mallorys_camera | Entries tagged with max

Mother's Day!

I'm a hater. Hallmark Holiday, I sneer.

Though I do understand every holiday is the result of some sort of marketing campaign. It's not as though when God made the Universe, He equipped it with sparkly plastic slots for Christmas & Thanksgiving.

And, of course, if my own offspring fail to acknowledge Mother's Day, I cycle into the most terrible snit—which must be why Ichabod called me at six o'clock this morning California time to acknowledge my superiority to every single mammal that has ever given birth.

Way to go, Ichabod!

"And something from me & RTT should be delivered later today," he added.

Ohhhhhh! A large floral arrangement.

I ❤️LUV❤️ me some large floral arrangements.

The kids & I are getting on extraordinarily well these days. I must say, I am a lucky person indeed to have such fabulous offspring.

When I got up this morning, I went searching for a photo to illustrate my annual "My Poor Tragic Deluded Mother" essay.

Is my Apple photo archive magic? 'Cause I swear the photos in it metamorphose & change on a daily basis. Like this morning, the only photograph of my mother I could find was the one above, which I don't ever remember seeing before.

The nicest thing Rik ever said to me was, You are nothing like your mother.

Except in this photograph, my mother looks disturbingly like me. (Yes, I know, in truth I look like her, but precedents get very garbled when you're looking at old photographs.) The same exact face shape. It's... defining.

Giving full vent to her narcissism, my mother is staring poutily into a small compact mirror and raising one hand to caress her carefully premeditated flip coif. The photo is carefully posed, and she is pretending it's not posed.

Happy Mother's Day, Lynn, wherever you now may be! From the bottom of my heart, I hope you are having more fun in your present lifetime than you had in the lifetime before.

In other news, I actually ended up having the Big Fun herding children through the bounce house yesterday. Go figure.

A lot of that was because the high school senior volunteer who was assigned to assist me turned out to be lovely, intelligent & poised, and we actually had a real conversation about her life, her hopes, & her dreams, which restored my faith in teenagers—they're not all like the Icky Spawn!

Sadly, the actual Duck Derby event itself had to be canceled because the river was up too high:

Still, amazingly beautiful, no? Extremely pleasant way to loll away an afternoon.

###

Afterwards, I traipsed off to the monthly meeting of the Shawangunk Dems. I have volunteered to take over administering their website—which hasn't been updated in two years and needs a complete redesign.

"Democrat" is a dirty word in this part of Trumplandia, right up there with "cunt" and "Hilary Clinton."

So, I told the group that if they wanted maximum return on our Internet presence, we really need to deemphasize the Dem part of Shawangunk Dems. (And we'll need to do other social media outreach too, because down the line, if we want younger members—and we do: Nobody in our group is younger than 60—they care about Instagram & TikTok, not websites.)

The Shawangunk Dems run an outreach initiative called Neighbor to Neighbor, which consists of knocking on people's doors & giving them home-baked chocolate chip cookies as well as a newsletter chock full of curated local news & sponsored activities—Bingo! Board game nights! Drama classes! Art classes!

"Neighbor to Neighbor is a much stronger pitch than Shawangunk Dems," I argued. "It gives the illusion of non-partisanship. Win their hearts & minds, and then you'll win their votes!"

"But we're the Shawangunk Dems," one of the greybeards gasped, appalled.

"Sure, that's the umbrella organization," I argued cheerfully. "Think of the business analogy. Does Kraft Foods advertise itself? No! It advertises Jell-O and Heinz Ketchup and Kool-Aid!"

Alas, I got voted down.

And sadly—even though I know I'm right—I believe in majority rule when it comes to stuff like this.

These people know nothing about marketing!

Grey day. Rain is predicted all week.

###

BB, Flavia, & I showed up yesterday at the mall where the Middletown demo was supposed to take place, only to discover it was one of those curbside protests where you stand valiantly at the side of the road, breathing in automobile exhaust for a couple of hours while drivers (mostly) ignore you.

