Me and McGee are heading out Pennsylvania-ways in about half an hour.
Open road, White Stripes blaring, back in the USSA, by Gob.
No real plan, just drive.
Only real plan there is, I suppose.
Bob Rauschenberg, fearless American artist, died yesterday at 82 down in Florida.
He once said,
Screwing things up is a virtue. Being correct is never the point.
Ah, god. If only more annointed geniuses said things like that.
Excellent diner meeting with Eric Sanders yesterday. Great young writer, but more importantly, stone-crazy kid who is scary-smart and nods along with all of my crazy shit, in fact, anticipates the idea and improves upon it. We're talking about reviving the Public Works Project we had back at Present Company in the mid-90s, strange, semi-scripted public performances happening on the subway and wherever lines form. Two strands of this:
Subliminal theater, things you see and hear while you're hurrying through Rat City, things designed for the slow double-take,
What the fuck...?
And big crazy musical numbers that suddenly burst out, huge over-the-top production numbers so we're all suddenly in a major motion picture, singing along.
So much fun.
And we've got our first album figured out, see comments below.
Scrappy Jack's East Village Traveling All-Stars would like to rock, Rock, ROCK! your tiny little world.
Ann's on graphics, Rose has got the video and Lori has T-shirts and candy.
It will probably all boil down to the candy, as so many things do in the end.
Still not entirely clear if any of us have any musical ability, but we'll fix that in post-production.
All right. Spitfire is looking at me, pointedly. Got to gather the CDs, shower and find my sunglasses.
The passenger has duties and responsibilities as well.
So long, Bob, and thanks for all the art.
We're lighting out for the territories.