Masterpiece!
A triumph!
I laughed, I cried, I rode the subway!

That's what I imagine the literary critics will have to say about my newest, latest piece for the shiny-happy mag. Truly, I mean it, a triumph. It's not often that I bust open that word.
Had a discussion with Lead Boy Colleague yesterday about all sorts of photographic and psychological matters. Conclusion? Both are slippery slopes.
In e-discussion with Lori yesterday we co-thought of creating a small and select reading group of Parsons grads. First on the agenda may be the Bataille book about eyes. Been thinking, apparently she has too, based on our class work, of seeing/eyes/cameras lately.
Did I mention that my article is a triumph?
Got one of those personality revelatory evaluation forms from Gary last night and actually filled it out as I had a whole lot of procrastination to accomplish.
One of those things that assume everyone watches television, eats poorly and thinks of trashy cultural icons.
I do none of that, I'm too busy attempting to create my own trashy cultural icons.
Speaking of such, my muse/the Girlpope boy, is coming over for a shoot on Monday night so I'd best be knowing my new video camera by then.
All for now, time to slink off and procrastinate about something else.
Love of this, love of that.

As the director was giving notes I was packing up my gear, listening to his, I thought, overarching negativity. I wanted to pipe in and say Hey look, I have abso-fuckin-lootly NO patience for theatre and I wholeheartedly dug it - don't listen to him kids.
I'm not sure of the title. Way of the World might be it. I was, of course, shooting, shooting production stills. What did you think I was doing there, understudying? I whispered, as I clamored over them, That was great, really great. I slunked off to the front door of the converted church/theatre to discover it was locked and I had to reappear from the shadows to exit rear church out into a bracingly cold night. What a scent, all the rotting leaves and moistness in the air made my heart explode with rapturous life. Rapture in the dark. The title of my first romance novel. The ride that I derailed on at Crystal Beach in Ontario. No, that was Laff in the Dark. And that's another story.
Arrived at the photo lab to see Adrian still working working working at printing orders such as mine. Slipped my envelope of film through the slot as I shouted Don't work too hard, a cliche that slipped out before I could catch it. And he replied I don't, that's why I'm still here.
I began my work day at a grand opening of a business, much joviality in the air, much praise for the man who is a Duke grad who will, by golly, make this business the best business in The Land.
I am off to do more work of non-blogly proportions.
Workaholic Love.

This poor overtaxed iMac dv special edition.
Groaning under the weight of my graphic demands - crop this, post that. Are our days numbered. Only if this discly attitude improves.
Super props to Ron for coming up with a theory that is True. What makes to-go coffee so special is paper cups. I have proved this thesis. What a difference disposability makes.
It is time for Yours Truly to go off into the dark night and vote, polls close in half an hour and I don't want to roast in anarchic hellfires ruled by Republicans for eternity so for now I sign off
Voting Love.
ps: Middling City model Tom the Rockstar is musing for me on Monday evening, part of the Parsons work-in-progress.

Closest I've come to giving someone a well-deserved klunk on ze head in recent memory.
Shooting a race at a college. College has a will-do (by all outward appearances) undergrad to chauffeur me and the video guy, who I've known since his heady rock and roll days, out amongst the race course to get some ACTION shots.
So we pull away in this physical therapy major's micro-mini vehicle... of which he is very very proud. You can tell by its embellishments, his dusting of the hi-fi with his fingertips.
We crawl away from the college, he's a really cautious driver and 100 feet away from the college my suspicions are aroused. Mr. PT Major doesn't seem to realize that me and the vid guy need to get There and get back to the finish line quick fast in a hurry.
He is driving 15 mph. He doesn't know the race course. I should have bailed immediately but decide to, to paraphrase John, Give Peace/Trust a Chance.
So.
I am in passenger/shotgun seat watching his dashboard. We need to drive faster, I say.
Mr. PT says to me C H I L L.
Now I am mentally lunging for his throat.
Me and vid guy shoot race action and rush back to car to make it to finish line when the kid further freaks on us that he WILL NOT GET A SPEEDING TICKET, THAT HE'S VOLUNTEERING TODAY, NOT GETTING PAID, WILL NOT RISK A TICKET.
I say
Look...
now if Yours Truly ever begins a statement to Yourself Truly you know that it's an aural paint melting off the walls kind of statement.
... you are driving 15 mph. The speed limit is 35 here. Mr. Vid, hanging out the hatchback concurs with the pro-35 stance.
Kid tells us both to C H I L L.
We meander back to finish line when I see the first three men in the race chugging up the street, yell, Oh Fuck, open door and hit the road running...
remember we are going a mere 15 mph.
Me and the vid guy are running along with first, second and third place men and I'm thinking not only am I glad I work out 4x per week doing cardio, weight lifting and Pilates but my impulse is to yell Hey GUYS slow down.
I get the shot, vid guy gets his footage.
After the heat of the heat I find my booker and tell him about PT's freakout.
I'm not 100% fersher on this but think that kid might now be in super-detention or expelled or maybe sent down the lake to a really nice state school.
Momentary Love.