As one, our eyes met: No-oo-ooo, thank you!

Not a total loss: We scurried off to Tranquili-Tea for an hour and enjoyed home-churned ice cream & thunderstorms on the drive home.

###

On the phone with Ichabod, I had a revelation.

Ichabod was saying something about always wanting to be his authentic self, & I was thinking, What a drag that would be—when it occurred to me that that might be because I spent so much time when I was slightly younger than Ichabod is now maintaining.

Maintaining was something you did when you were high on drugs & didn't want anyone else to know. But sometimes you maintained when you were feeling social anxiety or stage fright, or just had to be somewhere you did not want to be. You did not reveal (let alone exhibit) your inner quailings. There was a fair amount of honor involved in maintaining.

Of course, I don't know all that many Millennials except for my kids & their friends. And I know no Gen Z-ers.

But I do watch a lot of television with Millennial & GenZ characters, and if the representations are correct, they never maintain! Millennials & GenZ are constantly talking about how nervous they are or how incapable of functioning because of some incapacitating internal state. They have absolutely no concept of fortitude. Oversharing is their idea of virtue.

It's a manifestation of privilege when you think about it—(a) their belief that other people really care about what they feel and (b) that the world is a safe enough place that what you feel won't get you into trouble.

Maybe that's the true rift between Boomers & Millennials: We maintain; they don't.

###

Other than that, I tromped and read more Tess of the d'Urbervilles.

Gotta say—Tess's passion for Angel Clare is rather annoying. Angel Clare has a big stick up his ass.

Alec Stoke-d'Urberville seems like he would be a lot more fun.

Life has been ~~boring~~ placid, so there isn't really very much to talk about with my kids on the phone except television.

I watch a lot of television because these days, I'm too braindead to read in that hour or so before I fall asleep.

"So, White Lotus," I said to Ichabod on the phone. "I'm watching Season 2. Because Sicily."

"Do you like it?"

"I neither like it nor dislike it," I said. "It's like the fondant of the streaming video world. Very sugary. Slightly chewy. High production values. Ultimately bland. There was this one scene, though—"

Four of the protagonists visit the village where The Godfather was filmed. It's a tourist spot now, the car explosion that killed Apollonia—in my youth, I was constantly being told, You look like her!—on perpetual, grainy, cheap-VCR loop. The display is very brown.

The young female protagonist grimaces. "So violent!"

The 80-year-old protagonist says, "It's the greatest film ever made! Have you seen it?"

The young female protagonist says she's seen part of it.

Then there's an argument about whether the reason The Godfather is so beloved is because it so perfectly encapsulates the fantasy life of the patriarchy.

But this doesn't interest me.

No, what interests me is the fact that apparently there are people on the planet who haven't seen The Godfather!!!!

"I mean, do Millennials really think The Godfather is about the patriarchy? Do you really not love The Godfather?"

Ichabod snorted. "Of course, we don't. Why would we?"

###

Ah, the evanescence of cultural touchstones.

I remember about five years ago, I was driving a delightful young woman called Adrienne somewhere. Adrienne was around Ichabod's age. White Rabbit came on the radio.

Doing favors is a quid pro quo process. Adrienne gets to be delivered to a place she'd otherwise have difficulty getting to since she doesn't have a car; I get a captive audience for my insightful ramblings about the cultural significance of White Rabbit.

"Wait. What's White Rabbit?" Adrienne asked.

"This song. You've never heard of it before?"

"No-o-oo-o—"

How could Adrienne never have heard of White Rabbit before? It was practically the anthem of my entire generation!

I'd answered my own question, I realized.

###

"You know the first time I heard White Rabbit?" Ichabod asked. "It was part of the soundtrack for Jim Carrey movie called The Cable Guy. About this really sleazy, pathetic Boomer guy."

