I never did get those cats out from under the bed.
I majored in English in college, which my mother told me was a recipe for unemployment, so I added a minor in Russian Literature. I think about that Lolita a lot, hanging about in her socks. Even Lolita eventually got married, but apparently it didn’t suit her.
One night not long after college at a Broadway benefit soiree at 86th and Park, I met a man named Mr. Aronson. We were at the Aronson’s residence, actually. An enormous place with overlapping Persian rugs and lots of authentic seeming African masks on the wall to show that they understand other cultures. Recessed lighting.
Anyway, I got to talking with Mr. Aronson, and I like to think I charmed him a little. He told me to call him Marty. I told him his living room was the most beautiful I’d ever seen and also the most beige.
After a few Sondheims on the piano, Marty hired me.
The Aronsons were going out of town, and in exchange for feeding his cats, Marty gave me the keys to his apartment and allowed me to photograph his long hair long nail kitties whom he adored.
Sometimes it seems like someone is doing you a favor, but then you play it back in your head and you’re not the winner.
I have four main moods.
Depressive Depressive: I am sad and things are pointless and I am going to nap.
Aggressive Depressive: I am sad and it is your fault and I am going to nap.
Depressive Hyper: I am sad and things are pointless but let’s have some beers and jump around.
Aggressive Hyper: I am sad and it is your fault and I am going to start a fight with you.