Do you remember the old Blogspot blog Lazy Circles?  I say ‘old’ because the current iteration is about computers and cars, and written in Indonesian, for heaven’s sake.  The old blog was hosted by a gay attorney from Texas — lots of showbiz posts — and when he announced that out of some necessity he was shuttering Lazy Circles, my reaction was ‘You can’t do that!’

It started to occur to me a couple of months ago, that it was probably time to consider shuttering Domani Dave.  Though I’ve made a wonderful handful of connections over these nine years, at this point I feel more than a bit like a looney just talking to himself.  That’s not supposed to sound boo-hooey.

Wandering though my WordPress ‘Media Library’, which still contains the entire trove of pictures I have attached to posts since 2009, I’ve hit upon the idea to post some of those during my anniversary month of October, just for the hell of it.  I think that will be fun, but I’ve been wrong before.

By the way, the rest of the title of this post is …δεν θα πάνε ποτέ τέλεια.  It translates: If things don’t go perfectly from the beginning, they will never go perfectly.

I like this sentence partly because it’s a tiny Greek language lesson in itself, but mostly because it’s s’darn bleak;-)

In no particular order… actually in sort of a particular order.

-1-   I don’t have a tattoo.

-2-   Please don’t think Māori or Irezumi.  Different subject.

-3-   Let me get the deranged curmudgeon conclusion out of the way.  I think the reason people get tattoos so cavalierly these days, whether they realize it or not, can be summed up with “I don’t have a future, there is no future”.

-4-   Here is a tale told previously on Domani Dave.  In my former workplace, there was once a sweet and bright and bookish student worker who approached me about her desire to get a tattoo.  She wanted a sun theme, and wondered if I had any suggestions to research a design.  I said maybe English garden gates, or tansom windows in the UK, sun-starved as those people are, as I had recalled just such a book of photographs.  She had success with that suggestion, found her sun and got her tattoo.  When she displayed it (on the back of her calf), my reaction was that it looked like a gunshot wound.  I did not tell her this.

-5-   Now for the nuts and bolts, as I understand them.  If you get bright colors in your tattoo, those will fade very quickly.  What remains is blue-black.  Tattoos for the most part these days are applied so inexpertly that other elements will also come into play.  The depth the ink is ‘inserted’ into the surface of the skin is apparently extremely important.  Injected too deep, the ink will drift into the lipids in the skin and begin a process called ‘clouding’.  No matter how crisp your tattoo in the beginning, eventually you have something out-of-focus and black and blue, rather like a bruise.

-6-   Who gets tattoos these days is a never-ending source of astonishment to me.  Longshoremen and bouncers?  Of course.  Petite jeune filles in their sundresses?  Tyler, Justin, or Brandon with their ‘sleeves’?  And when and if this pandemic subsides, what is the future pariah-potential for these trendy youths?

I am willing to be corrected, confronted, or rebuked outright on this topic, though actually, I cannot recall a single bonafide rebuke on Domani Dave.  [sigh…]

Two posts in rapid succession on Domani Dave is uncommon, but not unheard of.

After viewing the Diego Rivera murals at the headquarters of the Secretaría de Educación Pública building in Mexico City, we had a couple of hours’ energy left, and sought out the Mumedi Mexican Museum of Design, five or six blocks away.

Our phone GPS kept telling us that we had ‘arrived’, but to our frustration, it was nowhere to be found.  Then, finally, I walked to the opposite side of the street, turned around, and behold: an enormous graphic on a tarpaulin covering the scaffolding on the front of the building, with a small passthrough to the interior.

BTW, I worked for a good while to get a single figure passing by in that lower left space, but still got this lousy result.  Lousy or not, images clickable, as usual.

Apparently between shows, the building interior itself was worth the visit, and wandering through the all-things-considered-pretty-nice obligatory museum gift shop, I espied this display of Frida Kahlo-themed wallets.

Just a guess, but I don’t imagine Señora Kahlo would have found the [Disney’s ‘Frozen’] ‘Ilsa’ variation amusing.

We, on the other hand, did.

Well before our trip to Mexico City last week, we had booked a tour of ‘Casa Luis Barragán’, the private home of architect and engineer Luis Barragán, who died in 1988.  The tours are very small, and we had to choose a Spanish language one, because the English language ones on the days we would be in Mexico City had already been filled.  Our guide spoke English from time to time as a courtesy.

The previous two photographs are stolen from the Wikipedia article on Luis Barragán.  Notice the void underneath the stairs in the second one.  I shot the following picture of our tour guide explaining Barragán’s play with colored light throughout the house, in this case created with a yellow glass door at the top of the stairway to the terrace.  (All photos clickable…)

In our world of hyperbole, I would say it’s risky to use the word ‘transcendent’, but there it is in the first sentence on the casaluisbarragan.org website.  At this point, I leave it to you to investigate Luis Barragán, or not.

By the way, while we were in Mexico, we availed ourselves of some ‘procedures’ not medically permitted in the States, including one favored by the late Marlene Dietrich, lamb placenta injections.  There was a problem matching our current passport pictures during our return home, but I think it was worth it.

While I’m trying to build up enough steam to write a not-too-extensive post about our trip last week to Mexico City, here is an über-bitter snipe about the teen-rape allegation against the United States Supreme Court nominee.

Brett Kavanaugh and his team need to get together with Justice Clarence Thomas to come up with something catchy like Thomas’s “high-tech lynching” to scare off the naysayers to his own nomination.

