Completely, and I mean utterly, minding my own business yesterday after a gig, you know, sort of la-dee-dah humming and driving along Sheridan Drive in the Middling City suburbs, the golden Forester was magnetized into the lot of Shoe Universe - a place that is a port of sorts for women of all ages, trolling the aisles with intense purpose, eyes searching, boxes under arms, frenzy in the air. So, whilst talking to Beth Dearest, I find not one - but two - perfect pairs (that equals four) shoes. They are mine. Is there also guilt hovering in the air of Shoe Universe. Does the pope have the best interests of pro-choice people in his craggly heart.
Made portraits yesterday of an Iranian femme who's writing a book about Iranian contract/temp marriages - for pleasure (male) + money (female). A sort of fictionalized account of things, a là Rushdie, to be sure. I asked if she'd read Memoirs of a Geisha. But of course. Her house was a carpet museum of sorts and she made me a cup of coffee that had me whirring along the rest of the day.
Onwards to deadlines, the adrenalized onslaught I manage the best.

Best Love.