I sighed. "Yeah. I know these cultural touchstones are a kind of horizontal glue. They have no vertical reach. They're a kind of glitter on the present tense. A delusion of significance. Maya. Still. They seem to cast such a long shadow that when you find out they don't, you're left wondering: Does anything cast a long shadow?"

Ichabod was 3,200 miles away, driving from Monterey back to Santa Cruz—we generally speak on the phone when he is driving—so I had to imagine his shrug. "Define 'long.' Define 'shadow. Everything casts a long shadow. Or conversely, nothing does. You get to decide for yourself."

"You know what's crazy?" I asked. "When I was a kid, the 1920s seemed like the ancient past to me, an inconceivably long-ago time. But it was only really less than 25 years before I was born. The 1990s are longer ago to me now than the 1920s were then."

"That's really trippy when you start thinking about it," said Ichabod. "We're all such imperfect time travelers."

###

In other news: It rained heavily all day yesterday and I remained incredibly pissed off at myself that I can't just dash off 8,000 words in a single sitting but am forced to stretch the task over six days because I—Well. Just can't.

"Seems like there should be some drug I could take," I told Ichabod. "That's really what's wrong with the world today. There are no more good drugs!"

It was the day the Vision-of-Wallkill hamlet-wide yard sale was supposed to take place, but naturally the weather put a crimp in those plans.

I went out to the Lions Club pavillion by the river anyway because the Women's Club had set up a bunch of tables under the leaky rafters.

Mucho creepy stuff for sale:

I guess yard sales will be the new Dollar Tree now that we have always been at war with Eastasia.

In the parking lot, I saw this disturbing vehicle drive up:

It disgorged a male with long, straggling white hair and menacing mien and what I assume was his old lady, weatherbeaten but better preserved than he was.

Gotta say, I was a bit flabbergasted by the truck. I mean, really, you hate Biden enough to get (presumably) costly detailing on your ride? 'Cause you sure don't look like you got much spare bank! Plus, there's still some small part of me that still uses the complex signaling system of my youth when long hair meant "my side."

But signals ultimately are all just random noise.

And White Rabbit is just another version of Glen Miller's Stardust.

I keep thinking there must be something real, but it's hard to get a fix on exactly what that something could be.

Birthday trip was fabulous.

Rendezvoused with the BoyZ on Stone Street, which, back in 1658, became the first cobblestoned avenue in New Amsterdam:

Had dinner at a Cuban salsa bar & RTT paid! (An exciting new development. 😀) I was expecting the food to be touristy & pedestrian, but in fact, it was very tasty:

Our fourth at table was Brian, Madeleine's very pleasant BF. (Madeleine herself is in Tustin.)

Brian was exceedingly impressed that I play D&D! Amusingly so. I could have told him, Why, yes, I did cure cancer, and last year when I was in Oslo accepting the Nobel Prize for literature... and still the most impressive thing about me would be that I play D&D!

After dinner, we went to NYC's hottest production, Life and Trust, which is an immersive event that takes place in a bank, one block away from Wall Street. The bank was originally built in 1931—a bad time for building banks—and subsequently overlaid by a 59-story skyscraper so that the original bank is now underground.

Now, I ❤️LUV❤️ immersive events because they combine all the best elements of theater and museums.

And Life and Trust did not disappoint—although I will say my ❤️LUV❤️ was not entirely unreserved.

Life and Trust centers on a Faustian deal. The action itself takes place on October 23, 1929—the day before the stock market crash that launched the Great Depression.

At some indeterminate point in the past, a man named J.G. Conway sells his soul to the devil in exchange for a recipe for some kind of magical green and highly addictive liquid, which he then mass markets as cough medicine. (This segued into a private Family Joke: I have been telling the BoyZ since they were kids that they were heirs to the DiLucchio Cough Drop Millions.)

Then, in the only spoken part of the show, the devil invites the paying audience to travel back into the Past and watch Bad Things transpire.

