Well, well, well.
A weekend it was of talking and talking.
The last post was shock-driven and I retract it.
No relief, now in relationship negotiations.
Tonight is Bruce Springsteen and I sent Lead Boy Colleague to do the shooting. We photo types were to be relegated to the soundboard for working and that's not a perfect photo op, to be sure.
Flying to NYC now on Wednesday AM not Tuesday for the birthday festivities and will still be dining on 10/10, the big #39, at Gotham, hq of chef Alfred Portale - former Buffalo jewelry designer.
I sign off, stress-laden and deadline-ful.
Love.

Columbus Day, according to Your Perfect Nancy:
One day, in Spain, the King and Queen spaketh to a feisty sailor named Christopherus Columbus. He, Columbus, was hankering to set sail and find spices and high times. So, later that month, he did so aboard one of these three ships: The Don Cuervo, The Pinto Bean and the Santa Ria. After spying octopii, sirens, goblins and the like he landed upon the shores of Indian territory near the time, five hundred years later, that Nancy J. Parisi was born into the world - early October.
The End.
Historical love.

Well I think I sufficiently frightened Pete the lead singer of The Pee Wee Fist this weekend before he jumped on the Mohawk Place stage. Laura and I were having several at the bar when he ambled by in the most interesting, non-Middling City shoes which we remarked upon. I blurted at him I have a shotgun bruise. Now I'm sure he thinks all women here are all rednecked kooks. Well, that is fairly accurate.
If I knew what the hell I was Blogger Pro doing there'd be a great image of the bruise (red, blue, purple and the size of a Kennedy half dollar) on this page. Use your imagination, that's what it's there for.
Off to Sunday adventures, after the standing brunch gig with Janet Reno Fan Club.
Love.