Sloppy miasma, as all good parties should be. In the midst I discovered, on purpose, Polly and Mark's stash of aged rubber bands, broccoli bands, twist ties. A pet peeve. I scooped up half the collection and deposited it next to Kennedy, who was at that instant a seated reveler. I had just caught crap from him earlier for disposing of his twist ties. This has happened numerous other times when I am visiting someone. Scenario. Kitchen and Yours Truly is moseying about when lo and completely behold there is an amassment of the aforementioned and, before you can shout flotsam! jetsom!, then I dispose of them as they should have been months, nay, years, sooner. Au revoir neurotic gatherings. But then, as it was pointed out to me mere hours earlier, it is neurotic to gravitate and dispose of these.
As I was shooting at Burchfield-Penney Art Center Bearded Lady arrived, inquiring if the Cyndi Lauper show was still up. Poor testosterone-addled dear, she did mean Cindy Sherman but when I heard her request for Cyndi Lauper I turned like a cat sensing a snack, eyes lit from within, in a half whisper uttering Cyndi Lauper? Bearded Lady did not catch her artsy mis-spokulation.
Now I am putting together Regards., the column. And tomorrow an all-day shoot with a state senator doing the usual beautification and beatification.
All this and more as techno smoothness fills the space between.

Space of Love.

ps: still haven't sealed the deal, as Laura is wont to say, with Caplan. And Beth Dearest reports that Joel-Peter Witkin was not only high as a kite, but dismissive and incommunicative, this from Simone. To that I say Well ferfucksake, the man is a rock star. Does he have to be nice. Was Kurt Cobain nice backstage. I rest my haggard journalistic case.