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.

It is Monday.
It is September.
And it is the 22nd.
Am I in TO with Little Laura.
No.
And why.
O, because Sigur Ros (that'd be translated from Icelandic as Victory Rose, as Yours Truly is fluent not only in French, but Icelandic) tix sold out at Ye Old Opry House up there.
Driving two hours, parking, to discover one cannot scalp tix is a bummer.
We are consoling ourselves with the notion that we will be at a Middling City show, Iron and Wine, at Babeville, instead.
As if.
SR's ethereal tune Untitled 4 spins out into the atmosphere and YT is awash at dusk in a feeling of big musical ops not stopping on the 190 as of late.
Neil did not stop on this tour - a first-time travesty.
Onwards.
And what, do tell, You query, is that image up up and away.
Another gem from the ever ongoing Accidental Frame Series.
This one made during Friday, the day of making images of thee AMA prez, NNielsen.
This made as I dove into action, well not quite into action, at Buffalo Club, that venerable hall of wood and history, for sub-gig #3.
As YT moved through the room the ol' sidearm fired off this frame, much to the surprise of the seated, manicured lady in the leather sedan of a chair.
Onwards I drifted.
Those who hired YT were on their own missions to acquire a scallop wrapped in bacon for me. It was a good plan. It did not transpire. And that was acceptable.
That verysame evening was Curtain Up!, a night of theatre good times and general hijinx.
Met members of SGB out at 888 and had a few.
Dan C came over with a present of a nice viognier, matching that which we'd already enjoyed.
Onwards we sped.
Here are two of the MC's best, most legendary femme barkeeps: below 1 is much-missed Marie K formerly of way-missed Flynn's, and below 2 is Nancy G of Nitzy's in the Allentown thick of things.
And, bien sur, is a nice snap of members of SGB who will still out traipsing, and before we spied Mish by the stage.
We are a happy bunch, captured by Bob.
Onwards to more making, more doing.

Love of Onwards.






++ this just in.
Thought I'd bestest shouldest share this very short play.
Entitled Segment Play: Nancy Thinks She Should Buy a Chair & Ottoman for Some Strange Reason.
Me: (finishing thought, looking at velour chair and ottoman, absentmindedly speaking, ignoring pesky saleslady) ... to put it on top of my Impreza.
Lady: (eyes as wide as salad plates) You ... want ... to ... take ... it ... now?

Oh, if you were listening to venerable-as-hell 97 Rock this morning and suddenly heard The Archies's Sugar, Sugar is was way thanks to Yours Truly.
Frequently a listener, I heard that today was Pay & Play with proceeds benefiting Make-a-Wish Foundation.
So, for $50 (matched by Independent Health) YT and the entire Middling City got to hear Sugar, Sugar (a Perfect jubilant tune along with Cherry, Cherry - must be something to the rreeppeeaatt), way off their well-charted rock classique agenda.
I put in the pledge, gave my cc numbers, and then about an hour later I got a call from thee Larry Norton who said he wanted to put me on the air making my request.
There was much laughter and as we were ending our phonecharityLove I said Aw HONEY HONEY and he made another huge laugh burst.
Afterward, he said to 97 Rockers not to adjust their radios and that the entire staff had not been fired again, it was just a charitable gesture via their pal Nance.

Onwards to create pixels south of the MC.

Charitable Love.

Oh, if you were listening to venerable-as-hell 97 Rock this morning and suddenly heard The Archies's Sugar, Sugar is was way thanks to Yours Truly.
Frequently a listener, I heard that today was Pay & Play with proceeds benefiting Make-a-Wish Foundation.
So, for $50 (matched by Independent Health) YT and the entire Middling City got to hear Sugar, Sugar (a Perfect jubilant tune along with Cherry, Cherry - must be something to the rreeppeeaatt), way off their well-charted rock classique agenda.
I put in the pledge, gave my cc numbers, and then about an hour later I got a call from thee Larry Norton who said he wanted to put me on the air making my request.
There was much laughter and as we were ending our phonecharityLove I said Aw HONEY HONEY and he made another huge laugh burst.
Afterward, he said to 97 Rockers not to adjust their radios and that the entire staff had not been fired again, it was just a charitable gesture via their pal Nance.

Onwards to create pixels south of the MC.

Charitable Love.

This to date is my favoured image that I've made of the Middling City's venerable Albright-Knox Art Gallery, and it's been kicking around the desktop for months.
Heard the name of the artist who made the blueman group blue sculpture along its northern side and it is a lovely addition to the gallery's landscape.
Bought a piece of art from the Members' Gallery and I'll be god-danged if I can get them to return my call to go and cash and carry.

Was just watching a FB pal's vid about the Central Terminal just as Mr. Bojangles - by Neil, via Pandora - began to warble out of the MacB Pro and Yours Truly thought What a peculiar soundtrack to this vid. I just don't get it, kind of sadsack tune, sadsack images of the beat-down CT but still.
And then clarity kicked in.
Had a gig this fine morn and then was asked by another person who hadn't hired me for some emailed images - which were sent off pronto.
And then But there weren't any of so&so, and so&so.
So YT had to reply that the people who'd hired me had very specific needs and those were met with aplomb.
One of those freelancer moments.
Just got back the 4x6s from J&G's wedding this past weekend. Had two of them printed as 8x10s and black & white and they look gorgeous.
Bought a silver frame and will be sending these along.
In addition to the registry's Spode x-l teapot.
My statement I just can't get behind the gravy boat (stated at Justy's roast/stage a few weeks ago) made it to the walls of Boat, the hangout in B'Lyn.
Scrawled by Bartoo.
I couldn't get excited about buying my pals a gravy boat fercrissakes, no matter its dollar amount.
Then I decided I could honour their wish for a very very large (2 quart) teapot as a proponent of caffeine.

Yesterday I was stuck behind a wall of a van on one of the MC's expressways and was treated to this message wiped into the vehicle's dirt.
IM DuKeY MaN.
I liked how this child mixed lower and upper case letters and how he/she spelled dookie. Imparting a certain regality to it.

