That lovely Tuesday night, November 4th, began with Yours Truly shooting some football out at the BigU, a nationally-televised throwdown.
That they won.
At one point went up to the student seating sections and wended between shouting spirited co-eds, making images of their various headgear and mouths in enthusiastic agape condition.
Tim Russert's sister did the cointoss and there was a vid of his son, Luke, saying hi to the nice folks in the stadium.
Yours Truly recalls that when things went dark for Russert there was much discussion that he had pushed himself to the max in preparation for the presidential election.
Little Geo Stephanopoulos has claimed, or more fully claimed, the mantle of the country's leading popstar of punditry.
A femme of red party status said of George that she'd like to prop him up like a teddy bear in the middle of her bed.
Geo reminds YT of a puppet from her childhood's distant past.
Is it Harvey the dentist of Rudolph fame. This will require more subconscious delving.
Which brings me and You to the next matter at hand: the presidential election.
The one that began, truly, in February, and that stumbled and glaciered along until last Tuesday with the glorious results.
Two favoured images from the evening - a couple gleefully dance on Allen Street after hearing the results, and the screen and history writ large in the lobby of Ellicott Square Building downtown.
Where all good Dems go to say a gracious thanks to their voters, and volunteers go to tipple, and publicans go to feel part of big history.
Big, historical, pixel-rich Love.

Big Blue Love.

The image above is entitled Haybale House Still Life, made during yesterday's gig in a suburb.
A woman is building a new home on her old property and it's all hay, wattle, and daub. It has boulders cemented into the new foyer floor, a tree de-barked as a central post. It will also feature glass block windows, solar heat, and two new kitties.
Her last kitties perhaps caused, and died in, her last house when it went up in a blaze.

Halloween was its usual spectacle-rich self.
Yours Truly went out conceptually, as a (successful) male Democrat politician - superheroes of sorts in my Perfect book.
Dined with Jen, Eric, Little Laura on Saturday night in newly-crimsoned Trattoria Aroma. I could not help but to think they need to commission me to do large-scale pencil drawings for their pristine glowing walls.

Onwards YT sped to two H parties, the latter a Mac jukebox dance fete.
Annie's costume featured faux two-toned nails and faux crackpipe burn.
You can fill in the costumary blanks.

Today is Election Day Eve.
Do vote tomorrow.
Recall, if You will, that Al Gore, according to red party lore, lost the 2K election by approximately 540 votes.
If You think one vote matters not, you is wrong.

Heading out now to Maggie Roblin's funeral, now free from ALS, sailing up between what we know and what we don't.

Voting Love, Love, Love.

Lesson. Above.
Dig.
Driving along South Park Avenue, a lovely, mixed-use avenue in the Middling City that spans to then South Buffalo, Lackawanna, Blasdell, Hamburg, and then out to probably Las Vegas fercrissakes, saw this image.
In sooth it was a beat-to-hell white coffin on a coffin gurney much like the one that Yours Truly owns.
The verysame one that was used as a prop in the last Artists & Models at the Terminus Centralus.
So there YT is, driving to a gig involving two dogs and Olmsted's best park, when lo, behold, and voilà: coffin on gurney alongside the avenue.
Plastic flowers decorated the opened lid.
As I breezed past I thought of stopping to make some images but then thought Oh, no, I'll catch it on the flipflop.
(You recall, CB talk for return trip. Popular in the 70s and such.)
Well, post gig took another street to the avenue and missed the coffin.
Or, perhaps, as it was just past 5 p.m. a business had rolled it back into its storage facility after business hours drew to a close on yet another Halloween.

Best overheard quote du jour:
Well, we aren't all Michael Jackson.

YT stepped out of the objective journalistic pose, hopped over the invisible wall if You will to say to speaker: Did you just say Well, we aren't all Michael Jackson.
The statement was oddly appropriate for this holiday.
Was unique in its locational delivery point: a science fair of sorts for scientists.

Onwards.
Time to help Greg Sterlace tape the ultimate Greg Sterlace Show at Home of the Futur.
French for Future.

Love of Future, Past, and Present.
All presents.

