When I saw the man in Italia ballcap this early morning with oversized cigar and most passive eyes as I drove past, into aggressive traffic, I thought This is a sublime Mary Ellen Mark day. Maybe the thought was also inspired by the recent sights of a new car crash on the lethal and deranged Hertel s-curves (the small white coupe wrapped around a middle-aged tree, sirens en route), the comedic conversation of women walking along the ring road of Middling City's Delaware Park, the pronouncement that Mary McMullen (a pal) died of malfeasance and not of bad luck, and oso much more.
To remedy all of the above what could Yours Truly do but run for cover to the Shiney Apple. But there were reports of steam pipes exploding so YT steered clear. Oh, and floods. And power outages.
YT had been through the worst power outage in recent memory in the Shiney Apple, when the only phones that worked were those pesky, germy, and rare public phones, and the only food one could pay for out and about was gas-fueled pizza.
Ahh, that memory, of driving Justy and Erin's vehicle thorough a signal-less S.A. from Brooklyn to midtown East sans lights and pedestrians.
So tonight, after an art event, after a dinner outing with friends, found myself with fellow members of solid gold bookers looking to purchase some tix to a disco event in September.
September.
And it is sold out.
I really lobbied hard to my pal Deanna of said (former) disco joint Mulligan's/DiGiulio's and promised that me and five more members of the book club would show in tube tops.
Now, I ask You.
Tube tops.
Where in hell does one procure tube tops in this day and age.
eBay.
dismalstylespast.com.
The disco event sold out in mere half hours, Deanna said.
I suggested that she find slots for six of us lovely ladies to choogle and boogie and hustle the night away. A table of frightening guidosarduccis agreed.

Disco Isco Love.