Quelle hazing ritual moderne.
Have freelance hackish writers regale screening committee with super details of none other than Empire State Building, post-marathon waiting, cattle prodding, souvenir lashes. All this to be 350 words for a company, Charlie'sAngels-like like the Digital City gig of infamy, that creates cell phone tours for wanderers who pay to have scripted Look Here's and Do This's beamed into their ears.
The first hour is spent in a DMV-like basement, painted French's Mustard Yellow, screaming colour, lined up and as a corner is rounded one might realize that for twix the prix one might circumnavigate this experience and head right on up to floor 2 if one pretends one is interested in seeing a movie about floating over the skyline or some such dirigible thing. Couldn't find the movie/observation deck ticket booth and then with the help of a nice young man I fina-fuckin-ly did. At the window I said Movie ticket please. Then I asked So this is for observationalizing deck, too, right. She said No. She called for her manager who came over and, when she heard the scenario, narrowed her eyes at me and said this ultra-friendly thing: You SAID you wanted the movie ticket ONLY, I was standing right there (gesturing), I HEARD you. (note to self: be afraid of workers who work in landmarks for they are manhandling 35K visitors a day and do not have fucking time for aberrations of any type. period) I start sobbing. No, I am kidding. I said Well I want both. After much huffing, puffing, glares of hatred I had my two tickets and completely took a right towards the observation elevator to 80 then to 86 for the sights. On line in the basement, pre-hate, I met a photog who was cluelessly heading up up and away to, she thought, get some fab shots of Christo's Curtains. I made some internal photog calculations of my own and deduced that this woman not only should not be called a photog of any sort but did not understand angles, the curve of the earth, etc. I suggested she might get into a high room of The Pierre, a swishy hotel on 5thAve I've crashed in before as it's on the southern tip of the park. She looked baffled and atop the landmark/hazing focus/ESB I could see but five tiny orange blips on the horizon = The Curtains! A snippet of. I am glad I did not bump into Esmerelda up there for my look of derision would have been undisguisable.
Began the plan, the trip, this literary foray by sitting in a middle seat, not my usual window/hublot and was in a snit until I began speaking to Rose, the newly-retired former Viet Nam nurse who lives in Cali. I asked her about nursely and otherly things about VN. We discussed our vitriol pertaining to the U.S. president.
About to meet Justy for our traditional night of binge revelry and he's got a head start. Gadzooks.
Tomorrow's agenda: collect self, see The Curtains, see some art, write about the Empire State Building and all its attendant charms. Wow, including the wall of art glass depicting the Eight Wonders of the World which include, bien sur, ESB as well as Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Rhodes's Giant and oso much more.
In the Shiney Apple I learn learn learn.

Learning Love.

To be filed under Holy Crap What Great Timing.
Arrived at Middling City U mere moments ago to shoot students getting special special special $20 tix to see (wretch) Rent. There was to be a Frenzy. I arrived at the designated time, 6PM,to discover a box office type (B.O.T.) announcing to a mild throng that all student tix were sold out. Most people would have spun on any ol' heel and left. But oh no, this is not journalism, turning on heels. I walked up to front of line and basically accosted two undergrads, insistent upon them being all happy and at the ticket window and then showing me their happy tix. And, as luck would have it in this Perfect world, they had purchased the last two tix for students E-Ver. Like, that is so lucky. I wanted them to be a bit more expressive, to be kicking up their heels like those of Yours Truly that were not spun upon but they had been waiting in line since three hours ago and were heading somewhere before the 8PM curtain. Frankly, I don't get it. Cornball songs about pretend life in NYC. All issued with issues and once I was somewhere and was horrified at several people singing along to the Rent soundtrack, one song more bombastic than the next.
File Me under Really Does Not Buy the Whole B'Way Frenzy Thing.

Love Thing.

What a diff a year makes.


Hung with Allen yesterday in studio and met Ian, vocalist for Deep Purple (SMOKE ON THE WAHH-UHH-TERR, FIE-ERR IN THE SKAHHHH), who was about to jet off with our pal Michael Jackson, Esq. (not perved, gloved one) to Russia, land of cabbage soup, fur hats, giant onion domes.
Then met a famed producer. All were hung over and had engaged in collegiate soda can bowling the night before. Perfectly, I was not, had not.
Ironically just delved into an article about the photojournalism racket and the likes of late Susan Sontag by a pal, Steve Wolgast, who works at NYT. Just used snippet of that and other choice thoughts to dispel the online queasiness a few classmates have experienced from being subjected to the work of Joel-Peter Witkin. Puh-leez, this is fucking art school. Where are the open minds, where is the think tank/stand around the cooler vibe, more scholarship money, the studio spaces, and more open minded behaviour.
And got a sweet call from Dorota moments ago and heard from Marky Norris and a few others about what happened one year ago. Good and bad, sweet and sour. And poor Beth Dearest witnessed it all.
Will be in the Shiney Apple mid-week to write a script for a poss gig and to eat good food and walk good walks and head to Film Forum and see select ones and think Shiney Apple Thoughts.

Thoughtful, Retrospective, Happier Love.