So for the time being, I will look like my brother here, but a little fuller of figure and lacking some steam in my strut. Actually, I don't care. It has gotten long enough to be kind of cool--for a homeless cowboy. But remember when romance was full of those, all those '70s movies and Sam Shepard plays? Tender hearted men, lonesome, sad, and blue?
Now that I've been thrilling (ha) my friends with my AI creations, they have gotten into the game. Tennessee sent me one he made from a photo at the Irish pub when my Miami friend was working there as a waitress. Oh, my. . . the thing he made happen in his video.
"That's a keepsake," he said.
Have you ever had a photo taken? You are in for it now, too. It can be incredibly good fun. But it could get you into trouble as well, I suspect. Before I showed the video I made of Sky when she was a beautiful young lass, I asked if it was o.k. I made one yesterday of Ili from two photographs. It was cute and very her. I sent it to Q.
"You better have a release form for that video!" he wrote back. Indeed. Ili is an attorney from a family of attorneys.
But what have I got to lose, really. My life is over anyway, at least as I have known it.
There was a woman at the Women's Pavilion sitting catty corner from me. Catty corner. I have never written that before. I had to look it up. That is a strange realization. How is it possible? Maybe it is true for some of you as well. Probably not.
Anyway. . . she was older, I'd guess in her late 70s. She was tall and thin and elegant. Her husband, or what I took to be her husband, was one of those casually sophisticated men with perfectly white, straight hair that is stylishly longish without being long, not covering his ears nor the back of his neck, just a good head of hair that could blow in the wind. He wore khaki pants in a rich Palm Beach way, and a printed pinpoint cotton button up Oxford casually tucked into the top of his pants belted with a nautical design. She had matching painted finger and toenails in a light blue. She wore a pantsuit that allowed that she still had a figure. She wore a subtle but noticeable eyeliner that made her light blue eyes pop, and when she looked at me, I knew that she had stopped many men with a glance. She gave a brief smile that I knew all too well, and I longed to have known her forty or fifty years ago. And in truth, it felt as if I had. Now her skin was mottled by age but not by wrinkles, and she still had a confident, knowing sadness in her countenance. She and her handsome husband had lived a good life, I was certain, somewhere above and insulated from the fray, not uncaringly, but certainly.
What made me remember this was watching a documentary on "The Fabulous Cushing Sisters" last night (link). Sophisticated ambition. In my life, I've been a fool for the type.
Today's appointment is with the audiologist. Last visit, she took a mold of my mother's ear canals and sent them off to have made something that will help my mother keep her hearing aids in. I guffaw. She will never wear them, I'm afraid, but perhaps this will do the trick and she can prove me wrong. Fingers crossed.
So. . . I've an idea for my own little videos. I use my own photos as a base for almost all the AI stuff I do. My first idea is to make a video of last weekend's photo safaris. I think it could really be something, but I may be the only one. Still, as long as it fascinates me, I'm alright with that. Everyone else is so far away now. I have no idea what they do or like.
It will have a soundtrack. But for now, we need music. This is not my favorite rendition of this song. I'd love to hear it by Van Morrison. But the images. . . yea. . . I'm a fool for all that.
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