The problem is, I don’t think there is anything coequal for a person with a history like Kavanaugh’s of just being a little garden-variety entitled prep school asshole.

We watched the memorial for John McCain staged in Washington DC today.

I was moved by certain thoughts and quotes, and certainly certain music triggers, but truth be known, the whole while I was interspersing the experience of my own father’s funeral, fifty years ago this coming April.

The one thing I was particularly struck by at my father’s funeral was the measure of bewilderment in the demeanor of the people there.  The implications of that were a comfort to me at the time.

Senator McCain apparently planned the structure and details of his own funeral.  Fortunately, the luck he always said he’d had in life was with him to the end, as nothing fell apart in the execution.

Stand-alone, it seemed a ‘tonic’ for the nation’s psyche at this time.

I share with John McCain the sense of having been lucky in life.  If there is a point to this post, perhaps it is to share that fact with you.

In all honesty, I have been unnaturally lucky.  I may, in fact, have come by some of the luck you were due.

I would appreciate your not holding this against me.

As I approach my ninth anniversary (October) here on Domani Dave, to say you may have noticed that I’m running out of steam would be a tad presumptuous.

I am rawther (to borrow a spelling) fatigued.  Not remotely ‘because of’, but we are headed to Mexico City in two weeks.  The newly retired Stephen wants to travel.  I have myself turned into one of those can’t-leave-the-house sorts.  Well, almost, so the idea of this voyage is wearing me out.

I’ll be delighted when we get there, but now, I’m a pain in the ass.

I’ve been absent in the comments of my blog pals, and here, and while I in no way consider the attached pictures ‘place-holders’, I have even less to say than usual, so here is at least something.

All photographs ought to tell a story, some kind of story, but I want more — something like a small movie, apparently.  I love all three of these pictures.

Two gentlemen peering outside at the protesters at the recent G7 in Canada.  Donald Trump’s physician scurrying.  And John McCain.

All three are clickable; please do.

Seems if I’m not mentioning Martin L here on DD, I’m mentioning Franklin A.

Franklin is as lovely and centered and bright a person as you’d ever want to know.  He is also very wicked.

Recently, he sent a link to a video, summarizing with only the three words ‘bittersweet and poignant’ in the email.  The video begins:

‘In Toronto, Canada, in a little room above a beauty parlor, a woman dies.’

I replied:

My Very Dear Franklin –

Merci for this, which I watched before slumber last nuit.  The piece brought back to me images of my own charmed childhood of wealth and privilege, but also the likelihood if not the inevitability that I myself will die alone in a room above a beauty shop.

– David H, the 63rd Earl of Shrewsbury

[BTW, ‘spellchecker’ wanted to substitute ‘wrath’ for ‘wealth’ in the above.]

–     –     –     –     –     –

He replied that his hopes were that all our eventual rooms above a beauty shop were at the very least ‘well-appointed and air-conditioned’.

That cannot be asking too much.

Ever seen Alfonso Cuarón’s 2006 movie ‘Children of Men’?  Plot conceit: global infertility sets off the apocalypse.  I don’t know how I would react to it today, but in 2006 I didn’t very much care for it, the movie, that is.  I’m pretty sure I won’t care for the apocalypse either, but you never know.

The picture eventually winds toward conclusion with a sequence glorifying procreation.  I recall it displaying reverence reminiscent of a Fifties Hollywood ‘Biblical Epic’.  That may be a teensy bit of an exaggeration, but there was an iridescent blessed madonna vibe afoot.

For a world that has come to ignore overpopulation, this ‘beatification’ of birth pissed me off. There is, however, one aspect of the film that redeems it, but only compartmentally.

A scene occurs wherein our protagonist visits a government minister, cloistered away from the decay and chaos of the collapse.  Within the scene, on the wall behind the two men, Picasso’s Guernica, and off to the right in the background, Michelangelo’s David, held together with connecting armatures.

Whether this backdrop was conjured during Production Design or Art Direction, I cannot know, but I’m crazy about a brilliant ‘throwaway’ in a film,

So, on the subject of bleak despair, here’s a downer for your consideration.  Since reading it myself, unearthing these memories of ‘Children of Men’, I’ve seen it pop up a number of places online.

Maybe someone will read it to pOTUS, and he’ll want to go to Mars.  Soon.

Went online this morning to discover who designed the ‘Baby Trump’ balloon, now flying over London.  Graphic designer Matt Bonner.

From the standpoint of a straightforward caricature, this thing is phenomenal.  But then, with the refinement of adding the ‘trademark’ tiny hands and the pale tanning bed goggle circles around the eyes, it achieves perfection.

Generally when we sit down for breakfast or lunch, I’ll flip on the television and say ‘Let’s watch some bad news!’  This morning, we got the opposite.

Watching the London protests, I started to tear up.  Why this particular spectacle has given me hope when other protests have not, I cannot say.

Only one thing spoils my delight over the UK’s reaction to Trump’s visit.

Though from the perspective of protocol, apparently the Palace is doing the very minimum, still the idea of the deranged white trash and his mail-order bride even touching Her Majesty’s hand makes my skin crawl.

Why am I telling you this?

I started blogging in 2009, but in October 2016, I ditched the previous posts in a fit of cyber housecleaning. Some of it was really nice writing, but alas, as my old friend Susan once said: ‘Compulsion is a cruel master’.

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