Above is one favoured image from Hurd Orchards, that magical night of feasting on the spoils of toils - much like the agritourismos in Sicily, all things on table made nearby. This shot shows the wide-open barn full of revelers, flowers, food, and one dragonfly moth sucking nectar out of red flowers.

Yours Truly accidentally deleted a recent wonderful frame for inclusion in the ongoing Accidental Frame Series, and then tried to fake it - to no avail. The focus was all too un-Zen, the tip of the cam not authentic, to my Perfect eyes. So that faux Accidental Frame was itself deleted.

One cannot force Perfection, one cannot fake the glorious happenstance.
One cannot force one to love one, one cannot force union.
And to that we must hear from Beth Orton, a seer, and poet, and speaker to hearts akimbo.

YT just this past weekend ran a photographic marathon of sorts, making loving images at three weddings.
What is most cherished about these all-day photo ops is being near people in happy flux, the blending and sometimes clashing of families and friends.
Being intuitive and empathetic these events can be overstimulating as you pick up on the vibes all the livelong day.

At one wedding YT was seated with family and friends and at each place was a fairly new convention - the b&g music mix, burnt onto discs for each guest.
The couple thoughtfully provided titles and artists.
The ever-documentary eyes of YT, scanning the oso typical titles, came to a screeching halt on track 14.
Eric Clapton covered Lady in Red.
Was a huge question.
Putting said disc into cam bag and finishing up the night's documentation, got into the awaiting Subaru and popped the disc in.
Could not wait to hear guitar god Clapton's version of this treacle, a secret and guilty pleasure.
For what lady does not want to be that Lady in Red, finally realized for her beauty, by her man.
Track 14 began the usual Lady in Red way, with those - how to say - beatbox-a-rific strains, almost primal in staccato insistence, giving way to layered ooooo's or perhaps mmmmm's.
Then, the vocals.
And then YT realized that the b&g made a musical boo-boo for this artist is Chris DeBurgh, the recording artist, and Clapton is still free from the shackles of the song's romanticism.
And YT thinks that Clapton could possibly sue this wedding couple.
I mean really.
Clapton would never touch this synthesized tune.

Just back from finishing up note-taking foray for next Shiney Happy Mag piece - a brilliant survey of Middling City dives.
A cocktail of visual convention, barroom archetypes, bad lay warnings in restrooms, and oso much more.

Lady in Red Love.

Quel week.
A spicy and savory blend of happenings, gigs, and wendings.
Took a few jaunts with Kennedy, back out to one of our fav midday Nature enjoyment joints, Reinstein Woods, where Yours Truly saw a luminous green frog among the flora and fauna. And some of the oldest trees in the state, miraculously standing as all of their surrounding areas are big box industry.
Discovered Murphy Orchards as I worked on my next story for the Shiny Happy Mag, a piece about - get this - jams and jellies.
Spent about an hour talking with Carol Murphy who revealed that she doesn't like bread, or jams and jellies.
And then I revealed that I am also not a fan of bread, jams, or jellies.
But on occasion it's necessary to eat a PBJ - as it was this week.
Bought a bag of Murphy Orchards wares that YT will certainly eat, and give as a few gifts, and it all totaled under $20.
Made some lovely images of valleys, a farm dog, some other curios.

Among the week's gigs was one of nurses in a hospital training room - and me and the AD deemed it quite inappropriate to have the faux human in the room as he either appeared too lifelike, or it was overkill to have a body in the shot.
Sometimes it is the idea of a body that is enough.
So the faux human was hustled out of bed, after being disconnected from his computer, and lugged to the hallway, where he rested on an examining bed near the elevators.
YT could not resist making some images of the faux man, including this one of his faux feet, replete with faux gangrene.

Kennedy and I also went to peer at the contents of the Aud's time capsule that was cornerstoned in 1939.
Nobody could tell me anything about the golden ring that was amongst the deed, plans, program, newspapers bound with twine and opened to shocking news du jour, resolutions, and the like.
This is all in the new Community Gallery of the Middling City's Hysterical Society. And YT, already a proud BECHS member, is joining the charter Doctor Lalli Circle to fund shows for this new venue.

