Worked on my artist profile, another freakin' piece of lit by your fav Nancy, on Friday and had to quite literally chase my subject up her aluminum ladder as she had tired of talking about herself and her art and had gone up said ladder. Put the recording device around the ladder into her face to catch a few more quotes. Towards the end of the interview in the public park where, I should have already mentioned, she was working on her public art piece - an arch with figures atop - an assistant pal of hers showed up with a gallon of turbo-powered homemade wine. I'm certain it was about 300 proof. After a few tumblers of aforementioned we all sort of lazed about and, needing a few additional quotes, I sat on the unsteady and uneager subject. Sat right on her chest, recorder in her face. Thanks, I said, I think NOW I've got my 2,000 words. What we journalists must endure.
Last night, speaking of the newspaper world, attended a sit-down-and-be-good traditional wedding reception for one of our staffers. To lively up ourselves we got trashed on weak cocktails, tossed about handfuls of those nightmarish jordan almonds, danced madly, got up on chairs (ok, I was the sole chair topper), and I entertained TABLE 3 with my famed "Everything's Perfect in Nancy's World Dance" - where I sing that phrase whilst arching my back and kick my feet back there, too. They were impressed. We danced more and left for one of our group fav hangouts where we had more drinks and, just before departing, I tied my silky hose up in the arbor over our heads. The End.