Note to self: do not buy any more Crumpler bags and, despite the snazzy design and price, take the bulky bag in your possession and burn it.
Photographers live out of bags, photogs on the run more so. A bag that is not helpful and well-designed (in essence my pal), deserves punishment.
Speaking of efficiency, I am currently in a shithole of an ersatz cafe in the Middling City suburbs solely because they offer free wi-fi. Wi-fi is a hot commodity in the MC and this fact has bottlenecked situations and thoughts of Blackberries have danced over my head.
I am embarking now to meet with a company about doing technical writing.
Yours Truly is a primo writer but what in hell is technical writing.
Isn't all writing technical.
The way the brain has to connect with its driving adrenaline and engage the muscles of the arms and especially hands while lapping at the pond of Wit. That is technical.
I am technical.
And wasn't that two and a half years at Parsons School of Deployment all about technology.
I am a technologist.
Now get the hell out of my technical way while I scream out of this mediocrity and head into a meeting, feigning benificence and the like.
Tonight is Christy Rupp's opening at BPAC, looking forward to seeing her and what she is tinkering with on paper these fine days.

Love is technical.

Squirrels, radiation, flowers, buds, elevation, altitude.
This is all about hair, not nature. But I'm sure somewhere in their artists' statement or mission statement there is a ramble about nature, power of green, chaos theory, the watery scents blowing from the Hudson into their hair cutting institute windows in warmer months.
I speak of Bumble and Bumble of hair fame, of course.
A woman named Chri (homonym - sounds like the Native tribe) cut my hair and so I asked her about this squirrel thing. It's their special B&B name for the way hair whorls. You know, like how the tulips open. And the radiating business is to avoid corners.
I pointed out to Chri that squirrels in fact have no corners.
She cut, she elevated, she checked and rechecked my squirrel.
To a result that is unshocking, sufficient, best yet - free.
I was a hair model today.
I have been a clothing model and a model of many many things but never one involving squirrels.
Time to head to the loft to a dinner laden with hijinx with Dorota and Jason.

Whorls of Love.

Can You say that You heard an off-coloured joke uttered by a person of the cloth today, in mixed company.
The set-up (of joke, not joke's utterance's setting):
a sauna, some high-powered women with cell phones implanted in their bodies, some errant toilet tissue. You fill in the proverbial blanks.
Well, Yours Truly sure the h-e-double-hockey-weapons can.
How does one know when one is working at a merrily-frenetic level.
When one has several paper coffee empties to and fro.
Last night gig was about cathartic power of dance and dance is one of my favoured things to shoot for the challenge of it, always likened by YT to shooting an unfamiliar sport, anticipating the next big thing.
Went to Dentist today and received a wollop of the caine they use, waning, finally, after five freakin' droolalicious hours. We got to talking, waiting for the caine to work and began talking about the neighborhood that the office is in. Turns out that Dentist et famille live a stone's throw away. I ask if he knows a different pusher of caine, a notorious man, from the very same street we are on. He not only knows this other but rushes out of the room we're in to fetch not one but two high school year books and there in front of me in a flash was that very same.
Moral.
When you use your words you never know not only which way they will lead you but what fun facts you will garner.
Another fun fact.
Minding my own business and shooting a Saturday night gig I am discussing some important political and musical matters with a Middling City musician I've seen about for decades. I see his drummer and, being YT, shout WIPEOUT. They know this about me, that this remains my absolute favoured song. The non-drummer tells me this. Tells me how they made the beginning tones of the song, how it involved a vintage-like amp and the kicking of it and he detailed the innards of this type of amp. Then, enthusiastic and noting my love of fun facts, he gives his own amp a good wack with the toe of his shoe, which then ushers forth the - digthis - opening tones of WIPEOUT.
Life, always full of not only surprises but scads of fun facts.

Big wide fun fact-filled Love.