Yours Truly looks at this image of Cali mountains and sees nothing but cowboys on horseback, lumbering along with rifles at rest, sure-footed horses wending their way around rock, and wild lupine.
As their enemies lurk somewhere along the unmarked trail.

Ceci n'est pas une pipe and aussi ce n'est pas en gai Paris but at the LACMA, where Yours Truly totally did not mind her - or anyone's - business but spent several hours loving art to its maximus.
There was also an installation of the Fabiolo collection - the flea market saintess collected by an artist. All there.
YT had read about this and was shocked - shocked - to see it there, in LACMA.
YT thinks how the name LACMA sounds too much like lachrymous and there is oso nothing to cry about in LACMA - except that it's far too far away from the Middling City.
YT needed to see such expanses of art and this wild sunshine.
Little Laura and I dined late last night on prosecco and sushi and organic chix broth under some palm trees at the BevHills Hilton on the terrace.
She is absolutely radiant in her new gig and YT says More prosecco to LL and her new fabulous chapter of consulting and traveling.


A view whilst leaving LACMA on way to points beyond.
Was happy to see Lee Krasner amongst the Broad Fam's holdings - go, Lee.

Western Love.

Yours Truly, ever minding her own business, found herself in Heady's car this fine morning, bright and early.
Then, still minding my business, 2 planes + 1 shuttle + 1 city bus later, ended up in Beverly Hills, having a late lunch outdoors at LACMA (art world code for an art museum) replete with a California white vino (thankfully low on FQ - pesky fruit quotient) whilst looking at some spindly palm trees over yonder.
Somewhere in this sprawling urban situ is Little Laura, who YT will see later.
Sherry Burns posted a link to the Channel 2 self-promoting vid/commercial featuring YT et al.
I would be the one in the rain with the flattening hair holding a sign that they added text to: something about what in hell is Albany doing for us.
I need to email Sherry to inquire if they digitally changed the tone of my lips from crazy lady searing red to a more muted kind of mauve.

Searing, rambling Love.

Nature is truly a wondrous thing, even when captured, killed, skinned, stuffed, and with faux eyeballs added.

Above is a red fox that never actually roamed Tifft Nature Preserve but probably a similar nearby community.

The dusty fox, with paw pointed toward prospective dangers, is up out of harm's fingertips at the visitor centre of Tifft, where Yours Truly visited today for a story for the Shiney Happy Mag.

Had a gig today documenting girls investigating the possibilities that science might be their chosen path to happiness. In one group they were stringing together marshmallows to represent monomers which, when joined with the marshmallows of their peers, became one big happy polymer.

Foxy Love.

The Governor came to the Middling City, where he announced that he and other legislators and administrators from BigU's and SmallC's are providing all children of crash survivors with scholarships to college for four years.
Excellent, Yours Truly says.
And then he sped off to speak to other constituents about the handling of other matters like the asinine fee to cross the Grand Island Bridge, and the cigarette tax being repealed for the Native population.

I admired the Gov from the moment I met him whilst documenting the Dem Convention in the MC several years ago, when he received the party nomination for Lieutenant Gov. Back when Eliot knew how to better manage his Affairs.
Today YT read that Eliot is going to move to real estate moguling in D.C.

Below is an image YT made last week during the opening for Ani Hoover and Saya Woolfalk's ultra-vivid scene shows.


Ultra Vivid Love.

*toppermost sidebar*
Above photo made chez Rice during the André Watts home concert.
Mme. Rice had lilies and hyacinths filling the rooms with their Perfect perfumes.

vignettes.

1.
Saturday's gig included making some hi-festive images of children running amok on a schoolbus. General merriment, bouncing down aisle, screams of joy, checking iPhones, and the like.
Before the youngsters boarded had a moment to talk to the schoolbus driver, who is a regular M-F driver.
I asked her about the radio. Was there one.
No, she said. The older buses had them but the newer models do not.
She reported that some drivers Abused the radios.
We then discussed that concept.
Yours Truly did proffer up the fact that YT has, seemingly, fried out one of the Subaru's non-mighty speakers by listening to music on 40. I think it's 40.
She said that drivers bring on their own music-playing devices but she does not.
The children were boarding so our conversation ceased.

2.
Arrived at the small chapel/church with the grotto this morning for Bonita Z's funeral. On the way in noted - of course - (being both an ardent photog and caffeine booster) that there was an idling coffee wagon at the corner of the lot.
YT is familiar with this coffee co's wagons as it is the same co that supplies hot bevvies and snacks to worksites, and to Guru Tom's business.
YT wondered how this wagon would be doing any business in such a lot, at that auspicious hour, at that location specifically.
As YT approached the bank vault-resembling front doors three funereal workers were leaving, chatting in a mid-workday voice.
Then one made it clear that he was on his way to the coffee wagon, asking if the other funereal workers cared for anything.
He did know their orders.
So, voilà.
The coffee wagon operator knows that pallbearers, and handlers of hearses will be in need of a mid-morning energy boost.

3.

Final Edition from Matthew Roberts on Vimeo.

4.
YT has decided that this is one of her most fav items. Ever.

This is from the giftshoppe at George Eastman House.
YT wanted it.
Her mother/Fats purchased it for her.
YT was most thrilled.
The monkey's eyes glow an evil LED blue and he chatters an evil monkey chatter when a little button is pushed.
I worry about what will happen when its circuitry wears out.


Mid-day, vignetted Love.

So apparently the world is still crumbling and a newsybits type just said that the economy of Japan is Falling off a cliff.

