Yours Truly is returning to Street Green Series as it is the season of streets springing to life with green.
Above made along Genesee Street in the Middling City, post-gig.

Writing of sidewalks, three vignettes:

1.
This morning saw a curious bundle of pussy willows, branches all of same length and tied neatly with red string.

2.
In a suburb of the MC, also this morning, saw a sheared-off ten-pound weight sitting end up underneath a mailbox.

3.
Saw, today, a sight much more common in more x-l cities - the broken and abandoned umbrella, black, upside down and opened.

Onwards.

Last night attended dual birthday party for Susan and JT, at Broady's home in picturesque Allentown. YT, as was promised, brought a piñata to the party, a nice skull model filled with airplane-sized bottles of liquor, appropriate candies, lip gloss, and a hula bobble head girl.

As YT had just run a marathon day of typical Friday proportions, arrived later than planned to discover some disgruntlement. A party. A Friday. A piñata. Fercrissakes.
After some initial shit was given and the like, got everyone together, with help of Liz, outdoors to wack the crap - literally - out of the papier maché skull. Much to the chagrin of an early-to-bed next-door neighbor.
But the goods were finally wacked free and indoors we went to enjoy those items, and more cheese. Including a most pungent variety that Deb had brought, presumably from the foreign soils she had just visited.

Tonight more more more.
How do You like it. How do You like it.
YT was just informed via SherryB that YT is nominated for Best of Middling City, as Best Photog, by the paper where she toiled most diligently as a founding staffer in 1990 and worked as intrepid photo essay columnist for fifteen years.

The past, oft-repeated words of nominees the world over appeared in the mind of YT:
It's an honour just to be nominated.
And so it is.

It is Love, Love.

And who, You query, is this.
Well, Yours Truly shall divulge.
This is Uma and she is just about the most serene caninus fervidus You could ever hope to sniff. YT made these Uma ports, along with some of Uma's handler, earlier today.

YT is practicing some Band of Horses yoga before embarking on yet another night of jazz, some pals from out of town and out of the country. Same tomorrow evening. An aural treat of free jazz proportions.

Today, whilst motoring down Oak Street, YT was nearly in a head-on collision with some geriatric Deadheads who wanted to drive down the one-way Oak Street in the wrong direction: whereas the street heads south they really really needed to head north, by golly.
YT, having survived one crash via an asshole downtown, began to lay on horn and then flail at them. They still wished to proceed in a northerly fashion.
YT was close enough to their equally-geriatric van to note that the Deadheads had a handicapped hangtag, were each wearing raucous tie-dyed t-shirts and one of the couple had some sort of hat on.
They hesitated, not believing, then finally stopped.
As I passed them I motioned that THIS IS A ONE-WAY STREET YOU FLIPPIN' ...
anyhoo they motioned back in a manner that we humans can really excel at, in a manner in a flash of CHEESH, as if I was stepping on their hi-jinx.

Kennergy was down at sadsack Exchange Street AmTrak station to pick up some musicians for show #1 and was suddenly perplexed at the large number of homeless people, folks wrapped in blankets.
Then, suddenly, noting the presence of hemp and tie-dye recalled that the Dead plays the Middling City this fine evening.

Onwards.

Tomorrow is Earth Day and for the occasion YT is singing, so like non-sotto voce, the theme song from Big Blue Marble.
A show that taught us that we are all the same.
All the stinkin' same, on this same mass surrounding a ball of fire.

YT is going to see Waiting for Godot once more.
Next in the Shiney Apple, via a director who knew Sam.
So it has a cosmic stamp of approval.
But for the non-bare stage.

Onwards once more.

Love of jazz, elevated and percussive.

My latest self-port, part of a sub-group of self-portraits made in dance studios.
No, this is not metaphorical, like Yours Truly is always the bridesmaid, never the bride.
Nor always the photog, never the twirling dancer.
For YT prefers to ever be the bridesmaid, ever the photog.
The Clash (specifically Janie Jones) is presently on my pandora Feelies mix and it's as rejuvenating as this nice cuppa tea - both British.
Coincidence.
I think not.

Last night's gig ended at the appointed hour and a word about the gig.
A few people who I know were at said gig and marveled at my mad wrangling skills, namely, how YT is able to turn a group of conventioneers/reunionists into a cohesive group displaying excellent body language skills.
Most of this YT attributes to a decade of camp counseling, working with some of the toughest and, at times, saddest kids on the planet.
A decade of prepping, planning, crowd control, pop psychologizing, step-momming.
After that all of You are a breeze: conventioneers/reunionists, shy/displeased/out-of-town wedding guests, over-sugared children, rock & rollas, and the like.

So the post-gig gig was that of Cecil Taylor, jazz pianist and irascible person in general.
I arrived for the final 10 minutes of his first set, receiving updates from a few folks in the audience.
After those 10 minutes there was an intermission of crowd-challenging proportions: Cecil (in comfy sweats) left the stage and resumed the sipping of Veuve Cliquot.
In his rider, in his major agenda.
His intermission was approximately 1.5 hours and about 1/3 of the audience lost their mettle and split.
I likened it to the watching of certain Andy Warhol movies.
And now, upon further introspection, it might be likened to the climbing of certain mountains.
You presume there is a course, a zenith, a purpose, and an ending that is logical.

So Cecil reappeared, read from some medical treatise.
Then sat down at the piano and took we remaining listeners on an interesting journey.

Thanks Hallwalls friends for allowing me to come in gratis for the second half. I'd been in their offices running a show-related errand earlier in the day and explained I'd be coming late from said gig.
And thanks, too, Hallwalls, for serving some decent post-extended workday, jazz-enhancing vino.

Onwards.

Love of all things spontaneous and non.