Tuesday was a meeting of the Fashion UN: Assembled were yours truly, a South African makeup artist, a Scottish hair stylist, an English photographer (the same super-cool snapper whose casting raised my spirits last Friday!), and a Sydney-born stylist. We came, we discussed, we outlined and executed plans. We ate lunch. We used clothing and props to tell stories. It was good.
So, after rising at 7 for a fun quick gig way on the north side of town this morning, hitting up some castings, perusing a pricey vintage store, attempting to speak French with a native speaker and flailing miserably, a thrilling trip to the grocery store, and a pit stop at a digital prints place to burn my longer takes to DVD for ease of importing, I figured the thing to do was to spend seven hours whittling and uploading. Thanks, tea! It is now 3:49 a.m. and I’m wired. Gonna read some Georges Perec and eat a shortbread and go to sleep. No appointments tomorrow morning, all praise to my supremely wise bookers.
The song is “Oh! You Pretty Things” by David Bowie. Yeah, I know. It was just in my head today.
A further random note: It’s now technically Friday in this timezone, which means I’m leaving — on a jet plane — in exactly one week. I know when I’ll be back again (three weeks after that) but it’s still EXCITING. Since I’m going home for the first time since…well, let’s see. Bush was in the White House, Helen Clark was in the Beehive, and I was a wee girl who often gave her age as 18. Funny how things change.