Spent most of yesterday up in Canada and returned to dine and then to karaoke with a bunch of friends and acquaintances and singers. This was the last stage of the birthday week celebrations for Annie and we all sang our darnedest as we occasionally batted about beachballs that were onhand to promote 500 Days of Summer.
A nice lady also gave everyone tshirts emblazoned with the movie's motto which YT really cannot recall at this time.
And, as seems to be the case with all karaoke moments, there was a cowboy in the house.
He was of the leather hat variety.
As we left the owner gave us all verrrry friendly hugs.
I so believed in the creative possibilities of belting out the jubilant PYT by MJ (which YT has dubbed thee song of this summer), but it was a case of entering a song and suddenly realizing Holy Crap there are a lot of words in this tune.
Sherry co-sung and all in all it was a hilarious lovefest with but one klunker - Annie was most displeased that the karaoke jockey cut off one of her tunes too quickly.


Onwards.

It is a beautiful day and there are billions of pixels to be managed, a dual baby naming to attend with whitefish salad to eat, and gardens to be coerced, and another party to be fabulous at.

At Love.

Yours Truly has been in a workus maximus state all this lovely livelong day, and is about to embark on a weekend of wedding shooting. And the weather looks like it will be the first spate of non-monsoon days in some time.
YT, mind You, does not mind the overcast, photo-Perfect days.
Nor the cooler weather that brings flowers to their toppermost potentials.
The bee balm is at chin level when it's usually about two feet tall, about two-thirds of a meter methinks in Canadian.

Speaking of Canadian, heading up north to Hillebrand for a menu and hopefully tasty Canadian vino on Sunday to fete the near-Bastille Day B-day girl.

Speaking of toppermost, image is Lower Manhattan: Ninety Choristers. A Perfectly Zen moment when an op of Artistic props bounds forth from the situ at hand.
En route to a gig found this. Shot this. And so on.
Submitted this image to Hallwalls for their upcoming art auction in August and was told, in short, that the image does not fit the oeuvre of YT at all.
To my utter bemusement.
As an artist one cannot always assume absolute knowledge or explication of one's work as it's left the process and takes on its own life in the world where it is met with the thoughts and opinions and past beliefs of others.
So HW has asked that I not give them this piece and that I submit something Edgier.
YT did remark back that street work has been part of what I've been doing photographically since 1981, which led to documentary work of people's interior spaces, then zooming ahead to industrial landscapes, to street moments and street green.

The Parsons MFA thesis show, my work within, was dubbed EndWork and was all found moments and street green images.
So this is in part part of what YT does for art's sake.
And my work has never been described as Edgy.
I find it a curio.
YT will give HW another piece, they'd like a studio shot - from the interactively organic and ongoing hand series - but a new one has to be printed.
The last bit of this series was printed out on stand-outs and a work under glass is better for an auction, the trad print/mat/frame concept.

Onwards.

Trad Love, Madly in Love.

En route on foot to Solid Gold Booker brunch at AKAG snapped with the little Red Dot Cam this image of trees, the spice of visual life.
Brunch was usual Janus fete of beginnings & endings - end of holiday weekend, beginning of Sio's life as a PhD, and other beginnings and endings in the works.

Documentary image of the SGBers in attendance, snapped by Ian, ever-thoughtful Canadian boy.


So Independence Day came in like a lamb and kaboomed out like a lion, with a morning coffee at (bad-java'd SPoT) and some curious sightings that included a couple of tourists, apparently, in semi-matching ensembles.
Their tops features stars, stripes, a brief section of The Constitution.
Namely, anything that got Patriotic juices flowing.

Indie Day featured a last-moment traipse to Angola-on-Lake for a beachy party that featured a band that Yours Truly has photographed a plethora of times, and featuring Lars on drums, an impressive array of chips (YT believes Indie Day is not complete without a handful of Lays potato chips, as well as rock classique in abundance), a walk on the beach, and some pleasantly unexpected reconnections with a few old pals. Onwards then it was to Marty & Susan's for their annual roast alongside the cornfield.

