Ever Feel Like You've Been Cheated?

In the three hours I wasn't at home this morning UPS came and went.

Now, in order to get my books, I gotta rent a car service round-trip, go to Canarsie to the UPS joint, and get my package - prolly to the tune of $40.00 + tip.

It's times like this that I wish I still had that car I sold in 1989 - but only for about half an hour.

No, they won't send the driver back.
No, I can't pick it up before 8:30pm.
No, once you tell them you will pick it up, it won't be delivered on Monday.

HEY UPS, I WANT MY FUCKING BOOKS!

The title of this blog is the last line ever uttered (by Johnny Rotten) at the last ever (original) Sex Pistols show - San Francisco, 1978. Winterland.

The photo (man, I wish I had taken it, but I don't think I was old enough) is one of the most brilliant things I've ever run across on the Internet. 'Cause it's real. And it's evil. Just like UPS.

Big Plans For Somebody

Everyone got their Taschen books today......except me.

Hey UPS! Don't make me start biting my fingernails again or light up a smoke, OK?

It's not real until you see it, you know?

On another note, I've been sending my work out to photography reps here in the city with absolutley no response, as expected.

And I can't shake this cold. My girl and I are pitching a perfomance to BAM. One night only - "The Mucus Orchestra" - and if they don't bite because Mark Morris has got the joint booked, we'll take it to Lincoln Center.

I swear we will. In German! Without subtitles! With Domenic West and Milla Jovovich as us. Naked. For scale...

Everything's Okay Now

With the photo, at least...

(Everything else in the world is phenomenally fucked up, but I'm ignoring that for the moment.)

But anyhow, here's Melanie, standing pretty, about to be abducted.

My pal, Viva aksed me, that's right, aksed me, "So how many pussycats do you have now on chairs? Going for a world's record are you?"

And I told her in no uncertain terms, "Enough to fill a used furniture store!"

SNAP!

I love Viva, don't get me wrong. We are LONG overdue for a dwink. That's right, a dwink.

For those geeky photographer types, I used the "Anti-Cat Plug-In" and it just automatically turned out like this...

(Don't fret, it's freeware - just Google it).

Technology rules!

Although The Baby Kitty was wary as she sat on my monitor and oversaw my actions. But after viewing the before and after, even she agreed that the plug-in was a good call.

And yes, Don, of course all cats are pure goodness geniuses...

Wax and Wane

Shit!

I went up to Sanders' and Melanie's place on the Upper East/West Side tonight to shoot Melanie for the CHAIRS series and the cat ate everything!

I've only shot one other model (Sarah, are you reading this?) more than I've shot Melanie. And she is responsible for one of my most favorite shots ever - the Statue of Liberty thing in the shower shot. And me being published by Taschen, and pretty much my career, should I choose to make it one...

But shit! This cat - man... In the shot, jealous, doing "cat pose" which is redundant I know, but come on! And he obviously ate my gamma/saturation/chroma stuff in the stuff, you know? I mean, obviously!

Anyway, I'm gonna buckle down and fix it all. Tomorrow.

Cats. Hate them all over the place, but love rubbing their little chins. And the purrs that come with that.

Immediate gratification.

I call all cats "Poops" - especially my own...

The photo is, well... you know what it is...and the title of this entry is a Cocteau Twins song. Which kicks ass in it's original form and in the Deftones' cover as well, which I am listening to right this very moment.

Cocteau. That's the next post...

(Sanders loaned me a Rolleiflex MXEVS...so more on that too...)

Sleepyhead

Sunday morning bliss. Homemade espresso coffee, on-line news reading, photography forum reading and thinking and writing. Slow and lovely wake-up call...

Trish in Los Angeles from November. She's taller than me...

"Thank You" Kid on the Subway

Sick. Sneezing, coughing, congestion. Can't concentrate or make sense. Blowing snot.

I feel like one of those balloons in the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade that has lost it's twenty handlers and is floating upwards toward the atmosphere, only to violently explode and land in Des Moines and be explained by the Guvment as "pieces of a weather balloon."

Right.

I wish one of my handlers still had hold of the rope and could pull me gracefully down to 34th Street with the deftness of Errol Flynn and stab me with his swashbuckling sword, and put me out of my misery.

You should not take Dayquil at night, which is sorta what I did...

I shot Sienna this afternoon/evening and I was fine. It was probably adrenaline, professional acumen, and timing, but as soon as I got into the cab to come home, I became a pod person.

Photo is of her - she's the coolest. Me? Not bad work for an extra from "28 Days Later."

One Hundred Women

An interesting publication from 168 2nd Avenue, NY, NY 10003.

$14.99 on the newsstands or www.100-women.com.

It's literally eight 12 page or so stories photographed by some name photographers ( Marc Baptiste, Maggie Goudsmit, Gavin Bond, etc...) of agency girls, mostly NYC agencies, although there are some from Europe.

Some of the stories/shots are good, some of them are bad. But it is interesting. In that it is nothing but an advertisement paid for (Adorama, Splashlight, LeBook, Hasselblad) publication to introduce these models and these agencies to me.

Brilliant. Useless. Crap.

Someone had a great idea.

I want to shoot for the next one - just because...

The photo is of Sherice. She could have/should have been in this magazine...

...of the "One Hundred Women" exactly 5 of them are African-American.