoot, and day.
Does this image look like the curve of the Vaticani's Saint Paul dome.
Clare is famed for what I just do not know - a quick Google is in order.
(pause)
I like Clare, according to ad-ridden Catholic Online she was a great Italian beauty who fell in love with Saint Francis - his words of wisdom.
She founded an order called the Clares, a roving band of gorgeous do-gooder nuns, Yours Truly imagines.
They did not wear shoes.
Shoeless beautiful Italian ladies defies logic, and experience.

Just made lovely portraits of a professor from the BigU, one who was in my English Department but who I didn't take classes with. He is, though, one whom I had many conversations with during those salad undergrad years and beyond.
He's a great raconteur and I left with a signed copy of his latest book.
Quite old school and lovely.
We had coffee in his garden.
YT has never refused a cordial cup of tea or coffee on assignment but will not imbibe on a gig.
Next up is the hoopla surrounding the big football throwdown between the BigU and Army.
A moment of blue & white pompoms, bodypainted undergrads barechestedly spelling out G-O-B-U-L-L-S-!, and oso much more.
YT loves hoopla of all sorts, including that of the sporty genre.

Love of Mysteries - saintly and footbally.

Got to meet Khaled Hosseini - author of Kite Runner - last night during gig at the BigU; he was in town to do some Q&A as a Distinguished Speaker.
While walking down a long hallway from green room to V.I.P. reception asked him some questions, including: Do you draw.
Hosseini said that he drew when he was younger and his brother is a talented artist who may be inking some for either DC or Marvel.
He made time when he was still a physician to write every day, rising at 5 a.m. to do that.
Asked him also if he needs to center himself before he speaks publicly and he gave me a wry look before saying No, I just go out and do it.
He also let it be known that he'd sign books and memorabilia for students until the cows came home and then some as, he says, he prefers to meet students.
Yours Truly is always surprised when people at receptions approach writers to sign books and they don't speak to the author, as if the signature is really the most important thing, not sharing a thought.
Also, people seem to approach authors with closed books, and no pens.
Then there is the awkward scramble to find the correct page, and a nearby pen.
YT didn't stay for talk but forged ahead to a b-day dinner (Yes, the celebrations continue - hooray) with Brucey and meeting out some ladies at venerable Nietzsche's where YT caught up with, amongst others, Michael Meldrum.
YT noted that MM carries around a copy of the photo of him and the very young Ani.
We all have our pride, mementos, and fandom.

Onwards to art openings featuring work by two pals - Cynnie and Catherine.
Both conveniently located on historical Allen Street.

Artful Love of Fanfare.

Debate About Debates: A Short Play by Nancy J. Parisi

Setting: Campieri's/888 Main Street, Middling City, USA. 2008.
An MC-esque congenial barroom setting with people gathered for spectator sport - hockey, to be followed by the ultimate presidential candidate debate.
There are, on the bartop, some platters of wings, pizza, some drinks.
DanC, proprietor, is in & out of the kitchen, commenting all the while about the proceedings.
He has presented the creator of this short play a bottle of birthday wine.
He is thoughtful, and tattooed.
An indiscreet subtext of this play is that during cajoling AJ, barkeep, to put the debate on pronto as the hockey clock ticks down, Yours Truly is also cajoling DanC to participate in the Shiney Happy Mag's Eligible feature that YT is working on.
He says yes, he says no, he says maybe.
YT tells him that he is indeed participating and that she will interview him, and then photograph him. Details of such are hashed out. Somewhat.

Hockey Fans:
YAYYYYY.

Debate Fans: (YT, Liz, LittleLaura, MKO)
How many SECONDS left in this game. OH NO, another penalty.
(finally)
10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 ~ AJ put on the debate.

AJ:
There's only ONE Sabres game and there are so many debates - they're like relationships, there's nothing left to say.

YT:
Nonsense, there are always additional issues to be discussed.

(Sabres fans are still cavorting, much to the chagrin of the debate watchers.)

MKO:
Omigosh, he just mentioned Joe Plumber again.

YT:
(Looking at iPhone) I just got a text from Deb, she says she's going to be Joe Plumber for Halloween. I think I'll be Joe Sixpack, even though I don't drink beer.

Liz:
I'll be Joe Blow.

(Discussion ensues about how best to accomplish Halloween McCain Conceptual Goals.)

(DanC puts down a plate of his bbq wings in front of Jeffrey, who has just arrived.
DanC says this is his food but it seems it was made for Jeffrey, who offers YT a wing.
In the spirit of camaraderie and such, YT eats one wing.)

Jeffrey:
Dan, Nancy needs napkins.

YT:
Why am I ALWAYS the sloppiest eater in the room.

Debate is winding down and Liz and YT begin to attempt to quiet the remaining Sabres fans, who have the wild-eyed looked of victorious fans who've been imbibing since 6:45 p.m. - it is approximately 10:20 p.m.

Liz: (to very boozed-up lady sitting under television)
We're TRYING to HEAR this.

BUL:
WHO ARE YOU ALL VOTING FOR.

