Finally a call from recuperating Lead Boy Colleague, who phoned as I was about to be hit upon by the fat-headed, RayBanned Canadian border patrolman. I says to LBC, call back and then *poof* I was outta range for the next 8 freakin', unbearable, no-cell hours.
Patrolman: You an artist.
Yours Truly: Yes.
PM: What kind of art.
YT: Photographer.
PM: Have a CAMERA in there?
YT: Um, nope.
PM: What if something happens.
YT: (pause... thought of cleaning up salty tongue) Well then, I guess I'll just be out of luck then. No, I'll SKETCH something.
PM: Eww, I love beautiful, multi-talented women. Would you take my picture.
YT: Would your family buy it.
PM: No, probably not.
YT: Well then, Cliff, let me proceed along to exchange my dollars for doe-lerz and be on my way.

And then on way back:
YT: A box of crackers. (to query on American side from crimson-faced codger in the bigshot/security/First Line of Defense boof)
CFC: Crackers.
YT: Yes, crackers.
CFC: (pointing back to stopsign I apparently breezed through) That octogon is a stop sign, we don't want you sending any pedestrians to the (note article, we are back in the ol' USofA. To non-Middling City people - Canadians are articleless in ref to institutions. Example: We Don't want you sending any pedestrians to hospital.) hospital.
YT: (paint melt stare)
CFC: ID please. And open up the back window.
(time elapses)
CFC: Open up the back hatch.
(closing hatch he comes back to my window, hands me driver license)
And get yourself a CLASSY bumper sticker.
YT: Funny, that's what my father said.

*Thanks Rio and Ron for getting me so in trouble with the border authority.

Last night's Buffalo Conversation 3 gig had an odd snare when a producer from the television station had had enough of seeing my illustriousness on camera, stating this thusly
YOU are in too many shots, move back to here (leading YT to an outer ring).
Fine.
Then, as luck would have it I was featured prominently in the next several shots. Much, I'm sure, to the chagrin of Mr. Producer.
Smoke may follow beauty but television cameras follow rascals.

Rascally Love.

PostScript:
I am more saddened by the loss of Ray Charles, a man who filled my ears with beautiful voice and music, than that of the 40th U.S. President who I protested and abhorred vehemently a few decades ago.