I must add in a gush of literary fervor that the iPhone app dubbed cleverly Classics is a wonder - it's what the Kindle should be with its nicely-toned pages that touch-screen turn. For 99¢ one can read about a dozen classics in their entirety. New titles coming down the pike, allegedly. But what a treat to read Pride and Prejudice whilst standing in line.

Dining out with the sole sibling, the sole niece, and various first cousins later this evening for a semi-annual casual fam reunion.

Thanks to FB many cousins in the Perfect loop.
Onwards to deadlines galore.

Looped Love.

Yours Truly moments ago experienced a technical curio:
What in hell was Neil's Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show doing playing out of the website of a well-known band of hipsters.
How or why did Neil allow this, being the preeminent showman and perfectionist that He is.
Did he not realize that the Irony was flying in full force with his narrative tune the big brunt.
Well, as it turns out, YT had her pandora Neil Diamond station in the on position, and was looking at the site of the hipster band, not realizing the station was on.
It was ever so confusing and YT is relieved that Neil remains where he should be - in the Pantheon and not on some other band's site.

Onwards.

Just received this holiday wish from ChristineC:

Happy Fourth of July!!! May it not rain, and may there be Kielbasa AND Italian sausage served this year!!!
xoxo,
Christine

Very thoughtful as CC who not only sends a happy holiday sentiment but recalls that YT has told her that bien sur I love sausages as I am both Italian and Polish, creators of the world's best sausages ever.

And, to imagistically celebrate, at toppermost is my image made upon the visit by YT and AEDM to see a (miserable chop-job of Beckett words) production at Adam M Library and Dramatic Circle on Fillmore - FillMo to those in the urb.

YT does indeed love the pyro possibilities of this wack holiday, 7/4.
TA-RA-RAHH-BOOOOM-TEE-AY.

TA-RA-RAHH-BOOOOM-TEE-AY Love.

Above, the latest from the Accidental Frame Series.
A steamingly hot Middling City shot definitely not made today, when the skies darkened and a lady at a nearby luncheon table eavesdropped and, panic-stricken, asked Jana and I if indeed we were correct and a tornado was a-blowin' into Allentown.

Onwards.

Yesterday Yours Truly ran - and I do mean ran - in 3" heels in the Second Annual Shoefly-sponsored .5K Stiletto Run with all proceeds going to a charity that researches ovarian cancer.
YT, being ever-practical, dressed sensibly, and had trained a bit.
Like as in wore 2" heels the day before for eight hours whilst trailing behind the new SUNY Chancellor, another Nancy. And no word if all is Perfect in her world.
She, it should be noted, did have her own set of pumps on, some see-through stilettos.
And bright red nails.
YT asked Vincenzo to wrap my ankles to prevent any breakage or wobble and it looked, when he was completely done, like I had spats on.
Charlie of BuffNews fame did a fab job catching ladies mingling about on the start line just moments before the starting gun. Really a noise device such as is used to clear campers out of the waterfront.

YT is hearing now that - hooray - the Supreme Court ruled that the search of the thirteen year old AZ girl "went too far" and there was an 8-justice majority. Souter: It was reasonable to search her bag, her outerwear, slim basis for strip search ... there is also a limited danger of ibuprofen, this was extreme, and wrong.

Off to a diverse night of attractions - the Spree Best Of shindig at Shea's, and then Walking with Dinosaurs. YT works on the Best Of issues, is a panelist that sits in on a handful of meetings discussing what is what, what is bestest, and toppermost in the MC.

Time time to fly.
Not run for a while.

Love of good decisions.

As William Blake was wont to say
Exuberance is beauty.

There is much exuberance wafting about these days.
As of late a spate of gorgeous moments, music, memories-to-be.
Or is a memory-to-be suddenly a memory when dragged into the open air.
Indeed.

Jetted off in a flurry to the Shiney Apple last week for a marathon of art making, gigging, Beckett, Band of Horses, editing, visiting, and viewing.

