The People's Library:
You see, I did manage to post again to compensate for skipping yesterday! Who knew?
Monday, October 31, 2011
Construction Pit
Taken from the 7 Train in Queens:
Yes a shot from the archives, and also yes, I didn't post a picture yesterday. You should have seen all the messages I got of either outrage (that I missed a day) and concern (that I may have died). But fear not, I'm still alive and I'll post twice today to compensate.
In related news, I've started to develop this series of vintage exposed rolls dating back to 1971 that I acquired. As per usual, I will be posting each roll in its entirety. Something to look forward to, no?
Yes a shot from the archives, and also yes, I didn't post a picture yesterday. You should have seen all the messages I got of either outrage (that I missed a day) and concern (that I may have died). But fear not, I'm still alive and I'll post twice today to compensate.
In related news, I've started to develop this series of vintage exposed rolls dating back to 1971 that I acquired. As per usual, I will be posting each roll in its entirety. Something to look forward to, no?
Saturday, October 29, 2011
You've Got Questions?
They've Got Answers!
They also have a nicer ass than this picture would lead one to believe.
I went down there again yesterday, and every time I go down the place goes over a radical makeover. Since I had last been there it had turned into a full on tent city. The news reported that the city took away their burners and heaters that morning, but they have plenty of cold weather gear to distribute to those who need it.
Today was their first real test against the elements. It's cold, rainy, snowy, slushy, and windy out. I almost considered going down to see how they were holding up, but I'm much too warm and cozy to do anything like that...
They also have a nicer ass than this picture would lead one to believe.
I went down there again yesterday, and every time I go down the place goes over a radical makeover. Since I had last been there it had turned into a full on tent city. The news reported that the city took away their burners and heaters that morning, but they have plenty of cold weather gear to distribute to those who need it.
Today was their first real test against the elements. It's cold, rainy, snowy, slushy, and windy out. I almost considered going down to see how they were holding up, but I'm much too warm and cozy to do anything like that...
Friday, October 28, 2011
Are You Having a Nap?
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Hunger Strike
In Zuccotti Park:
I shot this a few weeks ago. I have no idea if he's eaten since then, or if he's got some kind of Bobby Sands deal going on (Wow, a Bobby Sands reference. I'll give a buck to anybody who knows what I'm talking about without having to look it up).
Well, my Roxy has come back to me. Actually, I picked him up at the vet after he was sent to whatever hopefully reputable pet cremation place they do business with and sent me back a bag of ashes, though they're not really "ashes," they're just the bones that are left over and then put into the cremulator which grinds them all up so you can disperse them with greater ease (if that's your desire).
I don't really expect that I got Roxy's actual remains back, despite the vet telling me that they deal with a very reputable place (and of course they're reputable. They included a certificate with that rainbow bridge poem/missive on it), and that I'd get back my lizard without any guinea pigs or chinchillas mixed in.
It's a small box with a machine carved top. There's a removable slot on the bottom. Inside they put a black drawstring bag, and in that is a double-sealed plastic bag with the remains. As I was riding home in the cab I filtered through them (bag closed) to see if I could find any larger, recognizable pieces. I was thinking about a girl I once knew who kept a bone set in resin around her neck that came from her dead cat. I'm not sure I'm ready to start a line of Roxywear, but I looked just the same. Some bones did make it through the cremulator, and look like they could be some metacarpals (or tarsals, who knows), or perhaps some broken up pieces of caudal vertebrae. I don't think I'm going to split him up. I'll keep him "whole" (such as he is).
The plan all along was to bury him in the backyard with the rest of the pets of my youth (well, their boxed up ashes), but maybe I'll keep him around for a little bit. And yes, I know he's not really a "he," they're just what's left after the cremation, but indulge me a little. It's not like I'm talking to the box or anything (crap, I think I might have).
Maybe I'm in no rush for him to make another last trip just yet. Hell, I haven't even touched his setup yet. I have this thing sitting in my apartment, this wooden-framed thing that's bigger than a telephone booth and smaller than an outhouse. It's been standing here for over 14 years. My girlfriend (at the time) and I built it exclusively for iguanas. Now it stands empty and dark. It's been almost two weeks since he died and I still haven't even touched the pillows I put around his cat stand, the pillows he'd fall on (because he was blind and all), and sleep on at night. I take comfort in those pillows. I look over there and think about him lying on the pillows, looking comfortable and happy. Blind, but happy in those days before the last month and a half of his life when things started to go downhill. You saw the picture from however many days ago. He was a king on his pillow as he was everywhere else in the apartment, blind or otherwise.
But eventually the pillows will be picked up and thrown out. The cat stand will end up in the hallway. The lights will be taken down. Finally I'll disassemble this thing that's dominated my apartment for almost 15 years. This structure that clearly looks like it was built by two people in their 20s that knew absolutely nothing about carpentry (and still don't, speaking for myself). Then I'll have a space to fill (which it will be).
In this past two weeks it's been weird. It's weird how it almost seems like it never was, like I never did have this thing that I fed and took care of and handled every day for 14.5 years, but I did. It's weird to think I can just move on with the removal of a habitat, but I will. But I won't, either. I mean, I'll move on. I know it sounds like I'm talking about a person here, but yes, I know I'm talking about a lizard. I know it it may sound silly, but they become such a part of your life...
Okay, enough rambling.
I shot this a few weeks ago. I have no idea if he's eaten since then, or if he's got some kind of Bobby Sands deal going on (Wow, a Bobby Sands reference. I'll give a buck to anybody who knows what I'm talking about without having to look it up).
Well, my Roxy has come back to me. Actually, I picked him up at the vet after he was sent to whatever hopefully reputable pet cremation place they do business with and sent me back a bag of ashes, though they're not really "ashes," they're just the bones that are left over and then put into the cremulator which grinds them all up so you can disperse them with greater ease (if that's your desire).
I don't really expect that I got Roxy's actual remains back, despite the vet telling me that they deal with a very reputable place (and of course they're reputable. They included a certificate with that rainbow bridge poem/missive on it), and that I'd get back my lizard without any guinea pigs or chinchillas mixed in.
It's a small box with a machine carved top. There's a removable slot on the bottom. Inside they put a black drawstring bag, and in that is a double-sealed plastic bag with the remains. As I was riding home in the cab I filtered through them (bag closed) to see if I could find any larger, recognizable pieces. I was thinking about a girl I once knew who kept a bone set in resin around her neck that came from her dead cat. I'm not sure I'm ready to start a line of Roxywear, but I looked just the same. Some bones did make it through the cremulator, and look like they could be some metacarpals (or tarsals, who knows), or perhaps some broken up pieces of caudal vertebrae. I don't think I'm going to split him up. I'll keep him "whole" (such as he is).
The plan all along was to bury him in the backyard with the rest of the pets of my youth (well, their boxed up ashes), but maybe I'll keep him around for a little bit. And yes, I know he's not really a "he," they're just what's left after the cremation, but indulge me a little. It's not like I'm talking to the box or anything (crap, I think I might have).
Maybe I'm in no rush for him to make another last trip just yet. Hell, I haven't even touched his setup yet. I have this thing sitting in my apartment, this wooden-framed thing that's bigger than a telephone booth and smaller than an outhouse. It's been standing here for over 14 years. My girlfriend (at the time) and I built it exclusively for iguanas. Now it stands empty and dark. It's been almost two weeks since he died and I still haven't even touched the pillows I put around his cat stand, the pillows he'd fall on (because he was blind and all), and sleep on at night. I take comfort in those pillows. I look over there and think about him lying on the pillows, looking comfortable and happy. Blind, but happy in those days before the last month and a half of his life when things started to go downhill. You saw the picture from however many days ago. He was a king on his pillow as he was everywhere else in the apartment, blind or otherwise.
But eventually the pillows will be picked up and thrown out. The cat stand will end up in the hallway. The lights will be taken down. Finally I'll disassemble this thing that's dominated my apartment for almost 15 years. This structure that clearly looks like it was built by two people in their 20s that knew absolutely nothing about carpentry (and still don't, speaking for myself). Then I'll have a space to fill (which it will be).
In this past two weeks it's been weird. It's weird how it almost seems like it never was, like I never did have this thing that I fed and took care of and handled every day for 14.5 years, but I did. It's weird to think I can just move on with the removal of a habitat, but I will. But I won't, either. I mean, I'll move on. I know it sounds like I'm talking about a person here, but yes, I know I'm talking about a lizard. I know it it may sound silly, but they become such a part of your life...
Okay, enough rambling.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
The People's Library
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Ivan
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Wispy Hair in Washington Square
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
That Fawkes Guy
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Splashing Through
Monday, October 17, 2011
Roxy on the Pillow
Taken about two months ago, at least:
I wasn't expecting to put this picture up today. I was just looking through the negatives and there it was, and I figured why not. It's my blog for crying out loud, and if I want to populate it with my recently late lizard, I can do that. Christ, this might have been taken 3 months or longer ago, back when he was only blind and dehydrated, but was still eating and breathing normally.
The pillows were my dad's idea, and simply ingenious. When I first told him that Roxy was going blind and that I wasn't feeling good about putting him on the cat stand without falling off, he just suggested them right off. It had never occurred to me. Now if you look closely at his pillows, you'll see they're from Bloomingdale's. Yes, Roxy was a fancy lizard that only fell on the best pillows money can buy (well, at least the best pillows my parents' money could buy since they were a gift to me). So for the last few months of his life, Roxy fell onto, and slept on Bloomingdale's king sized pillows, while I was stuck with the best Bed Bath and Beyond pillows I could afford.
His pillows are still there. I still look in whenever I walk by, expecting to see him there. One of these days I'm going to have to start the removal of his habitat. I'm not ready just yet. Hell, it's only been three days. But sometime this week I'm sure I'll stuff those pillows into a garbage bag, and start the process of moving forward.
I wasn't expecting to put this picture up today. I was just looking through the negatives and there it was, and I figured why not. It's my blog for crying out loud, and if I want to populate it with my recently late lizard, I can do that. Christ, this might have been taken 3 months or longer ago, back when he was only blind and dehydrated, but was still eating and breathing normally.
The pillows were my dad's idea, and simply ingenious. When I first told him that Roxy was going blind and that I wasn't feeling good about putting him on the cat stand without falling off, he just suggested them right off. It had never occurred to me. Now if you look closely at his pillows, you'll see they're from Bloomingdale's. Yes, Roxy was a fancy lizard that only fell on the best pillows money can buy (well, at least the best pillows my parents' money could buy since they were a gift to me). So for the last few months of his life, Roxy fell onto, and slept on Bloomingdale's king sized pillows, while I was stuck with the best Bed Bath and Beyond pillows I could afford.
His pillows are still there. I still look in whenever I walk by, expecting to see him there. One of these days I'm going to have to start the removal of his habitat. I'm not ready just yet. Hell, it's only been three days. But sometime this week I'm sure I'll stuff those pillows into a garbage bag, and start the process of moving forward.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Staging Area
Saturday, October 15, 2011
A Boy and His Lizard
In happier, healthier times:
Roxy's story came to an end yesterday morning. I woke up, he didn't. Despite all the medicine and care, he could no longer fight the sickness. I spoke to the vet after the necropsy, and it turns out he was sicker than we knew. His right lung was diseased, his kidneys were mineralized, and there were growths in his stomach near where it empties into the small intestine. We'll know more when the tissue samples come back from the lab. It was a fight he was destined to lose. Then again, life is a fight we are all destined to lose, be we beast or man, no matter the cause.
He was 16 years old, and was a part of my life for over 14 years. I was 26 when he came into this house, and 41 when he departed. He was the one constant in my life during all that time, a little green monster that needed food and light, needed to have his bathroom needs met, and needed love and affection — and I did love him very much.
He was there when I had nobody else. When I felt completely sad and alone in this world I'd look over and he'd be there. He was always there for me to talk to. Talking to a pet isn't crazy. Talking to yourself might be crazy, but a pet? Not at all. I've contended for quite a time that part of having a pet when you live alone is so you don't feel crazy when you're talking to yourself, because you're not talking to yourself. You're talking to a lizard (which is perfectly reasonable, no?).
Maybe instead of taking up this space to use as a lamentation, I'll post a link to the first time I ever featured my little guy here. And you can see how I felt when all was well in our world.
I'll always love my little green guy.
Roxy's story came to an end yesterday morning. I woke up, he didn't. Despite all the medicine and care, he could no longer fight the sickness. I spoke to the vet after the necropsy, and it turns out he was sicker than we knew. His right lung was diseased, his kidneys were mineralized, and there were growths in his stomach near where it empties into the small intestine. We'll know more when the tissue samples come back from the lab. It was a fight he was destined to lose. Then again, life is a fight we are all destined to lose, be we beast or man, no matter the cause.
He was 16 years old, and was a part of my life for over 14 years. I was 26 when he came into this house, and 41 when he departed. He was the one constant in my life during all that time, a little green monster that needed food and light, needed to have his bathroom needs met, and needed love and affection — and I did love him very much.
He was there when I had nobody else. When I felt completely sad and alone in this world I'd look over and he'd be there. He was always there for me to talk to. Talking to a pet isn't crazy. Talking to yourself might be crazy, but a pet? Not at all. I've contended for quite a time that part of having a pet when you live alone is so you don't feel crazy when you're talking to yourself, because you're not talking to yourself. You're talking to a lizard (which is perfectly reasonable, no?).
Maybe instead of taking up this space to use as a lamentation, I'll post a link to the first time I ever featured my little guy here. And you can see how I felt when all was well in our world.
I'll always love my little green guy.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Film Crew
In Zuccotti Park, downtown:
This was a week after my first trip down there (yet was on the same roll of film), and yes, the film photographers were out in force.
Does the last part of that sentence count as alliteration, or are the f sounding words too spread out?
Yes, these are the tough questions I ask.
This was a week after my first trip down there (yet was on the same roll of film), and yes, the film photographers were out in force.
Does the last part of that sentence count as alliteration, or are the f sounding words too spread out?
Yes, these are the tough questions I ask.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Stashed
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Wall of Ivy
Monday, October 10, 2011
Gray Arch
Manhattan Bridge:
I just got some vintage expired rolls that I'll soon be developing. The cool thing is, they're dated to 1971, so at least I'll have some context to put them in. Much of the writing on the others was pretty illegible, but one of them said "dogs." So I'm assuming I won't end up with anything exciting like a photo of Hitler playing golf with Benjamin Netanyahu. But that's just crazy talk. I mean, that statement is ridiculous on so many levels, the very least being that Hitler was dead before Netanyahu was born. But it's just an extreme example of what I could and probably won't find on a 40 year old undeveloped roll of film. I mean, I'm not comparing anybody to Hitler or Netanyahu, I'm just using them as an example of an outrageous situation.
That's okay, right?
I just got some vintage expired rolls that I'll soon be developing. The cool thing is, they're dated to 1971, so at least I'll have some context to put them in. Much of the writing on the others was pretty illegible, but one of them said "dogs." So I'm assuming I won't end up with anything exciting like a photo of Hitler playing golf with Benjamin Netanyahu. But that's just crazy talk. I mean, that statement is ridiculous on so many levels, the very least being that Hitler was dead before Netanyahu was born. But it's just an extreme example of what I could and probably won't find on a 40 year old undeveloped roll of film. I mean, I'm not comparing anybody to Hitler or Netanyahu, I'm just using them as an example of an outrageous situation.
That's okay, right?
Sunday, October 9, 2011
MC Charlie Boswell
And part of The Gamp, in front of ABC No Rio:
Whether it's a skill crane chill crane ill crane or the dog god or the original iteration of SFA playing a show, MC Charlie Boswell is there. A month after this photo was taken, I was covered in a White Castle hamburger and tofu detritus, thanks to MC Charlie Boswell, and I couldn't have been happier.
I don't expect ANYBODY reading this to understand a single word of what I just said, except a select (and I mean select) few, and that's just fine by me.
Whether it's a skill crane chill crane ill crane or the dog god or the original iteration of SFA playing a show, MC Charlie Boswell is there. A month after this photo was taken, I was covered in a White Castle hamburger and tofu detritus, thanks to MC Charlie Boswell, and I couldn't have been happier.
I don't expect ANYBODY reading this to understand a single word of what I just said, except a select (and I mean select) few, and that's just fine by me.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Respite
Downtown occupation:
I wonder if this shot is too busy. I'm sure it could benefit from some cropping. This was taken last week. I was there again yesterday. Things seem a bit more organized now. There's now tape laid down to designate the walkways, and the occupiers sit or are lying down behind it. It's like going to the zoo. You walk around, you see protesters in their natural habitat, you take a picture, and you move on. It's a tourist attraction at this point. The double decker buses drive by on Broadway, and anybody going down to see the World Trade Center construction only has to walk half a block before they can see the everybody with their signs and drums and demonstrations.
I mean, the occupiers don't think of themselves as a tourist destination, but they are. They're an attraction. Just like last week, I saw plenty of people with film cameras, all out to get some artistic shots of young people trying to change the system. None of us stay for the long haul, we get our shots, then run back home to develop. We go when there might be something interesting happening, but don't want to be too close when things get hairy. Or at the very least, we don't want to get hurt.
Or maybe I'm just talking about myself.
I wonder if this shot is too busy. I'm sure it could benefit from some cropping. This was taken last week. I was there again yesterday. Things seem a bit more organized now. There's now tape laid down to designate the walkways, and the occupiers sit or are lying down behind it. It's like going to the zoo. You walk around, you see protesters in their natural habitat, you take a picture, and you move on. It's a tourist attraction at this point. The double decker buses drive by on Broadway, and anybody going down to see the World Trade Center construction only has to walk half a block before they can see the everybody with their signs and drums and demonstrations.
I mean, the occupiers don't think of themselves as a tourist destination, but they are. They're an attraction. Just like last week, I saw plenty of people with film cameras, all out to get some artistic shots of young people trying to change the system. None of us stay for the long haul, we get our shots, then run back home to develop. We go when there might be something interesting happening, but don't want to be too close when things get hairy. Or at the very least, we don't want to get hurt.
Or maybe I'm just talking about myself.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Kira
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Alex
Alex is a student and a photographer (student photographer? photography student?) who came down to check out the scene as well. I'm trying to remember more of what we talked about. I'm not sure I even entirely remember how we started talking, though she did take note of the 501CM. Remember yesterday when I wrote about having vicious dizzy spells? Well, I'm better today, but there's still a faint buzz going on. And just so you know, I am fed and hydrated, and not under the influence of any licit or illicit substances.
Nice day out.
Blue skies, smiling at me,
Nothing but blue skies, do I see...
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Margaret
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
When They Say, "Post No Bills"
They mean it:
And some moments later:
You see the wheelchair dude in the first shot? I felt I could have gotten a better shot of him, but as I've talked on this site before, I don't always want to go for that kind of exploitation shot (though all photography is exploitation). I like street photography, but sometimes it all seems so typical. You always get the same shots of bums and rejects and blah blah blah...everybody clamoring to catch some drama. Who am I kidding, I'll catch some drama just as long as nobody catches me catching it.
I was actually just working on a personal piece, but I don't feel entirely comfortable putting it up here. Not today, at least. Maybe sometime in the future. I've already written most of it out, but I don't feel entirely comfortable with it just yet. Maybe someday.
And some moments later:
You see the wheelchair dude in the first shot? I felt I could have gotten a better shot of him, but as I've talked on this site before, I don't always want to go for that kind of exploitation shot (though all photography is exploitation). I like street photography, but sometimes it all seems so typical. You always get the same shots of bums and rejects and blah blah blah...everybody clamoring to catch some drama. Who am I kidding, I'll catch some drama just as long as nobody catches me catching it.
I was actually just working on a personal piece, but I don't feel entirely comfortable putting it up here. Not today, at least. Maybe sometime in the future. I've already written most of it out, but I don't feel entirely comfortable with it just yet. Maybe someday.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Cup & Saucer
Downtown:
After I was quite a ways away from where I took the shot I realized I had not readjusted my focus from my previous shot, and knew it would probably be a little fuzzy (which it is). Also, I look at this shot and maybe reevaluate my bitching and moaning about people who bitch and moan about how the city is changing (as if it ever stopped changing) and how things ain't what they used to be.
I have a sentimental attachment to this place, one that goes back to my childhood. I think it may be one of the few places left in the city that I can say I knew as a little boy. Mind you, I grew up in Jersey so that's saying something. But my father and grandfather worked around the corner for many years, and I have fond memories of spending the day at the shop (as we called it). No, we didn't have Cup & Saucer lunches every day, but I think even then, we all liked that it was there. I'm sure it was the coffee spot, or if you needed a quick something to get you through the day, it was always there, as it's there today, with the same sign that's been hanging over Canal for ages.
Will it always be there? No. Will I be sad to find out if and when it closes (even though I haven't eaten anything from there in 20 years)? Maybe a little. Maybe sad is too strong a word. Wistful? Either way, it's a connection to my past, to days spent in the city with Dad, walking around with him or my grandfather or even my grandmother who would take the bus down from the Bronx every so often, and one of the few landmarks that remains from those days spent with people who have since died (except my father, he's still going strong. Well, he's still going, at least).
After I was quite a ways away from where I took the shot I realized I had not readjusted my focus from my previous shot, and knew it would probably be a little fuzzy (which it is). Also, I look at this shot and maybe reevaluate my bitching and moaning about people who bitch and moan about how the city is changing (as if it ever stopped changing) and how things ain't what they used to be.
I have a sentimental attachment to this place, one that goes back to my childhood. I think it may be one of the few places left in the city that I can say I knew as a little boy. Mind you, I grew up in Jersey so that's saying something. But my father and grandfather worked around the corner for many years, and I have fond memories of spending the day at the shop (as we called it). No, we didn't have Cup & Saucer lunches every day, but I think even then, we all liked that it was there. I'm sure it was the coffee spot, or if you needed a quick something to get you through the day, it was always there, as it's there today, with the same sign that's been hanging over Canal for ages.
Will it always be there? No. Will I be sad to find out if and when it closes (even though I haven't eaten anything from there in 20 years)? Maybe a little. Maybe sad is too strong a word. Wistful? Either way, it's a connection to my past, to days spent in the city with Dad, walking around with him or my grandfather or even my grandmother who would take the bus down from the Bronx every so often, and one of the few landmarks that remains from those days spent with people who have since died (except my father, he's still going strong. Well, he's still going, at least).
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Art Wood
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Condé Nasty
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)