COMMIT A RANDOM ACT OF NEIL DIAMOND KINDNESS

Last night, amongst other engagements and duties and social irresponsibilities, made a stop to see and hear two bands of boys I know. More importantly, following is what I wore yesterday evening. Glancing at my new DIAMOND GIRL shirt from Neil's recent Middling City show I knew it was the wise and perfect choice, worn with the SoHo gold overprinted suede jacket which glimmers like the eyes of Elvis post-pillpop. A night of rock music appreciation deserves an appropriate dual musical superstar brandishing.

But before arriving at the supersets shot a local reggae cover band and when leaving, hitting the sidewalk, passed two women. One of them turned around and said Hey, DIAMOND GIRL, still walking. I shouted after her Were you at the show? Yes, she said, but I didn't buy that shirt, I bought the one with the flag on it. Oh, I murmured, sort of slightly taken aback by this stranger's merch choice. She said I'm really patriotic. (But, I'm thinking, why a flag when one's boobies can be emblazoned with the words DIAMOND GIRL?). So then I shouted, as a parting gesture of Neil Luvv Unity, WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE NEIL SONG? Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon the answer.
Her pal, non-believing, laughed.

My suggestion to you, blogee:
Strike up a random conversation with a stranger and discuss Neil Diamond.
Or, in a public place, hum or sing (whichever seems most appropriate) a Neil song. Cover a Neil song under your breath to make others happy, spread the love. And try it with arm gestures to boot.
Love & Over & Out

In order to avoid a possible vehicular homicidal situation I veered offpath away from a rolled up carpet in my way, in front of the building I was parking in front of, last nigt. This resulted in the car's right side mirror ending up in a dangling condition. For one instant I imagined one of a bevy of homeless people near the office building wrapped up in the carpet taking a deep (perhaps booze-induced) snooze = veering. And now I am certain that my face will be hanging up any day now in Subaru leasing offices and dealerships throughout the land: DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, LEASE ANOTHER SUBARU TO THIS INDIVIDUAL. One boy colleague and boy artist assured me that it's not quite as bad as I think it is. I do not believe them. I think they wanted to avoid a non-smiling Nancy with a non-laughing face.

Today's super rock surprise is, as of noon, ultra-public.
The secret was leaked to me about a week ago that the Goo Goo Dolls were playing a free and MTV-sponsored gig at Albright-Knox Art Gallery. I contacted my MTV pal and some local rock promoting types to get a big IN, the big C(redentials).
Teenaged Middling City students believed they were on an art foray and were led into a sculpture court. The stage was wrapped with floor-to-ceiling plastic and all camera people were hidden behind curtains. I was onstage with the band, waiting for the curtain to fall, so I could shoot reactions.
A gallery docent said, This artist creates with what many feel is a difficult material to work with - they work in rock.
Curtain falls and 150 students are stunned and then rocking out (except a handful of Hispanic students with arms crossed and pouting lips).
This ("Jammin'") airs on MTV April 8th or 9th. The room was swirling with rock & roll, students having probably the best concert experiences of their teenaged lives, a dozen or so video camera shooters running about, some adult onlookers, a cranky curator thinking of asking everyone (including me) to get down off the Jenny Holzer marble benches for better views of overall mayhem and then deciding against it, one way-rocking out geeky teacher in archetypal brown cord jacket, a few boy colleagues and me (documenting more Goos history for MTV and the Middling City alterna-paper).
If you watch the show you might see me, in my excellent black fuzzy jacket and most wonderful new HYDE shoes.
All for now, love.

Highlight of week thus far:
Yesterday (3/11, as in pop-hardrock band) shot a hockey-related media frenzy surrounding former Czech citizen, Middling City resident and Buffalo Sabre Dominik Hasek who was intermingling with inner-city youth dubbed Hasek's Heroes. Bad name, good cause. It's obvious how much he digs intermingling with the kids and he spent a lot of time talking with them and then, at the end, he handed every adult-bossed child a hockey puck emblazoned with the Olympic logo.
Now here's the highlight.
The event's emcee was Danny Gare. #18. Another former Sabre and current hockey announcer.
As a child I was obsessed with Danny Gare (this might even be at the time of my Pink Floyd discovery - unrelated I am sure) and actually knew how to forge his autograph. And, when sliding off the waterslide at our country club I'd scream at the top of my lungs DANNY GARE RULES.
So there we are within arm's length of each other and I muttered to lead boy colleague also shooting the Hasek affair Please do not embarass me and tell him how much I love(d) him. Please. So I'm talking to Danny Gare and I look over at lead boy colleague who's grinning.
I finally say hello to thee Danny Gare and in the midst of our ever-so-brief conversation I told him that I could forge his signature and then he had a very odd look on his face.
Lead boy colleague photographed us together with my camera and now me and Danny hang amid the other Perfect-Nancy-Meets-VIP photos.
What I didn't tell Danny Gare:
back in disco's heyday I was an underaged pedestrian watching the grand opening of a hot new dance joint near my parents' home. The spotlights twirled. People in polyester walked by and into the club. And then Danny Gare appeared and I screamed DANNY GARE RULES and he, an adult hockey superstar on a disco mission, shot a look of disdain over his shoulder.
The End and here's le moral du jour:
no matter who you are and whom your obsession might be, you might very well end up in a hockey rink with your arms around each other for a quick photo and the jogging of a very musty memory.

During the N's and the O's of an A-to-Z Pink Floyd playlist on the occasional classic rock oasis I drove through what felt to be a movie set for a cinematic treatment of the apocalypse in Middling City exurbs.
No people. Trees upended. Old metal hotel signs lying down. A fallen phone booth. And the sky was an orange-blue with swirling dark clouds.
And I thought of Bob. Hurricaine Bob.
How I had the night off (many years ago) in Maine @ art teaching @ camp gig and thought Fuck it, so it's a hurricaine, it's my night off and I am so like outta here. And they let me drive off in my little car, knowing there's no stopping an unstoppable woman on a mission such as myself - and they had 200 kids to worry about. And I drove into Bob, branches flying past my car windows, visibility comparable to blizzard driving conditions until I had to admit that facing the choices of 1. seeing my special pal in Portland and perhaps seeing an untimely death versus 2. heading to camp and facing disaster with a slew of hysterical 8-12 year olds, staffers, etc. choice 2 was probably a good idea.
And then me and camp foundress came up with an evacuation plan for the campers and staff, we took over the gym and offices of a public school for a day and night, I tried to jump start the school's generator but didn't know the thing needed its water replaced until a crusy old man showed up from nearby, I inadvertently set off air raid sirens when trying to pull breakers, then didn't sleep all night and then visited camp to inspect damage with foundress the next AM saw old pine trees sawed in half and wires lying on the ground and then helped ship all campers back to their respective homes and complicated lives the next afternoon.
Nothing nearly that exciting happened during this afternoon's Pink Floyd driveby but the music fit the landscape and, for a moment, I was in a 1/2 hourlong movie in which a Middling City is vaporized, the skies are troubling and the only person around is me, Perfect and intrepid Nancy. Credits roll. And no Roger Waters to sue my ass for not paying for usage of his music on my soundtrack.