Nothing I read about Andrew WK prepared me for his gig last night at Showplace, a fist-pumping lovefest celebrating the party possibilities in us all.
I was tipped off by promoter that he'd be on first, at an ungodly 8PM and I counted three songs with the word party in the title. His band looked like your average metal rock geeks and he was even more handsome in the flesh than in photos. His music is techno-embracing pop-metal and he was all high-kicks that would be the envy of David Lee Roth, to be sure. And he's all long sweaty dark hair that he flips up from time to time to spread Andrew WK smiles of fan appreciation when possible. I looked at him and thought Holy Rock & Roll Hell, this is the closest I might ever get to Johnny Depp. During his set he wrestled with security to get his stageriding fans onstage, at which point he'd hand over the mic and smile at their lyric-spouting selves like a proud parent. Afterwards my security pal Paul told me that that was part of the schtick: Andrew WK's management said He'll try to pull fans up on stage - DON'T LET HIM. Then there got to be a dramatic tug-o-war, do you follow? This happens all the time in the rock world.
After his set (at 1 point power went off and the guitarist said Well, we are professionals, so we lost some power - let's DANCE!!!) Andrew WK went out into the crowd and then signed autographs for over an hour. I had my photo taken with him, TWICE. The first one was like hugging a wet stage towel. The second one, at the merch table, he was slightly drier. During the second snapfest security pal Dino had my camera and Andrew WK had me in a bear hug - fingers out in metalILoveYou gesture, tossing his hair to the front. I asked Should I rumple my hair, too? So I did, and we crossed our metalILoveYou fingers. Rock completely on.
I bought his t-shirt which shows him with bloody nose, a mere $15. The merch table guy, also Leo Buscaglia-ish in genuine love and hugs, informed me that for that photo Andrew WK smashed himself in the face with a cinder block. I am still confused by this. With the amount of faux blood available everywhere, why would a beautiful, Johnny-Depp-esque rock star have to go to such lengths?

Interesting snippet of Perfect Nancy time, 11AM today:
me in a Starbucks bathroom, using the toilet scrubber to get mud caked on shoes off before returning to freelance gig, after photographing Oozfest (muddy volleyball). I meant to bring snowpants and boots, forgot, traipsed to Oozfest in suit and kickin' shoes, got muddy and good ol' Starbucks came to rescue. Now I'm slightly horrified at thought of toilet molecules on my shoes.
The tink thank was thinkful, enjoyable.

So last night I'm all WOOO-HOOOO I'm in a think tank. I had a gig documenting a Law School event, a banquet. So there's my think tanker self sitting in a cheeseball room at an overly-decorated table waiting for something to happen for me and my camera.
I start talking with one guy to my right who, he tells me, is associated with the law school. He's one of those weirdos who can't look you in the eye as you're conversing and I determine quickly that he has a sense of humor on the negative side of the sliding scale.
He's mid-40's and his similar wife is sitting on the other side of him.
He mentions that he's into international trade law and I think surrendipity has reared its meandering head as that's basically the theme of Saturday's think tank meeting - American identity in global market.
So I say I'm in a think tank. He looks at me like I'm some crack-addled woman who has crashed the soirée. I ask him for some tips on where I can glean some background info. His response? Do you have time to read about 40,000 pages? We stop talking. I look at the program and holy guac this guy and wifey are leading national superstars in the realm of international trade theory, law, fun facts, you name it.
He might know a lot about the above but he's not trading in the hot commodities of humor and charm.
Finished the evening watching Drums and Tuba with a gaggle of friends who were happy for my new think tank status. All sort of people, save Ani, from Righteous Babe Records were at the gig - they're on her label. Bitch and Animal, another band on RBR, were there, two We're so into fashion lezbos.
Off to more photo deadlines.

Moral of following blogpost: Sometimes you never know where in hell a declaration will get you. Namely, you want something. You state it. Somebody for whatever reason remembers the statement, an occasion arises and you're en route.

A while back I was talking with a Middling City business person and said that I always wanted to be involved with a think tank and we talked about what sorts of think tank ops there are - or are needed.

