When life gives you lemons, make mojitos.
When life puts assholes along your path, make foxholes.
About to see Jon about shaping up the head of hair and will give him the same directive I gave the jaunty Israeli: short, saucey, sexy.
Ka-slosh ka-slosh ka-slosh last night, speaking of assholes and mojitos, not in that order, exactly.
No time to delve into the context of the assholes but my girlie tribe knows the slew of details.
So, on to the mojitos.
I get a call from Sam and Beth Dearest. One of those We are here and you are so there calls that has me nearly driving to the airport. But, alas, responsibility. So the Wish you were heres. No, wish I was There. Have not been in Middling City's embrace as long as I was gone so I'm still in what I call Post-Travel Limbo as my heart is split in two and I'm a distance learner, a distance yearner.
Have REM's Call Me Leper from New Adventures in Hi-Fi on the play and replay and rererererereplay mode.
Now to Jon for some good old-fashioned rockstar, Harley-driving, Marlboro-smoking, dog-loving high times.

Tribal Love.

Well. Well well well.
It's really real, the new newspaper, Buffalo Examiner - or - in epinw parlance, Middling City Examiner. I am the senior editor which means I've gathered up all the decades of journalistic experience into one big ink-spattered heap.
Received today four cd's made by Kevin Norton featuring fab fotos by Yours Truly of the quartet as a unit and then individuals. I wonder, did I recall that this disc would be featuring these or is this a surprise. Wondering still.
Got turned on to an Aboriginal artist today by a guy I shot at Middling City U - Gordon Bennett whose work reminds me in a flash of Basquiat.
All for now and over and out, think I'll attempt studenthood.

Love charade.

Completely, and I mean utterly, minding my own business yesterday after a gig, you know, sort of la-dee-dah humming and driving along Sheridan Drive in the Middling City suburbs, the golden Forester was magnetized into the lot of Shoe Universe - a place that is a port of sorts for women of all ages, trolling the aisles with intense purpose, eyes searching, boxes under arms, frenzy in the air. So, whilst talking to Beth Dearest, I find not one - but two - perfect pairs (that equals four) shoes. They are mine. Is there also guilt hovering in the air of Shoe Universe. Does the pope have the best interests of pro-choice people in his craggly heart.
Made portraits yesterday of an Iranian femme who's writing a book about Iranian contract/temp marriages - for pleasure (male) + money (female). A sort of fictionalized account of things, a là Rushdie, to be sure. I asked if she'd read Memoirs of a Geisha. But of course. Her house was a carpet museum of sorts and she made me a cup of coffee that had me whirring along the rest of the day.
Onwards to deadlines, the adrenalized onslaught I manage the best.

Best Love.