So there I was, minding my own business back at the loft.
A day or so of learning, learned behaviour, trekking about doing my Perfect epinw thing. The Keren Ann gig was sold out to the rafters so to speak and so that was perfectly out. Suddenly, bursting through the door was thee very Keren Ann, entourage, and some tasteful floral arrangements. Celebratory shots were poured. Laughs were laughed. And then, en masse, we made our way to the after-gig soirée around the corner at the corner deli. In their secret, subterranean party chamber which is entered via a door that says Employees Only and, after walking through the kitchen with workers changing into workpants and boxes of produce - voi-freakin'-là . . . hot nightclub.
It was sort of a more rathskellar Double Happiness.
I commented to Katherine that the joint was so undergroundish it seemed we should all be allowed, encouraged even, to puff away if we so chose.
Jason was sitting underneath a chandelier with stilled candles that suddently the barkeep had to light. I said to Jason that that moment could approach the scene of Mahogany with Miss Diana Ross dripping candle wax upon herself. Only in lieu of Miss Ross would be Mr. Jason and instead of her curvaceous body it would be Jason's shaved head and kind face.
I informed Dorota that I had gussied myself up and had used her special lotion with the sparkles and that, in the elevator's harsh light on the way down, I noted that not only were there sparkles but a strange tone to boot. Think: supermodel meets Oompa-Loompah. We all looked hot and the club was not and once again it is time for me to hop aboard the plane to the Middling City, the left side.

Left Love.

So here I am, back at the Geek Clubhouse.
Was all ready to purchase the cog of the e-process to streamline my vlogging and lo, behold, it's not in stock. And more expensive than I thought it would be.
Turns out there is no seminar with Mark the Delightful Shrink tomorrow at 3 so I am leaving after meetup with JR followed by a portrait sitting of sorts with Philip for his own thesis project. The usual weekly exeunt has been at LEAST two hours late so this will hopefully be a slight improvement.
So I called Ms. JetBlue and I says Hi, Nance here, again. Look, more changes with school and all and I'd like to make some minor changes and, seeing that I was/am on an overbooked flight howzabout you waive all penalties and punishments and such. And give me extra water. They complied, so now I am arriving back in the Middling City several hours earlier. Told a select handful of my classmates that this to and fro feels like a weird micro jetlag. One downfall, a serious one, when squatting in the Geek Clubhouse is that you will absolutely, sans doubt of any color, hear/see the U2 iPod special tune aLOT. You can listen to Dr. Yo Internet Radio (highly recommended by YT) but it may still eke on through. The Genius Bar is abuzz and I traipse back in memory to that sad then joyous day when my PowerBook did not do the proverbial crapout.
(was looking forward to hearing Keren Ann tonight at Bowery Ballroom but that is like so sold out)
U2 iPod tune over.
Onto the next one.
At least they've taken Sheryl Crow, iLife spokesgal, out of circulation.
So, Kennedy tells me a staffer of the Starship Enterprise d.i.e.d.
Not relatedly, in honor of the BadW's idea for the next supreme court figurehead, I am wearing my anti-George t-shirt. I proudly showed it to Nova Chuck and he said You know, that means No bad pictures of our president. I managed to muster him up a tiny other side of the aisle hardy-har.
Off to mine own and art-related geek matters.
Calling my entire thesis project Endmatter.

Entire Love.

With the nice lady at JetBlue's assistance, I was truant yesterday. In lieu of jetting over to the right side of the state for a gallery foray, a field trip of sorts and more group panic about the pending thesis group show, I met with my attorney. Enough about that.
Been working like, as I like to say, a mad fiend. I did get the gig with the senator and will need to jet mid-state, again with assistance from good ol' JetBlue, for that gig for the Shiney Apple p.r. firm. Also picked up a mag gig this past sunday making an exuberant headshot for an editor. Midway through the sitting I put my camera to one side of my face and queried thusly Are you a nice editor or one of those hard-asses. He is, according to him, the latter. I know the type as I've been working for mags and the Press since the age of 13 or so, if we must count high school rags. Those micro-rags still have deadlines so it was probably at that tender age that I learned that deadlines are amorphous, that editors have bark and bite and as human a need as anyone else to stretch time to the max and have a few cocktails in the interim or posterim.
So back to school tomorrow for the ending of week 4.
Then on to week 3.
Have the digvid timeline down to the top ten. Ten, the most significant of numbers. As You should or will recall, Yours Truly emerged on the scene on the propitious date 10/10.

Love of Tens.