Now dat shyte is funny!
Anyone who recognizes the face in the top story can officially label yourself 'old skool'! Got the e-mail from the man himself this morning. Hey,
budoka, he keeps pestering me about when you're gonna hurry up and get yodan so you can move back to NH and teach there. Perhaps you'd like to e-mail him. Of course, you know my feelings on the matter.
T-28hrs for liftoff to senior seminar in Seattle. Still need to do laundry, make the container for the training weapons, and get the house in order. And find someone to check in on the girls while I'm gone. Yesterday was an adventure filled experience as only NYC can afford: spent the morning and the part of the afternoon pondering the latest perversion (there's a new fiction in the mix) before rocketing downtown to see the gallery opening of Martin Atkins (old time gearheads such as myself will recognize the name. If you don't think Ministry, Pigface, PIL, Skinny Puppy, in short, one of the major movers and shakers in the industrial scene for the past 15 years) latest artwork where I spoke to the man himself and he handed me a sampler CD of his latest work. Then it was a quick boogie downtown to SOHO to catch a reading by Rachel Kramer Bussel for whom I am attempting to pen this latest work (she's the editrix for the anthology). Nothing like meeting your market directly. I'm not certain how I feel about the crowd, knowing that they are the major consumers for the stuff I put out, though I would rather be caught light years away from them on any given day. It is a difficult internal debate.
Which, oddly enough, was the topic of discussion once I landed squarely at 2x4s and Samantha was behind the bar. A difficult question - the concept of doing art for art's sake, and that of pleasing your clients. In the midst of all that, a pair of individuals sauntered up to the bar next to me from, get this, the Seattle area. One of whom, noticing the mandala beads around my neck, steered the conversation towards all things budo, and I found myself again, confronted with a red headed warrior princess. WTF?!?!?!!!!11!!1eleven. Our conversation lasted more hours than I'm willing to admit, between the three of us, after which, I made it home safe. Between blockages on the FDR and the block my parking lot is on getting resurfaced is was another night of never getting home. This whole construction bit is the final stage of the Van Cortlandt reconstruction, most of which I'm not too happy about, though I'm not going to waste cyberspace on it here. If you really wanna know, PM me.
T-27hrs 55min.