On a much lighter note.
With much laser-focused intention that is the moment of looking through a camera with such ferocity to document something - anything - of great import, hit the laptop running adrenalized to acquire Band of Horses tix to the acoustic gig at Carnegie Hall.
The dreaded message of huge traffic kept things from big fruition and 20 minutes after the BoH tix went on sale It finally worked.
They are performing the last day of Bonaroo and really that would have been a solid Plan B, and Myrtle Beach's House of Blues may have been a good Plan B-2.
Oh, thoughts now drift to the merch.
YT has been known to zoom to merch tables the world over to acquire t's before their possible sell-out.
Yours Truly may be a (laugh) wizened pro photog adult with an incredibly huge rock & roll archive of images she's made all over the place but the thought of plopping my arse down into the Carnegie Hall's pitch-perfect ambiance to hear one of thee finest bands in the world makes my eyes all swimmy, my heart all tinkly.
Dined with Arts Mentor last evening and insisted that he will not only accept some copies of BoH discs, but Love them.
Ended the evening at 888 where YT walked into some political tumult, as some customers had just left in a dizzyed-up manner and there was much buzzing of how cabs were shunned and such.
Liz pointed out that some Middling City cab co. had a big barn fire (barn fahr, as the relatives out yonder would utter) so perhaps this explained the dearth of cabs.
Now, really.
Anyone in their right mind does not expect to take an MC cab in a timely fashion.
YT has posted about the lame-assed state of MC cabs altogether.

Onwards.
Backwards.
BoH and their loveliness.

Was told that Bonita Z has passed into the big art studio in the sky.
Some people pass and you cannot visualize them fully any more, some just the opposite.
I see her face Perfectly, its round jublilance.
I hear her growls of delight, feel how in Love she was with her beau, how they laughed together in their Love bubble.
Her pomes, her boobalicious art work.
Passed into a quieter place.
Bye, Bonita Z.

Love of all that is green, passed, and sonically restorative.

+ +
And hello to GFS, who hides behind the lyrics of the song that I listen to at this juncture, track 3.

At left is pianist André Watts during a concert privé at the Rice Residence on the one-blocked Tudor Place.
Watts, with the warmest eyes and sparkling personality to match, did the concert for a benefit for AIDS Community Services in the Middling City.
Yours Truly was asked to doc the event, allegedly they'd have no other.
YT also is a past arts auction chair for ACS's now-defunct Cause! for Celebration, and an arts donor for several years.
Watts' programme included pieces by Mozart, Ravel, Chopin, Beethoven with commentary by him between.
What YT has always referred to lovingly as Inter-Song Banter - ISB if You will.
I had a moment to make some lovely ports of Watts with the Rices in the concert room (formerly their living room), and told him that I'd like to make some images of him from behind to show the 100 or so in the room, and make some in the beginning - sans flash, of course.
He, for a musician of that genre, was so agreeable and gracious.
It was so packed in the room that YT found a Perfect seat in what I dubbed The Cinderella Box Seat - in the fireplace.
It was enough room for me and my gear and for me to stretch out my legs.
YT has never sat that close to a concert pianist and was quite surprised to hear that they - or at least this one - growls and hums along to his playing.
The concert ended with Chopin, and a large surly growl from the pianist.

Growling, hand-fluttered Love.

There Yours Truly was, minding her own business. In Rochester, in George Eastman House, specifically and for GPS or geocaching purposes.
YT's mother was also minding her own business.
And, in an adjacent room on the GEH second floor, YT's father was minding his own business, too.

As is my GEH wont, I like to tell whomever I am with there that thee George Eastman, a perfectionist of frightening proportions, committed suicide in the house, with a gun, because he was in pain with spinal stenosis.
So this fact was regaled to YT's mother as a slight and well-coiffed woman was eavesdropping.
First it should be mentioned that YT's mother had been searching for any documentation of GE's secret lover, who she knew by name.
I suggested, wrongly, that the family photographs be pored over.
This is perhaps why the slight and well-coifed woman began to listen.
She was floating ever closer and asked what stenosis is.
YT's mother, who suffers from this painful affliction, told her.
The woman asked if she is in constant pain and she said Yes.
The slight woman, speaking in a southern (sutthern) accent asked if she might do a laying-on of hands on my mother as she is a Prophet.
What can one say.
My mother said Yes.
So there the three of us were in a small upstairs GEH room, no longer watching the informational vid on display as the slight woman is appealing For a MIRACLE for ...
she then asked my mother's name
... for ANNETTE.
Then she kissed my mother on the cheek.
My mother, Professional People Person, gave the woman one of her most beatific smiles and thanked her.
I asked the slight prophet's name and we were then informed that she has a television show, that she's published books, and has a website.
I Googled her the instant she was out of the room and lo & behold, there was this slight lady - and her spouse - in all their sutthern and prophetic glory.

Onwards.

Had luxe dinner at The Social down the avenue from GEH.
Highly rec.

Highly rec Love, Love.

A newbie for the Accidental Frame Series, entitled Valentime.
This was made at the out of town and out of sight Valentine Wedding which, to my humble op, did not include enough red.
Did note that both moms in attendance, and a gramma, had on red.
Long live trad.

So FB is all in throes of figuring out how to navigate between online accessibility and privacy - it's more than the appropriation of one's posted party shots of pals and the like, but the ability for FB administrators to share a user's email address, or other contact information.

As an early FB user I was appalled to discover that my visits to epicurious and Pandora were being documented on my FB page until I fixed that prying little wagon pronto.

Speaking of red and all its bawdy connotations, it is time once again for Yours Truly to construct yet another lovely lively interactive photo booth for charity. I have a list of fav causes and one that perpetually has made the cut since the org's inception is Squeaky Wheel and their Peep Show.

This year 'twill be Nunzia's Boudoir Secrets Photo Booth with naughty shopgirls to assist customers with the selection of a perfect secret to hold aloft to document one's likeness.

