Archive | January, 2012

Weekend bonus shot (Tuesday edition), 01.17.12

Alwyn Court (2)

Alwyn Court, W58th & 7th, New York, New York.

Above image apropos of nothing much in particular, except that I walked by this confectionary extravaganza yesterday on a stroll after work with a colleague and friend (known on the internet as Mr. Lady: that we’re now working together is indeed fitting, since her “handle” is such a nifty complement to Lesbian Dad).

And yep, I’m not a’tall shy about stopping and craning my neck and photographing gothic outbursts like this (got its own NYT article plus a Wikipedia entry). Just one of the manifold benefits of being so far into one’s forties that one is lapping up at the edge of fifty (yep: this is what almost-fifty looks like).  As a younger pup in this photogenic town, I kept the camera lens trained in front of me, oftentimes from the midst of a big-ass crowd, at a sea of queer folk marching in the street with or without permit (as yet still consigned to slides, else they’d make regular appearances here).  Now I point my lens 360 degrees, tourist-style, and I just don’t even care who takes notice.


A day late, in honor of Dr. King, some past posts here in recognition:

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That which we call a rose by any other name would sound as sweet

The above image of my Pops is from a coupla five years back, which would have made him a spry, debonair 86.

Yesterday he turned 91. In our morning chat, which usually takes place on cell phone as I walk, he is having a harder and harder time making out various words. This morning it was “thrifty.”

Me (concluding a reference to something): “I felt really thrifty.”
Him: “You felt really chesty?!”
Me: “No, thrifty!”
Him: “Risky?!”
Me: “Thrifty! I felt thrifty!”
Him: “Ruskie?!”

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Weekend bonus shot (Monday edition), 01.09.12

Pops returning home at the end of the evening, Castro Valley, CA.

I watch him go through these doors to his apartment in the retirement community so long and hard now. Used to be he’d turn and wave and shamble off, only looking back once to wave me away (‘gwan now, doll; go home).

Now, stooped by his ninety-one years (this Wednesday), he turns and looks over and over again.  And so do I.

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Riverside fairy house


Fairy house-building near the West Fork of the Carson River, Hope Valley, CA.

Her operating assumption, and who am I to doubt it: everywhere  you go, there are fairies who would appreciate a home.

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