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.
Love.

Shot the Bouncing Souls on one of last night's several stops a sold-out HOT-en-anny. As their name suggests, they bounce a lot. On the proverbial toes shooters must be. Speaking of shooters shared the pit with a small girl with small digital point & shoot and the Middling City's most annoying boy photog who does not rate as a Boy Colleague. He's Amateur Boy and he apes all that I do, perhaps watching me as much as the stage activity. I put on a different lens, he does same. I switch from TTL to some bounced light for a different look and he'll do that. I switch from one side of the stage to another and he's there. I back up five feet and he's in the spot I just occupied. I think next time I see him I'll charge him a tutorial fee. He's also the sort of photog who's all elbows and some of the BCs have noted this as well. It's a habit, a way of being a pain in the ass, a presence. I've actually moved Amateur Boy's elbow out of my view when he was in front of me and maintaining a wallish stance.
After Bouncing Souls shot a lezbo spoken word artiste, the final stop. She was really a bright spot, words flipping out of her effortlessly. Alix Olson. And she had some audience participation happening, always a gold star in my mind. It was a far far cry from the pre-Bouncing Souls reading I shot/attended that was a hushed and brightly-lit affair.
Events, they come in all shapes, sizes and darknesses.
Onwards.
Love and Friday-style anticipations.

Endured the world's longest awards luncheon which clocked in at a mind-numbing 2 hours and 20 minutes = speeches, presentations and video snippets. I was so on my game: this awardee from the left, next one from the right, ooooh, and this awardee head-on.
Needed/wanted to sit closer than the alternapaper table so sat with a rival pub's employees and when the emcee said Would every past awardee here please stand up I did my customary rise and bow... explaining that to the table's obvious unhumoured horror.
For some reason my 80-200 was on the ol' fritz and would seize and give me a horrifying EEE as in Error message. Switched then to the 28-70.
In 50 minutes there's a peace rally in a smallish Middling City Park. Seems to me a tad late for a peace rally as we're now in the throes.
Just told one of my more humour-loving colleages at the alternapaper (where I'm multi-tasking/making a few perkly long distance calls) that I'm fasting until we have peace.
Fasting for peace.
As the oil fields burn I sign off, soldiering on for accuracy in all things Blog.

Amongst other messages left on the Perfect answering machine is one from an attorney and I'm dreading calling this person back - I have a feeling it's the esq. of the batoned man who not only gave me his okay but purchased a few copies of his bruised likeness. I sent him a few lo-rez jpegs so he could have a sneak peek of what'll be in his mail and in the alternweekly.
For the record:
I have applied and been accepted to be part of the first group/class of 15 MFA students in Parsons School of Design's Photography and Applied Technologies. The mere mention of the word technologies makes my heart gleefully skip beats... me, data, experimentation, imaging more than ever, images, technology, calculations, more experimentation.
The program is designed to have us in NYC for short intensive bursts in the summer when no undergrads are around the labs. Then they prefer us to depart and resume our careers whilst keeping in touch with fellow PRT MFAs and faculty via... technology!
Finally received my packet of overwhelming amounts of information including my student freakin' number. That and $400 means it's for real.
Tuition, frighteningly, is higher than I realized.
I may have to start a part-time career in bank robbery to finance this experimentation in higher learning.
26 months from now you will all have to get on all fours and kiss my MFAd arse.
Thanks for your attention in this matter.
NJP, PSD student #NP28887.25

I'm sorry, I just don't care right now.
Turning off NPR and the pending death threats and reaching for brilliant Stephen Malkmus/Pavement's appropriate-for-now Terror Twilight from 1999 when the world was still sort of innocent and fresh.
Among the sights shot by Yours Truly this past weekend was a man of a Middling City suburb with a perfect baton mark across his face, getting shuffled into a waiting squad car by two Middling City cops. I'm going to phone him tonight (if he's out of the klink/hospital) to ask if he's okay with his likeness and name running in the alternative newsweekly that sort of pays me.
Full of himself Lead Boy Colleague said he sent the same man's likeness to AP and that it was seen all over the country. I think the bashee still has a right to a yes or no on being run in his hometown alternapaper and being named.
Yesterday shot the St. Patrick's Day parade, a flash of pomp, circumstance, drunks and green. Escaped the mean green streets to a friendly gay bar for an icy one, dabbing some beer foam onto the small lips of baby Sarah until her mom said No more.
Although Crispin Glover is one of the best freaks on celluloid (and what a fine fine nose) do not - DO NOT - waste money seeing his newest movie Willard.
I liked it for showing me some interesting camera angles. In a nutshell it's a fucked-up tribute to Michael Jackson and his movie Ben.
Onwards to more music, more work, no more news today and more images.
Love.