Since the paying audience are wraiths in that past, we had to wear these incredibly uncomfortable masks. Mine gave me a headache! Plus it was impossible for me to fit my glasses under it! Plus it was really fuckin' hot and my face sweated buckets!

We also had to do an incredible amount of running around—my FitBit logged more than 10,000 steps—including up and down an incredible number of stairs. My 73-year-old body was barely up to the challenge. (Pretend Nazis are chasing you, I counseled myself at the two-and-a-half hour mark.)

###

The sets were unbelievably wonderful! Bedrooms, parlors, business offices, bank vaults, Dr. Caligari-like labs filled with vials of sinister green liquid & Weird Science specimens, ballrooms, secret gardens, a forest, a lake, a livery stable, a movie theater, a burlesque stage, a boxing ring! All of them meticulously designed and outfitted in the most amazing detail. Dreamlike! You could pick every object up and study it. You could sit in the chairs and lie in the beds. You could work out with the boxing bag! This was my favorite part.

###

I don't know how many characters there were that you could follow around. Dozens & dozens. J.G. Conway. His sister (who is having a Lesbian affair with her maid.) A mad scientist. Many Bohemians, bankers, politicians. A tarot card reader. Several clowns. Cameo appearances from Gilded Age celebrities like Stanford White and Evelyn Nesbit. Mephisto and his various demonic adjutants.

But here's the thing: The characters didn't talk. They danced.

And I'm not that into dance.

And the dance was pretty repetitive. I mean, none of the individual Life and Trust characters had an individual mode of dancing that distinguished their unique personalities or backstories. It was all your basic Martha Graham arm-flinging and back-bending.

And I got—well. Bored. Philistine that I am.

###

Our airbnb was in Brooklyn, and Ichabod had to go back to Brian-and-Madeleine's place in Queens to pick up a suitcase he'd left there (long story), so RTT and I subway-ed alone and got into the Customary Big Fight ('nother long story), which we always seem to get into at least once on every family vacay.

I always forget that as innocuous & defenseless as I seem to myself, in RTT's eyes, I am the Loch Ness Monster, dripping with the kind of deep-water archetypal power that only parents possess!

Anyway.

We resolved the fight, but before we did, we were treated to one of those awful late-night-NYC-subway vignettes that are so massively depressing—namely a homeless guy, crawling with lice, sprawled on one of the hard, fused-plastic subway seats, ostensibly trying to sleep but unable to sleep—the subway car was brightly lit—so he reached down into the crotch of his pants and began to masturbate—

"How's that for immersive theater?" I murmured to RTT.

And we began to laugh.

This guy was once somebody's little pink innocent baby, I reminded myself.

But it was a hard sell.

###

RTT had to leave at the crack of dawn to accept the Working Families Party endorsement back in Ithaca on the Day itself. It meant so much to me that he went to all that trouble to make the trip down for such a short time!

"What do you want to do on your birthday?" Ichabod asked.

What I wanted to do on my birthday was visit the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, which is a touchstone in my personal mythology, a place where I spent many happy, happy hours when I was a kid.

So, that was what we did.

We had lunch at a Jamaican restaurant that had the best mac 'n' cheese I have ever tasted. It had a texture like kugel! Except... It was mac 'n' cheese!

And absolutely amazing banana pudding ice cream at the Ample Hills Creamery.

And then went back to the airbnb and watched all six episodes of the just-dropped seventh season of Black Mirror.

###

Yesterday was hard, hard, hard because saying good-bye to my kids is always so hard. I love them both so much! Not just because they're my kids but because of the people they are. It's like when I'm with them, the world is in color.

There are other people who turn on color for me, too (one or two of whom may actually be reading this.) But I have to say, most of the time, I float in a world that, if not exactly grey, is deeply unsaturated.

