My aunts are an endangered species, another went the way of the Great Plumed Spotted Heron, indigenous to the Middling City's Historic Old First Ward, this morn. My mother sat with the body of Vivian until the deathly authorities arrived. My mother asked if I'd read something and I said Nothing biblical, I'll read something I find or write, but, really, nothing biblical.
Tonight is Pearl Jam and a lovely named Tom of Epic sent me two tix for the pc extravaganza. Beforehand an appearance at an opening of my work et al and afterwards (here comes the best best part) an absinthe party.
Behold! The green fairy has arrived! I should be muttering uttering at about 11PM.
Green winged love.

Say what?
Ministry last night, as Security Paul pointed out, had turned on a row of Marshalls stacks - photog ear level. Got there with 20 minutes to go and Al (that would be Jourgenson) came onstage with a bottle of red wine in one hand and a cigar in the other. Shooting around his goofball monstrosity of a mic stand was a challenge to be sure but got some excellent, unguarded moments.
Was on the sidewalk in front of the venue, on a stretch of desolate Niagara Falls, NY Main Street, when suddenly there was a commotion and the promoter said Ohhh, our first ejection of the evening.
The ejection was a younger guy, face half bloody, shirt all mangled who was in a mild state of shock. Apparently he was minding his own business (hmmm) and then a security guy grabbed him by the throat and klocked him in the eye. As more mayhem was approaching in the form of screams and the sound of shoving people I looked at the promoter and the head of security and said Well, it's time for Nancy to check out.
Afterwards went to see a Baby Rock Star pal, Roger, in his second acoustic and post-Last Conservative gig at Mohawk Place. His former leader, TJ, apparently on the fast track to becoming a supreme lush announced that he was drunk again and was obviously a bit injured at Roger's solo endeavour - a primo one. Roger ran out of his material so did a few Dylan covers. Talked a while with MZ, Favored Baby Rock Star, and Tyler and Tyler and I hashed over our favored Patti Smith concert vignettes.
After enduring the ineptitude of JetBlue Productions this post-flight/rockstar night was purrr-fect.
Onwards to business.

Blogging at an internet cafe on WB'way at Human Epicenter despite the fact that my skewel - PSD - offers me this at a greatly (read: FREE) reduced price. I was seduced by flowering bulbs, stretching ivy and this joint off all that.
Met for coffee one of my new schoolmates, Margaret, and had a grand time exchanging SoWhyAreYOUDoingThis tales and compared theoretical/practical notes on making art.
Met a few of the others before and after the Duane Michals chat-up at Parsons Monday night where I had Justy meet me for some erudition and then some macrobiotic fare and organic wine (Justin, looking up from dinner plate, sort of a punished look on face: Uhhh, Nance, why are we eating seaweed? Me: Because I was scouting out locations for food near Parsons. Justin: Oh).
Apparently insulted Michals, who I've seen before, in the Middling City, by asking him about (god fucking help me!) his EQUIPMENT, specifically, lighting.
This derailed his charming queenly self-musing and he said Oh... what do you want to know that for? Then I think he realized that not only was his talk underwritten by Canon (with reps in row #1) but that he was speaking to assembled students. My questions was Do you strive to shoot in available light and if not do you always try to light things to look like available light?
egads
So then after some verbal song and dance he said Four Toto (hot) lights with umbrellas.
Speaking of equipment went to Photo Mecca/B&H yesterday afternoon and wandered about in equipment reverie, stopping to talk to Mr. Lighting and I had this crashing realization:
If in NYC and looking for a beau all a person needs to do is wander into B&H with inquisition in one's mind and heart and voi-fuckin-la you'll have a steady. It's a theory anyway. I've been in there how many times and have had guys ask me out and not only that but to freelance for them, at them. I think there's a story in there, maybe even a haiku.
Well, back to my poetic enhanced NYC walking regimen before meeting up with Dorota.
Then back to Middling City via Hellways Airlines (Jet Blue).
Note to self: no matter how large the voucher USAir is always the way to go.
Love of travel,
Your favored and special Nancy.

Patti.
Smith.
Rocks.
And will forever be hipper than all of us.
Friday night was the Patti & Ralph Show with both of them doing their respective thing (her = activist music, him = marathon activism) in a gymnasium to a surprisingly not huge crowd. She was stupendous (and, thanks to Doug and I of Janet Reno Fan Club fame we got everyone sitting stupefied up and dancing, after I catapulted myself through a few people and misjudged the distance and leveled both Doug and I think a chair as well as Your Fav Nancy) although I realized at her gig last night she was totally saving her shamanistic powers for Saturday, last night, at Sphere, where, she said, she was to do her Legendary show.
Three hours of her and men in very great shoes/the band. Including Oliver, a young and handsome swain perhaps half her age, her Man.
Observations:
1. Stipe, as he's stated his own self, owes much of his art to Patti Smith.
2. PS spits like a champ with real punk rock verve.
3. PS has no fat cells within her body.
4. Backstage talking to her I was shocked/stunned that her eyes are Marty Feldman-esque.
5. Backstage talking to her I was realizing that she doesn't quite know what to do with herself offstage.
During her gig last night I shuttled myself down to the front, elevated side and was thankfully surrounded by rock star boys who said nothing to annoy me at this momentous affair but who I shared rock observations with. At the Friday gig I sat most of the time next to Baby Boy Colleague which was fun.
After last night Patti went and met others at The Butchies at Mohawk Place and they surprisingly rocked as lezbo couples danced about. I saw a girl I wanted to model for me at one point and realized that nope, she doesn't have enought X factor.
The Butchies' drummer directed the question What... do you have SARS at me when I had a sneezing fit after chomping down on some German blow-your-fuckin-head-off menthol/mint gum. I shouted NO, it's mint gum and she said Oh, I have that problem, let me see if it makes ME sneeze. So up to the stage I went and gave her a piece of this German stick of dynamite. She said I'm pretty keyed up so it might not work.
Chew.
Chew.
Chew.
Nothing. She asked her bandmates to confirm that she gets the mint sneezies and they said Yup. So back to rock. Eric dug them so much that Jen bought him a shirt, a wise rock apparel decision.
All for now and over and out.