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Whose plan is it, anyways?
Aug. 2nd, 2003 08:13 amI deliberately blocked enough time so's I could sleep in this morning. Instead, I woke up at 7:30 and absolutely could not fall back asleep. I think I got a full eight hours--we actually went to bed at a reasonable time, mirabile dictu--but it's not as if I'm caught up or have Slept Too Long or anything. Very funny, circadian rhythm, very funny.
Last night we celebrated Nancy's birthday (a bit late...all birthdays this year are running a bit late) by going to the Manhattan Chili Co. (excellent chili, good margaritas, crap service) and then to the Goddess exhibit at the Met. Which was fantastic, let me tell you, and though the link above shows a number of the dresses from it, it doesn't show a lot of the best ones. My new pantheon of deities include Mariano Fortuny, Madame Grès, and Versace; my favorite (in the sense of "one I would most like to have for my own use") in the collection was a Versace, black silk with a leather jacket, bedecked with gold and silver studs. Beth looked at it, looked at me burbling over it, and said "You are such a child of the Eighties..." Guilty as charged. The cool thing is, I think I could reproduce that one, at least if I don't mind spending two years attaching studs and beads. The garment itself was pretty straightforward. Hmmm...
Today: much errand-running, chiefly to pick up stuff for Pennsic and a watch for pooky to take to India, whither he departs for today, and then sewing. He's not in his happy place; his asshole uber-boss (boss cubed, I think) wanted to know their itinerary and proposed stops yesterday, decided it wasn't enough, and told them to visit lots of extra places. This means they had to redo all their intra-India plane tickets on less than 24 hours notice, and as of late afternoon yesterday, the Travel people still hadn't cut the new tickets, let alone delivered them. I told him, well, if you guys don't get them by the time you leave, then you get a 2-week paid vacation in Bombay and it's Captain Cocksucker's problem for demanding last-minute changes; but somehow I suspect that anyone that much of a prick and that highly placed in the Wall Street pecking order is a past master of shunting blame for his fuckups onto hapless others. Still, hope springs eternal.
Last night we celebrated Nancy's birthday (a bit late...all birthdays this year are running a bit late) by going to the Manhattan Chili Co. (excellent chili, good margaritas, crap service) and then to the Goddess exhibit at the Met. Which was fantastic, let me tell you, and though the link above shows a number of the dresses from it, it doesn't show a lot of the best ones. My new pantheon of deities include Mariano Fortuny, Madame Grès, and Versace; my favorite (in the sense of "one I would most like to have for my own use") in the collection was a Versace, black silk with a leather jacket, bedecked with gold and silver studs. Beth looked at it, looked at me burbling over it, and said "You are such a child of the Eighties..." Guilty as charged. The cool thing is, I think I could reproduce that one, at least if I don't mind spending two years attaching studs and beads. The garment itself was pretty straightforward. Hmmm...
Today: much errand-running, chiefly to pick up stuff for Pennsic and a watch for pooky to take to India, whither he departs for today, and then sewing. He's not in his happy place; his asshole uber-boss (boss cubed, I think) wanted to know their itinerary and proposed stops yesterday, decided it wasn't enough, and told them to visit lots of extra places. This means they had to redo all their intra-India plane tickets on less than 24 hours notice, and as of late afternoon yesterday, the Travel people still hadn't cut the new tickets, let alone delivered them. I told him, well, if you guys don't get them by the time you leave, then you get a 2-week paid vacation in Bombay and it's Captain Cocksucker's problem for demanding last-minute changes; but somehow I suspect that anyone that much of a prick and that highly placed in the Wall Street pecking order is a past master of shunting blame for his fuckups onto hapless others. Still, hope springs eternal.
