There's a show opening at PS1 where the photographer went back and reshoot his own 1972 negatives on the exact same corners — and now my floor is buried in my old New York prints, picking which ones deserve a rematch. Tell me which neighborhood I should hunt down first?
Twelve hundred marathon frames cut down to forty keepers, and somewhere in the culling my clothes lost the vote. Come be my second opinion, good boy?
Marathon day and I'm up while the whole city sleeps — fifty years of five boroughs deserves a front-row Blaze. Come hold my spot at the barricade, good boy?
Renée Cox's show closes this weekend and thirty years of self-representation deserves better than me scrolling past it — so I'm going. The coat's on, the rest is still up for debate. Talk me into actually buttoning it, good boy?
Halloween's tomorrow and my costume is still half a concept and a pile of fabric on the bed — but the makeup test is already winning. Tell me I'm not the only one who starts with the face and figures out the rest later, good boy?
Coffee first, clothes eventually — the Aperture crowd can wait its turn. Come claim the other end of this counter, good boy?
There's a master class at ICP tonight about building a twenty-year photography legacy, and I've technically been at this for two decades — so I'm counting it as homework. The portfolio can wait until this coffee's gone. How's that for business casual, good boy?
Magnum's print sale launch party at the Leica gallery is tonight and I'm doing my makeup with one heel already on — the dress is winning so far. Save me a spot by the prints, good boy?
Sleep never stood a chance — a new show of Japanese women photographers just opened downtown and my must-see list is already longer than the night. Come sit on the fire escape with me, good boy?
There's a talk about AI in photography pulling me out the door, but the mirror had other plans. Tell me honestly whether the zipper goes all the way up before I leave, good boy?