Both feet are Whitneyed, the syndrome of spending time at the Whitney Museum with its unforgiving concrete floors. Experienced the biennial which I dug completely, especially the video work, shown in seven different styles. Will go back this week for a longer look as me +3 had 2 hours to view after I procured, with my rockstar charisma, the requisite square green stickers for all of us. A guy passed me and stuck his sticker on me, and it was printed out for a student no less. And then I found a sticker on the ground, for Beth, which labeled her Corporate Sponsor. Then I approached a couple and asked for a few Euros if they'd give me theirs and, in a flash he gave me his off his jacket and she handed me her whole dang ticket. That got the four of us to the front of the line, in the returning and member line, avoiding an additional hour of wait. Onto the sights, the sounds.
Saw again tonight Peter Brötzmann, sax, with drumming Milford Graves down in the old stomping centre from the mid-80s, the easties - two more sets of free jazz. Just returned from the gig. It rains in NYC. The pending scholastic deadlines are storming in synchronous pelts.
Last night's Brooklyn foray ended late, a fine blend of JamMasterV's loft, a swillhall, a return to lo-key Boat and intermittent emotives in between.
Emoting Emotional Love.