A new and exciting personal series created by Yours Truly: Wedding Still Lifes.
This image is made behind the scenes at a venerable wedding facility reportedly ceasing all wedding ops shortly.
This is a fine Middling City manse now in the public sector, moonlighting as a wedding venue.
Sadly, caterers have been beating up the behind-the-scenes portions of the manse and YT has witnessed heinous things there.
Like an antique demi-circle wooden table absolutely soaked with water after a caterer placed a large container full of ice and wine bottles upon it.
Ruined.
And this room was once a tidy breakfast room. Now a shambles.
NB: there, off to the left in the image is the terrifying dinner that YT partially consumed.
It was the third night in a row of Faux chicken.
This meal consisted of Faux Chicken formed off, I swear, preformed bones for each piece of Faux Chicken on bone was identical.
Unless the once-chickens were so cloned that their frail legs were identical.
Dead flowers and Dasani bottles complete the image.
Onwards to more more and more.

No Love for Faux Chicken.

Here is the latest addition to one of the several ongoing series, Girls With Guns.
This series has been in the works for about two decades.
Parameter is that the girls must be in parades or in marching operations, and the guns are always those clunky white faux wooden numbers.
They must also effuse some cowgirl energy.
To date one of the favorites shows a small girl and her gun, marching in the rain, the girl with a very sour look on her face. Understandably.
Just sent out eVite for the sure-to-be fabulous second annual Old First Ward pub stroll.
Invited those who strolled last year as well as those who have big love for The Ward. Or things ironic. Or things Middling City.

Gleaned some errant fascinating facts about the MC whilst performing microfiche surgery/research a good chunk of yesterday at the downtown library.
There's a book to be written about department stores and clothing boutiques downtown.
Another book about the history of the mayors to boot.
Breezed through the small book about the KKK attempting to get a foothold in the MC, during Prohibition they viewed this area as a prime op to get more members and, shockingly, thousands signed on. The hateful org was invited up north by a prominent physician.
There were cross burnings, including a huge display along the shoreline of Grand Island and Buffalo's Mayor Schwab infiltrated the group with spies and finally shooed them away back to the further reaches of hateful minds.

Too many people lately seem to repeat their fears that Obama will have an untimely ending if and when he wins in November; an illustration that no matter how far we've come we're aware that the most evil racism continues - but does not prevail.

Prevailing Love.

Today's Accidental Frame.
I call it "The Tilt of the Suburban Landscape: All Good Carpet Wears Well."
Had to faux up a moment whereby Yours Truly was asked to make some Lawyer Ports and me et al were standing in a benign boardroom.
Brain storm, synapses firing.
Off to a handy nearby Library that happened to have Law Tomes on hand.
Here, YT stated, stand like this, picking up the lawyer's specs on table and one of the tomes. Do this, I said, miming out some weighty argument while using specs as handy pointer.
This is along the lines of the Politico Gesturing Image when YT stands in for the subject to be quite specific about what It is.

Watched the clip online of Colin Powell's lead-in to and endorsement of Barack Obama.
I respect Colin Powell immensely and especially so after his talk at the BigU.
He has what a good photograph or painting should have: Aura.
Nutshell: He doesn't care for where the Republican party is heading.
YT talked with Vincenzo today and stated that what Americans should be wary of (and perhaps, wonderfully, they are becoming ever more so) is the ever-expanding inclusion of religion in politics.
Ixnay, I say.

Onwards to pixel pushing, then on to research about Mayoral Matters of the Past within Middling City limits.

Solo show for YT in 2010.
Was asked to be in a group photo show next month (a yes), and a solo gig then at the same small MC art venue.
A green light.
A good solid personal photo project.
Details to follow.
But You knew that. You surmised that, undoubtedly.

Undoubted, true-tested Love.

Yours Truly finds herself in divergent experiences each and every week.
YT welcomes that sort of thing so therefore it comes streaming in a regular and fascinating fashion.

Yesterday a gig was to feature pre-Bulls big weekend game activities with rallying burgers, speeches, and music.
After giant tailgate parties (sensibly held indoors as the Middling City can unloose incredible downpours in the tenth month), meandered along and into the tunnel for the visitors.
After spotting their mascot which YT thought might be a BURRO.
After a quick call to Kennergy I was informed of the correct species.
A mule.
Not quite as dashing as a burro.

