Friday, April 22, 2005
For some reasons it will probably take years of therapy to unravel, I find the following lyrics from Einstein on the Beach to be incredibly moving.
Two lovers sat on a park bench, with their bodies touching each other, holding hands in the moonlight.
There was silence between them. So profound was their love for each other, they needed no words to express it. And so they sat in silence, on a park bench, with their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight.
Finally she spoke. "Do you love me, John?" she asked. "You know I love you, darling," he replied. "I love you more than tongue can tell. You are the light of my life, my sun, moon and stars. You are my everything. Without you I have no reason for being."
Again there was silence as the two lovers sat on a park bench, their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight. Once more she spoke. "How much do you love me, John?" she asked. He answered: "How much do I love you? Count the stars in the sky. Measure the waters of the oceans with a teaspoon. Number the grains of sand on the sea shore. Impossible, you say?"
Two lovers sat on a park bench, with their bodies touching each other, holding hands in the moonlight.
There was silence between them. So profound was their love for each other, they needed no words to express it. And so they sat in silence, on a park bench, with their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight.
Finally she spoke. "Do you love me, John?" she asked. "You know I love you, darling," he replied. "I love you more than tongue can tell. You are the light of my life, my sun, moon and stars. You are my everything. Without you I have no reason for being."
Again there was silence as the two lovers sat on a park bench, their bodies touching, holding hands in the moonlight. Once more she spoke. "How much do you love me, John?" she asked. He answered: "How much do I love you? Count the stars in the sky. Measure the waters of the oceans with a teaspoon. Number the grains of sand on the sea shore. Impossible, you say?"
Thursday, April 21, 2005
I'm, waiting by the radio, listening for an interview I pre-taped last week for 98.1 KING-FM in Seattle. I'm talking about PICKUP, and the Artist Trust REEL BIG DEAL, a film program which I'm curating at Northwest Film Forum that shows this Sunday. In front of me was an interview with Lauren McLaren, a 16 year old condutor. It's like the green room at the Ed Sullivan show. Okay, I'm freaking out.
And I don't think the interview is going to air now. I take it all back. Forget it.
Never happened.
And I don't think the interview is going to air now. I take it all back. Forget it.
Never happened.
Saturday, April 02, 2005
NY Press' 50 MOST LOATHSOME NEW YORKERS
25. Steven Pearlman
Plastic Surgeon
Predatory Park Ave. cosmetic surgeon Steven Pearlman likes to give his business a lift by throwing plastic-surgery parties for teenagers at nightclubs, where he helps 13-year-old girls drinking mock cocktails discover how ugly they are. Sounding like a Dutch techie on a Thai sex vacation, Pearlman once told the New York Observer, "I can generally start on girls at 15." Planting the seed for future generations of facelift addicts like Upper East Side socialite and world-famous ghoul Jocelyn Wildenstein, Dr. Pearlman, who is president of the American Academy of Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery, confirms that in the deranged world of Upper Manhattan there's no self-esteem like no self-esteem.
25. Steven Pearlman
Plastic Surgeon
Predatory Park Ave. cosmetic surgeon Steven Pearlman likes to give his business a lift by throwing plastic-surgery parties for teenagers at nightclubs, where he helps 13-year-old girls drinking mock cocktails discover how ugly they are. Sounding like a Dutch techie on a Thai sex vacation, Pearlman once told the New York Observer, "I can generally start on girls at 15." Planting the seed for future generations of facelift addicts like Upper East Side socialite and world-famous ghoul Jocelyn Wildenstein, Dr. Pearlman, who is president of the American Academy of Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery, confirms that in the deranged world of Upper Manhattan there's no self-esteem like no self-esteem.
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