A video outlining the thoughts that went into the Binary Floor project.
It all started here. Dusk, June 14, 2009. It was a beautiful summery Sunday evening. Out in the real world, people were watching the fourth quarter of the final game between the Lakers and the Orlando Magic. Lakers won. By the time the dust settled and the smoke cleared, the city of Los Angeles was appropriately blowing stuff up.
Vive and I are winding it all down. On our final walk around our block today, while bidding farewell to the neighborhood, an unknown dog reminding us of a very special someone came up to say goodbye. The resemblance was uncanny. Of all the days. While probably pure coincidence, I couldn’t help feeling a sense of communion with her. A heavy sense of peace. <3
On the set of Le mari de l’ambassadeur, Paris, 1988.
Elise McKenna, eat your heart out. Game, set, match. I don’t consider myself the first person to have ever said this, but that is literally the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Anywhere. In any century. Whether in a fairytale, a dream, a photograph, or face to face.
I can’t wait to marry her next month.
The cover of next week’s issue:
It’s been seven months and seven days since Kona left. I just found a couple baby pics of her and had to throw them on the scanner.
↑ The day I got her. April, 1999.
↓ Around the same time. A very, very, very shining little girl.
She was so beautiful. Like chess piece. Chiseled ebony, wrapped in the highest quality leather, with a layer of black velvet. Those ears were probably what sealed the deal for me. They’ll always be my favorite.
We’ve been taking a victory lap of sorts in recent weeks, visiting our favorite spots for the last time before our big move. This afternoon I picked up Vive at his other house, and we headed straight to one of our favorite places in the rotation: Point Vicente. We’ve hit this one dozens of times over the years, especially with Kona.
As luck would have it, this will be the last time Vive will ever enjoy running through that particular field. Just moments after this was shot, a sheriff sneaked through the trees and gave us a ticket for being off leash. Note that we were WAY up in the brush, hundreds of yards from everybody, minding our own business. As we always do.
The cop treated me like I was a foreigner, giving me the ground-up riot act about California law. The irony was that this has essentially been MY backyard for a decade, while she probably commutes in every morning on the 91 Freeway. I just stood there and cooperated, thinking about how lucky I was to not be holding an open Red Hook.
Now we’ve got to go to court within the next six weeks, pay a base fine, plus court costs. Final cost unknown. A complete waste of time, energy, and gasoline. Your tax dollars at work right there, people. There’s lots I could rant about right now, but I’ll save most of it. FINAL WORD ON THE SUBJECT:
They get called pigs for a reason.
The other night I was interviewed by the folks over at SMITH Magazine in New York for their October Member of the Month feature. Special thanks to Larry for the idea and Vivian for the enjoyable hour of conversation.