Last night there was a man passed out at the wheel of his idling automobile blocking the drive of my property. I pulled up and blared the horn for some time to no avail. He was slumped down.
In these strange and armed times it is not advisable to rouse a sleeping man in a vehicle when it could result in an odd and punchy reaction.
Another person noted the slumped man and they called the authorities who knocked and sent him on his way.
One night out with Elba, we were returning to the Shiney Apple from a snazzy party in Brooklyn, we discovered a man in sports car slumped and snoozing. We did get out (that was indeed a different era, less armed) and noted his breath.
I at that time was driving what I drove in my salad days - a functioning wreck.
Light on looks, but dependable, with working radio. Critical.
So we discussed the possibility, for hi-jinxal exercise purposes, of removing the man from his sportscar and placing him instead in the wreck and making off after the swapping.

Had to abort plans to hike down into Shale Creek this fine afternoon as it was icy and on the driest summer day can be slippery with all that prehistoric shale and all.
Wished to show Kennergy the joys of the eternal flame, the methane that leaks up between the rocks.
Another day, another trek down, another match to mysterious gas jets to ignite what is truly a recommended and lovely site - compliments of Nature.

Gas-jetted Love.

side self query:
Is it possible to shrink an acrylic sweater.
If so, I am in the process of doing this.
Just twittered for some guidance before it's too late.
I think I may have shrunk articles of said material before: maybe I'll dial down the shrinker/dryer.

Onwards.

Documented the BigU's memorial for the plane crash 50 this morning.


There was music, candles lit for each person, a brief slideshow showing each person's name and bio, and readings.

And now here is the scoop of how Yours Truly was benched this past Sunday by the Saint Joe's coach.
First a synopsis recap, then a play-by-play.
Vincenzo, moved by my FB e-daydream of one day singing the national anthem at a sporting event and singing the part of Acid Queen got me a gig for the former.
The game in question was a huge deal rivalry match between Saint Joe's and Canisius high school b-ball teams.
There is much ill-will, apparently going back since the schools' inceptions.
YT went to the so-called sister school of one of the schools.
So, having said gig, YT busted out all the vocal exercises from lessons and choirs and musicals past.
Fun fact: YT is a soprano but finds it more fun to sing an alto, harmonizing, part.
YT was coached by various pals, some who worried needlessly on my anthemic behalf.
The appointed tip-off time was 3 p.m. this past Sunday, February 15th.
Annie was designated winggirl and documentor and as I was in the midst of picking her up at her home, as she was bounding down her front steps, I received this text from Vincenzo, who was calling first the JV game and then the following big boy b-ball game.
Annie and I were about 15 minutes away from walking into the gym.
It might be interesting to note that this verysame gym was the site of several h.s. dances enjoyed by h.s.-aged YT and gang.

Serious change of plans. Superstitious coach has pulled the plug on your gig. So sorry ... sorry ... sorry.

I replied. Are you joking.

No. He just told me at halftime. He was not interested in my objections.

So then YT used her reserve curse, and sent it on its way, believing that this coach did not realize how wrongheaded this was as there was to be a special moment of silence for the plane crash 50 to be followed by my rendition, so it was all very divergent from the pre-game norm.
So the bad wishes were sent off as Annie and I sat in the front window of Left Bank, sipping cocktails that were in lieu of - and not in celebration of - my singing moment.
I had the urge to text Vincenzo for an update.

Joe's was down by 10.
Then 7.
Then 10 again.
Then 20.
Then 10 again with 27 seconds to go.
Then they lost by 2.

Moral: when one wishes to sing for You with utter glee, let them sing fercrissakes.

One good thing that came from this was a fun afternoon with Annie barside, and a c-w tune we penned for the occasion.

Over and out.

Benched but not defeated Love.

Q: Why do women put on lipstick whilst driving.
A: Because they can.

So there Yours Truly was, driving to the Central Terminal late last week, to be filmed for a Channel 2 promotional spot and suddenly it occurred to me that bright red lips would be a nice counterpunch to the rainy weather all about.
I mostly stayed in the lines, the overall effect was red.
I referred to this as Crazy Lady Red lips.

Readied house and self all week for the annual Red Dinner, with record turnout this year. At one point the oxygen seemed at a lowpoint and the back door was opened to let in a little bit more.



This image was made by Betsy Frazer of Yours Truly during the RD, demo'ing the effect of the fabulous plethora of red poly-oly-ester folds on the party dress.
Marty Boratin, it should be noted, hated the choice of green shirt under the dress.
YT loved the touch of favoured colour.

Curious after-party finds:
1. A lost lipstick underneath the green chair, upon which someone lost their green gum.
2. Left-behind winter boots.
3. A reveler found my tin containing my preserved bumble bee used for photo shoots (with a note upon it, labeled BEE), must've been startled, and dropped the bee. Now lost. Now keeping eye out for more dried plump bees.

YT thanks the following pals who helped slice, dice, advise, cook, warm, serve, fete, and pre-revel revel in the kitchen Red Dinner morn:
Jana, Heady, Vincenzo, Marty, Janine, Annie, Deb.
Mucho.

+ +
Was surprised when Donna Brazile entered the Green Room on Thursday night and praised God and repeatedly described the terror she felt before her plane took off to get her to the BigU for her speaking engagement.
I thought that as a politico she must travel a lot, how could it have been that bad.
She described her plane being rocked by the wind before takeoff, that she thought god wanted her to come to the Middling City as her flight wasn't canceled - as were many others.
She was engaging, her talk was insightful, and she warmly answered several questions from the audience.

This is my image of Donna Brazile with UB Law School Dean Makau Mutua, who hired me to make his family portraits a while back.

I left the venue at exactly 10:17, and noted this as I called someone who asked to be phoned when I was leaving.
I wondered later, when I heard of the plane crash at that moment when I was outside and walking a long walk to my car, why I hadn't heard the crash which was not very far from where I was, and which happened at that exact moment.
YT knew two people on the plane: Alison Des Forges, and Susan Wehle.
Had a gig a decade ago to make portrits of Alison at her home when she received a Genius Grant, and always found her to be serene and lovely, modest about her work telling of the world about what was happening in Rwanda, an under-reported story.
Susan Wehle was the cantor at Temple Beth Am and again I'd see her when working, always impressed by her positive energy and unforgettable smile.

