Bigelow's

Over on 6th Ave:


I read somewhere that until 1981 they still had a soda fountain.

I wonder when was the last time anybody, anybody ordered an egg cream in this town.

At least anybody under the age of 70.

Busking

In Washington Square Park:


Taken with the Rolleiflex sometime in the summer. I'm finally getting to these leftover 100 ISO rolls in my fridge. I believe I took this picture with a lit cigar in my mouth. It was all so very old school. I don't see enough photographers out with film cameras and cigars in their mouths. I believe this will be the cause I will take up. That is, until Bloomberg's plan to ban smoking in parks (no shit) goes into effect. I don't even smoke regularly (just the occasional cigar) and I'm against it. It was a good day to mill about a park with a smoke and a camera.

It's the little things, I tell you...

Okay, I'm just realizing it was a different day that I was milling about the park with a cigar and a camera, but why should I discard the above prose over a slight techicality? What do you want in your online blogs, unadulterated truth or a bit of "creative" musing? Besides, don't we all experience and interpret reality on an individual basis (though I'm sure the court system would feel otherwise)?

I'm experiencing hunger, and the familiar feeling that the Mets aren't going to win tonight.

Looking to Home

Returning from Ellis Island:


Walking around the displays in what once was the grand hall of Ellis Island, I couldn't say I felt a connection with the experience my grandfather had when he came through the very same place at age 14 some 90 years ago. I know he told me of the experience of lines and chalkmarks, but I can't really remember much of what he said. I know he told his stories to many relatives, so the experience is not lost to (my family) history, though his experience on the surface was not unique as he was only one of so many that came through that very place — I'm sure stopping by the souvenir shop before heading to Manhattan and a new life.

Though one thing I remember him telling me....when they sailed into the harbor and saw the Statue of Liberty, everybody on the boat started yelling, "Look, it's Christopher Columbus!"

I never knew Columbus was a cross-dresser.

Leaving Manhattan

Not permanently, just long enough to visit Liberty Island:


It still looks funny (not funny "ha ha") without the towers there. I think people tend to talk about the loss of the towers without remembering the loss of life that took place there. We reminisce about them, how they were the anchor of lower Manhattan, how we always looked forward to seeing them at the end of a long drive home from whenever. I suppose some would argue that in discussing the loss of the towers the loss of life isn't forgotten, but the memory of their demise is implied. But that's easy to say for those of us that didn't have personal ties to anybody that died (myself included).

Again, how to remember the gravity of an event without getting too moribund about it. How to keep it just sacred enough so it won't turn into a day of clearance sales and Twilight Zone marathons. I know I referenced this Ken Burns quote already in this blog somewhere, but I'll reference it again:

It's New York's phantom limb.

A Few Steps Behind

This is one of those photos that I just like for some reason:


Oh, who am I kidding. I could sit here and write and say that I'm trying to capture a conversation between two people walking down the street but hell...I dig that chick's ass on the left. And on the right. And the one all the way on the left in the front a little. Chances are if I'm walking down the street behind some nice behinds and I have the SWC in my hands I'll be snapping away. It's not like my life's goal to take pictures of chicks' asses, it's just the way these things work out sometimes. And I'm not some kind of crazy ass guy or something, or ass obsessed. I don't prefer one part of the female anatomy over another...I don't even know what I'm writing about anymore, and I've probably written too much. Okay, Boardwalk Empire is starting. I had better get to watching that instead of just digging myself deeper into the pervert hole.

Boyce Path

I figured I'd take a trip back to the Boyce Institute. This wasn't an actual trip, but more of a writing device (no, not a pencil or a word processor, but a metaphorical device):


Jack Bruce jackboots.

UNDER the PENALTY of the LAW

You best believe it!


I sometimes forget about the simple truths of life. No, I ALL THE TIMES forget about the simple truths of life, once being the healing powers of music.

Yeah, today was one of those days again, but instead of bringing here in some vague fashion, I decided for some music therapy (by the way, am I the only person that looks at "therapist" as a compound word?).

I was reminded of my limo driving days, sometime in 1999 or 2000 when I was also having a down day. Left to my own devices, I did the only sensible thing I could think of and blasted Slayer (Seasons in the Abyss)as I tooled around the streets of NYC, exploiting the fine stock sound system of the Lincoln Town Car to it's maximum decibelness. And no, I wasn't "heavy" at the time ("heavy" is limo lingo to say that you have a customer. "Light" is the opposite of "heavy," to say that you currently have no job). The Slayer definitely did the trick.

Later that night, coincidence of coincidences, I get a call to go AD ("AD" is for "As Directed" in limo lingo, that is, you go wherever the client tells you go to. "As Directed!) for the night with Rick Rubin. We didn't talk much during the course of the night as I took him from midtown to Brooklyn, but I did tell him my little story of my Slayer therapy from earlier in the day. I think he was appreciative. Well, I hope he was more appreciative than creeped out.