Shot ports in Battery Park, a lovely place if you ignore the faux statuettes of Liberties, the molten ice cream cones, and profusion of memorializing.
Had just purchased myself some Perfect parfum and I do hesitate to give away what it is. Yours Truly nearly purchased it for its bottle, a sweet glass number with true golden bees screened around the bottle. Having a bee thing and all. That the scent inside the bottle is all mystery and lovely is a super bonus.

Went to Studio 54 with Justy to see Waiting for Godot (and please it is GOD-oh) with John Goodman, and Nathan Lane. A triumph.
Didn't know Bill Irwin (yet) but now do and he is a solid Didi to Lane's Gogo.
And Goodman is now embedded into YT's mind as thee Pozzo.
We sat in the second row and so were spat upon by the cast, merrily.
We were not underneath where the oversized coke spoon of yore was foisted up into the expansive historical ceiling.

Here is the production's tree of second half, with its merry seven or so leaves of green.
Afterward Justy and I headed to one of our fav haunts, ñ on Crosby for tapas, handclaps, various bevvies.
Next day was edit time on the rooftop of GPH, always Perfect.
Then on to visit with DKNY, and then dinner with ShineyApple'Phew at another haunt, Souen for health-on-a-plate.

Onwards it was then to Band of Horses for a much-anticipated gig, all acoustical, at Carnegie Hall. We were in first row of Dress Circle, a confusing name but what this entails is that we were essentially floating in the center of this acoustical confection. Openers were Arbouretum of languid melodies and lovely voices.
Then.
Then.
Time for BoH.
So anticipationalized, and so excellent.

YT took notes and here are some stats:
20 songs, 2 hours, three encore tunes, 3 guest musicians, 1 guest musician on grand piano, a guest femme fiddler gleaned from Pete Seeger's grandson's band. Her playing and harmonizing augmented and fit. Oh, and 1 beside-himself biggestfan behind me, ShineyApple'Phew, AllenF (aka Rachel but thank our stars she did not show), and ethereal StaceySongstress, groaning his devotion - and request for LDC until those around him finally convinced him to quiet himself. Until next eruption.

From my small purple n-book, NB.

My goodness, hello everybody.
First words out of Ben/lead.

Some songs were pepped up doubled-time, others slowed slower slowest, like Wedding Song, becoming a dreamy waltz. Window Blues became a subtly rollicking swing.
And of course they did Funeral, their best known, which drew a few tears, as No One's Gonna Love You nearly did except YT was too busy for a moment jotting down pomes pennyeach and fiddling with the iPhone Zippo lighter.
Great Salt Lake was explosive, as written.

Merch. Did acquire a nice sage green t. ShineyApple'Phew did want the BoH frisbee and YT did attempt to get it for half price but the lady behind the merch table, a CH volunteer, would not budge. It was $20, too much, YT believes, for flinging the 'bee.
Arose before the asscrack of dawn and jetted out on the first JetBlue flight, still hap-hap-happy from hearing BoH.
Landed and hit ground running, literally.
Had a gig and then visited with visiting musician pals, including CelloBoy.

Later that day, Friday, visited with olds & dears, including Cheryl and Liz - pictured in the dreamy late-day light from the appointed joint's large plate glass.


Next day was more gigging, and then a gig of musical proportions to see Great Lake Swimmers lead singer, Tony Dekker, solo at thee Terrapin Point which once chunked off killing a bunch of Victorian Era sightseers.
Heady and I fell victim to my sometimes-faulty internal GPS and I got us to another empty stage alongside the pathetic Hard Rock Café where YT took Liz a long while ago to its grand opening festivities that featured Goo Goo Dolls, and Soul Coughing of where are they now status.
So finally the right streets were taken (First Street, not first street, par example) and we were suddenly sitting in front of the small stage where Tony D was singing some beauty.
And then he stopped.
So we'd missed about 99.9% of his gig.
After that YT was quite sad and all and did approach Tony D to see if he just might be into the idea of serenading me, Heady, and Noah for 1 or 2.
And he did.
Under a Terrapin Point tree.
It was quite dreamy.
It was not a GLS tune but one by the ol' Carter Fam of Johnny Cash in-law fame.

Onwards.