So there YT is, in the tunnel and then on the field.
Blazing sun, pumping music, walked over to speak to some Campus Officers that YT knows and discussed their pending color guard duties.
YT frequently photographs them doing such and emails images to the officers for use here and there.
This is a good not only for The Cosmic Favour Bank, but to keep the driving vibes good at the BigU.

Suddenly it's time to make some images of the Bulls charging out of their own tunnel so YT gets down low on the faux field to get the drama of flag people, smoke, players, a whoosh of blue and white.
YT is just underneath her pals who are documenting via vid for ESPN.
That over it's time to move along to other marching band moments, and then the line-up, hats off Star Spangled Banner.

YT realizes that she's standing amid the Army teammates.
Basically standing as if she's one of the lineup.
Not only am I not then able to make a real objective image of the Army team, but there's a chance that YT will be showing up here and there in the documentation of others as one of Them.
So YT nicely asks two players to part so that she may stand on the other side of player things. We all laugh.
During the coin toss I make my way into the circle to get Willie Evans, from UB's team of '58, doing the honours.
Willie et al are in attendance to commemorate their golden anniversary and be documented by ESPN, taking up their story of boycotting the Tangerine Bowl which was segregated.
UB had two African-American players and the team voted unanimously to skip the Tangerine Bowl, having better more positive and non-segregated things to do.

Up the quarter flew.
Your pal Nance, so intent on exposures and thinking in the full-frame moment, didn't think to really pay attention to heads or tails.
Just then suddenly players all pressed up close to each other, speaking in gritted teeth and then Army kicked off.
UB Bulls won.

Go Bills, Go Documentary Love.

Latest Accidental Frame image, made during the shooting of a mural of a Saint.
Clare, to be exact.
Could this image be like the various likenesses spotted by believers in places as divergent as clouds, oatmeal, toast, a corn flake.
It is a black & white image during a colourful photo shoot, and day.
Does this image look like the curve of the Vaticani's Saint Paul dome.
Clare is famed for what I just do not know - a quick Google is in order.
(pause)
I like Clare, according to ad-ridden Catholic Online she was a great Italian beauty who fell in love with Saint Francis - his words of wisdom.
She founded an order called the Clares, a roving band of gorgeous do-gooder nuns, Yours Truly imagines.
They did not wear shoes.
Shoeless beautiful Italian ladies defies logic, and experience.

Just made lovely portraits of a professor from the BigU, one who was in my English Department but who I didn't take classes with. He is, though, one whom I had many conversations with during those salad undergrad years and beyond.
He's a great raconteur and I left with a signed copy of his latest book.
Quite old school and lovely.
We had coffee in his garden.
YT has never refused a cordial cup of tea or coffee on assignment but will not imbibe on a gig.
Next up is the hoopla surrounding the big football throwdown between the BigU and Army.
A moment of blue & white pompoms, bodypainted undergrads barechestedly spelling out G-O-B-U-L-L-S-!, and oso much more.
YT loves hoopla of all sorts, including that of the sporty genre.

Love of Mysteries - saintly and footbally.

Got to meet Khaled Hosseini - author of Kite Runner - last night during gig at the BigU; he was in town to do some Q&A as a Distinguished Speaker.
While walking down a long hallway from green room to V.I.P. reception asked him some questions, including: Do you draw.
Hosseini said that he drew when he was younger and his brother is a talented artist who may be inking some for either DC or Marvel.
He made time when he was still a physician to write every day, rising at 5 a.m. to do that.
Asked him also if he needs to center himself before he speaks publicly and he gave me a wry look before saying No, I just go out and do it.
He also let it be known that he'd sign books and memorabilia for students until the cows came home and then some as, he says, he prefers to meet students.
Yours Truly is always surprised when people at receptions approach writers to sign books and they don't speak to the author, as if the signature is really the most important thing, not sharing a thought.
Also, people seem to approach authors with closed books, and no pens.
Then there is the awkward scramble to find the correct page, and a nearby pen.
YT didn't stay for talk but forged ahead to a b-day dinner (Yes, the celebrations continue - hooray) with Brucey and meeting out some ladies at venerable Nietzsche's where YT caught up with, amongst others, Michael Meldrum.
YT noted that MM carries around a copy of the photo of him and the very young Ani.
We all have our pride, mementos, and fandom.