Today it's not Slayer making the rounds. I started with Adrenalin O.D., one of the finest contrupuncti to ever contropunct, and maybe the finest ever to come out of New Jersey. I followed this with some DOA., and while I didn't play any MDC, I reflected on how much their music meant to me (and still does, all these bands). And right now I'm listening to The Meatmen's, We're The Meatmen And You STILL Suck! and it's yet to fail to move me, even 22 years later. Of course, it's not recommended to play in mixed company ("mixed" being any decent-thinking human being), but fortunately those kind of people don't come around here much.

We'll steamroll you, you'll eat our poop!

Finer words were never written, Tesco...

Yes, We Have Bananas

They had bananas that day!


And I'm pleased to report that FINALLY, someone has put up on youtube Chris Elliott's performance of the "Banana Dance." I won't even begin to explain, it's just one of those things...

Scratching and Diving

A walk-by shot with the SWC at Waverly and Broadway:


So it's officially Fall.

People say, "Spring has sprung," but what about Fall? Has Fall fallen? Did Fall fell? If Fall falls and nobody's around to hear it did Norman Fell this Fall on Fox?

Cheng

Cheng was one of many the other day who sojourned to Liberty Island to see the big green (as she became) lady the French gave us some 124 years ago. He kept pointing to the Rolleiflex saying, "I used to use one of those," in a heavy Chinese accent, and as you can see, he was kind enough to pose for a picture.

"Where are you visiting from?" I asked.

"What?"

"Where are you visiting here from," I repeated.

"I live here. A friend of mine wanted to see the statue."

Great. I meet the only Chinaman at the Statue of Liberty who's actually from NYC. This is what I get for making assumptions.

ABOUT THE IMAGE:
I used Porta 160 for this, probably marking the first time in over a year that I've used negative film instead of slide. And I don't really know why I thought I'd like going back to negative film. Though I bought only five rolls, but still...I mean, this is where color blindness can really be a bitch. With the Ektachrome, I know exactly what to do in photoshop to color correct so my colors are coming correct. With this shit...I have no idea. More green? Less green? Red? Blue? WTFOMG! Any suggestions out there?

Yeah, I know, I should be printing in a darkroom. And if pigs could fly my aunt would be my uncle and I'd see which one fills up first. Which reminds me...

Today I saw a woman let her dog shit on the sidewalk without even picking it up. She was engaged in conversation with a nice looking man in a suit as they waited for the light to change. Them waiting and the dog shitting. Though in all fairness I think she might not have noticed what was going on. I thought of saying something, but instead decided to enjoy the indignation of her just walking away like nothing happened. In hindsight, I really should have picked up the shit (yes, with my bare hands), plopped it in her hand and said, "your dog dropped this."

Oh, but I am full of missed opportunities...

The Future's So Bright...

I've...no. I can't. I can't bring myself to do it. I just can't:


Sunglasses and cellphone/ipod/iphone accessories.

I really gots nothing tonight, even though I'm awake. I've got reticence in spades, yo.

Trying

I'm trying to figure out if there's something to this shot, or if it's even worth trying to get:


I've been fiddling with this shot for a while already, with various different cameras, yet nothing has really come out to my liking just yet. I'm wondering if I should keep trying, or if my artistic vision here is lacking.

I'm also not too thrilled with the "No Standing Anytime" sign finding its way into the frame. I suppose if I were more digitally capable I'd be able to remove it with nobody being the wiser, yet that's not really what I'm doing with my photography. You may have noticed that I'm not a cropper and like to use the image to the edge of the image which was imaged in the camera.

Knowing me as I do, I'll probably keep pounding away at this until something works, or more likely (hopefully) something will strike me and I'll figure out how to make it work. The fact that I'm watching Project Runway right now is purely coincidental to that last bit.

Alley

Over by Bleecker Street:


This may or may not be the terminus of an old alley system that connected Great Jones and Bleecker in the last century (19th, not 20th last century). I've consulted a few maps and they don't conclusively show where this alley ended at Bleecker, so it may be, it may not be.

Either way, it's a photo from a "lost" roll that I took on the Nettar, and developed yesterday.

West Village

I think this was 10th Street, way west:


This is the "best" shot on what I think is a pretty lackluster roll through the Rolleiflex. It's one of those rolls you develop and you can't even remember taking any of the pictures on the roll because it was just a blah kind of roll.

So here's to blah.

Downtown Balloons

On Vesey Street:


There's something about this one I like, even if it seems that there's too much headroom. For me, it's the woman coming towards the camera on the lower right. If she's not in this picture I'm not sure I'm liking it. I have another one of these balloon girls with less headroom and more balloon room but I'm not sure that I like it as much.