And also—WT-fuckin'-F???—it was snowing in the quaint & scenic Hudson Valley! Hideous White Stuff From the Sky!!! I passed six accidents on the country roads as I wended my way home. The roads in Ulster County were unplowed and covered with about three inches of slippery slush. I drove with my knuckles in my mouth, absolutely convinced I was gonna end up in a ditch.

But I didn't.

And today, I have an enormous amount of work to do and very little interest in doing any of it.

What else is new?

So, Ty my old EW editor is on board, and his wife, the corporate lawyer, will help draft the 501(c)(3) (if it comes to that) and Cat is on board, and Public Policy Eleanor is on board.

In a couple of hours, I am scampering off to NYC for birthday celebrations with the BoyZ—Happy Birthday to Me-e-e-e-e!!! 73! Ugh. I am fuckin' old.

Tonight, we're going to an immersive theater production called Life & Trust, which should be The Big Fun—I ❤️LUV❤️ immersive theater—and then tomorrow, the Actual Day, I want to go to the Brooklyn Museum and the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens to see the cherry blossoms. Even though it will be raining.

And I will also, of course, be conscripting Ichabod to help with the project since he, too, is a public policy wonk and even graduated from his Mama's august public policy school.

When I get back, I will get to work on some kind of (brief) position paper while PP Eleanor does a background check. If there's already some organization or initiative that has the infrastructure in place to franchise voters, why reinvent the wheel? I will just throw my support to them.

But if there isn't...

It feels like an enormous, daunting task.

But if not us, who????

###

Meanwhile, yesterday—since I sat in front of my computer all day Remunerating—I was treated to the headlines in Real Time, which was kind of awful.

Did Trump blink because China—and Japan, according to Reddit rumor—began dumping their U.S. treasuries? Or was this a dump then pump, insider-trading scheme from the start designed to make the grifting cronies even richer? Impossible to say.

And how do all those stealth bombers massed along Iran's borders factor into this?

###

One nice thing: Someone who reads my Substack told me my writing reminded her of Hilary Mantel. An enormous compliment. And this is a stranger! Someone who does not know me personally. So that created a warm little glow.

Busy, busy, busy.

Also anxious, anxious, anxious.

###

I was doing Mrs. Baldoni's tax return when I snuck a peek at my email. Mrs. Baldoni (not her real name!) is a cheerful 97-year-old widow who was led into the TaxBwana sanctum by a caretaker. She was with it mentally but completely deaf. Her only sources of income were social security and interest on multiple bank accounts.

EZ/Peazy, thought I.

Except that each of the interest statements was for $15,000 or so, and no federal or state income tax payments had been set aside for any of them.

Wow! I thought. Interest is—what? At best, 4% of a total deposit? Who keeps that much cash around in a time of inflation?

I was not about to give financial advice to a 97-year-old woman with $750,000 sitting around in various bank accounts, though. No, no, no, no! She should be giving financial advice to me!

I'd just delivered the bad news about the accumulated tax liability—a hefty sum—which I was relying on the companion to relay to Mrs. Baldoni.

My phone pinged: New email!

I looked: Icky sending me January's electric bill, which, according to Central Hudson, was in excess of $1,000.

WTFUCK???

Interestingly, I did not freak out.

Instead, I completed Mrs. Baldoni's return and then dashed off an email to Icky, typing very clumsily because my phone has an itty-bitty keyboard & my fingers are quite big.

We need to sit down and have a conversation about this, I wrote. If the high electricity bill does not represent a mistake on Central Hudson’s part, then it represents the use of the space heater after you did not order heating oil in a timely manner. I do not want to be penalized for your error – – particularly as next month’s electric bill will also reflect this.

If the bill was accurate, my part of that conversation was going to be, Fuck you, I am taking you to court.

As it turned out, the Central Hudson bill was not accurate: Central Hudson had tacked on 1,000 additional kilowat hours. This was rectified.

But the incident did bring to the forefront how deeply I dislike this guy.

