Friday night I went to the theater. After another long day of blabbing and walking at the expo, Saturday night started with party at a restaurant/bar - somewhere around 59th and Madison - hosted by the company that is printing Everybody I Shot Is Dead. They served drinks and buffet food (the ravioli was killer) and people who worked for their various companies plus authors, clients and other guests. The company contracts printing in China and they also have two publishing companies, including one that does music/art/photography oriented titles.
I spent much of the evening chatting with a girl who lives in the Bay Area and handles books created by the environmental non-profit she works for. Then they did a bunch of patting themselves on the back and honoring the authors of the new books they have coming out this Fall. So, I took the opportunity to meet a couple of other music photographers. One who tagged along with Elvis for a year while he was on his rise to the top and came out with a beautiful book called Elvis at 21: From New York to Memphis. The other was a guy who shot pictures of John and Yoko and has a book called John and Yoko: A New York Love Story coming out this Fall.
As the party was nearing its end, a friend of the girl I befriended showed up and the three of us had a drink at the bar. Her friend used to work for the Grateful Dead so we had some stories to share. Turned out he attended the San Francisco gallery opening we had for my previous book, Starart. The world continues to shrink.
By 10pm I was on my way back to my hotel to prepare for the arrival of Chris Parker. He had a gig in Connecticut, a couple of hours out, so I assumed he'd show up no earlier than midnite. I had spent the whole day sweating it out at the convention center and then went straight to the party after a quick stopover at my hotel and had planned to shower and do my best to transform into something presentable before he showed.
Turns out the maid service didn't clean the room on Saturday so I had to deal with that as well. Then, right when I was about to hop in the shower my cell phone rings. It's Chris Parker and he's three blocks away from my hotel. He'd be in the lobby in ten minutes. Great. Two minutes to recover from the shock, four minutes to faux-tidy the suite and four minutes to wash my face and apply the necessary layers of make-up to disguise my fatigue. Then a race down to the lobby to escort my cute drummer to my boudoir...
Imagine this suite much, much messier. Beds unmade, clothing and suitcases and papers strewn about. And now I've run out of time to blog so I'll have to finish this next time. Which is okay because it really took place in the wee hours of Sunday morning.