The taste of an expansive/expensive cigar fills my mouth, still, the day after shooting a wedding. Two pals married each other (Rick + Jen) and there were loads of people that I know at the hoopla so it was a bonus & a half for me and, contrary to my usual practice, enjoyed cocktails as I would have absolutely stuck out like a sore, Prohibition-era thumb had I not. And then Mark said Hey, Nancy, I've got cigars and held out three for me to pick and I picked out a torpedo. A nice stanky affair.
A bunch of musicians were at the wedding and spent a portion of the evening discussing press photography/photographers/complex inner-workings of the minds of freelance photographers.
As I was having the above conversation a very drunk man came up, I thought, to talk to one of the musicians as she's very fetching. But, while looking at her he's telling the story of seeing me at the doctor's office for my shoulder injury as he read Sports Illustrated. He said, Yes I knew you were shooting Rick's wedding and I was concerned that you were injured. Talk about Middling City 2 degrees of separation.
After leaving there documented Middling City musical happenings and, last stop, saw a disoriented guy who was in the vestibule of Mohawk Place. He had soaked a Florida into the front of his shirt and I asked Marty, What's up with him. He said Oh, he claims he got mugged but I think he's just drunk and was fighting with someone. The usual bunch of ruffian musicians and music scene types were there and was happy to have seen +/- or whatever the hell they're called.
The shoot today with Last Conservative was supersonic. Afterwards they lolled about my joint listening to music, especially the new Wilco, as I burned their stuff onto a cd for them to take back to their rock & roll lair.
Onwards.
Love.