The Church of the High Decibels is rocking out for the lord or for whomever they rock for over there, to the west. And here I sit, WBLK blaring out the R&B luvvin' brother (as V always described it) beats and the earplugs crammed in to their hilts. Made an executive decision mere moments ago that next purchase will be at the Mac/Geek Clubhouse - an Airport station so that I may be online over there, far away, to the southernmost corner of the pad to avoid insanity and the like. Homework beckons and home is not cooperating. So there.
Have to post thoughts most brilliant for online class about Aztecs, Freud, Discontents, Civilization, and more.
Tomorrow have a quick gig for the Shiny Happy Mag shooting that Hillary femme, at a ribbon cutting event for the Middling City's new Artspace, a joint that will house artists for living and for working.
Hillary, assuredly, will be the one in black pant suit and tasteful silk scarf held in place with a brooch. Yours Truly will be the one in workaday gear and sensible shoes.
Met with carcrash doc, McGrath, who looked at my films of shoulder, hot off the press. I was marked a tough customer as the xray tech wanted me to take off the Me and Ro necklace. To which I refused. I cannot take this off. It was very expensive. I barked. Really barked. It will interfere with the xray. It's of my shoulder, I barked some more. Yes, I know, techie said. It was a standoff there in the xray suite, the smell of photo chems most familiar wafting through the air. And the xrays were made and the necklace did not show its golden power. I rest my bejewelled case.
Dropped off a dvd for the enrapturing of Elliott Caplan.
Now waiting to hear another Nay or Yeah-You-Rock from another man in charge.

Charged Love.