Onwards.

Today YT will be singing the National Anthem at 3 p.m. in front of a big crowd at a b-ball game.
1.5 minutes.
I will be giving it my bestest, toppermost skillset of vocal range and jubilant high hopes that the world, although seemingly falling to bits at the moment, will rebound and be leaner, more collaborative, and a lovely shade of forest green.

Yesterday had a gig, pre-wedding, at the BigU, at a b-ball game, women's.
It was a cinematic moment as my gaze zoomed in on where approximately YT will be standing to sing the NA today, on a court, between teams.
Much like this:

This self-imposed Moment of Terror is similar in feeling to full-time working whilst pursuing the MFA - a good dollop of adrenaline, fear, and joie de vivre.

Joie de Love.

This is what is rather a secluded location where the Pleece stow their crashed vehicles.
It was always wide open and then one day an all-encompassing black screen on the chain link fence appeared, so no passersby would see the vehicular carnage on the lot.
Now the screen is falling off and so any ol' Tom, Dick, Harry, or Dick Curioso can see.
Was going to adjust the darkening dusky light but really why.
Left is east, right west, where the Skyway tossles cars about this time of year and when that happens at a red level the whole operation is shut down and commuters must remember how to use the street level streets to hightail it back to their exurbs.

Tomorrow bright and early Yours Truly is going to be filmed at a Middling City location, a significant icon so to speak, for a promo spot for Channel 2.
I saw this spot/commercial before and various people are standing and holding signs that say various things.
I told Channel 2 that YT would like to look less wintry and more springy so will tough out the elements in a sweater and down vest in lieu of parka and the like.

O, say I can sing.
I think it's a green light, my singing the national anthem at a big sporting event on Sunday.
Details to be hashed out, and finalized, and green lighted.
The idea, as I told Vincenzo, makes me feel exactly as I did when I received The Call from Parsons the night of Mardi Gras oso several years ago informing me that I was IN. That I was a green light for graduate school in the Shiney Apple.
The feeling of OMIGOSH what have I done.
And then onwards to adventure.

Below is the likeness of MC artist Jan Nagle, documented whilst seeing with her own eyes that she did indeed win top honours at the CEPA Members' Show. The grand prix being a solo show in 2010.
I congratulated Jan and she thought there was jest in the air.
I stated I would accompany her to her piece and show her, and document her.
Here is her reaction, the results of artistic foray on a few levels.

O Say, Love.

On the Pandora.com station that was just magically whirring from outer space, into the pixel machine (i.e. the laptop), just heard and fast forwarded over, Jack Johnson's version of John's Imagine.
Just who in h-e-double-hockey-sticks does this Johnson think he is to do such a smarmed-out version of this already-Perfect tune.

Have been hit up by three orgs this month alone for arts donations, most artists of the Middling City get about twenty appeals per year.
One org, a non-profit, sends out very dry letters but do manage to cross out Dear Artist and replace the word Artist with Nancy.
They don't explain very much about their org and its attendant cause and Yours Truly puts their letter through the shredder and moves on down the line.

Last night's bennie was for the newly historically-designated and listed Trinity Church on Delaware Avenue with loveliness around every corner, and a smattering of Tiffany windows that thee Cam Miller pointed out to me one fine day.
And others of amazing photo-realisticness in the looming faces.

So donated to last night's event, one of the newer industrial images.
And it was purchased by a woman, also an artist, who is a bit of an NJP collector.
She was the purchaser of my lovely art brassiere that was created for a short-lived charity event about seven years ago for breast cancer research.
I believe this amazing bra that YT made is image Googlable: it is b&w photos of various friends' breasts (including one pair that, as luck would have it, were feeding a baby), and cut out in the shape of a 60s bra that was used as a template. Then each piece (and there were many panels in 60s-era bras) were grommeted together - about 125 tiny red grommets in all - and silk ribbon made up the straps.

+ gap of about seven hours here +

Just back from CEPA opening, members' portion in the subterranean portion.
It's a trad and veritable hodgepodge of this & that.
Saw Jan Nagle and we talked as is our fun wont and asked if she had a piece in the mix.
She pointed toward it. Went to look, and noted the BestOf sticker on the base of the monitor showing her work. Saw her again momentarily and congratulated her.
She thought YT was joking and I assured her that I indeed was not.
I said that I would get my cam at the ready and document her surprised face.
And then proceeded to do so.

Met up with Liz out in the suburban regions for a nice late afternoon respite after a very pleasant meeting.
Turned down an invite to fly down snowy hills with pals tomorrow as I have a previous engagement. But do hope to do that, in addition to the snowshoeing, before all the snow goes south, so to speak.

Speaking Love, Turning Love.

That wry little rascal, Ridge Lee Larry, appeared once again at the BigU for his annual barbecue gala.
Little Larry, who has a place of prominence in a retiree's home alongside a window (nice for view, bad for preservation), was in his little hat and banner.
Each year RLL's keeper digs a faux little hole for him to appear next to, as if he did appear just as his rodent prognosticator in PA does each year.
More snow, less, more weeks, more months.
Who in h-e-double-hockey-sticks can really say.
The Middling City is awash in snow and will continue to be so until quite possibly April.
Little flowers shall appear once again.
The earth will warm up and the wood on the trees and winds will whish a nice scent of new life and possibility.
How is that.
And take that, you stuffed little rodent.
And real one.

About the football game.
As is my wont, I made chili, a nice complex one with a smoldering heat and a nice blend of meats and beans.
Just as complex is the game of football, with a seemingly endless array of rules and such.
The ending was nice with the near-last-minute turnaround of events.
Was the right toe on the ground or not.
The stuff of suspense and dreams.

