New York. It’s so hot and humid outside that I’m tempted to call and cancel my 1:00 P.M. appointment—I can’t deal with another day of this weather. I’ve already postponed my breakfast meeting with this big-shot fitness guru from L.A. because it was too hot out and I didn’t feel like schlepping all the way down to Soho to meet with an overenthusiastic set of hard abs for an egg-white omelette and dry toast. He’s going to meet me uptown for drinks later tonight. I have an appointment to interview the “nonartist” of the moment, a downtown artist named Mark Kostabi. I’ve already blown him off once, and I’ve got no excuse this time. Kostabi doesn’t actually create work with his own hands—he pays artists minimum wage to paint for him, and he just signs the work. He’s gaining lots of notoriety for this gimmick. It’s not exactly the most original idea. Andy Warhol did it with his Factory in the sixties. I’m going to submit an article on Kostabi for a gossip column for 7 Days, a magazine in its prepublication phase.