Regal, fingered Love.

You know how some dogs before they lay down go around and around first.
Well, that's me in my life.
So just said a guy sitting one booth over in famed Middling City diner Amy's Place where Yours Truly is multi-tasking, as usual.
Editing and pixel pushing, sipping coffee, picking tomatoes out of my lunch, and eavesdropping.
This guy just said this to a woman and they are either on a really miserable date, having an informal therapy session, or she is his thesis adviser.
She was also saying things like I can explain this but I need you to say something substantive.
Just made portraits of a man who has a cubicle. One of those archetypal gray cubicles that is not decorated.
Propped up the moment, bounced some nice light and voilà - interesting locale.
More or less.
Then made some more ports outdoors under a ragingly vibrant early autumn sky as only the Middling City can muster.
Marveled at the account of Damien Hirst's Sotheby's auction yesterday, ironically the day a major banking institution hit the skids.
Hirst personifies Audacious. His sales were just over $127Million.

Sharks, diamonds, skulls, flowers, butterflies.
A magical, conjuring Art grab bag of iconography that YT will have to mine oso soon for Creativity's sake.

Grab Love, Bag Love.

If You guess that Rome, some ancient gymnasium of some sort, is the source, the situ of these murals, you would be off by maybe 3K miles for these are to be seen in thee late Ilio DiPaolo's restaurant in Blasdell, New York.
Yours Truly was there during several stops with an Empire State Senator who YT was hired to make images of last Thursday, via a Shiney Apple operation I've worked for before.
So there YT is in Ilio's joint, stopping dead in tracks when I saw the triptych: Ilio taking down a man, perhaps in airplane spin; Ilio looking contemplative, in shorts, and chest hair; and Ilio wrassling another foe to the ground.
I looked at the photographic likeness and then at Ilio's son, Dennis, who was working on setting up some props for the senatorial shoot.
To and fro and YT said, Wow, you look just like your dad.
The Senator, and the Wrestler's son, said NO, Ilio had HUGE hands. Hands like this (as they drew outlines of hands about three inches larger than their own hands).
So there Ilio is, wrestling the years away.
And then, as only sports celebs can, he parlayed that into Business.
Dennis fed me and the rest of the crew some of his wares.
Some of the crew was from the Shiney Apple and they were so digging on the wings put out.
YT corrected them when they said things like I really like Buffalo wings.
We're in Buffalo, I offered helpfully, you can just say wings.

Here is another image from the day's imagistic haul:
Another for the Accidental Frames Series.
It's the Senator.
This one did not get FedEx'd off to the Shiney Apple.



Love of Accidental Zen, and Purposeful.

Justy's wedding to Gretchen was teeming with Nature as they were married outdoors in cutting gardens at Mohonk Mountain House, expansive Victorian hotel/castle built on ledges of large rock formations at jaunty angles.
As is customary, it was an assemblage of old and new friends, and families. Tossed into a social situ. As the MMH is Quaker, no alcoholic bevvies are served upstairs and Yours Truly was scolded for carrying a glass of water into what appeared to be a large and empty dining room. This is a room for reflection and spiritual gatherings, YT was told, and therefore no food or beverages are permitted. Other rooms were alright, as was the veranda, but water is not permitted in that one room.
So YT slunked off with water back to the veranda with one of the Jens.
And yes, oatmeal was served at the breakfast buffet - I'd wondered if it would be as oats has Quaker, usually, written all over it, with graphic of that Santa-looking Quaker.
It was fab to see the Brooklyn/Boat crew all in one spot, as well as Justy's fam members.
Some were on first dates, some were discreetly self-medicating, some were reconnecting, some were casually networking.
Downstairs, in the dining room (obviously not a spot for gathering for spiritual purposes) we were allowed to have adult drinks.
Justy is happy, Gretchen is happy, and hopes that all stays that way for a long time.
These are two images made by YT (Justy wished me to be a guest, and not have to work and I do hope they receive snap-happy images from their hired photog) yesterday, documenting Big Love.

Big Love Love.

Drove six or so hours in driving rain to arrive in New Paltz, with Heady, for Justy's wedding day.
Just kayaked about the lake, in a ravine surrounded by the Maine aroma of pines.
In an hour will be all gussied up in cocktail dress and spiky heels that Yours Truly has realized was, quite possibly, not the best shoe choice for an outdoor wedding to take place - the true nuptials - on damp grass.
Last night, upon our arrival, ditched the auto and headed into a wine bar.
Then onwards to another, with promising name, Bacchus. Despite its name its wine offerings were marginal and it was time to text Justy to announce the arrival.
So off we drove to meet up with the gang at Le Fevre B&B where we discovered that the assembled had just broken a teak table to bits some how.
Hobnobbed for quite some time until the pending groom slid off to his room, and there was discussion of hot tubbing.
Yours Truly pronounced that this was probably a very terrible idea.
And when inside the B&B searching aimlessly for a WC as I admired the decor, ran into EvaW of way-early Artvoice days. I didn't recognize her at first and when she said HiNancy I just kind of smiled and warbled out a hello.
Onwards we drove up the dark and winding road to Mohonk and, just as I did a few days ago, found myself (and of course YT was minding her own business) driving up a pathway not intended for cars.
A few days ago, on a Shiney Apple gig, drove up a bike path as wide as my vehicle until I asked my co-driver, Jocelyn, if this was in fact a road or bikepath.
Last night Heady and I circled about looking for a P Lot, or a valet person.
Circling around some plantings, the spa, what appeared to be a reception area.
I was just about to ditch the car alongside this historic Victorian building, tuck it into a little shady corner, when suddenly there were two Mohonk Mountain House employees ready to take the car away from us.
It was like our own little privee Indy 50.
Today Nephew and his bandmates perform at Albright-Knox Art G and for that his Auntie is swelling with pride.
Time to transform from champeen kayak lady to over-heeled wedding guest, with cam.

Love of Adventure.

