Put on your seer cap (NB: NOT to be confused with your seersucker cap) to see that the image provided for your erudition above is the Artists & Models installation of Yours Truly.
As this year's A&M theme in Unhinged, YT is fashioning a homemade insane asylum ward, replete with gadgetry and staff associated with such a place. Including the coffin gurney that YT discovered with its twin in North Tonawanda, a hilarious early summer evening with JenB when, thank the lucky stars of YT, she was driving an elongated Subaru.
Onwards.
Met with Hallwalls people who are handlers of A&M artists (John, Polly, Carolyn) and was given lay of the YT land. This corner of the sadly ruined Central Terminal will be said installation - an uproarious, interactive installation.
Onwards again to points beyond.

No one beyond Love.

Photographing a man wearing an exceptional pair of loafers (black, smooth-topped), and watch. A very nice tank watch (black, gold accents).
He has salted and peppered curly long hair.
In short, he is John Kapoor, a donor to the BigU.
In shorter, time to zoom off to the next portion of the gig to document the events held in his honour.

Longer post later.

Later, Love.

Whilst big-boxing out in the former wetlands alongside the Middling City - and utterly minding my own shares of my own business - found myself looking at heaps of nouveau book titles, including The Daring Book for Girls at BJ's. Hardcovered, and sparkles to boot, like made to last.
BJ's is where I happen quarterly to buy giant bags of catfood to feed the feline masses (as well as raccoons, skunks, and random others in need of snack/sustenance), magnums of DVDs/CDs, and critical office supplies. And replacement knock-off brand vacuum cleaner after the age-old vacuum stopped sucking and became most irritating. Most.

sidebar: Yours Truly is a cart-dropper, my rendition of eavesdropping. At the earth-toned grocery chain or co-op I spend some time checking out what others have in their carts. I buy no processed food so sometimes do marvel at things like frozen breakfast amalgamations, self-rising pizza, prepared dishes, and the like. Oh, and creepy juices.

So there YT is, looking at a heap of that best-selling book of girlie know-how. And YT bought two copies, one for the niece and one for her fashion/spiritual adviser, her godmother, YT.
Let me tell You.
Page 112 = Women Inventors and Scientists.
Page 213 = Robert's Rules of Order.
Page 192 = Diagram of how to do a Sun Salutation.
And oso much more.
This book rocks.

Daring Love & Love of Derring-Do.

Yours Truly truly needs to unloose a Major Pet Peeve: men in sandals.
As I just wrote to Liz moments ago, the sight of men in sandals makes me uncomfortably grossed out.
I try to be tolerant in matters of shoe choices but the sight of men's feet hanging out of strappy bits is just not Perfect.
In my Perfect world men would be required to wear, in hot climes, canvas.
(sidebar: in Asia somehow men in sandals does not seem utterly revolting - perhaps it is the lack of body hair/foot hair ... or that ol' when in Rome concept.)
With or without socks, no matter.
Young or old, with shorts or nice linen pants above, just the same. If sandals are the footwear of choice on a man's feet YT wants to not only avert my gaze but to tell that they should rethink things down there.
Why such shoey vitriole, You may ask.
YT is working on laptop on a fab mag deadline and is facing a window where co-eds are flittering to and fro. I have occasionally glanced up to see unmentionable men-in-sandals fiascoes.
To regale: one x-l guy looked nearly naked in his cheap shower shoes, very minimal nylon shorts, and tank top. To contrast: YT also just saw, mere moments ago, a woman in a hooded jacket. It is not beach season quite yet in the Middling City.
And, really, even if it were.
Well, that's now out in the open.
Onwards.

No Love for Hominid Sandaloid.

Here, for Your viewing happiness, is my new favoured mistake frame du jour.
One of those images that happens as I'm holding my cam and fire off a random slip-of-finger shot from hip – or thereabouts.
I have entitled it Abstract Figures, it could be available to You in wallet, laptop, or sofa sizes ... all appropriate for this nouveau artcentric century.
What a whirlwind weekend of shooting, more shooting, and then more shooting, amid some fun moments – including lovely dinner party gathering of old friends at Marty & Susan's alongside the cornfield.
Deb and I got mysteriously caught in a Lost Loop, missing the discreet split-off of 75 from 62.
It was dark and rainy, we stopped at a nice old restaurant/saloon for directions and were assisted out of our lost condition by about nine helpful regulars.
I stated that if we continued to be lost we'd phone in our fish fry order.
We did eventually locate Eckhart and all became very obvious.
Marty and Susan made paella, so Yours Truly brought two bottles of a nice white Spanish wine – or whatever that might happen to be in that lingua.
A glass was broken in a jubilant greeting, Mary and Bob's new rescue dog wandered about, there was much cajoling and laughter, and we left many hours later amid a hearty glow.
Have another sweet little gig tomorrow a.m., this one for Nature magazine.
Outside the tulips wave a bit in the breeze, hanging onto their delicate wrappings of petal, while inside YT edits and orders pixels about for happy dissemination tomorrow.

Tulip, two-lipped Love, Love.