Onwards to art openings featuring work by two pals - Cynnie and Catherine.
Both conveniently located on historical Allen Street.

Artful Love of Fanfare.

Debate About Debates: A Short Play by Nancy J. Parisi

Setting: Campieri's/888 Main Street, Middling City, USA. 2008.
An MC-esque congenial barroom setting with people gathered for spectator sport - hockey, to be followed by the ultimate presidential candidate debate.
There are, on the bartop, some platters of wings, pizza, some drinks.
DanC, proprietor, is in & out of the kitchen, commenting all the while about the proceedings.
He has presented the creator of this short play a bottle of birthday wine.
He is thoughtful, and tattooed.
An indiscreet subtext of this play is that during cajoling AJ, barkeep, to put the debate on pronto as the hockey clock ticks down, Yours Truly is also cajoling DanC to participate in the Shiney Happy Mag's Eligible feature that YT is working on.
He says yes, he says no, he says maybe.
YT tells him that he is indeed participating and that she will interview him, and then photograph him. Details of such are hashed out. Somewhat.

Hockey Fans:
YAYYYYY.

Debate Fans: (YT, Liz, LittleLaura, MKO)
How many SECONDS left in this game. OH NO, another penalty.
(finally)
10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 ~ AJ put on the debate.

AJ:
There's only ONE Sabres game and there are so many debates - they're like relationships, there's nothing left to say.

YT:
Nonsense, there are always additional issues to be discussed.

(Sabres fans are still cavorting, much to the chagrin of the debate watchers.)

MKO:
Omigosh, he just mentioned Joe Plumber again.

YT:
(Looking at iPhone) I just got a text from Deb, she says she's going to be Joe Plumber for Halloween. I think I'll be Joe Sixpack, even though I don't drink beer.

Liz:
I'll be Joe Blow.

(Discussion ensues about how best to accomplish Halloween McCain Conceptual Goals.)

(DanC puts down a plate of his bbq wings in front of Jeffrey, who has just arrived.
DanC says this is his food but it seems it was made for Jeffrey, who offers YT a wing.
In the spirit of camaraderie and such, YT eats one wing.)

Jeffrey:
Dan, Nancy needs napkins.

YT:
Why am I ALWAYS the sloppiest eater in the room.

Debate is winding down and Liz and YT begin to attempt to quiet the remaining Sabres fans, who have the wild-eyed looked of victorious fans who've been imbibing since 6:45 p.m. - it is approximately 10:20 p.m.

Liz: (to very boozed-up lady sitting under television)
We're TRYING to HEAR this.

BUL:
WHO ARE YOU ALL VOTING FOR.

YT: (while gazing intently at handsome, more presidential face of Obama)
We were quiet during the Sabres game for you.
(which, when you recall the decibel levels of the fans is rather ridiculous but it gets the reaction intended ... BUL stops mid-word and turns to her fellow fans.)

Obama is last to speak (McCain won the coin toss) and ends on a high note, a soaring speech as Liz, YT, and MKO hold hands (LL left mid-debate to the boos and hisses of YT).

Liz/YT/MKO: (upon Obama's conclusion)
HOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

YT:
I just got a text from Deb, she says HHHHHHHHOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY, too.

Half the bar at 888 clinks glasses.
Half the bar has already done their clinking.

Everyone is happy.
Debate fans leave bar, and at door turn to AJ to query.

Liz/YT/MKO:
NEWELL IS RUNNING FOR MAYOR IN '09?

YT:
The Middling City NEEDS a mayor unafraid of wearing a headband.

Curtain.

Yours Truly committed an oonsie-boonsie federal crime today.
Kindly stop reading if You happen to be the Postmaster General, a Republican toastmaster bigwig, or perhaps an F.B.I. staffer.
I explicate.
YT's parents happen to be Republicans. She knows of one other, Kennergy.
Kennergy's mail arrived today and YT, eagle-eyed as she is, spotted this return address: John McCain.
And the front of the envelope indicated it was regarding an emergency.
YT ripped open the envelope as quick as her little partisan fingers vote along partisan lines in the polling booth.
Here was a letter from thee McCain, talking about his grassroots effort, the money that Obama did not take from The People (albeit his grassroots supporters), and an urgency.
My heart was inflated to its limits.
He's acknowledging his struggle.
And seconds ago YT also heard that Obama's lead is estimated at 14%.
YT speculated that this was not a real signature but, recalling McCain is a leftie (in stiff hand only), it appears it could be an automatic signaturus veritas.
O, he does address the intended Republican (as opposed to a blue pilferer) as Friend.
Friend is used again in the body of the letter.
YT feels her presidential election year prayer has been answered.

