In our minds we've been married 26 years. But Social Security sez yuh gotten been LEGALLY bound 9 months to inherit your spouse's allotment. Mine's twice the size of hers so it only made sense.
When I phoned from somewhar in Arizony tuh see if she'd do it, she flat-out declined. I had to argue my case. Eventually, she saw the rationale and tonight, Dan & Dave, our neighbors, came over to officiate and witness. Dave, on my right, is an ordained Catholic priest and Dan, in red sweater, his husband of 25 years, came as a witness. Margie, a friend of ours, agreed to be the other witness.
Michelle painted the tie in 1997 for a Valentine show at the gallery.
A decade ago the meeting rooms were filled with graphic novelists, many of which were self-published. There was a feeling of iconoclastic literary enthusiasm. Now, the halls are full with merchandise aimed at the latest incarnation of The Society for Creative Anacronism (SCA), a mix of comic-book super heroes and science fiction characters. The women are lovely in their short skirts and translucent tights, while the men look ridiculous in their greatcoats. The two below were among the upper tier of elegance -- all the more evidenced in their gracious willingness to be photographed.
TODAAAAAAYYY....the guy came to assess the bathroom floor. They'd laid the tile several months ago and cracks had appeared inbetween. No one was sure why. After some chin-scratching, it was decided it'd be best to redo it.
While he was recovering from manually removing the tiles and mastic, I invited him to look at some of Michelle's prints.
Ms. Cook was so A-R about her work she would sometimes do over a hundred prints to get 25 or thirty into an edition. Each color was laid down with its own stencil in a separate pass. Most artists' limit their serigraphs to ten or twelve colors. Andy Warhol typically used six to eight. Michelle commonly used over 40.
One of the standards of serigraphy is "No white from the underlying paper can show between colors." Each color has to lie right NEXT to the other. If they overlap, the colors get "muddy;" if there's a gap, it's not quality work.
For many years her work was held up to other students in the University of New Mexico Print-making Department as an example of what's possible.
Angela Meade—“the most talked about soprano of her generation”(Opera News)—has been making waves in the opera world since her professional debut at the Met just under a decade ago. With a voice of “exceptional dynamic control” (The New Yorker) and “raw vocal intensity” (New York Times), Meade has won over 50 vocal competitions, graced the cover of Opera News, and been invited again and again to sing for the most distinguished opera houses in the world—most recently returning to the Met to star in a production of Bellini’s Norma, to much acclaim.
After a brilliant recital during Performance Santa Fe’s 2016-17 Festival of Song (where Opera Today stated that “with Meade we begin to know the sound of golden age singing”), the “gleaming soprano” (Washington Post) returns to Santa Fe this January to sing works by Meyerbeer, Bellini, Rossini, Beethoven, and Mahler.
As a part of Performance Santa Fe’s education program offerings this season, Ms. Meade will teach a master class for voice majors from the University of New Mexico on Friday, January 12 at the St. Francis Auditorium.
Pedro lives out of the Wilshire Hotel he looks out a window without glass The walls are made of cardboard, newspapers on his feet his father beats him 'cause he's too tired to beg
He's got 9 brothers and sisters they're brought up on their knees it's hard to run when a coat hanger beats you on the thighs Pedro dreams of being older and killing the old man but that's a slim chance he's going to the boulevard
He's going to end up, on the dirty boulevard he's going out, to the dirty boulevard He's going down, to the dirty boulevard
This room cost 2, 000 dollars a month you can believe it man it's true somewhere a landlord's laughing till he wets his pants No one here dreams of being a doctor or a lawyer or anything they dream of dealing on the dirty boulevard
Give me your hungry, your tired your poor I'll piss on 'em that's what the Statue of Bigotry says Your poor huddled masses, let's club 'em to death and get it over with and just dump 'em on the boulevard
Get to end up, on the dirty boulevard going out, to the dirty boulevard He's going down, on the dirty boulevard going out
Outside it's a bright night there's an opera at Lincoln Center movie stars arrive by limousine The klieg lights shoot up over the skyline of Manhattan but the lights are out on the Mean Streets
A small kid stands by the Lincoln Tunnel he's selling plastic roses for a buck The traffic's backed up to 39th street the TV whores are calling the cops out for a suck
And back at the Wilshire, Pedro sits there dreaming he's found a book on magic in a garbage can He looks at the pictures and stares at the cracked ceiling "At the count of 3" he says, "I hope I can disappear"
And fly fly away, from this dirty boulevard I want to fly, from dirty boulevard I want to fly, from dirty boulevard I want to fly-fly-fly-fly, from dirty boulevard
I want to fly away I want to fly Fly, fly away I want to fly Fly-fly away (Fly a-) fly-fly-fly (-way, ooohhh...) Fly-fly away (I want to fly-fly away) fly away (I want to fly, wow-woh, no, fly away)