Yesterday I got an e-mail from an editor I've been [subtly] hounding for a few months, since I've been wondering where my contract and all that good stuff is. We've agreed on a story -- and a big one at that. I'm just itchy to get going on it. Sometimes I'm like a puppy about to wet.
He wrote me back and said their latest issue is turning out to be a "rough birth" and he would get back to me soon. "By the way," he asked. "What day is it?"
An excellent question, since I still think it's Tuesday. Last night at Lennon: The Musical I was reminded that Friday is just around the corner. This is the problem with long week-ends and then taking off days in order to recoup from the long week-ends: By the end of of it all, you don't know heads from tails.
However, I need to keep my eye on the ball being that I'm officiating a wedding on Saturday afternoon. On Friday my dad rolls into town from California, so family obligations will abound. Along the way I've also had an offer to hook my TV and DVD player into an entertainment system bonanza, and who am I to turn down free labor?
I don't have much more to offer in the way of amusement today, being that not only do I still shoot photos in film, but I also still process them at CVS. That said, please read this article about Murray Hill. Those of you who know me know how I feel about that place.
Murray Hill may be the new Uppers East 90s, but I spent my formative New York City Years (ages 22 to 24.5) in a shakey walk-up on 94th Street and Second Avenue. The Dormandy Court will always have a place in my heart, even if I did make fun of it every time I walked by.
