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.

Tomorrow is John Lennon's birthday and here's how best to celebrate it, in my Perfect opinion.
If you are in NYC lay flowers on the IMAGINE mosaic in Strawberry Fields. Yoko says we must remember his birth, not death, day.
If not in NYC, play his music, reflect on his genius and interesting nose and then, as the night rolls in, drink plenty of brandy alexanders and act like a crazed rock star. He would be, according to my calculations, 62. Would he have had a saggy old guy arse? All-gray hairs? Ridiculous facial hair that says I've made it and aesthetics can go to hell?
We will never know.
Last night dreamed a dream that there was a corpse at a wake and it was generally believed that I had been a friend of the corpse when it was a person. I had to pretend all through the wake that I knew this person, a woman, so as not to make the familiar more sad.
John Lennon was sometimes harsh to those he loved most.
Love can be harsh.
But a John Lennon lost early at the hands of a lunatic fanatic is better than not ever having had a John Lennon to love.
Love.