Okay, don't wanna pimp AWK too fucking much, so... I did everything by my lonesome today. I saw no one, did no thing, nothing, with any other human being.
(We) hailed a taxi and landed in the East Village. Ran an errand. Hailed a second cab. Closer to Houston; micro-conference. Grabbed a third taxi. Lunch in Chinatown. (AWK) left for a meeting, and I walked north up Broadway to waste time in ill-stocked shops. Phone calls from Fleming, Morgan. Talked to Marc Weitz, Menlo Park prexy. New releases beckon (from Deerhoof, Icky Boyfriends). We're having a confab in a few days; hope to have Noon and Eternity in the shops and (download queues) by January, February at the latest. (We're mixing part of it this very second. "AWK" sits next to me. Wish you could all be here...)
(We) reconnected on B'way, stepped inside Best Buy and Au Bon Pain to snuff more valuable time, stopped at a bootleg DVD tent (I bought Miles Davis' 1969 Copenhagen quintet gig -- cheap dupe, no cover art, no label), and flagged down yet another cab to return to HQ. Awesome conversation in the taxi...
(Miles Davis, live at Tivoli Koncertsal, Copenhagen, Denmark, on November 4, 1969. The band: Wayne Shorter, Jack DeJohnette, Dave Holland, Chick Corea, and Mr. D. The only other group that comes close? The New Doors with Ian Ashbury...)
Bought a few groceries, the new Brighton Beach-themed ish of Time Out for Elvira (BB's predominately Russian/Ukranian, as you doubtless are aware), and walked back to (Andy's) crib. The glamorous life!
Worked on a mix until 9:15, then donned heavy linen overalls and jogged over to Seventh, where (we) met Cherie for Indian. (Okra curry, vegetable fritters, and a hamhock the size of Connecticut.) Now, I weep into my palak makkai malai. Why? Life is too friggin' good.
My dad's birthday is tomorrow, and in the evening, Laundryroom Squelchers play Tonic. All is beautiful.