Read aloud, and repeat often.
O God, if there is one, (and I always stipulate that god here is the Life force, not the partisan one trotted out to step on the civil rights of others) please let Obama win.

Onwards.
Love of mail snatching, when appropriate.

Yours Truly owned a hat much like this one (pictured above in the likeness of Christopher Columbus) in the 80s, when just about every self-respecting club-goer had on a hat, maybe some gloves, some boots made for dancing, and perhaps some asymmetrical hair.
It appears that Columbus - thee Columbus - has asymmetrical hair.
Not to mention a dourness that could melt paint off a masthead.
Columbus shoved off his own coast on the ocean blue and, some say, got all confused by the Bermuda Triangle - as well as spicelust - and he went off the charts to land upon the craggy shores of North America.
The rest, as they say, is history.
And a very complicated one that leads to today, the era of devices, imbued in the results of longstanding greed, and the ill effects of plastics.
Of course the heinous treatment of Native Americans of all tribes and colours falls under #2.

On a lighter note, here are some images from the birthday fete of Yours Truly, co-hosted by Cheryl and Liz on the 9th.
Liz made one of her famed punches that packs same, Heady made a carrot cake that was the d/creamiest ever, and the bon vivantness was over the top.
A good party is like cathartic performance art, I am wont to say.
As Yours Truly snapped some via the efficiently micro-mini Leica attendees noted that what had just been snapped was oso not to be published in a farflung manner.
As if epinw is one of those Plumbing the Depths blogs fercrissakes.
I decreed that I was being censored, before seeing any results of pixel pushing, and that my first amendment rights were being infringed upon.
Here is but a smattering.
YT + the Co-Hostesses. YT + Leah and Surprise Guest Dusty (aka Jodi, who jetted in from sunnier lands), and a sample platter from some of the cheese offerings.





Love of History (world, and personal, not in that order), and Cheese.

One Perfect day, as is annual custom.
For today is the birth anniversary of John, and that of Kerly, and K-T.
And tomorrow is the anniversary of the 10/10 that I popped out in the Middling City, having a look around, and then a hearty wail before embarking on a life on the artful, golden path.
Your homework assignment:
Watch this vid, then write a short essay (200 words) about one of the following:
1. Benefits and downfalls of an all-white interior.
2. Owning the world's most Perfect nose.
3. Romanticism in such famed and departed males as John Lennon, Robert Creeley, John Donne, and Paul Newman. In that order.
4. Benefits and downfalls of living in the Shiney Apple.
5. Pulling off the headband, as in making it look chic rather than doofy - not yanking it off a pal's head in a helpful flash.

Today had two gigs in two different hospitals, one mainly for adults, one mainly for children.
So if You are ever thinking You are having a bad freaking day, think of small children in sterile (hopefully) rooms with small i.v.'s taped to boards to their little arms.

Onwards to a party held in the honour of Yours Truly at chez Liz.
Time to make, do, and Veuve.

VC and BD Love.

Ahh, the yin & yang of a Perfectly balanced weekend full of gigs, hijinx, and Nature.

