Sighted

I was at Heathrow last Saturday evening, picking up my betrothed, and as I watched the people exiting the Secure Area I saw a serene white spiky head strolling out. David Byrne! No. Maybe? Peer intently. I’d have to look closely at a recent picture to be certain. Or maybe he’ll mention London in his blog; no, surely he won’t:

David Byrne Journal: 5.20.07: London
I love the juxtaposition here between the two opposing poles of dress and manner: the reserved, polite, perfect and solicitous staff contrasted with the world of theatrical shock and gross-out represented by Chapman bros., Damien Hirst, chavs and football hooligans. It all has to come out, I guess — the bigger the front the bigger the back. I’m reminded of the ads that plaster the phone booths offering spankings and humiliation.

He even strolled back toward the terminal-exit doors a few minutes later, against the stream of humans. I’ve been meaning to ask him to write usage notes for our thesaurus. He’s one of my top N role models/heroes/admirees.  And you can see his reflection in the “THIS IS NONE OTHER THAN THE HOUSE OF GOD” photo in the post.

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