YT: (while gazing intently at handsome, more presidential face of Obama)
We were quiet during the Sabres game for you.
(which, when you recall the decibel levels of the fans is rather ridiculous but it gets the reaction intended ... BUL stops mid-word and turns to her fellow fans.)

Obama is last to speak (McCain won the coin toss) and ends on a high note, a soaring speech as Liz, YT, and MKO hold hands (LL left mid-debate to the boos and hisses of YT).

Liz/YT/MKO: (upon Obama's conclusion)
HOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

YT:
I just got a text from Deb, she says HHHHHHHHOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY, too.

Half the bar at 888 clinks glasses.
Half the bar has already done their clinking.

Everyone is happy.
Debate fans leave bar, and at door turn to AJ to query.

Liz/YT/MKO:
NEWELL IS RUNNING FOR MAYOR IN '09?

YT:
The Middling City NEEDS a mayor unafraid of wearing a headband.

Curtain.

Yours Truly committed an oonsie-boonsie federal crime today.
Kindly stop reading if You happen to be the Postmaster General, a Republican toastmaster bigwig, or perhaps an F.B.I. staffer.
I explicate.
YT's parents happen to be Republicans. She knows of one other, Kennergy.
Kennergy's mail arrived today and YT, eagle-eyed as she is, spotted this return address: John McCain.
And the front of the envelope indicated it was regarding an emergency.
YT ripped open the envelope as quick as her little partisan fingers vote along partisan lines in the polling booth.
Here was a letter from thee McCain, talking about his grassroots effort, the money that Obama did not take from The People (albeit his grassroots supporters), and an urgency.
My heart was inflated to its limits.
He's acknowledging his struggle.
And seconds ago YT also heard that Obama's lead is estimated at 14%.
YT speculated that this was not a real signature but, recalling McCain is a leftie (in stiff hand only), it appears it could be an automatic signaturus veritas.
O, he does address the intended Republican (as opposed to a blue pilferer) as Friend.
Friend is used again in the body of the letter.
YT feels her presidential election year prayer has been answered.

Read aloud, and repeat often.
O God, if there is one, (and I always stipulate that god here is the Life force, not the partisan one trotted out to step on the civil rights of others) please let Obama win.

Onwards.
Love of mail snatching, when appropriate.

Yours Truly owned a hat much like this one (pictured above in the likeness of Christopher Columbus) in the 80s, when just about every self-respecting club-goer had on a hat, maybe some gloves, some boots made for dancing, and perhaps some asymmetrical hair.
It appears that Columbus - thee Columbus - has asymmetrical hair.
Not to mention a dourness that could melt paint off a masthead.
Columbus shoved off his own coast on the ocean blue and, some say, got all confused by the Bermuda Triangle - as well as spicelust - and he went off the charts to land upon the craggy shores of North America.
The rest, as they say, is history.
And a very complicated one that leads to today, the era of devices, imbued in the results of longstanding greed, and the ill effects of plastics.
Of course the heinous treatment of Native Americans of all tribes and colours falls under #2.

On a lighter note, here are some images from the birthday fete of Yours Truly, co-hosted by Cheryl and Liz on the 9th.
Liz made one of her famed punches that packs same, Heady made a carrot cake that was the d/creamiest ever, and the bon vivantness was over the top.
A good party is like cathartic performance art, I am wont to say.
As Yours Truly snapped some via the efficiently micro-mini Leica attendees noted that what had just been snapped was oso not to be published in a farflung manner.
As if epinw is one of those Plumbing the Depths blogs fercrissakes.
I decreed that I was being censored, before seeing any results of pixel pushing, and that my first amendment rights were being infringed upon.
Here is but a smattering.
YT + the Co-Hostesses. YT + Leah and Surprise Guest Dusty (aka Jodi, who jetted in from sunnier lands), and a sample platter from some of the cheese offerings.





Love of History (world, and personal, not in that order), and Cheese.

One Perfect day, as is annual custom.
For today is the birth anniversary of John, and that of Kerly, and K-T.
And tomorrow is the anniversary of the 10/10 that I popped out in the Middling City, having a look around, and then a hearty wail before embarking on a life on the artful, golden path.
Your homework assignment:
Watch this vid, then write a short essay (200 words) about one of the following:
1. Benefits and downfalls of an all-white interior.
2. Owning the world's most Perfect nose.
3. Romanticism in such famed and departed males as John Lennon, Robert Creeley, John Donne, and Paul Newman. In that order.
4. Benefits and downfalls of living in the Shiney Apple.
5. Pulling off the headband, as in making it look chic rather than doofy - not yanking it off a pal's head in a helpful flash.

Today had two gigs in two different hospitals, one mainly for adults, one mainly for children.
So if You are ever thinking You are having a bad freaking day, think of small children in sterile (hopefully) rooms with small i.v.'s taped to boards to their little arms.

Onwards to a party held in the honour of Yours Truly at chez Liz.
Time to make, do, and Veuve.

VC and BD Love.