Rock & Roll travel works - if you've got the right attitude. Mazzy Star's "She Hangs Brightly" was this adventure's soundtrack which worked well on both flights, and in MOMA as I looked at the annoyingly new DIGITAL and huge people-infested images of Andreas Gursky. Got to this city's airport with wet hair, blouse all mis-buttoned, and bag ajar. And, quite possibly (but I was in my zone and beyond noticing), fellow travelers agog. The air personalities stated "you must be Nancy" and then I stumbled towards the shitty little prop plane. Note to self: jets = less inner ear mayhem. Other note to self: car service = less post-ride barfiness than bouncy cabs. Made the to-NYC flight by some miracle (I was showering, oh, forty minutes before takeoff) and met up, serendipitously, with a pal on the very same plane en route to moving to France (Land of Perfection/Delicious Johnny Depp's home). Bought her and I some kir royales at JFK and went along my way to meet my AOL/outtatown & outtasight editor in the big M. Many other NYC adventures ensued with several friends & acquaintances & artworks including: near-knockout bump on head from steel girder badly positioned on stairwell of Dorota's new art studio; ferocious bite mark on right arm from same; scratch on face from god knows what; great new me&ro ring; blackened khaki knees from fake fall with a pal's non-fake cane in middle of a crowded SoHo restaurant; wounded feet from wearing beautiful new shoes for miles and miles of smiles; and residual hangover molecules floating throughout my artfully-stimulated brain. I returned to this fair city Friday afternoon after a near-debacle with American Airlines in NYC at their gateside counter. The on-duty officiates announced casually that my flight was oversold 100% and that I was on a waiting list and would be "rolled over" to a later flight. Visions of pre-air rage and attendant shocking acts floated before my hateful eyes - I had a gig in four hours. Nancy's World is a happy world when all goes my way. I watched the odd work of the two women in front of me, remaining a hunkering presence until I had my hands on my fucking little green boarding pass. In a few hours I was back at work, socially documenting a VIP et al dinner at which Rita Moreno was a guest of honor. Me: unfamiliar with her work on television and B'Way, being a non-follower of both. Rita: petite and well-dressed and a spicy starry presence who likes to jibe, apparantly, with photogs. Me: hanging back as dinner was being served to see if the little star of tube & stage wanted to actually eat or schmooze the night away. Rita: graciously throwing her arms around anyone who wanted to pose for a photo with her, all the while informing that person that I was the city's most famous social photographer. Me: slightly amused.