One of the weekend highlights was dancing to the powerful strains of Wipeout coming over Hoyt Lake, snaking up the bike path walkway, and up the curly-q bridge to where Laura and I were walking across, with umbrellas.
I shouted Laura, you know how much I love this song ... and danced atop the bridge, enraptured - as always - with the song's raucous jubilance.
Even if performed sans drum solo, as was this Surf Daddies rendition.
Great guys, know them, but no Wipeout solo.

Minding my own business, as is my diurnal wont, situated my own self in the BigU's Stobba (my new special easy name for Starbucks) to edit&burn.
Next to a guy just lost in thought, staring out the window.
Thought the weight of the world sat on the bridge of his nose.
Girlfriend pregnant. Primary Day worries (hey, go vote. now.). Bombed an exam.
Who knows.
But suddenly he looked over and then rustled his own self together and left.
Yours Truly did not realize that her little earbud plug was not fully pushed into the MacBPro so everyone in my vicinity was being treated to Band of Horses.
A grand thing.
Quickly I meliorated that situ but Mr. Weighty left.
And behind me, as Pandora was firing up, I heard some unbearable corporatespeak behind me. A phrase that I do not wish to spread along.
Another guy near me has a mac with the shiney happy screen and YT is oso glad to not have that model, extra contrast or not.
We photogs prefer an E surface.

Time for edits and making pixel magic.

YT Voting for Love, Love.

++ And happiest birthday to one of my big Loves, Rio, today.
And always.

In honour of Dorota's birthday (today), here is a found image on the laptop from one of our Euro-forays, entitled "Bad Haircut and Mona Lisa."
This was past the days when mousse was a necessary tool in the beauty kits of all genres of party people, so not sure what transpired in this person's WC that morn.

Dorota and I met out last night after conversing several times over the weekend.
It all began with a strong feeling that I must call her. And voilà, she was in the Middling City. We had some nice white, and toasted with some dry champ at midnight.
Rio's b-day is Tuesday ... her 9/9 to my 10/10.

Today, amongst other things, shot a wedding at the MC's venerable Kleinhans Music Hall and a grifter drifted in, replete with oversized carpetbag.
She was bounced and followed and apprehended.
Upon bag inspection it was discovered that she had two large knives in there.

Love of birthday happiness.

The jury is still out, discussing, and reading through mags whilst deliberating the ultra-new, yet-to-be-released Ani release, gifted to YT via MaryB last night at The Pub.
More about this later.
One track should/could become an anthem calling for young girls to skip insecurities and move along to power and love of self, as-is.

Little Laura and I found ourselves last night in one of several bar tents at the edge of Hoyt Lake in the midst of sadly dissected Delaware Park (by the 198, of course, way back when for handy E-W accessibility) at Party for the Parks.
The party began at 6. We arrived at 8:30 to discover, in the misty rain, that there were no remaining snacks, save for a pile of pre-packed rice pudding, unchilled.
The Shiney Happy had given YT comps for a pair and we still needed to purchase the ol' drink tix for sipping.
Hence, the bar tent. And then the mist became a deluge so we were invited into the tent by volunteers and met them all. Two were from East Amherst, which was a pleasant surprise, as it seems typical that urban volunteers are urban denizens.
After the rain let up I retrieved our umbrellas that I'd stashed in a handy bush up the staircase and we split back to where we'd begun our journey, Kennedy's driveway.
From there we experimentally traipsed over to Sportsmen's and were greeted by a wall of fishfry aroma, and no band, so we motored along to The Pub which was, as is its wont, highly entertaining.
One guy refused to buy Bad Penny a drink, which she was angling for after the guy had bumped into YT.
As is her specialty, Bad Penny parlayed this into an excellent self-op but the guy would not budge from his stance that he was like so not buying her a drink as he was on a budget – buying himself his own drinks after he'd purchased narcotics.
What type of narcotics, YT queried.
He looked YT over.
Cocaine, he stated, and then we all went about our own rollicking businesses.

YT has been amiss in not posting a scan of a sketch of a young girl, in Batman mask, hanging out her front door in the Historic Old First Ward.
It was a gorgeous Diane Arbus moment and YT absorbed it with eyes as the cam was not at the ready.
There have been several Arbus moments lately.
It is time to make some fresh new inner-city images of the MC – the types of images that gain aura as time progresses.
Like how one cannot appreciate sometimes personal landscapes, documentation of, until time has passed, things changed.

The sky is gray, the greens are lush.
Today YT wears a t-shirt anti-Bush.

Love of bad rhymes.

Self shadowy port with the pictorial bane of my past several months – the orange safety cone.
The Big U is fraught with them and YT has been dragging, shooting around, and cursing them for months.

No love for safety cones.
But love for orange gelato cones, perhaps.

Laboring away this 9/1, flailing away merrily at the ol' laptop, actually listening to discs played on hi-fi rather than little dig files on said machine. Quel difference, it's like so ambient.
Made spectacularly Perfect images at two weddings this weekend, the ultimate being another dual X'n/Hindi affair. Always pleased to recall the Nature-focused aspects of the Hindi service which mentions the planets, stars (the groom points to the Polestar, the big U's constant), elements, love, charity, and more.
The onstage flame seemed to be getting a wee bit out of control, Yours Truly felt her eyebrows growing increasingly toasty. But alas, nothing burnt or melted.

Images above were gleaned for Your consideration from her latest art exhib, Feasting Eyes, at Kenan Center. It's curated by Jerry Mead, is a group show of those of us artistes who like to express ourselves with foodstuffs.
Toppermost is an image of me by Cynnie, alongside Hands with Scary Licorice (in collection of CJ/EC, as well as the Creeleys), and Hands with Hanging Grapes.
NB: red plastic self-proclaimed sippy cup carried in from a Lockport pre-party at Jen's (fellow Shiney Happy writer) home.
Actually, delightedly, walked from her home to Kenan ... a treat in these adrenalized, MC days. Walked the wide streets of Lockport, birthplace of Liz, with Liz and Alan.
Second images shows heads of Cynnie, and Alan. Obviously basking in the joys of my work.
Next is NBelfer, fibre artist, not in show but amongst those who motored northeast for the festivities.
NB again: My work is at top of staircase. YT loves to banister. YT was wearing a skirt. She did not banister and that was a sad and lost op.
Next is funhouse YT in one of the historic and venerable Kenan Center's mirrors.
Mirrors are said to harbor spirits. Somewhere that was said.

