Still in the city surpassing all others.
Last night, birthdate anniversary night, dined +3 at Gotham, h.q. of superstar chef Alfred Portale. Passed an envelope of two photographs I made of him, his wifey and a Buffalo restaurateur and this was handed along to him. The gift was to thank him for the rez at 8 for 4 on 10/10 and Portale in turn sent out a tray of champagne, an app and a bevy of his hand-picked desserts. We were informed by one of his on-floor eyes&ears that Portale would be out to see us between courses. And out he came his unsassuming self and I had Jason take a snap of me and Portale with my exciting and new Pop9 Lomo camera with 9 lenses making 9 images on one 35mm frame = shithole resolution. However. That is not the point.
So Portale was fascinated by the Pop9, asking where he could buy one for his photocentric brother.
I want at least one of my pieces to hang in Gotham. I'm going to send Portale a small 8x10 art print for his erudition/joy/seduction. My art must hang in Gotham.
I must head back to the Middling City today, where, I just learned, the weekly fucked with my Congressman John LaFalce images, the title and something else and the writer is fuming and has me terrified to look. But she will probably not say anything to the publisher... but I will.
So off to a hot meatloaf lunch with Dorota and then poutingly tossing myself in the back of a Town Car to be airlifted out of here to there. Sadly.
It rains.
Love.