Once again Parsons School of Disorg just gave us practically no notice for a fab op. Last big no notice fiasco was one day's notice that all-time fav photog, Joel Peter Witkin, was speaking at school. Now it's Hey, on Monday there's a deadline to have work about NYC submitted for consideration for purchase by a corporation - 300 dpi tiffs AND 8x10 work prints of each digital file needed. Ummmm, HELLLLLLLOOOO. It's not only Friday but the semester's end AND I happen to be cross-state over here in the Middling City. As Tony the Tiger would say Guhh-reat.

Onwards.

So, Hillary was the one resplendent in topographical black leather coat and powder blue silk scarf. Eye shadow to match. Black pointy-toed boots. No gloves. Her assistants, as usual, in same. SS men handsome as usual and in black topcoats, ever muttering into their shirt cuffs.
I was in green down jacket, green Columbia hat with whimsical frills. The important hat. No gloves. Derek of Middling City News in complicated shades. Various other news types in bulky jackets. We were a scene. A photo op in ourselves.
Time to shoot the holiday card. And think about steaming email to the school. I am so like multi-tasking right now.

Love's Tasks.

The Church of the High Decibels is rocking out for the lord or for whomever they rock for over there, to the west. And here I sit, WBLK blaring out the R&B luvvin' brother (as V always described it) beats and the earplugs crammed in to their hilts. Made an executive decision mere moments ago that next purchase will be at the Mac/Geek Clubhouse - an Airport station so that I may be online over there, far away, to the southernmost corner of the pad to avoid insanity and the like. Homework beckons and home is not cooperating. So there.
Have to post thoughts most brilliant for online class about Aztecs, Freud, Discontents, Civilization, and more.
Tomorrow have a quick gig for the Shiny Happy Mag shooting that Hillary femme, at a ribbon cutting event for the Middling City's new Artspace, a joint that will house artists for living and for working.
Hillary, assuredly, will be the one in black pant suit and tasteful silk scarf held in place with a brooch. Yours Truly will be the one in workaday gear and sensible shoes.
Met with carcrash doc, McGrath, who looked at my films of shoulder, hot off the press. I was marked a tough customer as the xray tech wanted me to take off the Me and Ro necklace. To which I refused. I cannot take this off. It was very expensive. I barked. Really barked. It will interfere with the xray. It's of my shoulder, I barked some more. Yes, I know, techie said. It was a standoff there in the xray suite, the smell of photo chems most familiar wafting through the air. And the xrays were made and the necklace did not show its golden power. I rest my bejewelled case.
Dropped off a dvd for the enrapturing of Elliott Caplan.
Now waiting to hear another Nay or Yeah-You-Rock from another man in charge.

Charged Love.

Have the most brilliant of concepts. Look, this is not your average, run-of-the-grad-student-mill concepts - this is high concept. Going to write a paper that will bring tears to the eyes of all who read it. Well, that may be only two people (me, instructress), but damn, it'll fucking rock. Goes something like this: identity and faux identity in Mexican food items in Mex-American restaurants, and in modern photography. Brilliant. And I'm thinking it may be expanded into a book of sorts, maybe a novel. Along the process-oriented lines of Sophie Calle.
Well, that's all I can say for sure for now.

Academy of Love.

Primitivism. Us and Them. And I'm not talking the song by Pink Floyd. That's what Yours Truly read about last night whilst catching up on Parsons School of Dementia readings for the online thing. There was ref to the ethnographic writings of a few but the essay's writer never quoted them at length. A real bummer as it involved the prurient regarding of native peoples.
Beth the Great is not only great but a Genius as she has come up with a fab idea for my lodging in the Shiny Apple next month. Eureka I say to that and it'd mean, if all goes swell, a sublet of sorts from a classmate for the time being there.
So last night I read about the Aztecs. Sure, like everyone else, I knew about the rippings of hearts from living captives. But they were a friendly bunch to boot. If they killed you in battle they believed, well, belief is a nice consolation anyway, that the soul of the killt sped off to a heaven of lilies or flowers or some such flowery scenario. Those who just slipped away were, they also believed, sent to a much more boring place. Probably the usual celestial snooze-o-rama with angels with harps and clouds and do-gooders. All I know is I'd like to spend said afterlife with those of the rock or photo pantheon. Keith Richards naturally jumps into mind.
All for now and over and out, waiting word from JR, Mentor whether he thinks I should pawn my digvid camera - or not.

Knots of Love.