Last night, post marathon weekend, picked up Little Laura and found that all vino shoppes were, catastrophically, closed.
In lieu of white wine, picked up a couple of 22's - hers some flavored beer thing, mine a terrifyingly cloying Seagrams Ice. All available for the low, low price of $2.75 at We Never (C)lose, sometimes called We Never Proof.
We wended over to Gordo's garden party, where others of our ilk (though not of our bevvie choices) gathered to say Hello September, etc.
Do note that the green fireworks emanating from YT's head is not that but, rather, the LED's of Gordo's patio-appropriate palm tree.
Lest You wonder.

Onwards to edits.

22-sized Love, Love.

Ahh, another scintillating image from the ongoing Accidental Frame Series, this made in a church yesterday whilst shooting a wedding.
Lens was changed, adjustments were about to be made when kapoof, off shot a frame, a real keeper.
Time to make and do some more this fine and sun-drenched Middling City day.
And Happy Labour Day's Eve to You.

Changed & Adjusted Love.

After a panoply of interesting gigs yesterday and yesternight (sadly, missed a performance of Neil's Sweet Caroline by a UB person in white patent leather shoes - a triumph).
But Yours Truly, ever a fan of the curiosity that is a mascot, had the mascot-in-question's handler make an image of YT and Victor E. Bull.
I think this also happens to small children, but proximity to a mascot usually makes me either want to emphatically embrace the furry thing, or talk quietly into the mesh hole in a slightly quiet, questioning and Awestruck voice. Never stomp on their oversized feet. Never.
Moving right along.
Hickey told me at the gateway to the sidelines (where YT was momentarily captured until another nice boy came and gave me his creds and I was free to move along) that Jay Benfatti of the BN has passed away and, like Russert, was only in his early 50s. Heart went kapoof and off he floated to - I hope - a place of peace and wonderment.
He had a wickely lovely grin that is unforgettable, was an amazing writer, and was a fine bon vivant.
Onwards.
This fine morn YT found herself not entirely minding her own business, but a collective business: of image making & taking, of gifts promised, and ground soon to be broken.
Jack Davis, running for Congress, was at the BigU to present a Big check to the department of Engineering there toward a brand spanking new clean room for their new Engineering Building.
So, after all the photo ops were completed, YT thought to ask a BigU-man to make an image of YT with Mr. Davis.
I asked for one image and he snapped several, and YT thought he might not ever give the cam back.
Here, for Your viewing pleasure, is YT in the early morning hours (rainy) with Mr. Jack Davis, who is quite charismatic and more handsome than his images online and in analog print.


Now, You must study both of the above images.
In which image does YT look more pleased, more comfy, and more telegenic.
Which framemate appears more cuddly, more friendly, and more telegenic.
Write 100 words about this matter and email to:
nancyjparisi@gmail.com
Thank you for Your attention in this matter.
The winner will receive nothing but my sincerest approbations.

And another thing.
One final image, a lovely arboreal image found this morning.
New trees. Well, soon-to-be-planted trees. And YT has forgotten the species but the man told me ... Japanese, round leaves, quite hardy.
Ready for growing.


Last night Laura and I watched The Speech - all 42 minutes - at Aroma.
YT had to insist that Yes, the volume level could be adjusted so that One could hear the danged thing, that YT had watched part of the hockey playoffs there and just knew this to be so.
So Esmerelda twiddled knobs and voilà sound.
Laura and I at about 20 minutes began to say Oooh, this is very long.
YT wished to hold onto all the facts and quotes and it was becoming so difficult.
Fabulous is the word for that speech, and all from memory.
The only glitch, and Deb texted about this just after The Speech, was: What was Michelle Obama thinking. That dress was hideous.
If it was in fact a funky little Betsey Johnson number that just didn't have high telegenic points then that is understandable. But BJ wouldn't work for that type of function anyhoo and the colours were a bit wonky, and the pattern.
Deb, Laura, and I found the dress a highly curious choice.
But not as curious as the veep choice of McCain.
Later about that.

Later alligator, Love.

In the middle of enjoying my self-made Salmon Wellington last evening I announced to Kennedy, Brucey, and Eva These are glorified Hot Pockets.
Pink Pockets, Brucey opined and offered.
The Hot Pink Pockets were served alongside a vegetable dish that I invented, whose ingredients are oso secret.
Dessert was not a danged thing that Yours Truly crafted for who had time to bake and make ice cream and gelato after a cocktail party and before cooking the pockets, I ask You.

Following, an email snippet from one of the editors of YT:

Kevin is a terrific reporter, asked very good questions, and we had a very nice chat. Nancy Pelosi did the photo shoot, and she's excellent, too.
Have a great Labor Day weekend (I will be laboring here, working on another grant due Sept. 15! That's the science biz.)

She sent it along as YT is in sooth the photog in question, but YT did send back to her editor that Nancy Pelosi, based on her smart wardrobe, would make a fine creative type, and photojournalist.
YT was about to make a sweeping generalization about photojournalists and journalists being snappy dressers as they are image makers with keen eyes and a nose for not only news but style, but that would not be a generalization but faux fact.
YT is thinking specifically of a few Middling City television cameramen who dress rather badly. Who are also crab-asses. Who think nothing of giving a still photog a shove when you are nearing their big clunky rig on tripod weighing as much as a small SUV.

YT received a very wonderful text today, from a pal whose wife was recently photographed by YT for his viewing pleasure. I suggested an ensemble purchased at VS, to give You an idea.
They were absolutely stunning.
He said They are breathtaking.