Today is Bloomsday, a fact appropriate to epinw which runs on precious Beckett fuel.
YT will be reading a portion of Ulysses tonight with AEDM, Jana, Mish.

Exuberant Love.

Above is one of the falcon near-fledglings who began its hatch & fledge on the southern campus of the BigU.
Arrived at base of tower to discover a difficult angle so meandered to find this better angle, surrounded by birders with binos and men who work in the building below the tower with their own binos.
Up in the tower were, reportedly, three men of the DEC who had been harnessed to a metal ladder and who made the long climb in near-darkness.
Yours Truly, ever intrepid, asked if it might be possible to also make the climb.
The answer was a resounding, unwavering No.
Even after YT explained that there have been other vertical trips of such steepness/photo-operativeness/import.
YT cites past climbs up creaking and semi-non-existent stairs/ladders inside church belltowers, grain elevators, climbing scaffolding built over the Middling City's former Buffalo Savings Bank golden dome.

So, (im)patiently YT waited and waited to see - finally - a hand reaching into the falcons's nesting box to net the fledglings one by one.
They were each banded for their safety and the like.
This took a long time and what we could see on the ground was a white bucket appearing, disappearing, and reappearing in a window pane.
Then a parent falcon swooping in to perch and whoop when it was discovered that the chicks were MIA.
And then the happy reunion.
And then a happy photo op with some men of DEC, sweaty and harnessed.
And, as promised, one of the men of DEC was highly Cute, as promised by a birder lady.
She stressed this point, as well as others about falcons in general, several times.

Tomorrow is jetting off, merrily, for work and fun in the Shiney Apple.

Tomorrow night Justy and I see Waiting for Godot at Studio 54.
Have not been there since attending a gigantic, fantastic HipHop party there in the early 90s. Cast includes John Goodman and Nathan Lane.
Seats seem to be fairly excellent.

Details of Sam Experience to follow, You can bet your B'Way Dollar on that.

Shining, Happy Love.

Noah Allen est arrivé.
Today, 6/3/09, he showed his happy little face.
Yours Truly, along with Jeremy, Toni, Maria, and various medical types, ringed Heady who pushed for one hour before her deliberate doc decided it was time for a c-section.
YT is about to see Heady again, who was in recupe mode.
More photos forthcoming.

Love Life.

Yours Truly did not believe the sign, not being a natural skeptic, but believing that the fishmonger was preying upon Middling City pride and such.
YT, peering into the case in Exhibit A (aka the photo at left), thought this was a laugh, a kick, a biota-driven bit of whimsy.
Buffalo Fish, hilarious.
Following this illustrative visit to Broadway Market in formerly incredibly thriving Broadway-Fillmore District, YT did some quick R&D of sorts.
There is indeed such a thing as Buffalo Fish.
Not to be served up with sides of Buffalo Fries, and Buffalo slaw.

Onwards.

Did some power gardening here & there over the past few days with dahlias taking the species lead in all things planted.
Amongst others were eternal favourites: nasturtiums, moonflowers, lobelia, pumpkins, elephant ears, canna, and more more more.
Plants and seeds.
YT does always, annually, experience the wonderment of wonder upon gazing at a cart laden with plants and possibilities during every garden centre/growing opportunity center visit.
Suddenly the cart is teeming.
Upon checkout at garden shop stop numero uno checkout lady said Well that looks like plenty for now.
Indeed.

Onwards still.

Tomorrow YT will be accompanying Heady to l'hopital for the delivery of baby numero duo for good vibes, and photo documentation.
YT has already made the executive decision that all will be ambiently lit for who in h-e-double-hockey-sticks wishes to arrive into the world in a barrage of flash, red carpetlike bluster.

Big Green Love.

Well. Well. Well.
Here is Yours Truly with newest pal, Prime Minister Odinga of Kenya.
This image was made by the Big U's Law School Dean, a special request by YT.
We three were in a brief moment at a brunch on the 24th and in a flash I asked the Dean to make the image.
And voilà.
Odinga has a great sense of humour and travels with his handlers - his wife and daughter.
I photographed him all last weekend.

