At the end of a longassed day of working matters found myself with a decent glass of a faux-oaked chardonnay on the beach and realized the last time a beachy coast saw me was in November for Jordan's Bat Mitzvah when TMO got me that swingin' ocean-viewed room in Myrtle Beach and the morn aft I took, after some excellent digivd shooting for art's sake, the nap to end all naps as the cops (there for a convention of questionable purpose) stormed the hotel after Yours Truly checked out. Last night it was a Canadian beach, a thinning and limited public access beach on the lake rimmed with bays of various names - and landed Americans.
It was the 50th b-day party of Mark Griffis. The night before Hunter S. Thompson's ashes and boney remains are to be shot into the sky via a giant red-fisted cannon and with pyros and beloveds.
Upon seeing Mark I gave him fifty hard whacks with my hand and a hard pinch afterwards, a tradition, a bruising and let's-face-facts tradition.
In post-school flux figuring and making calculations as to the next phase and step and plan.
Time to rush about and then shoot what Kimmie last night dubbed a day of someone's new beginnings - a wedding.

Love of new beginnings.

One installation shot of Endmatter, thesis show.
This past Monday and Tuesday enjoyed sneaking up on the looped digvids, sort of still awed by technology, how my edited clips and their pixels became this grand display. It plays and plays from nine to five until August 24th.
Uploaded this +19 to a site to have digslides made to send to JR today to add to the packet to document the joys and the culmination of school.
Time to work on finishing up the building shooting project and deliver this bundle of joy to Liz at the Shiney Happy Mag for the annual Secrets of Allentown hushhush walking tour.
Last night dined under the stars at Cheryl and Ed's on the occasion of the visit of Kat and Nick and their new kid - Emma, a sociable baby. Brought a SAfrican white which was great but, considring that Dave Matthews emanates from there, what else could be.
Time to work on this gray matter Middling City day.

Endmatter Love.

Firstly, I must thank one of You, the inner-circled, Perfect fanbase, for referring to me as Master of Fucking Awesomeness.
That is the spirit, as they say.
Today awoke in Soho after a fabulosic dinner at Barmarché with Dorota and Jason and some much-needed sleep and some odd dreams and an early morning remembrance of the video for Big Electric Cat (Adrian Belew) that I saw at the tenderheaded age of whenever at Danceateria, seated on a comfy armchair alongside my pal Ruth Klein. I not only had a strong vision of the animated drawings of the vid but of Ruth's 80s, assymetric hair and a curious eyeliner line she made, dragging the kohlpencil across to her temple.
Just working on my ultimate Parsons hoop, getting the binder of documentation together. This means along with classmates the frantic assembly of images on slides, on cd, on dvd, of installation shots, of smooth copies of thesis and a few other items. I was working on getting digital images together, actually on the final of 20 all sized to perfection when a poltergeistic moment happened in the computer lab: a flickering in unison of all the screens in the room (about 15), a strange whirring noise, then a silent and awful kapoof and my screen went all dark after the open applications quit by themselves.
Technie Kimberly came into the room. Ooops, she said, I thought you three were just clearing out your lockers.
Communication is not ever a central issue at Parsons School of Demystification.
Time to finish, time to play in the Shiney Apple before returning to that Middling City.

Finishing Love.