It all more or less began with some deliveries of happy pixel packages (HPP's to those oso in the know), and a gig featuring String Trio of New York at the Middling City's venerable hallowed hall of the visual, aural, and oenophilic - I write of course of Albright-Knox Art Gallery.
Got a posse out to watch and listen and then supped and imbibed with the trio et al.
Saturday was, amongst other things, documentation of a gala and then points beyond.
Found myself traipsing about visiting people in various venues but not 888 which has had its doors closed due to some legal/mail snafu.
Enjoyed some cava at Wine Thief, a joint that is not full of the best feng shui energies as the bar seems to be facing the wrong direction, and is also too small.
Image numero uno shows LittleLaura pointing to a motorcycle tricked out with Poo(r) Boys stickers. They are a blues outfit and Yours Truly and LL years ago altered their bandvan to read Poo Boys.
Evidence of this hangs on a wall not too far from where this blogposting is taking place, and for that YT is oso proud.
You'd think that after all these years the band would invest in some real paint, not 59¢ lettering.
Other image shows Nature in all its October finery, what those in TX would gleefully refer to as Fall Cuhl-erz.
This image was gleaned from a lightly-traversed bridge over some creek near Niagara County and Erie County's border.
In my haste to chase some Nature Art YT left her car door wide open when the cam was snatched from its spot in the back of the vehicle.
And some cranky lady had to call it to the attention of YT.
She shrilly told me of it. As if it was blocking the entire bridge.
But I did appreciate, somewhat, the helpful hint.
This was also made en route to pick up the artwork that hung in the Kenan Center's latest exhibition, Feasting Eyes, curated by beloved Jerry Mead.
Upon arriving LL and I wandered the grounds of the historic joint, sniffing the plants in the herb garden to our hearts's content.
The ladies guarding the front desk let me lift the artwork off the walls and I asked if they'd like to see some i.d. to know that I was in fact who I am.
They said no.
And then they both stated how much they'd enjoyed looking at my paintings.
I then thought they might think I was a painter and not a photon catcher but then just supposed that they could not see the diff between grain under glass and brushstrokes and left it at that.
And off we sped.
That night Heady created a fab Indian dinner that was all that cuisine offers: spice, lentil, protein, more spice, ginger, cardamom and oso much Perfect more.
Time to get ready for a gig alongside the waters of this October-drenched place before The Debate when YT will be hunkered down with like-mindeds to kibbutz, and armchair quarterback, and pundit.
YT also attempted some proselytizing, sending along an Obama-made vid about McCain's proximity to the S&L bad man of the 80's and 90's - Keating.
Sent it to 1 on the Red Team, as well as others on the Blue, and one on the fence methinks.

Blue blue Love.

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

Pixel dust love, Love.

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

Love of jangly rollicking poesie.

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

October Love.

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

Onwards.

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

Skyhigh throwback Love.

Big Lot/Not in parking space indeed.
This is a portion of parking ticket dropped on windshield last week.
I appealed this $10 ticket on principle as Yours Truly arrived on a gig to see several overzealous safety officers waiting around to direct unsuspecting visitors to a lot far from the action at hand.
But, YT stated, I'm trying to get to X and you're directing me to Y.
They said Oh, well, everyone is gathering first in Z Hall.
And then I knew that this could be filed under P for Poopy Misinformation.
The event was rather far away I was orange safety-coned into a near lot.
So, after parking, thought No, this is ridiculous and drove back to the overzealous crew, explaining that I needed to travel around the ring road in front of me.
This was a delay. And in the delay minutes are passing and an event is about to happen.
So, driving to near the action-to-be see a crowd of folks milling about waiting for the starting gun so to speak.
Left the car in a gigantic and empty lot and trotted off to the gig.
Upon returning this puzzling ticket.
Now in appeal, the court of higher learning's traffic bureau, YT presumes.
This the same week the Empire State decided that, in addition to paying a speeding ticket up in Ontario (NB: people were PASSING me on the QEW, notorious for truckers who would like nothing more than to drive up the back of one's automobile, and drivers driving like they're outrunning a natural disaster. But, alas, it was my short time in the Unlucky Zone.), I should also be shaken down for an additional $300 - a driver assessment blah-blah.
I thought it was time to renew the driver license but, nope, it was an assessment.
YT is not entirely sure who did the assessing, but assess they did.
There is only one price to be paid, $300, for any infraction.
There is a choice - $100 for 3 years, or one lump sum.

Shiney Happy Mag came out and happy to report that my Pulitzer-ready piece on travels to both Northampton, MA and to Europe are in, with an assembly of YT-provided images. Sans captions, for whatever reason.
So nobody now knows that Dorota is holding the French version of a shot and a beer (the kir royale), or that the painting shown is in Amsterdam's Rijksmuseum, Festoon of Fruits and Flowers.

Lesson: sometimes the Universe throws up explications, and assessments. Othertimes it does not. It is up to You to reassess when necessary, and smile all the while.

Assessed, Love.