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

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

Love of Mysteries - saintly and footbally.

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

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

Artful Love of Fanfare.

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

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

Hockey Fans:
YAYYYYY.

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

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

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

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

MKO:
Omigosh, he just mentioned Joe Plumber again.

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

Liz:
I'll be Joe Blow.

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

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

Jeffrey:
Dan, Nancy needs napkins.

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

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

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

BUL:
WHO ARE YOU ALL VOTING FOR.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curtain.

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

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

Onwards.
Love of mail snatching, when appropriate.

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

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





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

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

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

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

VC and BD Love.

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

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

Blue blue Love.

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

Pixel dust love, Love.

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

Love of jangly rollicking poesie.

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

October Love.

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

Onwards.

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

Skyhigh throwback Love.

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

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

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

Assessed, Love.

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.