Wednesday, October 23, 2002

In one hour I'll be freezing my ass off shooting 50 rescue workers in orange jumpsuits with a helicopter. Who looks good in orange? I'll tell you.
Nobody on this planet looks good in orange.
When Dorota and I were in gai Paris I bought a great top, it's orange. Does the fact that it's Parisian make it less orange? No.
I rest my case.
Then, after the helicopter moment, I'm traipsing across town to shoot Richard Gere of gerbil (or was it hamster fame?) who's in town supporting Louise Slaughter, Dem Congressman.
Gere - provider of love vibes from soup to nuts... from Dalai Lama to Slaughter.
Gere and Slaughter are appearing in an elegant, restored nightclub from Middling City heyday, a business too large and lavish and destined for a short life unless they proverbially hop into bed with every rock promoter in town to get mid-sized rock acts booked into the mid-sized venue.
But tonight the joint's a venue for a political act.
The act of schmoozing, my fav.

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