Note to self:
Being hung-over in JFK is bad for the head as the booming PA system, always indiscernible and bass-heavy, rattles around the mind like a coconut bouncing about in an elevator falling through its shaft in space. Now that's an analogy to remember. Not ©'d, yet, so use it, love it.
Met up with JW,Esq. at Gotham for high times and softshell crab and wine and more wine last evening.
Dougie Fresh called so we met up with him at the joint where JW,Esq.'s dj pal was to be doing his thing. The joint so over-chilled I not only felt the sea monkeys swimming back into my left knee, but asked the barlady to turn the damned chill down.
Afterwards the three of us meandered over to the East Village and I revisited my halcyon days on E7 between A & B. Discovered the age-old shithole on the corner not only hasn't changed a bit but has a photo booth - where we put our rock and roll graphic knowledge to good solid use, making images that rival the best of any album cover. Some post-teens were next in line and they were such ditzy girls that I kept sticking my hand in giving my famed Rock On! salute which Lead Boy Colleague adopted around 1997 or so. (as if the PA system were not miserating enough now there's Paul McCartney's insufferable voice warbling through the air. ow.)
My digvids yesterday were received most positively and I did have the butterflied insides when I saw one of the four for the first time. Equivalent to the sloshing in the trays and the coming up of a magical image of silvers and other toxins.
Time to wend my way to Gate 01. And yes, I can assist should the crew need my buff ass to help should we need to ditch the plane fast and ferociously.

Ditches of Love.