Before said game spent a few hours listening to the B-3 genius of Doctor Lonnie Smith, who YT kept accidentally referring to as Lonnie Anderson.
This fun fact nearly made Marky Norris spit out his roast beef at Lauren's lovely party.
Visualize: Lonnie Anderson, with that ample ... scorchingly bleached blonde hair and accoutrements behind the B-3.

Love of the beans, the beef, the B-3.
Oh, and the stuffed beast as well.

Made some ports of a former Buffalo Jill who now works at Middling City Museum of Science.
As there are props galore at the venue decided to put her amid what scuh-reams Museum! Science! ~ dinos, of course.
This frame is a light test before she hopped the railing and hobbled over to the cast bones in her high-heeled boots on the muy authentico terra cotta chips.
Yours Truly would like to know how or why specialists in the world of dinos believe or know that the sky back then was usually a magenta colour.
After this area, posed the X-Jill with triceratops, a small dino who is the size of a Great Dane, and some large skull.

Then on to a few other areas of supreme interest.

Wanted to make more images of thee Eddy, the MC's famed chimp of yore, but he's back in the mothballs so to speak.
Eddy was out on the grand concourse for the museum's last exhibition centering on their diverse collections.
Where one could see small animals taxidermied, alongside Dutch wooden clogs, small vitrines of oddities from the Victorian Era, and, way amongst other things, a benefactor's shoe collection - well-worn.

Today YT is jurying this year's Big Orbit Gallery's members' show with two other past solo show/first place winners.
Before that, however, am heading out to points beyond for some good old-fashioned snow tromping on snowshoes, in the woods, over hill -n- dale.

This fine morn documented a group learning how to use an automatic defribilator device, or an AEDM.
Just casually observing for approximately 40 minutes I feel that if You were in peril, YT could now satisfactorily cut your clothing off, attach the pads, and administer mouth-to-mouth.
The machine talks to you.

Approximately 1,000 years ago YT attended and was certified in CPR at the American Red Cross. YT had forgotten how many heart pumps in between breaths is, as Martha says, a good thing: thirty.

Thirty pumps, Love.

Today was a fantastic shooting day: first in a library making sunny portraits of a person who I know, who I enjoyed visiting with, in a place where Yours Truly spent many an hour in her formative years researching - and napping; and then, hours later, in a police h.q. making portraits of a detective.
YT, ever-intrepid, asked if we could use the onsite cells as a background of sorts, careful to not use the word prop.
After discussing the work of the detective it became obvious the wiser, more vivid choice, was to use the forensic crime lab.
Replete with brushes, that nice powder in various hues.
Upon entering the lab YT looked around and, amongst other items, spotted some surveillance photos, and asked if these should absolutely not be in any images for sensitivity's sake.
The detective said that the surveillance images, as well as several of enlarged fingerprints, were A-OK.
Upon leaning in for a closer gander, asked what the surveillance images were, as they showed a man in a fast food drive-thru.
They were of the man who - I leave out the bigger details - ran over the female college student and fled the scene.
We talked about that night's details.
Numero uno that is amazing is that the detectives thought of checking surveillance for all businesses in the area.
For a little levity I did tell the officer that I had no idea that this particular business had a drive-thru in the area, that it was to be filed away for future ref.

As much of today was spent in the vehicle/rolling office, listened to a lot of NPR, and caught a story about a coach who had denied the basic human right of water to his players, and one of those teen players died as a result of this.
I immediately thought of Vincenzo and his fledgling coaching career so called to share this Big Caveat.
He assured me that his team is not only hydrated, but is over-hydrated.
I hung up satisfied that YT had done her share to help prevent unnecessary death, unhydration, and litigation.

Another Big Caveat, from the detective.
Should You ever find yourself getting arrested, do not speak.
Say these words: rights, lawyer.
And say not one more word.
No explications.
Apparently people just narrative themselves into deeper and deeper miasmas.

I rest my case.
My Caveat-rich case.

Caveats, Love.

Yours Truly, in one of those precious & disoriented moments, got on the true-way heading not west, as she should have been, but east.
Much to the presumed amusement of the bearded man in the tollbooth.
Is it my imagination or back in the day didn't they let one turn around up yonder instead of Exiting at the next exit and backtracking.
What a pesky rule follower.
Did, finally, end up at the right location a mere twenty minutes behind schedule, for a delivery so it's not like a photo portrait subject was sitting in a puddle of tears.
But still.
I tried to envision where the highway west would be taking me and it felt so ... East Aurora. And wrong.
Time to make & do, make & do.

Oh, saw The Wrestler last night and deem not only Mickey Rourke's lips criminally over-plumped, but his eyeballs curiously smooth.
And those scars on his face seemed authentic.
And the movie left me feeling all grimy, and the lighting in the movie was agonizingly horrific - all grocery store, strip club, trailer park, and wrestling ring.
Where all its action happened.

KC's bro was into pro wrassling for a while and when I visited her in Vegas to do my mag story about wedding chapels, I stayed with KC and her extended fam, including the wrassler.
Who had the amped-up muscles, stolid demeanour, and curious hairdo requisite to the genre of reality.

As the dance floor hit choogled into collective bedazzlement in the late 80s, Back to life, back to reality. Over here.
Pushing pixels and the like.

Back to Love, Back to Love.