Ever pushing pixels into the realm of the sublime, for viewing pleasure and the like.

Like the sublime, Love.

Above is an image culled from Yours Truly's vast photo archive - analog and digital - from 1990.
This is inside Crash Club, at a private party for Paragon Advertising and, in keeping with an 80s cultural sub-context, there's a Japanese theme.
Think back, if You can, to that era and one of its oddball fashion statements: t-shirts emblazoned with kanji that stated whatever, sleeveless, red and black on white. YT did not own one, having really been to Nippon and having returned with more imaginative shirts from there than those contrivances.

So, there it is, Crash Club in 1990, a private party with a Japanese theme and impresario TonyB (dear friend) is in charge of not only the club but the party's entertainment.
Enter Justy (story's dear friend number two), as The Plum Maiden and performing such for the unsuspecting revelers.
If You look closely You will spot shoulderpadis gigantius, and even a classic Mall Claw.
Justy performed this (in quotes) Dance of the Plum Maiden in slo-mo and YT recalls pondering how long he'd be able to pull off this ersatz traditional dance which seemingly had no end in sight. It ended with a flourish and the onlookers applauded and more warm sake was sipped - and sushi snarfled - by all.

So fast forward to yesterday to Justy's Roast/Stag in East Aurora at Wallenweins Hotel, a biker hang. One with a television mounted up on high in a hole for viewing from the front porch.
YT was the only invited femme and for that I was most honoured.
Justy did say that YT was to be his sole femme groomsman but his pending mother-in-law nixed that ardently.
And there in a big kapoof went my chance to be a groomsman.
YT has been a pallbearer twice, but not a groomsman - yet.
Also in attendance were the following: SteveB, dad, stepdad, bro-in-law, two uncles, and a cousin-in-law who is veep of RBR/Ani's Domain.

As it was all billed as a Roast, YT brought along this photographic likeness which was, miraculously, found amid the millions of images in a record-setting time of nine minutes.
Justy was horrified, much to my surprise and delight.
For that this image may reappear, methinks, as the envelope encasing it went missing off the table on the patio, and there were some YT-made mutterings of a t-shirt to come via my favoured cafepress.com.
Details to follow.

Plum Love.

Last night, whilst leaving the BO Party (that's Best Of party, for Your edification) at Shea's with Annie, spotted a bombus fervidus on Ellicott Street in front of Washington Market, wrongfully situated not on Washington Street one block over.
The bombus fervidus exhibited a complete mortality response so Yours Truly scooped it up and carefully placed it into a Smart Water lid for safe keeping, for art's sake.
Sipped el cheapo champagne and St. Germain with Annie, Liz, Cheryl in Liz's garden, hearing late summer sounds.
YT did like so not slide down the Shea's banister after doing so at last year's BO party and scuffing a black streak onto her left derrierish zone. Damned docents I thought, fercrissakes, this Middling City landmark and all needs to have ultra-clean banisters.
YT, for the absolute record, has never met a banister that she did not only like, but slide down upon.
YT discovered that Band of Horses is having a western tour and YT is formulating a plan to jet out there to perhaps see them, and visit a nearby pal.
And photograph some flora and fauna out in the wild west.
It has been oso long since YT has sniffed in the air of the wild west.
YT loves westerns.
YT does not love western omelets.
And on that sunny, sonorous, and chunky note.

Love of art and the bombus fervidus, harbinger of Green.

Ever a fan of candy necklaces, as well as teaching youngsters how to transform them into friendly, sugar-coated weapons, was thrilled to see this specimen hanging at a gas station.
Perhaps in Amherst, where this image was made, communal candy weapons are oso trad.
In addition to sending off the latest piece to the Shiney Happy Mag, had a great photo shoot and did some fine multi-tasking.
During pedi, not only edited three gigs, but watched the tail-end of some Olympics spectacle involving men running in whispers of jerseys that hearkened back to the first Olympiads when runners ran nude and such, but then watched the beginning of a horrid Wesley Snipes movie that involved action in another foreign land although much more violent.
Death and crime as entertainment I am proud to say I do not understand.

Candy Necklaces, Love.

+ this just in.
One more from the good ol' hazmat drill

Mere days ago Yours Truly was minding her own business.
Actually, minding mine own business is on the diurnal, eternal, to-do list.
I was on an assignment for the BigU and on the docket was this: (paraphrased) Get images (well, of freakin' course) of hazmat drill.
This assignment was like, more or less, the one of yore where YT was on the faux-situ of the BigU's reactor and its drill.
When YT was squatting on the ground to get a photo id of a lady on a stretcher, with light blue eyeshadow rings around both eyes. Excuse me, excuse me until finally she, perhaps slightly exasperated as she was being dragged out or away from her Method Acting as she'd been out of the reactor, said I'm supposed to be DEAD.
So, there YT was on the job.
Directive was the building.
Drill. Building.
YT, with a nice nose for news, sniffed out where the action was, landing right outside a door of a lab.
This lab is where there was a spill.
And the emergency workers were quickly deducing that this spill or disaster or mix-up or melt-down was of the bio-hazard or chemical or cultural variety.
So.
Then.
That's.
When.
The.
Drama.
Started.
The Big U's director of said disasters of the hazmat variety, very clearly revved up about the proceedings, took note of me on my assignment and told me that I was not - NOT - to go inside the lab.
Up in cultural, debacled flames went my previsualizations of images of the firemen, the man in the Kevlar© suit attending to The Victim.
THIS IS A MATTER OF HOMELAND SECURITY, said Mr. Rev, pointing his tense finger at my chest, or at my cam.
I assured him that his pointing and behaviour was not necessary, that I'd been sent there by the very U where we stood.
He said he would take my digital images and I assured him that he would not.
And that I would not make another image of the proceedings in the hallway and would not go into the lab.
That I'd be waiting outdoors for The Victim to be carried to whomever would be waiting to spirit him away to god only knows where.
So this image shows the proceedings before the notion of state of Homeland Security and all was mentioned and then moments later YT photographed The Victim gurneyside.
The fire department had erected two portable scrubbing kiddy pools and, before The Victim arrived on the scene, they left with their pools and metal folding chairs.
I asked a fireman why.
They said that the victim had been tidied up inside the lab.
But the kiddy pools were for the firemen so I presume they got a sprinkle of the detoxing liquid during the drill.
I did ask another fireman what happens to the liquids inside the kiddy pools, of course thinking of Steve Kurtz and the scrubbed-off chems on College at Maryland on the Middling City's west side.
Blank stare.
So YT presumes that the liquid might just get dumped out onto the ground as there's no way to suck up the chems and all, at least during casual inspection.

