Stacy Horn

My friend Marisa and I went to the Met yesterday to see an exhibit of night photography. My three favorites were Robert Adams, Stephen Tourlentes, and Hiroshi Sugimoto.

Their work was on a wall together, three in a row, and those three photographs were the ones that grabbed me. Before heading up there I was transcribing my interview with composer Morten Lauridsen, the part where he was talking about trying to make music that takes you to a place where there are no words, and that’s how I would describe the work of these three photographers.

The Hiroshi Sugimoto photograph of the sea I had to get up close and spend some time with, but it was like being hypnotized. The work of the other two (I’ve also been browsing their websites) was so expressive they’re almost painful, I think I have to say Robert Adams especially. If I was going to go for a life of crime I’d steal his pictures first, definitely evocative of something that I’d like to have around always. Update: I’ve been browsing some more and now Adams and Tourlentes are tied for which photographs I’d steal first. I’m going to need a partner.

The Alexander McQueen exhibit was INSANE. We decided we’d come back during the day when everyone else is at work.

A bike accident that I passed by on my way to the museum.

A friend just told me about this great, very affordable weekend conference about social media—it’s just $150 for the whole weekend. You can go for the whole weekend or a day or just part of a day. It was organized by Columbia’s Journalism School Continuing Ed division.

More information here, and tickets can be purchased here.

Last night’s Bones episode. Honestly, I’m not sure what it is, but I can’t take TV heartbreak like this anymore. The only thing I can think of is, I’ve exceeded my life’s allotment of sadness and just can’t take any more, even if it’s only tv. I won’t say more. I don’t want to spoil it for people who haven’t seen it, and for people who have, you know what I’m talking about. I know I’m insane. No need to point it out.

That said, the writers of that scene and the actors did a great job. I don’t know if there’s anyone left who is insisting that television can’t rise to the level of great art (anyone worth listening to) but last night was a terribly poignant expression of what is most difficult in life, saying goodbye to this, for all that sucks about it, saying goodbye to those we love, saying goodbye period. But still, don’t fucking do anything like that ever again everyone over there at Bones. Oh God. Remembering the character’s last words. Now I’m mad again. Yeah, I’m insane.

Look at the top of this building! What an enchanting place to live.

Someone asked me for helping finding the name of a bar in Alphabet City, from 1999/2000 or thereabouts. The consensus on Echo is that it was a place called the Wah Wah Hut.

I thought I’d check here as well. Does anyone know what place this was (or is):

“The place had/has a photo booth, a small place for live music and a fresco or mural inside with—a painted heart with a spear through it—and a caption that reads something similar to ‘Well, it’s in my back, but you’re going to have to face it.’”

The last time I walked up Park Avenue South that billboard was for Little Red Riding Hood (or whatever that movie was called).

My book is due in September and the chapters aren’t coming along quickly enough. Doesn’t it seem like only recently I was writing a book about parapsychology? And now, two seconds later, I’m coming to the end of writing a book about singing? How did that happen?

I was thinking how so many people think they can’t sing and they actually can. They’re like me, they may not have the most beautiful voice in the world, but they can mostly sing in tune and they don’t suck. Except they think they do. So, what? Were they surrounded by mean teachers and parents telling them they couldn’t sing?

Then there are the people who really can’t sing trying out for American Idol without a clue as to how bad they are. They had overly kind teachers and parents, I guess.

Well, time to get to work Buddy. I’m working on three chapters, one about singing coal miners, one about a long dead and forgotten composer named Francis Boott, and one about a piece by Morten Lauridsen. What are you working on?? (Buddy’s answer: “My tour of the nap spots in this establishment.”)