Valley of the Trolley Dollies

It’s fathers day this Sunday, and my dad’s birhtday next Thursday, and I found a pic of my daddy and I, and thought I’d share it.

He’s one of the single biggest influences in my life - quiet, dignified, with a sense of duty and honour and responsibility matched only by his often surprisingly anarchic sense of humour.

I love you dad. Happy fathers/birth day.

edit: Oh, He’s also got, as the pic shows above, a pretty natty sense of style, something which, as, again, the pic displays, he’s passed along to yours truly

I have a birthday coming up. A big one. My fortieth. If anyone wants to buy  me something, pop on down to Christies in New York, where you could buy me some sunglasses. I like sunglasses. Especially antique (aka, by my mother at least, as Second Hand).

If the glasses don’t end up in my birthday pile, perhaps the hair curlers and hairspray will. I need that Finisheen. The Volumax, not so much.

Furniture’s always welcome, as, indeed are shoes or Clip on Bowties.

Yes, it’s the James Brown Estate Sale, at Christies NY in July. Because, really, who wouldn’t want an electric blue nylon cape? Frankly, if I were Mr Godfather of Soul hissbaddassself, I’d a said I wanted to be buried with all my shit, like one a them Egyptian Pharaohs. Ya dig?

Annie Liebovitz doc on BBC last night was wonderful.

Responding to suggestions that her work (which is genius) was so wonderful because it was able to capture the “Essence of her subjects,” she replied calmly but firmly (and I’m paraphrasing here) “Nonsense. it’s a sliver of them; a slice. A fraction of a moment is all you have. It’s not their essence, it’s how they are right at that moment.”

Refreshing. And an interesting difference with, say, writing fiction, where we’re often reaching to show a characters entirety (or at least to create it and then ignore the pieces that don’t fit the story’s requirements).

I love Annie Leibovitz.