Very nearly began today not only minding my own business, but in the floral nook at the inner-Middling City Wegmans.
What was once the photo centre is now the floral nook as no one took in enough rolls and memory sticks to sustain the inner-grocery store printing & memory preservation.
As I've done before at several of the locations, I like to hijack the floral-gathering and arranging experience, asking the lady/ladies in charge if I can trim, wrap, and beribbon the bunches myself.
They at first are usually not too happy to unman their station but seeing how eager and how my floral plans are not quite theirs, they are always more than happy to step away from the DIY lady.
Going to a brunch at the home of a couple who are arts patrons of Yours Truly, and am bringing her a bunch of white flowers which she likes.
For myself and Kennedy purchased the ever-scentful hyacinths shown.
The scent of spring, of happy post-winter soil sprouting forth the beginnings of a colorful season in the garden.
Or, in this instant, some hothouse flowers that are a nice facsimile.

Onwards to artful, floral brunch.

Scented Love.

What, pray tell, You ask, is this contraption.
Well, Yours Truly will indeed tell.
It is a Vacum Cleaner in the basement of Church of Ani, i.e. Babeville.
To be confused with Asbury Hall.
YT was in one of the green rooms with Charles Gayle, Mary Oliver (award-winning violinist, not award-winning poetess), and Han Bennink, when this turn-of-the-century central vacuum (or vacum, back in thee day) was noted lurking in a dark corner.

Saw Han and Mary perform in Rochester, last night at Hallwalls it was all Gayle/Bennink, a sold-out event.
Afterward, met a pal of several of the jazz musicians in the room, Gaskin, of TO.
Fred Lonberg-Holm told me he'd be down and so YT steered him towards accommodations nearby so he could avoid that long and boring road back up there.
Technically west, not north.

Today received my medium (sadly, not small) Obama hoodie, which I'm washing for the second time so it's not too stiff for tonight's Bruce Jackson opening at the venerable Albright-Knox Art Gallery. All wide, black & white prison images from down south, hung in the Clifton Link - relevant subterranean walls.

On the radio now: Harley-Davidson is cutting jobs and production.
Read earlier that most women the world over claim that they're buying no new clothes this year.
YT finds this to be rather extreme, and probably untrue.

The Empire State has a new senator. Who.
Paterson says decision was not based on gender, sexual orientation, and the like.

Who Love. Love who.

Nancy J. --
Thank you for being part of the most open inauguration in our nation's history.
As we begin the work of remaking America, we must draw on the common hopes that brought us together this week.
I'm counting on you to keep the spirit of unity and service alive.

The above friendly note is from our new American rockstar President Obama.
Who looks absolutely beyond elegant in white tie.
Who lovingly (melt) whispered into Michelle's ear.
What a man.

Had a lovely time yesterday snowshoeing through forest outside of Rochester at Ganondagan Historical Site with Kennergy, up and down hills for hours.
Old pines mixed in with younger-growth, some nice old trunks harboring (undoubtedly) fuzzy little animals inside.

After snowshow activity had dinner with jazz pals Han Bennick and Mary Oliver and arts patrons/cooks extraordinaire Robert & Donna before H & M's gig at The Bop Shop.

Awaiting the music meandered over to a too-crunchy sushi joint and had some of the best sake around, black and gold. To warm up after maintaining an extreme chill.
Still awaiting musical action looked at nearby shoppes and noted this above sign.

Now off to dinner with Kennergy, Han, Mary before Han's Hallwalls gig with Charles Gayle.
A double-shot of Han B, as they say over on 97 Rock.

Love of jazz, and thrilled signs.

The latest in yet another Perfect ongoing series: Semi-Unintentional Self-Portraits.
This one was made at the residence of Bruce & Diane, during the fete for an auntie who was turning 105.
By all fam accounts, she is a voracious reader who had laser eye surgery at 100 to read unfettered from eyeglasses.
Yours Truly does prefer the French word, lunettes.
So last night there was a small gathering of pals to fete the new prez, at 888, sort of an unofficial clubhouse of the Middling City's glitterati, litterati, and FBati.
Speaking of FB, YT accidentally sent out the Obama in the (White) House party last night to invitees far and wide when what I intended was to send out an invite to the gang.
YT began to receive RSVP's from far and wide.
To some minor puzzlement.

The best news du jour is that YT's new and improved flashy flash site is up, running, doing its little slideshow magic - www.nancyjparisi.com - as if You did not know that already as YT is sure that she's at the top of the heap of those bookmarks.

Bookmarked Love.

This image made about 12:20 today, during our new president's speech.
Officially, he became president at noon.
Michelle Obama (watching the official transfer of power on steps) is wearing green gloves with her yellow suit.
Yours Truly is thrilled.
But not nearly as thrilled as about the main focus.

Photographed students at the BigU gathered to watch the Inauguration and when everyone was asked to rise for the oath, everyone in the room stood.
There were no dry eyes in the house.
YT among them.

And dearest Pahts gets to celebrate his birthday on this glorious day.

Love of oaths, and Glory.

++ This just in, from Big Orbit Gallery, seconds ago.
Winning this Best Of gig - and attendant solo exhibition - was truly one of the happiest days in the life of YT. Much like today. But with more fanfare centered on YT.

The exhibition's Best in Show award winner, selected each year by an outside juror, receives a solo exhibition in the following exhibition season and we have never been anything but genuinely thrilled with the resulting exhibits. Past winners of the Best in Show award include Alex Young, Geoffrey Allan Rhodes, Andrew Hershey , Michael Bosworth , Barbara Rowe, Robert Hirsch , Jena Cumbo, Laura Odell, Andrew Johnson, Joshua Marks , Nancy Parisi , Reed Anderson, Jackie Felix, Martin Kruck, Al Volo, Kurt Von Voetsch, Patrick Robideau.

For the upcoming edition of Big Orbit's Members' Exhibition we have decided to try something different. The "juror" will be a team of 3 past Best in Show award winners— Michael Bosworth , Nancy J. Parisi, and Patrick Robideau. Well known WNY artists all, they have a combined 40+ year history of artistic production and each embodies the spirit of Big Orbit Gallery. Images below link to their Big Orbit exhibitions.

