Saturday, March 22, 2003

The NYTimes this AM has a stupendous array of war stories and photos and a backpage assortment of satellite photos of Iraq. The best map shows the oil fields (the crux of the matter no matter who denies that) as receding gray blobs. I would probably have selected another color than dove gray, perhaps a High Alert Orange or Scud Missile Yellow.
In the midst of a happy and lucrative Bat Mitzvah day although not as lucrative as it is for young Rachel who, I was told, might net upwards of $20K today. Her parents have designated $1K for charity and the rest is earmarked for education.
I sit blogging in the midst of a newly-cleaned, shockingly cleaned, alternapaper office, the cleaner just thanked me for hooking her up with this gig. Lucre is in the air. And America (the "Coalition" my arse) seems to be thus far kicking ass. I wondered if they're walking into catastrophe, if the Iraqis might be constructing some colossal boobie trap.
Tonight I've instructed Rachel the Bat Mitzvah girl that at the world's hoakiest Italian food joint (Salvatore's Italian Gardens to those of you who knoweth not the Middling City) that we are going to use the onsite crap/tchotchkes/antique cars/fiberglas buffalo for photo ops until the cord is yanked so to speak.
Saw Lawrence Brose out last night as I sipped wine with members of Janet Reno Fan Club. He's participating in a convocation, or was is a conference (some important C word) and was all nervous and prepping away. Being the vibrant gay artist that he is (creator of an Oscar Wilde De Profundis masterwork) I suggested that he let them think he's stiffing and then streak through as the panel is speaking, some key words Sharpied onto his body.
When in doubt, make a big splash.
Onwards to yet more coffee, and photo ops and mischief that is the spice of my life.

No comments: