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For years, I'd meant to visit the Breck Girl Hall of Fame, a small monument to worthlessness situated in the lobby of a swanky downtown high-rise. Exhibits dedicated to Farrah Fawcett, Jaclyn Smith, and other hairy luminaries ("A bust of Roma Whitney, the Breck trademark girl, the easel used by Charles Sheldon, the first Breck artist, and 150 pastel paintings of the original Breck girls")—you'd think I'd have made it there long ago. Well ... no.
So, I finally get around to it, & it turns out the new owners got rid of it, according to the front desk person. Damn. At least I could shoot the extant "B R E C K" carpet. Or so I thought; when I mentioned my photographic intention, the desk person said the new owners had forbidden photography. What a bunch of killjoys. "But if you were to be looking in, say, this direction," I observed, "you wouldn't see me taking any photographs, now would you?"
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