From a ‘Public Relations’ standpoint, I may be my own worst enemy, since I’ll tell you practically anything.  Example: for years, I’ve worried that at the movies, I’m just watching the pretty colors dance across the screen.

After many a disparaging look from Stephen when I’d ask him for some plot point I’d missed, I decided that the most charitable explanation is that I am a little too absorbed in the performances.

I am crazy about ‘stage business’ — little postures, gestures, tics.  Meryl Streep interviewing Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada is ‘business’ perfection.  (You can find this scene in the movie trailer online at the ‘iTunes Store’, if…)

– – – – – – – – – –

Who are you?

My name is Andy Saks, I recently graduated from Northwestern University and…

What are you doing here?

I came to New York to be a journalist, and basically it’s this or ‘Auto Universe’.

So, you don’t read ‘Runway’…


And before today you had never heard of… me…


And you have no style, or sense of fashion…

I think that depends on what you…

No-no…  That wasn’t a question.

– – – – – – – – – –

Somewhere in my future, I see a confrontational conversation on a protracted path to nowhere, one that will give me the opportunity to co-opt that last line, delivered here with so little energy, it puts disdain and detachment to shame.

We all have our dreams.

WordPress says this is blog entry No. 215.  Not altogether accurate, since at some point since 2009, I weeded the archive of some serious (trust me) cow patties.

The impulse to cease this blogging journey has returned.  Actually, it’s pretty much always there, ebbing and flowing.  My sense at this moment is the blog is only generating ennui.  No implied entreaty for someone to disagree.  (I will not and positively refuse to utter ‘just sayin’.)

Max Ehrmann tells us (among other things), ‘If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.’

That’s all very well and good, Max, but you didn’t have the internet.

Along with my morning coffee and ‘newspaper’ (, I visit a tumblr site called ‘Beard, Briar & Rose’.

BB&R traffics in re-blogged, mostly beautiful images of all sorts, with only an infrequent smattering of so very mild NSFW.  Recently included was the famous Alvin Langdon Coburn photo of George Bernard Shaw in ‘The Thinker’ pose.


‘Naked Pictures of Your Dad’ was the re-blog attribution, a site which soon after you arrive there very quickly states: ‘Not literally. Although you never know. Please be old enough to legally look at naked men.’

It’s coffee, headlines and before you know it, you’re up to your nose in depravity.

So, on the topic of the uninhibited, once upon a time over drinks with a gaggle of gentlemen of my kind, someone observed how tramps (!) who post nude selfies online never seem to bother to spruce up the background before taking the photo.

The other day a member of that gaggle sent supporting evidence found online (where, none of my business), which I have politely edited substantially by eliminating the entire lower half of the photo; I hope the subject of the photo won’t be too angry about that.

Look a bit closer into the picture.  Up there on the shelf, next to the subject’s head appears to be a framed photo of Mom and Dad.

Unmade bed and laundry laying around, okay, but this really won’t do.

As you can see, I have also obscured their faces; they were a trace pink.

Click, or not.

Click, or not.


For at least a couple of decades at Easter, a florist delivery arrives at our door from a person identified only as ‘E. Bunny’.

The suspect has relentlessly remained poker faced in denying responsibility.  Finally, in retaliation, we began sending our own annual bouquet, card signed ‘Esther Buñee’.  (Frankly, I doubt the tilde over the ’n’ has survived many times in the TeleFlorist conduit, but it’s hardly worth fixing on, unless of course you’re writing a blog.)

‘Mystery’ flowers arrived yesterday, with our return salvo already in play.

Speaking of flowers, after a couple of years of seriously haphazard care, two orchids in the plant menagerie around here unexpectedly brought forth blooms.

Click to enlarge

Click to enlarge

If your Easter contemplation strays from the floral toward the ‘kinky’, I noticed that the post here on Domani Dave receiving the most hits this past week was one from three years ago entitled ‘In Your Easter Bondage’.

Click here, and please fear not.  Happy Easter!

Fittingly, April First is our anniversary; this time, it was number thirty-eight.

Mantra-fashion, we always visit ‘what did it?’, and I always say, ‘the kiss’, and he always says, ‘the eyes’.  So, when he left me a note re-confirming such yesterday morning, he punctuated it with a quick micro-portrait, only an inch across.

So, would these eyes have done it for you?  And just why not?


The thought of doing anything like a ‘travelogue’ post of our voyage to Crete and Athens last September has been daunting, and therefore left undone.  To be sure, sloth factors in, but there’s also the ‘inflicting’ of the vacation pictures on friends aspect, which also inclines one toward ‘don’t’.  So, maybe just a bite-sized piece every now and then. Here’s one.

We arrived on Crete in the city of Chania, where we stayed for four days before traveling east.  Our favorite restaurants the whole stay — ‘The Well of the Turk’ and ‘The Vineyard’ — were located on the alleyway to our hotel.  Blind luck.

Around the corner from our tiny hotel, we discovered a beautiful and beautifully maintained private residence, whose street level is now a bar and gallery space.  On exhibition, a collection of photographs and memorabilia of actress and activist Melina Mercouri.  The owner of the house had been Ms. Mercouri’s hairdresser.

