Suddenly readdicted to Amnesiac, Radiohead v2001 and nearly, now that I remember (this resurfacing and churned like the crockpot of chunky memory in me) it, peeing my pants thinking how there's a new Radiohead - a NEW RADIOHEAD - on the horizon.
As I write this I wonder if my editrix, my old dear friend Liz, might be reading this. Might she be gnashing her teeth with seether hate for me as I've been posessed by deadline anti-demons and have wondered where my story is much like she might be. It was derailed by her, actually, it was to be handed in two months ago. And then. And then. Tapes and notes move on their own. They shall be found, tamed, is it too late? There really is a writer down inside me, one that hates Photo Nancy for having too much the say. Then poor poet Nancy.
OK, here's a story: (omitting some details as it's not too on the import)
I am meeting some new people at a swankadelic joint when suddenly a broker of some sort introduces me proudly to a femme who's a matchmaker. She is not apparently married and I thought she resembled a psychic or aerobics instructor more than a matchmaker. But wait, I've never met a matchmaker.
Onwards. So we three now are talking when suddenly she blurts OHMYGOD she's perfect (that would be Yours Truly) for Jordan, turning to get Jordan's attention to meet me. (my cue to turn opposite direction and walk like my life depended upon the speed at which I propelled myself)
As I'm walking away the matchmaker I can hear is describing me to Jordan thusly:
Wide-eyed, virginal and WASPy.
If any of you smart, savvy, ironic and quip-filled epinw readers fucking know I'm just so not any of the above.
All.
Adjectives of unrequited Love.

Filed under Strange Things I've Seen Lately:
As credits rolled for the mediocre Laurel Canyon (yet Frances was luminous as the rock impressario/mom) and I sat to see who sang a certain song on the soundtrack a bottle clattered. The unmistakable sound of a bottle of booze hitting a hard cinematic floor. Looking behindways there was a man with what could only be called an impish grin reaching down to retrieve his bottle. As I was leaving the theatre with a pal there was the impish grinner, in the men's room, posing and making muscles for himself in the mirror. We caught glances. He was not embarassed.
My friend V made me a copy of his dark techno cd. This is what he does farting around in his Toronto suburb basement, his subterranean sonic world. And this cd rocks, would be a hit in the clubs.
Yesterday shot the all-day Kiss My Ass Hello Concert... Kiss the Summer Hello Concert to all others.
The day's highpoint by far was the crotch-grabby, swaggering and sexy set by LL Cool J, which I watched with The Nephew. This is the only act the child wanted to watch and I give him mad props for that... he eschewed all the nouveau R&B dance crap for this old school wonderment. Rock on Jake.
Now it's back to deadline hell.
Yet in hell I am ever full of imagistic Love.

Well, as the hotsauce bottle says, slap my ass and call me Sally.
It's finally time to go and see the band Anal Pudding, an event I've been putting off and putting off for some time, ever since that boy asked me to see them and I won an Academy Award for maintaining unresponsiveness when I wanted to spit laughter into his face.
Shot Robbie Goo Friday in the midst of the Albright-Knox Art Gallery show that he narrated with Johnny (audiotour). The pr nerds promised his appearance and I saw shitloads of Monets (actually there are several 19th Century surprises and I Perfectly Nancy rec the show), roast beef sandwiches... and no Robbie. Lo and behold and finally spotted him at the back of the sculpture court and went up to him and exchanged rock-worthy hugs and kisses. Posed him on a bench with feet up looking very comfy indeed and later emailed a few jpegs of same to People Online to see if they're interested.
Tomorrow is all-day fest, the first of season, at Darien Lake, and I'll be there with bells and nephew on. Planning on a spin on a few rides until time to shoot bands or I feel like barfing - whichever comes first.
But understanding that my inner ears have never been that stable, and I've been known to nearly fall over from standing still from time to time, I am betting my own hard-earned cash on the latter.
My perfect, undying, unsettled and unsettling love.