Things have been merrily hectic as of late in the Middling City and today Heady phoned to let me know that on Wednesday her newest baby will be extricated.
YT will be there, coaching–and documenting.

Onwards to special deliveries.

Love of all things documentary.

This here's Yours Truly's favoured YT-crafted image of Marshawn Lynch the other day at New Era Cap Co.
YT enjoyed watching him watching others in the room - like YT he is a professional watcher.
Photogs and defensive linemen have a nose for news, so to speak.
Is he in fact a defensive lineman or did YT just pull that our of her arse erroneously.
I do wonder.
I do not wish to Google.
Perhaps he is a tight end.
Perhaps a corner launcher.
That last was a test for there is no position called a corner launcher.
YT does know that Marshawn Lynch gets the ball and runs like hell, reportedly at times off the grid so to speak, off the clipboard of his coaches.
He is as improvisational as a well-tested, tried and road-true jazz musician.
In terms of his cap YT was impressed that he was apparently going the route of the New Era 20's-era worker cap.
But by meeting's end he was then veering toward a soft model of ballcap.
YT gave some thought to the possibilities of designing her own New Era ballcap.
Should Dana or anyone else over there call YT to say Hey Nance, come on down and design something special, YT has this in mind:
Green on green, some nice embroidered 10/10's, some other important and significant iconic objets.

Onwards.

Onwards to deadline fun.

Love of Football Terminology, faux and non-faux.

This delightful and informative epinw blogpost is all about apps.
And not that kind on page two of menus of note.

Utterly minding my own business - yet again - found myself in a common photog moment (waiting for some files to export) - and, to optimize productivity and such, found myself searching iPhone app store for LightRoom.
LightRoom, as You may know, is the recent new software tool that Yours Truly has plunged into and is slowly mastering.

It's been about six days but LR is not the bottomless pit that PhotoShop is.
Thankfully.
It's for photogs and more than any other app emulates the language of temperature and the like.

So YT searches iPhone app store for LightRoom, out of curiosity.
And up comes a free app called Photon.
Promising.

Here is documentation, in real and Warholesque time, of YT exploring this new app.
As, delightfully, a guilty pleasure tune comes on pandora - Dave's Grace is Gone.

1. Push Photon icon.
2. It wishes to use my current location. Henh.
3. OK.
4. (thought) Why in hell.
5. Create new account. Come on, this is a fun photo app, I thought.
6. Jeez. Link to confirm sent to yahoo account.
7. (time lapse) All things are a green light g.o. go.
8. (more time lapse) After looking at online version of this app am horrified to discover that it creates access (albeit Private) to my harddrive. YIKES.
9. Deactivate app quick fast in a hurry.
10. The End.

Quickest download to deactivation in history of the iPhone.

Love of Security.

Quel day.

Finally feel like things are way underway and under control with newfangled and most excellent LightRoom - post-SOS fix by LukeC.
Heading out shortly to see a Sam play with Annie - Endwords at Adam Mickey's where annual Dyngus magic happens.
A nice warmup and prequel to seeing Godot with Justy in the Shiney Apple in a few weeks.
Time for poesie, breath - kind of like yoga, but it's dramatical.

Above is the sig of our President v44 and Yours Truly was most inspired and awestruck by its inherent artfulness.

Spoke with Brucey earlier about art supplies - namely Yupo, mastic crystals, and the like. Will bring a sketch pad to the Sam event tonight as sometimes his words can be oso inspirational.

Last night's all-gal gathering chez CJ for her b-day was full of good friends, and hilarity.

Onwards to the theatre.
In the Polish rec hall.
On the Middling City's fabled east side.
On a semi-balmy night.

Eternal Love of Sam.

Finally the big, LED-fueled word is out.
The Peace Bridge, it was printed in the Middling City News, is superbly lit with chaser lights - much like venerable and encroaching Pano's resto on the Elmwood Strip.
Yours Truly several times drove along the 190 to witness the Peace Bridge in blazing technicolor©.
And when YT asked others if they had seen such a lighthearted display they had not.
This happened three times - and three times I beeped my horn heartily to let whomever might be up on that bridge tweaking (and listening) that one enthusiastic motorist like totally gave it a non-hands-free two thumbs up.