I have been invited to participate in a think tank and the first meeting happens on Saturday. This doesn't make up for not getting the NYC residency (*#@) but lightens the air around me a bit. I'm in a think tank. On Saturday. A think tank. This blog is a think tank of sorts. Well, off to think. Not in a tank. Yet.

Just Experienced a very informative and semi-legal after-hours at a Middling City joint where Your Perfect Nancy et al indulged in cash registerless booze and snacks and high times. Now back to journalistic reality and the writing of the column.
Decision: (and being a Libra this is historic)
no more Zip discs. My dip drive is going to be asap subjected to the most draconian of laundry lists of punishments: running over by car, melting by cigarette lighter, stoning, spreading it with peanut butter and bird seed and letting the blue jays and robins have their way with it.
CD-roms are way more stable. Why have I been wasting time with zips? I wonder.
Back to journalistic "responsibility." Or integrity. What does integrity really mean.
My love.

Lisa, my positivity-effusing pal studying currently at Naropa U, emailed me my astrological chart earlier today. In a nutshell: I like to appear like I have a titanium nutshell but am truly emotional, I work hard, I avoid marriage and anything remotely threatening to my independence, my friends are my family and I seek power. Right on, positive Lisa. No bucolic pony rides and lolling about on the Maine coast for this adrenalized me.
Have spent the better portion of today freelancing and troubleshooting and driving for miles and miles. Back in front of machine before more of same, then resuming computer staring into wee hours. Wondering how I'm going to squeeze in some boozing time at about 930PM with Laura - the motivation to guzzle yet more coffee and hit the computer running.
I may be using my Dave Matthews image nearly half the spread. Why? Because I'm the photo editor and I freakin' SAY SO. Any further questions? Good, I thought not.
Love, your titanium-shelled pal, Perfect Nancy.

Today I have been rushing since 6AM. It's now 6PM+.
Did some food photography today out in an oddball swanky restaurant I've never ventured into and they were so nice, basically insisting that I eat lunch and sit and then a rockstar drummer who happens to work there came out and sat and talked to me about the music scene.
Last night I had dinner at the home of a manager of a few national bands, including ultra-Canadian ensemble Cowboy Junkies. A woman who works at Ani DiFranco's Righteous Babe Records was there and, even after numerous prompts from those of us in the rockstar know, wouldn't say a thing about the dark side of working at RBR. I teased her that she was fearing for her life. Or job. Her beau was one of those grad school types. The conversation was mostly dominated by rockstar talk. Fun facts. Figures. Gossip. Highs. Lows.
Got my Dave photos back moments ago, amongst hundreds of others. When I was eating at the restaurant (sort of a free lunch) the drummer/kitchen guy asked how many images I think I've made to date. A mind-boggling question. I've been shooting steadily since I was 17. I told him at the height of the season (maybe May through September) I shoot up to about 100 rolls per week.
You do the math.
Off for more more more.
Love.

Writing this from an elegant Apple shoppe in an exurban malle venue. A nice UB student returned my former cell phone so a nice reward is coming his way. I'm blogging on Apple's nickel and that seems very very appropriate.
EPINW is being written for the premier time on a huge screen on a power mac g4 priced at $3K or so. Blazing processor, too. A salesman is now telling a potential buyer about its screen, how it emulates the width of a real movie screen - 23" wow. Monsters Inc was made one one, I think he just said.
Last night Dave came out to screams. I shot from his right hand side and then shifted over to his left. Made tight images as he came down for his looking-at-hands moments, very intimate. Talked very briefly with Rudy again, his tour photog, who is very busy being important all of the time.
Stayed for most of Dave's set and marvelled at how every time he does his kicky little Dave dance now the crowd surges into an uproar. Bought the $38 model long-sleeved DMB shirt. Nice gray with yellow logo. Worth $38? Does Dave have the blackest, most miscievious eyes?
Afterwards onto other venues, other hotspots. And a reunion for a bar where I was a seasoned alum. We all talked about the good times, the past times. Then, when it occured to me it felt like a memorial service, after a few flaming shots, I split. Onwards.
Love.