This is abso-freakin-lootly my fav image that I crafted during the Saint Patrick march down Delaware Avenue this past Sunday, which Yours Truly watched with pals Jen, Jamal, Sherry, Annie, Alan, and Liz.
Sadly, YT was only armed with a cam and a dream, no silly string.
This parade can be oso much more, have another dimension, when there is a can of day-glo green silly string to be squirted in madcap high-five fashion.

Today is Saint Joseph's Day so therefore a call was made to YT's pops - my main Joe.
After a schmmmooozzee for pro photogs, off to a Saint Joseph feast at 888.

Viva San Giuseppe Love.

Yonder image is art, an ongoing series of found numbers of note.
10 being one of the magic numbers.
10/10 being the day of my emergence.

Yours Truly is oso elated as Shepard Fairey has become an art star.
YT met Fairey on the dark and historical streets of SoHo one late night on the way back to the Broome Street loft and talked about his work as he was busy wheatpasting Andre the Giant posters on late night walls.
At that time he gave me two Andre the Giant posters and a handful of stickers.
And who, You ask, is Shepard Fairey.
Well, I shall tell you.
He is thee artist who created the Obama Change/Yes We Can/Yes We Did portrait in reds and blues.
He also has a retro in Boston at Institute of Contemporary Art.
His work has aura, as does he.
Something a starspotter such as YT could tell all those years ago on the SoHo streets.
Yee ha.


Fairey/Andre Love.

Yours Truly has been enjoying the local transpo.
For that is where you actually talk to denizens; in a taxi you get the often-skewed landscape observations of the cabbie.
The 720 has been a trip fav of YT, a good solid all-purpose bus.
Met a security man from the Getty Center waiting outside the Getty and talked with him and a gang of 20-somethings.
I forgot to ask for a transfer, or did not know that I would be needing a transfer, so the nice Getty security man gave YT a token, Compliments of the Getty, he said.
The bus wended through UCLA, through Westwood District, then at my intersection of Change noted the Armand Hammer collection so perambulated through there.
Where some two-story high bamboo was observed.
A triumph.
Yesterday bussed to Culver City from Beverly Hills (where Little Laura and I rest our end-of-night weary heads) and saw the Thomas Beale show (image at toppermost, my fav of the show) at Kinsey-DesForges.
Another triumph.
Absolutely delightfully constructed and joined pieces of shell and wood.
He's the genius behind Honey Space in Chelsea so had to visit this show.
The other galleries were so bizarrely all over the arts charts - some really jawdroppingly awful undergrad-style painting, some wondrous paintings, an artist who loves John perhaps as much as YT and entitled his show I Am the Walrus.
Inquired as to the price of one of his pieces made from the distinguishable popular port of John with added googly eyes.
Size: 8x10.
Price: Four thousand five hundred, the gallery girl stated.
Reaction: Oh.
∞
Today back to the Museum of Tolerance as yesterday they would not tolerate one single more human in their large space.
So back to the street and the bus and the map.
A fellow bus rider day numero uno instructed me about the joys of 1-800-COMMUTE here and when you phone a nice lady listens to where in hell you desire to go and your preferred arrival time. Then, miraculously, she tells you your buses, times, everything.
Coming from the Middling City this is a marvel.

Today will be seeing Jodi at Museum of Contemporary Art.
Yesterday night ended the night at Viper Room, a small dark hovel where a hiphop band was taking the corner bar, and barworkers were oso friendly.
And, most importantly, the doorman, Dave, let me and Little Laura in pro bono as his guests, stamping our wrists and opening the special side door, really the front door on Sunset.
Tonight more fine dining, more adventure.

Adventured Love.

+ +
Stuffed alligator in the Beverly Hills showroom front windows of Nieman Marcus.
Gate 1 in Culver City, that curious industrial, wide boulevard string of good and bad.

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.