Incomparable Portale saw my name on the rez list and when I said Hey, can you tell... the front deskers said He knows you're here Nancy. To my great delight he fetched me away from my table to see him in the expansive subterranean kitchen where a photo shoot for his next cookbook was in progress. Hugged, kissed and watched this photog at work, a Japanese man who spoke notta worda English. They had the setup at the ready and were winging which dishes were to have their souls stolen. They were using fine papers from Kate's Paperie as little backdrops and he shot everything on a 4x5 camera. I was not blown away by the Polaroids. The upcoming book is to be called Simple Pleasures. His magificent food (especially what he does to ducks) is Pleasure by far from Simple.
Stood in front of Chelsea Hotel where a video shoot and DKNY commercial were being shot. Sucked in my cheekbones (the top set) and did my best to look like a star!! to be discovered. Was not. Dejected, I came to Dorota World HQ where I blog.
Love.
Starry-eyed Love.

Writing from Dorota's World HQ as the wispy Sarah Jessica Parker jogs around 5th Avenue amongst a faux traffic jam, filming Sex in the City. Talked to a NYPD member and he told me who she is. I said Oh, I've never seen that show and he said I thought it was a big girlie hit?
I mean really.
A homeless guy asked me for money on Lafayette and I, sans thinking, said No, thanks.
He wandered away muttering all the while No Thank You! No Thank You! That's not even the right answer. No Thank You.
Oh, in NYC.
For a few more delicious days.
A city that matches the perfect freneticism of my mind.
Over and out.
Tonight, a visit to Portale's joint, the most favored Gotham.
Love.

My day is half over (half full) and have worked, I speculate, more today and yesterday than some work in a week. In the midst of deliveries have been thinking of a new New York City slogan.
A sampling:
New York City, City of Escape!
Fine tune your senses in Manhattan.
Binge looking - New York!
Come to New York and drink your ass off... we'll do the driving.

Tomorrow. Plane.
Tonight. Deadlines.
Yesterday, a smarmy song by the Beatles.
Did John write that one?
For the love of John.

Sheila Divine's sold out gig last night was perfect. More so since my images from then are arresting, to be blunt and surefooted. Will be shuttling some over to their manager, pal Rich. Went up to their dressing room with Rich prior to their set and Rich said Hey guys, look who's here. They all turned and I queried Do you guys remember me from the art gallery? They all started laughing, recalling my photo demands to look enthralled and bend their bodies around artwork.
Some doofus proposed to his gal during the show and in retrospect that was the show's lowpoint. To date I've witnessed four such ultra publick proposals and there's a collective awkward gawking happening, waiting to see if She says yes, or no, or fuck off.
Half the Sheila Divine crowd booed the guy on his knees. Half were hootin' and hollerin'.
I was above the stage, shooting down from stage left and was vomiting onto the stage from 20 feet up.
She said Yes.
Dino, the head of security, led them off the stage.
I found the couple huddled oddly in a corner a little while later to id them. I asked Him So Why here? He said, very profoundly, very seriously, very ominously,
To create a moment that she'd never forget.
I can think of armloads of wondrous unforgettable manmade moments and oddly enough a mid-rock moment marriage proposal just isn't one of them.
Call me a coal-hearted poo-pooooher, just don't call me late for sushi snaxx.
On a similar note there are cats mating outside of my house as I write this. My sweet little neutered angel is not partaking - but his hooligan acquaintances are.
80s cheeseball alternative music is on the hi-fi and off I go to edit digital images into the sweet Sunday night into the gray Monday morn.
Erroneously,
Love.