Suddenly, minding my own Dem/damned business, I felt a healthy urge (diametrically opposed as opposed can be to W-esque unhealthy surge) to acquire an Obama sweatshirt.
So I wended my way over to DemocraticStuff.com
and did so.
They do not have smalls.

Yours Truly will wear it as proudly as she does her Blogger hoodie.
YT is oso proud to state once again that as one of the earliest Blogger customers (back when we had to PAY to keep adverts off our blogs), they thanked me for my devotion by mailing off some sportswear.

Tomorrow is another emotional day, the inauguration of Obama.
In honour of this historical moment, YT planned a gathering at 888, the same venue chosen for YT's Poll Results Watching Party.
If YT had not had gigs this weekend would have meandered down south to catch some of the happy hoopla.

Love of Hoopla and Happy Hype.

Yours Truly just this one will make a rare confession: I was like so NOT minding my own business this past Friday night as I wended about the Middling City in search of Zen and a demi-predetermined musical journey with dear Annie.
Secondmost on the quest for narrative and images was to see thee Jackie Jocko, stationed at his workspace piano inside EB Green's at Hyatt Hotel with their newly refurbed and freshly trendily-patterned lobby with giant blue globe that squeaks as it turns.
Above shows Annie with thee JJ - he insisted that she come up and do a little duet, a little hand-on-hand plinka-plinka.

So there we were and there was JJ.
Never before noted by YT were his little selfmade notes to himself with song titles along the front of the piano.
They are, he says, a tool for Ideas.
He regaled us with tales of the MC's brighter live music days when there were tasteful live music joints up and down the avenues.
One I most enjoy hearing about, Chez Ami, with its rotating dancefloor.
Imagine.
As the Shiney Apple's Rainbow Room with its own rotational floor, faces some more sad times with rent raising, and a struggle between landowner and tenants who made the place less elite and more welcoming to every icon-seeking Tom, Dick, and Harry.

Pianoside with JJ included some soothsaying by him once he learned our astrological signs - it was quite interesting and fairly spot-on and he admitted that decades ago he was more an astrological practitioner than now.
How listeners would not only request a tune but some sooth for themselves.

Our questful night included some drunken squaws dancing in front of their boyfriends' band and Annie nearly getting decked (pun not intended but now enjoying said pun so it will stick), a darkened room of excellent techno dj'ing and a sub-quest for Scott, the event's beneficiary. Are you Scott, Are you Scott, we asked and repeated throughout the club until we found the right man. One man offered, helpfully, that he could be Scott if YT really wanted him to be.

The MC is full of beautiful new fluffiness, a new pristine layer on what was hard and browned and worn.

Listening to John so I paraphrase, in happy light of what is in the works:
We all said we wanted Revolution and we all wanted to change the world.

Changed World Love.

Misunderestimate.
The first jarring moment of the current - O mighty God merci beaucoup from the bottom of my wishful photog heart - but not for long (1.20!) presidential press conference.
His ultimate.

As I just commented on FB, I'm testing my strength to see if I might be able to endure this press conference without reaching for the remote/powerswitch/fusebox.

As EdC just commented on my FB status/comment

I have tuned out every one for the past 8 years; too painful to bear. But I'm actually leaving it on this time, savoring the fact that it's the last one we'll have to endure! I can't wait to have a President with a 3-digit IQ!

Sustainable cease fire.
To have a vision of what peace might look like.
Still listening. The ultimate.
Ooh, he finally got a femme journo's name right after six years he states.
She corrects him. Eight years.
He must have done something visually interesting as the photogs in the room just went trigger thrilled.

I couldn't do it. Why torture yourself? Only a week left!

So commented Jen Pinkowski.

I'm doing it, I'm a tough woman of the new millennium.

His words follow.
I'm concerned that in the wake of the Defeat (yeeha) the temptation would be to look inward and here's a litmus test we must adhere to. This party will come back.
...
Take for example the immigration debate, that's a highly contentious debate.
...
Republicans don't like immigrants, that's the message that came out.
...
They probably don't like me as well.
Our party has to be compassionate and broad-minded.

Late last message.

'Obamamania' gone wild!;)

says Victor Colonna.

Bush is seemingly really grooving on the members of the media, just verbally back-slapped a young male journo in the room.
Titter.
Hard things don't happen overnight, Jake. Says Bush.

That is like so right.
It took quite a while for you and your ilk to really alienate, and for the right person for the era to come along with intelligence, grace, and charisma to not only inspire but to get elected.

This just in.
Last night my best dream was that I was doing an interview with Our President Elect.
He was so gracious, and effused such loveliness and an aura of tranquility that it was, even after waking, inspiring.

Harsh discord.
Alright, now he's claiming he's read a lot about President Lincoln.
Now he's paralleling harsh discord that was uttered about Pres v.16 as for him, v.43.
Onwards to 44.

Elected Love.

To be filed under C for creepy is this mural merging the animal and mercantile worlds.
This can be viewed in the Middling City along Bailey Avenue, a fine avenue with incredible window displays and general displays of juxtapositions approaching surrealism.
My fav to date: the Bruce Lee poster, now faded to sepia, at 1313 Bailey Avenue.
A Triumph.
What is oso creepy in this fine illustration is that the lion is smoking a blunt.
In this hyper-green and aware zone of hope it seems a rad concept to have a lion be creating second-hand (and new on the awareness tip - third-hand) smoke.

Next image to be filed under A for asinine.