And another thing.
Obama picked ten supporters to be with him backstage in Denver and YT was like so not chosen.
I was not chosen to dine with him, not for the convention.
Not only would YT have enjoyed making some images during the occasion, but YT has not been to Denver - yet.

Love of backstage past, and future.

Looking at a wedding image made behind the scenes before the proceedings got going, I noted in the background a bad piece of church art and, paying homage to conceptual photographer Uta Barth, decided to zip it out of its surroundings and call it art - all retextualized and fresh.
Besides stained glass windows, usually fairly interesting to look at, churches the world over seem to embrace bad art.
Yours Truly does indeed wonder why.
Look at this palette in the example, the composition.
Strictly Painting 101.

Last night went to Gary & Michele's grand opening for their B&B, on the Middling City's west side in a beautiful renovated home.
There is an onsite banister and YT had to give it a final polish, a try.
It slid nicely but has a complicated curve and what could be quite a painful ending - avoided.
Had the new kittie, Rumple, spayed for indeed she is a girl and now YT has no clear idea in hell why Rumple appeared to be spraying, or peeing out of her behind like a male.
Heady did the alterations and Rumple still likes me even after jetting her off to her medical appointment.
Time to ready for a wedding, a country club affair underneath these seasonal big fluffball clouds.

Fluffy Love.

“Somehow it’s dawning on me that I’m a more mature individual and I’m not a kid writing ‘Cherry, Cherry’ anymore,” Mr. Diamond said, referring to his first Top 10 hit, from 1966.

Yours Truly, who truly loves Neil more than ever before (Pandora Neil Diamond radio station today fired up with Song Sung Blue when Neil's hair was long and flowing and his clothing more hippie than Vegas), was just oso thrilled to read today's NYT quasi-review about what in hell Neil is up to: playing four nights at Madison Square Garden, making bundles of cash, and realizing that he is a grown man.
Some of his later fans do not get the Rick Rubin-produced release and they really need to spend more time with those songs for it's what Neil wanted to say.
I mean really.
There You are, ass in concert/stadium seat, being treated to a full-on Neil extravaganza.
His arms are up in the air, his baritone is booming, the flag might still be unfurling during America.

Rick Rubin, on the latest, led him back to stripped-down glory.
Meaning: Cherry Cherry (unarguably his best and one of the best songs ever written in these USofA) is not the work of a post-mid-career artist.

Looking at Neil's tour one thing is glaringly, sadly apparent.
Neil is bypassing the Middling City this tour.
Neil always came to the MC.
YT still loves Neil.

Love of the Solitary Man.

Oso enjoying this surreal Middling City weather.
Hail on Saturday night with zipping winds, mushy Sunday, mixed-bag Monday.
As I looked out the dreary official office à la BigU former wetlands campus, Yours Truly noted that the streaming waters resembled the encompassing waters of a carwash.
Instead of hula dancing strips of fabric, or spinning brushes, just beyond the waters was a view of Green.

sidebar of song: At the carwash Yeah, work and work ... keep those cars and limousines comin' ... work and work.

YT was wrapped in red tape whilst looking out the windows, tape that wound itself around my ankles and then, like a kudzu vine, it climbed up my neck and began wrapping there.
This was all about a Form B, something new from the Empire State for its consultants to report information that the Empire State should know of its own accord, as the writer of state checks.
If a database can be made public (thanks to Andrew Cuomo) of all the salaries of state employees, surely one could be devised to track the earnings of consultants/freelancers/contractors.
Just a thought.
And another thing, my new bumpersticker-ready slogan:
Red tape belongs on holiday packages.

This past weekend's fun times began in an airborn manner, literally.
Vino'd with Liz and Cheryl in Liz's garden (gardenia whiffs, memory of Victoria) and moved inside, sipping all the while.
Liz told us that her home was now sporting a new flop, a fancy TempurPedic mattress upstairs in the master/mistress chambers.
And, inspired by their advert about one being able to bounce upon the mattress's one side while not tipping over a wine glass on the other, Liz asked if we'd like to take the TempurPedic challenge - a bit like the NesTea plunge, YT believes.
Different action, same leap of faith.
So YT, being YT, positioned Cheryl's p&s cam atop a stack of books atop a vertical fan and set the timer and we three bounced merrily, not disturbing not one, not two, but THREE glasses of vino.
We made one, two images with the p&s with some minor adjustments made by YT of angle, placement of bedding.
Shot number three was perfection, save for the horizontal glass of vino that created a small puddle in the midwestern region of the flop.
Quick run for towels, headblower, the ginger lifting of mattress padding and voi-freakin'-là, no vino stank above the new foam aroma floating in the air.
And one great shot of the three of us to boot.
If Cheryl doesn't send the image soon YT will create her artist's rendering of the scene.

Scenic Love.

+ This just in.
Artistic rendering by YT.

I nearly thought I'd misheard the person on the (sprint v of the iPhone, which Yours Truly is finding still very irritating, like why doesn't it let me freakin' know who the caller on the ol' caller id is) cellie when he said that John Edwards (of $300 haircut fame, amongst other things) was stepping out on his dying wife to not only share his smarmy love, but to father a child.
Wow.
Just when You think you've just about imagined the depths that the human soul can plunge.
On a much lighter note, Elvis's peacock jumpsuit set a new higher Olympic-style bar by now being the most spendy thing that his skin ever rested upon.
YT still marvels at the gay French couple aboard the Lisa Marie (Elvis's plane parked at Graceland, who looked at the gold sink and muttered, together, Incroyable.)
YT more marveled at the king-sized bed, with its king-sized belt buckle across it.
Just spent most of this entire day in the car, and in churches.
A funeral.
A wedding.
Now onto vino in Liz's garden.
Incroyable indeed.