I do like my space! And he's only up here for 10 days out of every month.

Still, I really do need to think about not being here next winter.

Sigh...

###

Other than that... I spent the morning—which I should have devoted to Remuneration—working on Adrienne's campaign. There are a lot of tedious details that need to be CC'd and BC'd to God knows who. It's massively time-consuming.

Also, RTT did get the Working Families Party endorsement, which practically makes him a shoo-in for the Ithaca City Council seat.

We are quite the political little family!

At least, we are not fulminating in futile rage over Trump. We are trying to do something constructive.

And it's Max's birthday today! I could not love him more or be prouder of the person he is and what he's accomplished.

Shortly, I am scampering off for lunch with Belinda, my Trump-loving pal.

And after that, I must get my windshield wipers replaced.

But when I get back from that, I must sit down & make some money.

Temps hit 40° F yesterday, so you know—fabulous.

I ran around outside for a couple of hours with my coat unbuttoned 'cause after 10 straight days where the temperatures never rose above 20°, 40° felt hot.

One warmish day was not enough to melt the white shroud of ice encasing the landscape, but by the end of the day, there were many more patches where the yellow grass poked through.

###

Mostly, though, I stayed inside and Remunerated because bills to pay, end of the month, etc, etc.

Adrienne sent me the PR materials she'd prepared for the Ulster County Democratic nominating committee. They included a truly horrifying photograph that made Adrienne look like the scariest old lady you've ever sat next to on a bus (American flag backdrop, though, so that was good.)

The PR materials also included what Adrienne thinks are the top political issues important to Wallkillians (Wallkillers?): (1) lack of medical care and transportation, (2) farm-to-table food, and (3) an art community.

And I am thinking, Say wh-h-hat????

The biggest political issue hereabouts is the current prison strike since prisons are practically the only industry in this part of Ulster County.

The Democratic Governor of New York State, Kathy Hochul, is very opposed to prison strikes and is helicoptering in National Guardsman to take the place of the prison guards walking the picket lines—which makes for kind of an interesting dilemma here in the heart of Trumplandia: Mouth-foaming Trump supporters are actually pro prison union here because their relatives, neighbors, & friends are the ones out on the picket lines.

If she wants to win, Adrienne is gonna have to be pro prison union, too, whatever the official Democratic party line is.

Also, Wallkill has no grocery stores or supermarkets. It is technically a food desert. That is an issue far more serious than access to urgent care clinics.

Adrienne spent most of her life in Queens, so she is conditioned to give knee-jerk, Big City answers to questions like, What are the most important local issues?

But honestly? I think Adrienne needs to spend some time in the reeducation camp.

###

And, of course, no sign from the person who used to sysop the Shawangunk Dems' website. Highly irresponsible, that, and a reminder that you must build redundancy in any time you're doing anything on the Internet.

Presumably, I can get Adrienne space on the Ulster County Democrats' server.

###

In the evening, I debated the True Function of Humor for an hour or so on the phone with Ichabod.

As noted, I am a Big Fan of humor and an especially Big Fan of inappropriate, politically incorrect humor.

I think the moment when you "get" a punchline is exactly equivalent to satori, that Zen Buddhism moment of profound insight when the true nature of reality suddenly becomes clear.

In my next incarnation, I'm gonna invent a religion entirely based on Holocaust jokes!

###

The conversation with Ichabod centered on two "jokes."

Louis CK: You should never rape anyone unless you have a reason like you want to fuck somebody and they won't let you.

Donald J. Trump: You can grab 'em by the pussy.

"The Louis CK quote is pretty funny," I said. "The Trump quote is not funny. But that's because it wasn't a joke."

"You don't think he was trying to get a laugh?" Ichabod asked.

"Oh, on one level, sure. The sheer absurdity of the situation. But honestly? He was telling the exact truth about his experiences as a mega-celebrity."

"How do you know?"

