Last night got a posse wrangled together to hear & see String Trio of New York, a fine fluttering affair, like geese wending over trees.
See illustration.
Met up with LittleLaura and Kerly at Muse for a vino but first had to unconnect and meander into the auditorium - blustering, really - where a bunch of quiets were watching a presentation of news comics.
That was oso not the place to find the missing duo.
Back to vino spot and then the girls were found, thanks to technology suddenly working correctly in the cellie deadzone that the Albright-Knox Art Gallery's Bunschaft Wing can be.
We then walked the lush hallways to Clifton link where some of photog heavy hitters are hanging, including a primo Crewdson.
The one showing a boy reaching down a drain, a cutaway image of the house, in his trademarked eerie Noir light.
String Trio of Shiney Apple includes ever-delightful standup bass guy John Lundgren.
Just as Deb had texted Yours Truly during the veep debate to pay attention, YT texted LLaura to stop being ADD as she was playing cards on her smartphone.
The parents also showed up and we all listened to the notes, sipping on some light whites.
After it was off to Left Bank for a Euro-style late bite but not before YT got bigtime scolded by the on-duty security lady for daring to step into her bullpen security lair to have a quick sit upon the de rigeur taped-up seat in front of bank of multiple sec-cam images of here and there and everywhere.
NONONONONONONONO she said.
So I punched out.
Allegedly this lady reads the good book religiously during her work.
Righteousness meets vigilance meets taped-up seat.
Onwards.
Gala to document in a while.
Time to gussey it all up and snatch up all the lovely sparkly pixels.

Pixel dust love, Love.

Yours Truly, ever minding her own Liberal-minded Business to a Dem-Perfect T, was victoriously shouting BING-OOOO last night at the watching gathering for The Veep Debate.
There YT was, pen in hand that Deb handed, waiting waiting waiting for that crack-eyed femme playing her mom/outsider cards to say Heartland and YAY she finally did.
Additionally, she said Talibanis.
I asked those assembled, about a dozen media types and lovers of media types, if anyone knew the Talibani Family of the west side.
Tuesday is the next.
Band of Horses plays on the hi-fi as I push pixels and happiness and Love.
Very sad that I missed their set last Sunday, in Austin, TX.
Contemplated jetting off for that following the nonstop workweek but then decided, via solemn vow, that their next gig is like oso in my DayTimer.
They are the Perfect antidote to post-Debate punditry.
Onwards, onwards, and on.

Love of jangly rollicking poesie.

Above are two images of this premier October day in the Middling City: toppermost is the serous (not cirrus) clouds hanging to the south where the snow is usually found in abundance, and next is a rainbow to the east after a weathered blend of sun and rain.
Met up with EditrixLiz to research for my pending Shiny Happy Mag piece "Mayors Gone Wild."
All the dunderheaded things that they have done here in the MC through the ages.
It's incredible how so many news items of the 50s and 60s are still in the news: do presidents have to be millionaires to win?, waterfront development in the MC, and a prediction by a labor lady of a now-defunct org who predicts that within 38 years a woman will be on the presidential ticket.
Geraldine Ferraro indeed sort of fits that timely parameter.
And now that other woman, of egregiousness.
Debate watching is happening all over tomorrow, the veeps having at it, as they say up north.

October Love.

Alas, here, above, is evidence of an odd new trend witnessed by Yours Truly: the man mall claw. Whereas ladies have more tresses around and about the bang going sky-high, the manly version is the gathering of slightly longer hairs into a crisp upward wall.
As You can see by the brow, this is a younger man.
Perhaps this is tonsorial irony, an 80s throwback.
Suddenly, YT recalls a hair product purchased - and used - in the 80s with a key ingredient: polyester.
Speaking of sad hair, the Middling City News featured on its front page a liveshot of The B-52s, who performed at the sad version of what once was a lovely, in-gallery event: Rockin' at the Knox.
Whereas one back in the (recent) day could wend through galleries with bevvies and a slew of good people tucked into all corners as live music happened throughout the gallery on various stages, it is now an outdoor event on asphalt. Wander ten feet from pals and you will discover that you are lost in a sea of darkness and only luck and texting will save your reveling ass from missing all the high times with those verysame pals.
So there on front page numero uno-A are the remainders of The B-52s: Keith, Kate, Cindy, and Fred. Without Fred there is not a band.
But the ladies, once fashionable, trim, with sky-high eponymous hairdo's are now sporting rather sad wigs, of straightness.
Kate in red.
Cindy in yellow.
YT saw this band three times in their heyday, and this all before the wedding standard Love Shack.
Last night sat and dined next to the vid portion of the nuptials documentation, a fellow UB alum.
Whereas the night before I marveled at another wedding that the d.j. played Amy Winehouse's Rehab, last night both the vidguy and I discreetly scratched our heads to the Frank Sinatra cut, You know, that irritating tune Luck Be a Lady about dames not leaving their escorts.
I also commented to the vidguy that I always chuckle when the other requisite wedding tune, Lady in Red, hits the nuptial airwaves.
A song about a worn-out relatioship being revived by the woman looking all Hot and her man, all jaded about her, looking across the room and getting all juiced up looking at his lady, who, for some reason, he does not immediately notice.
He sees the Red.
Then he sees the Lady.
It is a sonic tale of odd relationship comeuppance.

Onwards.

Below is a small portion of the spectacular graphite drawing YT made for Buffalo & Erie County Historical Society's bennie, Paint the Town, on Friday night.
The drawing, Old First Ward: Corner of South and Vandalia, fetched a respectable price at auction. Forgot to document it before sending it on its way and took a very bad iPhone image of it. Here, though, is the bottom half, with heads looking at it.
Gleaned from an online site with some images from PtT.
YT was informed that her parents, who went in my stead, not only whooped it up, but were documented doing so.

Skyhigh throwback Love.