To be filed under I can tell my grandchildren:
Have a three-part Fisher-Price gig today and tomorrow and the highlight of today was sitting behind the desk of F-P's CEO, Neil Friedman. Not only sitting behind the desk but I had my feet up on his desk. And I also was trying to figure out his computer's password? Fun? nope. Toys? nope.
Had to arrange eight kids under the age of 7 in and around his desk and came up with adult-style office tasks for them. One lucky kid got to sit on the CEO's desk, crosslegged, playing with an F-P toy.
Now off to Middling City U then back out to East Aurora for more more more.
Love.

The Baby Rockstars contacted me in exultation to say that they're opening for the openers for The Goos on Tuesday night and would I, as their official chronicler, be there? (much mulling)
I replied
I am on sabbatical from the paper. Although I don't doubt that I can get credible creds from another source I ponder.
I have also enough history with the Goos, JesusRockinRollChrist, going back to pre-nosejobs and gigantic hair and guitar-fumbling, to think Shit I can be there if I so choose.
One of my art patronesses, Fern, contacted me and selected and purchased one of my most sensual for a gift to a woman in Italy. Fern and husband have a ***** art collection and one of mine - or is it two? - hangs amongst. So now, after this blogging, it's descending into the bowels of the darkroom to print and print. And then frame and frame. And deliver.
And then another two deliveries.
As the cats, my perfect little fuzzy angels, do nothing more than lounge and wait for me to open the door and join them and then lounge at my feet or hands. Awaiting the love that emanates from me to them.
Ron and Rio are heading this direction shortly, oh, tomorrow.
Hello Oban purchase!
Got a fab booking just seconds ago for a day and a half that'll have me scrambling on the floor with children.
After sweating last night saw that VH1 was airing I Love the 70s and it so happened (in case you wondered if there is/was a God) to be 1973, the year that my life changed, when it derailed from what could have been a middling Middling City middle class existence of pastel houses, solid definition and maybe church on Sunday, to see the great rock and roll possibilites beyond. Dark Side of the Moon.
I was 10, I was enlightened and forever I thank my conservative-minded cousin Frankie for giving up the goods.
Gilmour was on, in a '73 interview, stating: This is not about drugs, you can trust us. I thought Jesus, I was 10 and if you had told me that then I would have perhaps had a naive trusting childness hearing that statement but was savvy enough to know there was something extra-terrestial boiling under that surface.
I rest my artful case.
Love.
ps: parting thought = Jim Ramer at Parsons rocks

So Justin has this great theory of what caused The Ol' Electrical Fiasco of '03: it was the French, causing mass inconvenience.
I'm not sure I'm 100% behind this theory, instead, after a bat plunged toward the borrowed car I plunged through the darkness in back to NYC (after several Middling City gigs), I believe now that a bat chanced into a portion of the grid resulting in mayhem for many. The bat was a flutter of brown and highlights and it whacked the car above my head, loudly.
So I was at Parsons having a smoke with others, watching black smoke billow on the eastern horizon. It's a fire - or explosion - at the ConEd plant, someone offered.
I attempted to take the 6Train to Dorota's and Union Square station was about 150 degrees and half the lights were off, the other half were blinking discoically. Both 6s were sitting idly, forlornly. I walked down Broadway and all stores were dark, all ATMs were dark, all cell phones were not dark but useless.
No ice, no delis, no cabs, no streetlights, no elevators, no Starbucks, no buses, no trains, no city lights, no looting, no mayhem, no non-cash sales, no chance of quickly escaping the largest power outage in the history of America if you were in Manhattan. Until the next afternoon. At first I heard the rush of fountains nearby and I knew the power was on as I had wanted to sit by the fountains the night of the blackout and realized that fountains, although they're all elementally water, rely on another element - fire/electricity. So when the fountains came on the children danced and screeched and sporadic whoops of joy were heard on the streets.
I borrowed Erin's vehicle after arrangments via the spotty cell phone service and walked to Brooklyn/Park Slope to fetch the car.
As soon as I drove into New Jersey I realized a curious thing. The gas stations and pumps were operational, as were all the other electrical devices. Laura and my father, the two I called early on Friday following the 4PM darkening of Thursday, seemed to not realize the impact of the outage: But Katie Couric's on t.v., Laura said. A quote from my father: The media sure isn't playing up this whole outage thing (to paraphrase).
So the Wired Studio websites are on hiatus, Act of God Clause in full effect.
I am in NYC, I am at Parsons, I am thinking, I am writing, I am ending this post with love of change and Love.