Indelible, always edible Love.

Here, for Your viewing pleasure to the max, is an image of Yours Truly made at historic, ghost-haunted (a ghost of headless variety, not like that dickless ghost - Peter Piccolo - who haunts 124 Elmwood Avenue where YT had her basement darkroom and who, like several others, was encountered/encumbered by PP on various occasions) Old Fort Niagara.
All sunny and brochured history in handy snippets. All the stone buildings assigned numbers.
Crabby soldiers in either British or French ensembles either ignoring, instructing, or crab-assing at the fort's visitors.
One fun fact gleaned the day of visit.
Only officers were able to have menu choices, with herbs grown inside the fort in gardens.
All others ate: peas, weak soup, salted pork.
A woman in the fort kitchen showed a sample of salted pork in a crock.
It was gray.
It did rather resemble the fondued duck that YT ate with niece and nephew at Melting Pot not too long ago.
We decided it's fundue, not fondue.
It was expensive, yet delicious, more complex than other fundues/fondues enjoyed in the past. It was in the G-Mall of the Middling City, a place as placeless as anything in Vegas. Anonymous, functional, delicious.
This image of YT shows me posing as a cowboy, inspired by the stockade fence.
The mercenaries onhand were oso similar to the cowboys of this great country's wild west and YT pays homage to these characters.
I am pretending to have a piece of hay, or a smoke of old historic twist in my mouth.
Below are images from a fortly window, its opening covered with not so muy authentico plexi, and an image of a lost Japanese tourist boy.
Inside YT encountered a French tourist girl who asked YT to make an image of her and as her camera's shutter was about to be deployed she splayed herself on an old historic chair.
Later YT would spot the girl approaching the ersatz trading post counter and hopping over it, setting off a screeching alarm.
YT did pet the wolf pelt onhand, on the counter, inside the historic old fort's first building, No. 12 in the brochure, for when does one ever have the chance to touch the pelt/fur of a wolf.

Wolf in Love's clothing, Love.

Nature, ever full of surprises, made a nice double rainbow after a series of cloudburst rainstorms this past Saturday in and around the Middling City.
Yours Truly was making spectacular images of a wedding day and suddenly word spread like non-virtual, tree-destroying wildfire, that there was a full-arc rainbow not to be missed.
YT, after making this image over South Buffalo (SoBo to some), asked the wedding party in tuxes, in green dresses, to stand over there. Pointing, underneath the arc.
This wedding happened in the Botanicus Gardenus, lest You cannot identify this flagpole and walkway.
As the guests dined YT wandered about the various galleries of the BG, rubbing a palm over various species of fern.
Heard a couple's mutterings as they sat inside the little green cabana of living plants.

Last night met up with a bunch of former co-workies at Mothers, the first time there in quite a long while. We all recalled a visit to the verysame one summer a while back when rats were approaching our table as if to beg for scraps.

Taking niece and nephew out for dinner tonight, a joint I've been curious about for some time. The venue is incidental, it's all about the familial hobnob.

Spent a small portion of today earlier at Old Fort Niagara, as if there's a newer one on the scene. Drove up with Kennedy and meandered about the grass, the stones, cobblestones. Asked a British soldier if they ever fire off true blue cannonballs.
He answered in the negative.
No cannonballs but they pack a solid aural punch.
Same soldier later showed off some faux artifacts, explaining that charcoal Sweetened the breath, polished the teeth, but wore off enamel five times faster than regular toothpaste.
And no minty flavour.

Cannonballs of Love.

As promised, here is Diana, in her new home.
In lieu of the basement of Albright-Knox Art Gallery (shamefully not on view) she is in a sunny gallery of The Met.
Liz stated last night that the sculpture is where it belongs.
I do agree that now the piece is seen and enjoyed and studied by many each day.
Sadly, though, it's no longer in the provenance of the Middling City.

Here are a few more images from The Shiney Apple.





Both go along with my street images series made there.
One is manmade artifacts on the streets, the other shows Nature burgeoning forth in spite of the urban landscape.

Last night spent a lovely hour or so with old friends in Polly's garden: Polly was there, of course. It was a bon voyage party for Anna, who leaves for grad school in San Diego. Roadtrip.
As I left the party I took Anna by the shoulders and imparted this traveler's blessing imparted upon Yours Truly as I was on one of many cross-country journeys.
Drive fast, take chances.
Anna believed it to be the best advice she'd received all evening.
I do also oftentimes heed the advice of Brucey: Watch out for people with pointy teeth.

Off to document some nuptials.

Driving, chancy Love.

