First it was the great blackout of the summer of 2003.
Now it's the mammoth blanketing of the winter of 2003.
Coincidence?
I think not.
Every season that I'm in NYC there seems to be a great catastrophe whilst I'm here.
Winter catastrophe in NYC is four inches of snow (cars immobile, people falling, general malaise and confusion, school buildings shut down all weekend... grrr) whereas in the Middling City four inches is barely noted, people plodding in their boots in their cars as breezily as if it were, osay, summer.
Two of my Parsons classmates have never seen real live actual true in-your-face snow. One is Phillip of Louisiana who realized that
1. snow means really cold
2. parkas are a necessity and that wearing a hood means less visibility and aurality
3. two pairs of socks don't cut the snowy mustard and one must purchase true klunko boots.
Speaking of my Middling City sturdy preparedness my own new Columbia high-tech boots are in the Middling City, approximately 400 miles away from my feet which are jonesing for them. Instead I have somewhat fashionable leather boots with traction and no warmth.
Moral:
Have boots, will travel.
Snowy love.

Okay, so I couldn't get the chromagenic scene transitions to work properly and the audio is a big gigantic question mark in my mind (but I get the theory of it being such an audiophile and such) and I'm not sure how to replicate and loop a sound, and there are no titles but my 20 minute long dig vid project is a triumph.
It's snazzy mental title, Untitled Gesture.
Oh,
how many of You can state with surety, alacrity and piety that you told the nation's poet laureate to break a tonsil before his reading this past evening.
I thought not.
After his humour-ridden and at times evocative reading (he said the best inspiration to write is jealousy and, as I watched him I mumbled internally, Baby Poet your words have been - can be - will be again better than these, of this career wordist) I wanted to say Hey... X... dug it but I couldn't recall if his first name was Billy, or Bobby.
Keythought: why do grown men go by boy names.
So I was whisked over to meet the Laureate Poet and as I shuffled away was when I gave him the sonic high-five to which he responded Break a lens. Now if you knew what recently happened to one of my beloved f5s you'd know how the thought of breaking any piece of photo equipment brings tears to both eyes, a shudder to the heart as well as requisite deficit of bank account.
A tonsil is fixable but a busted piece of photo equipment is not so.
Remind me if we ever find ourselves around a campfire or barfire to tell you about the time I had an architectural gig and whilst using my car as a ladder of sorts slipped and did all that was possible mid-air in gymnastic flair to save the camera from harm.
All for now and laureates for all.
Love.

The convergence of two Perfect worlds is happening in the not-too-distant future: Johnny Depp will star in the re-do of Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and I cannot think of anyone more perfect to play WW. A little pirate swagger, a dash Benny & Joon Chaplin, Chocolat mystery and Viper Room rockstar danger - how parfait.
What part of Hi I have cash money and want to give some of it to you media moguls to help me with a few things on a video did they not understand.
Called at 11 in the AM with query and now it's nigh 3PM and no return call.
Money, help, video, hello.
So apparently the errant mom across the street sort of set fire to her home as I looked out and noted five fire trucks and that many children out in front of the house, wrapped in blankets.
And it wasn't a leftover ember from holiday pyros chez moi.