Thursday, August 07, 2008

Here, for Your viewing pleasure to the max, is an image of Yours Truly made at historic, ghost-haunted (a ghost of headless variety, not like that dickless ghost - Peter Piccolo - who haunts 124 Elmwood Avenue where YT had her basement darkroom and who, like several others, was encountered/encumbered by PP on various occasions) Old Fort Niagara.
All sunny and brochured history in handy snippets. All the stone buildings assigned numbers.
Crabby soldiers in either British or French ensembles either ignoring, instructing, or crab-assing at the fort's visitors.
One fun fact gleaned the day of visit.
Only officers were able to have menu choices, with herbs grown inside the fort in gardens.
All others ate: peas, weak soup, salted pork.
A woman in the fort kitchen showed a sample of salted pork in a crock.
It was gray.
It did rather resemble the fondued duck that YT ate with niece and nephew at Melting Pot not too long ago.
We decided it's fundue, not fondue.
It was expensive, yet delicious, more complex than other fundues/fondues enjoyed in the past. It was in the G-Mall of the Middling City, a place as placeless as anything in Vegas. Anonymous, functional, delicious.
This image of YT shows me posing as a cowboy, inspired by the stockade fence.
The mercenaries onhand were oso similar to the cowboys of this great country's wild west and YT pays homage to these characters.
I am pretending to have a piece of hay, or a smoke of old historic twist in my mouth.
Below are images from a fortly window, its opening covered with not so muy authentico plexi, and an image of a lost Japanese tourist boy.
Inside YT encountered a French tourist girl who asked YT to make an image of her and as her camera's shutter was about to be deployed she splayed herself on an old historic chair.
Later YT would spot the girl approaching the ersatz trading post counter and hopping over it, setting off a screeching alarm.
YT did pet the wolf pelt onhand, on the counter, inside the historic old fort's first building, No. 12 in the brochure, for when does one ever have the chance to touch the pelt/fur of a wolf.

Wolf in Love's clothing, Love.