Watching Werner Herzog's (sidebar: I adore this doc-making, serious, somehow still with sense of humour buried down deep German. Does anyone on the earth call Werner schatz. I wonder.) short film in several chapters about the burning Kuwaiti oil fields in 1991.
This is at New Museum on Bowery. Somehow this new joint has escaped the art strategies of Yours Truly - until now.
A nice Jamaican man downstairs didn't hassle me about my bag.
A far far cry from what transpired yesterday at The Whitney.
Where a small lady in the jacket made an executive decision to send me to the check-in centre.
I said What.
This bag is not as large as that bag that you just let in, or that lady's purse over there by the elevator, or that bag. (me pointing)
She was impassive.
I said This is discriminatory, you're making a snap decision (I liked that I tossed that in, somehow it made me internally glad of heart and reminded me of RonE's kooky Snap Judgment public access show whereby individuals rated a movie based solely on its title - I was on the show once, with Pahts) based on the material of this bag (backpack material), and how I'm dressed (shorts).
We had an impasse on both our hands.
I continued to argue, she continued to shriek.
I walked away and went to the desk and asked to speak to the Head of Security.
After about three minutes he appeared.
I said There's a laptop, Leica, passport, wallet in here and you don't want to be responsible for it.
He said I'll lock it in my office.
I said Look, this bag is smaller than several bags already inside. I'm not a member of the Whitney (a nice touch, I thought, honest) but I've been here several times with this very bag - without a hassle. I'll keep it in front of me. Why not watch me and make sure I don't bang into anything (I was on a minor tear). Why not walk with me through the museum and I'll show you bags that are larger than this one.
The man said Enjoy yourself, as he walked along with me towards the front door.
I thought that Yours Truly was being kicked out of the ultra-venerable Whitney.
It took me several moments to realize that YT was not in fact being kicked out but being chaperoned over to the officious ass working the door.
He said She's going in.
I thrust my ticket at her and kept walking.
She was then reprimanded by her boss.
Inside Paul McCarthy, Buckminster Fuller filled YT up with ideas, sopping up creative energy like a starvation victim at an all-you-can-eat sushi event.
Yesterday: Louise Bourgeois at Guggenheim, frickin' Frick action, and oso much more.
This is the Shiney Apple's Restaurant Week and experimentally put stock, faith, future hunger, and instinct into choice of IndoChine for last night's repast.
I shall be back and for that I am certain they are like so glad.
The oil fields of Kuwait burn and burn and it is time to continue the went through the New Museum, part of the Shiney Apple's ever-transformative urbanity.

Urban(e) Love.

Completely, utterly minding my own business I was confronted by Diana.
A phalanx (and when does one really ever get to use that vocab word, properly) of Met guards were blocking off a gallery of Greco-Roman works.
It was a Met spectacle that Yours Truly had truly never seen before. The imploring voices and gestures, yes, of the guards.
But a phalanx.
Never.
So YT, being herself, had to take a gander at the guards blocking, shoulder to shoulder, entrance - about ten of them.
I made an image of them.
Then I looked over their shoulders to see the former Middling City visitor, Diana with her stag.
In the center of the gallery there she charismatically IS, a dark bronze amid a gang of marble figures.
A stand-out.
As I made these images (and You will YT forgive as my card reader is like so on the other side of the state and therefore they cannot be viewed at this present time) another Met man appeared, obviously of a title more long and grave than the guards.
He was in a suit, more creds on his lapel.
He was beseeching that I leave and I said I'm from the Middling City and the Albright-Knox sold this at Sotheby's to you. (sic: a private collector purchased the work and it's on loan to the Met).
You should not have sold it, the man in the nice suit stated.
I then told him that roughly 50% of the MC was up in arms, about the community gathering/shouting match.
I tried to glance and remember his names but didn't have a chance.
Onwards into the Shiney Apple, ever loaded with visuals and stunning quotes like this one, heard in an institute of fine art viewing.
Woman: (unawares in full-on tourist mode, yelling, gesturing like a madwoman)
DOUG COME HERE AND LOOK AT THIS - IT'S FAMOUS.
Doug: (turns around, walks toward madwoman) Mmmmm.

Mmmmm, Love.

One curious image from Northampton.
You can see that NMA also exhibits the white skies of the Middling City.
Looked down the side of this building to see if this was an entrance for men, or a washroom (heading to Canada so am speaking Canadian this fine a.m.).

Enjoyed some front porch coffee action with a bunch of girls and invited men, speaking of such. Strong coffee, some laughter, a few early bird Garden Walkers clutching their maps and meandering by. Lisa and Gina both told tales and Yours Truly suggested that they march right on down to that Story Corp wagon/Airstream if it's still there.
Went on a very micro-Garden Walk with Laura later in the afternoon after a gig in the 'burbs and before viewing one of the nephew's new bands.
Laura believes that every day in the MC in late spring and summer is Garden Walk and to a bit of that I concur.
But it is an amazing feat that tens of thousands converge around the splendors of the combo platter that is gardening - Art plus Nature.

Going to Buckethead later this evening out where the nephew just performed.
And tomorrow it's off to the lovely, crisp, and tasty Shiney Apple for another bite.

Time to speak more Canadian.
Maple-coated Love.

Un fromage nouveau pour Yours Truly – St. Agur.
Incroyable.
Had this and a fab din at Chez Albert in Amherst, MA.
St. Agur is one of those pungent cave dwellers that is supposedly hard to find.
Yesterday went to MASS MoCA for the premier time and up on the walls and filling the former industrial spaces that did remind ever so much of Dia:Beacon was work by Jenny Holzer (whom YT met several years ago after motoring to her home in Hoosack Falls, NY), Joseph Beuys, Anselm Kiefer.
Lots of digvid on display which did, perhaps in a flashing pass, get YT to thinking about making some digvids again.
Wandered about the lush campus of Smith after discovering that their art gallery was closed. Saw a sycamore that looked like it was 300 years old, same as the Middling City's elder statestree that is now infused with meds and ready for its next century, if all goes well and the aquifier doesn't dry up below it and a drunk doesn't slam a car into it.
Northampton continues to amuse and is quite a rich topic for the Shiney Happy – I am here and enjoying whilst also working on a travel piece.
Was delighted to find an instant photo machine (a real one, not a revised version) that spits out the eggbomb strip of four vertical images on the second floor of one of my favorite sub-destinations in N.
Of course stuffed in the dollars (that was the machine's sole update), sat upon the stool after strategizing the frames, and kapop and kachink ... images. Just magic, as always.

Always magical, Love.

In historic ol' Northampton where the lezbos outnumber regular ladies 2:1, or that is what is reported.
There is a plethora of ethnic restos here that would be most welcome in the Middling City: Tibetan, Argentinian, Thai, Mex, Tex-Mex, and oso much more. Several vegetarian choices to boot and fine bakeries. There are none of that genre of eating estabs in the MC.
I have been scouting out arts and cultural attractions and will be driving to Mass MoCA tomorrow - a mere hour away.
Very excited about that.
Many more details to follow, bien sur.

Bien sure, Love.