Onwards.

In the midst of editing out the proverbial wazoo yesterday took a brief ten-minute respite to watch the vid of our delightfully left-handed and handsome president deliver his comments to those black-tied and little-black-dressed correspondents at their annual dinner in WDC this past Saturday.
A favoured quote:

I believe my next hundred days will be so successful that I will be able to complete them in 72 days," he said to a roar of laughter. "And on my 73rd day, I will rest.

And here is the link, Your homework assignment du jour is to watch, and chuckle along with the infectious (ooh, perhaps poor adjective in these troubled H1N1 times) chuckle of Obama.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0GwZFAV1Lw

YT documented thousands of wondrous minutes this past week, as is my wont this time of year - including commencements. Commencements in the parlance of YT are always referred to as BigC's.

At one of the biggest BigC's, a pre-BigC warmup in the shape of a dinner to introduce various honorees to one another, YT witnessed a poignant moment.
Nobel Prize Winner Doctor Herbert Hauptman gave remarks after receiving (unofficially) his honorary doctorate from the BigU and stated that he never thought in his lifetime (he is 92 years old) that he would ever see an African-American president in this country.

The other honorary doctorate this year was former SNL writer Alan Zweibel who hilariously compared himself to Hauptman. He noted that Hauptman studied the atom, and he has a son named Adam.

For your delight, here is an image of YT with Zweibel, as You would expect good fun to talk to with a slight shy streak.


Love of Occasional Documentation of YT.

This just in.
Above is primo example gleaned today of Buffalo-ese sweeping this madcap internationalized world.

Yours Truly considers this A triumph.

Also a Triumph is that today on BBC, or was it CBC, YT also gleaned the press corps at the venerable White House is standing patriotically and respectfully for Obama, whereas they did not for ol' Whatzizname.

YT, in a May flurry of events that does not include imbibing of 5-O May-O beverages, is ending this epinw post with a tip of her laptop sobrero to You.

More Love later, Love.

Image from CEPA Gallery Visions of Greater Buffalo charity auction event this past Saturday night. Yours Truly, wearing fav green belt, in a self-port milieu, next to Sherry Burns.

YT wishes that she could recall with absolute clarity just who in H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks it is who is her pal who revealed that they Love their dentist.
And, in reply to their expression, YT stated that she feels the same.
One should Love their dentist.
YT had the verysame dentist from childhood until late 20's, until his retirement.
I adored him.
He was a lefty (as most good men are) and was prone to getting tangled up in a good story (always egged on, as they say, by YT), lowering his mask, leaning back against a counter, arms crossed.
He worked in the Brisbane Building of downtown Middling City and YT always loved going there and going up to his office in the shambling elevator.
The waiting room furniture never changed, there was a faux lemon tree.
YT has some signage from her childhood shoe store and desperately wishes that she had the faux lemon tree of her childhood/near-lifelong dentist.
Onwards.
So there was the retirement.
Then there was another lefty dentist who acquired some of the practice.
But as wacky of a sense of humour that Dentist2 had, the drive to his office was a bummer.
So then there is Dentist3.
A delightful Deadhead and he just simply adores YT (a fact intuited but also backed up by the receptionist who stated today that Some patients are ... you know. But others are just so nice to see. When I told Dr. Deadhead that You were coming in, he said Oh good.
Dr. Deadhead and I talk music - concerts, recordings, and the like.
What we've seen, You know.
I told him that Phish hired YT for images for one of their live recordings, at Darien Lake.
And Dr. Deadhead and I, as it turns out, were at one of thee finest, earliest Phish shows in 1990 - at Arena Rollerskating Rink in the MC.
Dr. Deadhead today removed the last of my silver fillings and now I am like a house rid of old lead paint.
(sidebar: So loving Kings of Leon once again, immediately.)
Dr. Deadhead so juiced up my jaw with novacaine that YT is still a little tingly from that.
Fercrissakes, Dr. Deadhead, sometimes less is more.

Less Love is never an option Love.

++
This just in.

Latest of the Accidental Frame Series.

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.