Ethan Allen, in a hipster landgrab, hopes to appeal to people like Yours Truly who believe them to be stuffy, and overpriced.
YT received a very expensive pub from EA this week, a catalogue showcasing hipster rock & rollas holding guitars (and, undoubtedly grungy attitudes towards Life, and Furniture) and espousing the Cool qualities of these lamps, and sofas, and such.
On an early page is this oso silly image of a hipster duo in throes of a Photo Shoot.
YT dearly enjoys, as do her colleagues, this sort of image for it grabs the iconography of the craft and field without, obviously, consulting a real photog - or perhaps the photog documenting the image crafted by a stylist.
Why does hipster photog guy need to have this cam and lens on a tripod.
And why is he so close to the femme.
This is like when YT walked recently through Union Square and a photog grabbed my likeness with a long lens from not so very far away.
I commented to Annie that he was probably doing a study of women's pores in the winter sunlight.
Onwards.

Ah, 'twas the 209th birth anniversary of MC darling Millard Fillmore, who YT lovingly refers to as Mill Fill.
This is West playing Taps.
His real name is West, not short for something like Weston.
As is MC custom, it was a weather-treacherous morn when we media types et al made our icy ways to the gravesite.
I truly love this - and all - trads.
Each and every one of them makes me all reflexive and pome-infused.
Onwards still.
It is a night of art, Bruce Bitmead's art op at a gallery in A-Town, amongst others.
Tonight is also Little Laura's Bon Voyage fete at Sportsmen's.
Not sure why that venue but c'est la vie.
Et c'est le bon voyage fete and it's her choice fercrissakes.

Bon Voyage, Love.

So currently there are several concurrent technical challenges.
Numero uno is the midst of upgrading website and forging ahead with a flash site, and figuring out the navigation - navbars as we say in the former DreamWeaver-ridden sphere.
I like to recall for the glee of others the torture of the DreamWeaver classes at Parsons when the instructress of very highly-pitched voice would struggle to be heard over the whirr of the AC as we sat in podlike formation paired off, me looking over at my neighbor's machine until I feigned a break of some sort to rush out to Fifth Avenue to stare down reality, or an alternate one, for the time being.
I never did figure out that fucking DreamWeaver.
As I told my Parsons mentor there are other options such as the modus internetus whereby one pays for a template and sticks things into their appropriate slots: let someone else figure out the html nits and grits.

And then there is another matter at hand regarding a faulty memcard for the newest fam addition, the baby Leica dLux4. Not the card reader. check. Not the cam. check.
For this very micro-mini reason there are not, to date, any Fems images on epinw or elsewhere.

O what a night that was, strong still in mem.
Looking back and around and toward the stage was in throes of a glut of memory of Freeland, yes, of course, but time spent at The Continental stageside.
Dougie had a funny tale to tell this past week, of meeting a new pal who filmed a Fems show several years ago - perhaps seven - and this woman panned the crowd to reveal Yours Truly shooting the onstage action, and to also reveal the posse of YT nearby, including Dougie himself.
Suggested that he get this up on FB pronto.

Today FB'd a former prof, and a poet who YT asked a few times to be a featured reader for the fantastico Writers Cramp Series that YT ran from '81-'87 with Paul Hogan.
YT would procure the funding (conflict of interest as one of my on-campus jobs at UUAB as a chair underwrote a goodly portion of the series), design the posters, designed and printed the t-shirts, and co-emceed with PTH.
So this prof contacted YT and had several greetings.
He also recollected that I was disappointed that, upon snatching his headphones off his head once that he was listening to classical music and not good ol' rock & roll, as he always swore that he did.
He asked me to whip off a poem as an exercise and, ever-dutiful, I did so.
It was a two-min pome pennyeach for sure.
It was, as I wrote to him, something wallowing and waiting to be rid of me.
Happy Return, His Ghost
is its title and I also sent it off to Heady as a big nudge as we agreed that we are to nudge each other into creation.

This gray Middling City day began, nearly began, with the exchange of a shit-eating grin, as the cowboys say, with a femme stranger.
Then a thought that mine was, or was it. And hers was, or was it.

Onwards.
Upwards.
Artwards.
And wordwards.

Wordward Ho, Love.

Utterly and festively minding my own business yesterday after Mrs. Rutstein's funeral and lunch with Fats&Pops, was in throes of errands and one stop on the agenda was India Bazaar.
India Bazaar is a somewhat frequent stop for all things Indian. And yesterday golub jaman was on the NYE menu which also included my soon-to-be-world-famous Lobster Thermidor, a combination of two recipes that I like and have made before.
So there I am in IB, analyzing the produce, the coriander chutney options, and then the mehendi section in the cooler.
For a mere $2.99 Yours Truly purchased a pre-mixed tube of the henna goopings (really, that does sound like a muy authentico Indian word - goopings) for some NYE body painting and tagging.
After what I've dubbed my Ethereal Salad (details upon request), Lobster Thermidor with buttered peas on the side, and then dessert of golub jaman with Kennergy sped off to points beyond for festivities and to embrace Party Zen.
First stop was 888 and busted out the tube which I had already sensibly snipped and wrapped in foil.
Gave FB pal JJopp a nice "Client #9" in swirling letters along her hand.
Then gave Annie a nice NINE along her knuckles (see above).
Gave myself a nice lefthanded martini (also above).
Gave JJopp's pal Gina a nice ohm just below her neck and then tarted up JohnC's hand with a sun/moon/happyface.
Gave Gary an IX but he put his hand in his pocket and it went to hell in a handbasket.

New Year's Resolution last night was altered.
It began as: Learn to spit like a boy.
YT prefers to Perfect new skills in the new year rather than embrace an omission.
A few hours later decided that the resolution is to try to use more cliches in speech, especially those that hearken back to the Old West, the Wild one, or any of those than make wry agricultural refs.

This image is of the stuffed wolf at the Middling City's Science Museum, where Kennergy and I made a midday field trip.
The wolf is in a box, like a well-trained mime.
Note his/her playful pose.
Elsewhere in the joint one can finally pet pelts of other mammals, it is no longer necessary to sneak a pet in here or there.


This is a new year, one that promises to be a stellar one.

Stellar, lupine Love.

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.