I am boring and boring myself lately: work's been kicking my ass up and down for the past three weeks, consuming most energy and thoughts, and it flat out ruined my last weeks of summer, including one I was supposed to have off. Add my car getting hit by a friend's husband and causing over $2Gs worth of damage, and you have a recipe for being preoccupied.
With the most coverage we've ever gotten due to cover boy Brad Pitt on V49 and some totally gay shots of Tom Brady on V Man, everyone's excited and a little tightly wound. What would typically be minor production mistakes have been blown up into events of major proportion, culminating last week with me telling the two photographers of Vis 52/Louis Vuitton ad campaigns/shitloads of other big fashion clients that the files they provided us were of terrible quality.
This does not make already high-strung and flaky photographers happy. Especially when we aren't fixing the problem before going on sale.
I slept about 11 hours last night and missed out on our big whoo-ha fashion week party down at The Bowery Hotel, but am nearly seeing light at the end of the tunnel.
(As a side note, how douche-y is it for a special friend of mine to try and weasel his way into the party right after I said I couldn't hang out with him last night?)