"Hey! I wasn't an entertainment journalist all those years for nothing!"

"But Louis CK was telling the exact truth about his experiences, too, and you thought it was funny!"

"That's true," I conceded. " I'm not entirely sure why it was funny. I'd have to think it through to analyze it.

Adrienne was happy to accept my offer of assistance to do social media for her campaign.

(Readers who obsessively track every pearl that falls from my keyboard may recall that Adrienne has decided to run as a Democrat for Ulster County Legislature for District 13: Hamlet of Wallkill. The nomination will come tomorrow, and she will make the official announcement next week.)

"You've got to have a website up & running when you make that announcement," I told her. "Even if it's only a placeholder. The announcement will garner press coverage & you’ll want to promote that URL—"

Can you do the placeholder? she asked and then began telling the group chat about the recent emigré from NYC she'd met a couple of days ago who was a big techie and could probably do the website—only she'd only played Ain't It Awful with him for 10 minutes and had not approached him about a website, so she didn't know.

Yes, I can do the placeholder and probably, I could do the website—though if she can get New Tech Friend to do the website, that is absolutely fine with me.

It's been years since I've designed or uploaded a website, & I've forgotten everything I ever knew about WordPress—which is the best platform for comparatively small websites.

But even a placeholder has to have basic elements—a couple of good photos (that need to be shot originally in high resolution that I can tweak in Photoshop), links for About, Calendar, Events, Donations, Facebook, etc.

In other words, even a placeholder involves work.

The Shawangunk Democrats actually have a website that nobody has updated in a year.

I am thinking that means they have extra server space that we can glom on to—because if Adrienne doesn't win in November, she will not want a one-year server contract.

But apparently, nobody knows anything about the Shawangunk Democrats' website! It is just sitting there, a small & petulant satellite spinning in cyberspace.

So, the placeholder work must also involve tracking down the former Shawangunk Dem sysop.

###

Also, for Ichabod's birthday this year, I have decided to send him all the novels Annie wrote during the 1970s.

Annie & Ichabod were close before Annie got carted away to Dementia Guantanamo in fuckin' Bend, Oregon—about a million miles away from friends she loved well enough to ping those last collapsing filaments of memory.

So, I have been tracking the novels down on eBay.

A bittersweet endeavor, to be sure.

###

Apart from that, I have a billion other things I gotta do but, highest on that list, is REMUNERATION 'cause I have been a lazy slouch, listening to those phantom melodies only we feckless grasshoppers can hear!

Thank GAWD, this horrible cold spell is forecast to break tomorrow.

Profile

Every Day Above Ground

June 2025

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
1	2	3	4	5	6	7
8	9	10	11	12	13	14
15	16	17	18	19	20	21
22	23	24	25	26	27	28
29	30

Syndicate

Page Summary

Marketing & Its Discontents
Maintaining
White Rabbit
Life, Trust, Subways, & the Brooklyn Botanic Garden
If Not Us, WHO????
QUITE the Politically Active Little Family!
So Why Is This FUNNY?
Those Phantom Melodies Only Feckless Grasshoppers Hear

Active Entries

1: Heat Spell Breaks
2: Gaskets
3: It Is What It Is
4: The Fifteenth Floor of the Chateau D'Amboise
5: Conveyor Belt
6: Always Fuckin' Something
7: The Zone
8: Driving Away
9: Heavy Mental Lifting
10: When the World Is Running Down

Style Credit

Style: Fresh Cotton for Crisped by timeasmymeasure

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags

Page generated Jun. 30th, 2025 04:41 am

Mallory's Camera

Entries tagged with max

Marketing & Its Discontents

Maintaining

White Rabbit

Life, Trust, Subways, & the Brooklyn Botanic Garden

If Not Us, WHO????

QUITE the Politically Active Little Family!

So Why Is This FUNNY?

Those Phantom Melodies Only Feckless Grasshoppers Hear