The six-foot banner there on the wall of the building was, well… joyous.  Smaller poster versions were everywhere.  I asked a staff member at the bar to oblige me with a very short stack of them.  Recipients back here at home have been likewise enchanted.

You might think there’d have been more suitable souvenirs, but I love poster art.  Besides, I live with Prince Tchotchke, aka Count Objet, and there’s really no more room here in the house for anything that’s not flat.




Click for the full picture, and click the other two to enlarge.  Thank you.

Click for the full picture, and click the other two to enlarge. Thank you.


Fifty years ago, I suppose I was preoccupied with my upcoming high school graduation and the Vietnam War.  Voter Equality, not so much.  So, I took advantage of an invitation to Selma, Alabama yesterday.

Stephen said when he saw this first picture this morning, that it looked like I’d stuck a decal on the photo.  I think that’s what I like about it.  See the infamous Edmund Pettus Bridge off there in the distance.

NAACP stands for the ‘National Association for the Advancement of Colored People’, and of course you’d not call anyone a ‘colored person’ today.  That the organization has retained that ‘legacy’ name is a good choice, if I may say.

Because of the KKK connection of its namesake, there remains a movement to change the name of the Edmund Pettus Bridge.  I don’t know that this will ever come to pass, but if it does, perhaps the perspective of how far we’ve come in this case might also be lost?



Photos happen, as with this one, placard stacked above the bridge, still off in the distance.  (‘Click’ on any of these pictures for a larger view.)  A contemporary of mine — who happens to be my first cousin — has written a book on this subject.


Well, you know I can’t be counted on to smile, and chipper seemed wrong, so…



This man of the cloth was very vocal about it’s not being just about Selma.  With Alabama’s current defiance on the topic of marriage equality, why disagree?



Finally, to assure you that I’m not just all about social injustice (okay?;-) here is a shot of a young gentleman I found eye-catching.  I think he knew he was being photographed and all-but posed for me.  Click for the full shot.

Forgive me for falling under his sway, but I’m old and incorrigible.  In that order.

A reference to ‘the Sixties’ here on DD from time to time is a little unavoidable.  Click here for a not-altogether-bad post which, among other things, points out that the mythical ‘decade’ was actually the years 1964 through 1972.

While I do not wish to leave any hint that I previously thought otherwise, I do believe that the appearance of the Sixties-est human being on the planet on the cover of the most recent issue of the AARP magazine has signaled the fact that now ‘the Sixties’ are positively, absolutely, undeniably — and reliably — dead.

Requiem Aeternam dona eis et lux perpetua luceat eis.


So, here we are on the day of the eve of the Academy Awards presentation.

Since childhood, I have slavishly followed the Oscars, though I cannot say at what point I resigned myself to their emptiness.  Robert Altman’s being passed over for his direction of ‘Gosford Park’, for example, but why on earth choose just one?

I had lunch earlier this month with my nephew Edwin who runs his own thriving video production company.  He is a huge, but not unhinged, movie buff.  I like to think that I had something to do with that.

Our lunchtime topic was, as always, the movies, and on that day the upcoming AA’s.  Along the way, I voiced my suspicion of Oscars for ‘Cinematography’ sometimes owing mostly to ‘Production Design’.  Yes, it was that kind of dialog, god help us.

Along those same lines, I have always been a little impatient with photographs which are essentially just records of other artists’ beautiful things.  Be that as it may, this morning I ran across this photo I snapped who-knows-when of a tear sheet and a pair of eyeglass cases, all three found lying on the bed.

At a loss to suggest there has been an actual point to this post, I’ll close saying I’m rooting for the ninefold Oscar-nominated ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’, which if you have not seen it, may Patrick Stewart turn you to stone.

Click to Enlarge

Click to Enlarge

The idea I mentioned post-before-last is this one, come to Valentine fruition today, in spite of my bitching about being busy of late.

I present to you love-themed works by Corita Kent.


You likely won’t recognize Corita Kent unless you were alive and aware in the Sixties, or maybe I’m selling you short.  Click here and here to read about her.

My major in college was Graphic Design, and I was very fond of Kent’s work.  My professors in those days felt I had a real shot at becoming an actual designer, but it didn’t happen.  One of those aphorisms I pointed you to yesterday rings a bell: ‘We work for praise, and dawdle once we have it’.

Nevertheless, I have maintained a lifelong enthusiasm for design, and can spot a type font and call it by name to this day.  (Whoopee.)  As a Corita fan while in school, and even though I had not the first farthing to spend on such at the time, I bought one of her original works entitled ‘The Heart of the White’.

Very ‘Nun-esque’, black-and-white and severe, but at least includes the word ‘heart’.  Happy Valentine’s Day!

Click to Enlarge

Click to Enlarge


give dave a break

Type 'Turn On, Tune In, Time Out' in the 'Search' field (just below) for a list of links to ten posts that might (maybe) lead you to believe that I can write a better post than the current one.
April 2015
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