STOP

If I knew how to type upside down and backwards then the title of this entry would look a little different, more like the letters you see below:


I'm not tired, and as things go I feel pretty good right now. However, I don't have the foggiest idea of what to write here today. I know...I'll watch the rest of Pardon The Interruption, take a shower, and then see where I'm at.

So I lied. I did all those things and then went to the drugstore (to get my drugs, man), the grocery store, the market, and then talked on the phone with the old man. And still, after all that, I'm no closer to figuring out what I should be writing here than when I first started writing this entry.

xican American Kitchen

Downtown:


This was on Church Street (I'm pretty sure it was Church, and soon to be Mosque!) just a few blocks away from where those buildings depicted in the mural (does that really count as a mural, or is it more of just a wall painting?) used to stand. I don't remember the giant hands and rosary in the sky that morning, but there was some crazy shit going on that day, trust me.

Maybe one of those hands could have grabbed the planes and crushed them like when King Kong did with that helicopter when was up there back in 1976. And where the hell was King Kong when we needed him? He could have helped those people to the roof instead of them having to jump.

I think as New Yorkers we still don't know how to deal with that day on the most basic, individual level. I sure can't. But maybe we're not supposed to know how to deal? I mean, is being able to compartmentalize such an experience a good thing? Can we keep it uncompartmentalized without constantly wallowing in it?

I hear helicopters outside.

Girl, Scouts

This was sometime back in July or August, next to St. Paul's:


I'll admit, this has definite cropping possibilities. And perhaps I will take to cropping it, but not now. I'm too pooped to crop. I hear that's better than being too cropped to poop. I have no idea what that means.

Through a Window

Well, what once was a window:


Yes, another shot from my rundown muse known as the Boyce Institute, and I still have two more rolls to develop! It's just as well, since I haven't been out shooting much lately.

I've been thinking a lot about the whole desire/suffering relationship lately, and the Buddhist take on it. I'm not sure if anybody actually said, "desire is suffering," but they do say that desire is pretty much the root cause. It's like you have a craving, a desire for something, whether it's food, sex, leveling up on a video game, whatever. Once that desire is sated, you're soon left feeling empty, and desiring it again, and you're on the wheel. Now maybe this doesn't sound like a description written by someone who got an A- in his Indo-Tibetan Buddhism class (and I'm willing to hear from all the other Buddhists out there reading this since I know you're out there), but it's the best I can do for now.

I'm thinking I really should get back into reading those books, especially The Universe in a Single Atom by HHTDL, since I only read a little of it when it was assigned. Basically HH lays it out that there are no incongruities between modern science, the scientific method, and the Buddhist Universe. Since one of the tenets of Buddhism is that you shouldn't take anybody's word for anything. You have to investigate for yourself.

I mean, The Buddha could be a real jerk like that. Somebody would ask him a question, then he'd lay out this long explanation and at the end he says, "But I might be full of shit. Who knows!" You don't see Moses coming down from Mt. Sinai with "The Ten Suggestions." They're commandments. "Thou Shall." Thou Shall NOT." There's no, "Well, god says you really shouldn't kill people but who is he to tell you what to do with your life."

Now of course killing is frowned upon in Buddhism, but the choice is yours to be a nice person or to be a jerk. If you kill someone, don't be surprised if you wake up in your next life as a hungry ghost (I can't even begin to explain that one, and no, that isn't something you find on a takeout menu). It's like the Buddhist universe and the way it works is laid out to you. How you want to live in it is up to you.

I suppose you could say that about the rest of the world too.

Know you've heard the others, phonies to the lovers
Then of course, the choice is yours.

Reflecting Pool

They're saying that today is a day for reflection. Though do you ever wonder how much time it will take for this to go from a day of remembrance to a day of clearance sales? I suppose you could reflect on that for a while:


My friend Tommy used to call it "Glance Dyslexia" when you look at a word quickly and you think it's one thing but it's really another. I think I might be suffering from it. For the past few days I've been wondering why some preacher in Florida wants to burn Koreans.

Houston Street

Well, what's left of it:


A lot of people can remember where they were 9 years ago tomorrow. But can they remember what they did 9 years ago today? I can.

My biggest concern was the mouse.

I'd been living in my place for 7 years and in that time I never had any serious issues with insects or rodents. I just didn't have them. Even today, it's rare to see any kind of roach or waterbug hanging around. Of course there's the giant lizard, but thankfully he doesn't set any traps to kill me. .

I thought I was losing my sight, or maybe my mind. Every so often out of the corner of my eye I'd think I'd see something. A dark blur of movement. Or did I? My sanity was put to ease when out of the corner of my eye one night I saw this dark thing scurry across my kitchen floor to the alleyway between the oven and the counter. It was my first mouse.

I got some classic Victor traps and some swiss cheese (I didn't watch cartoons all those years for nothing, you know) and set them up on either side of the oven. There was no way he was getting by me. So, traps at the ready, I left home that Monday afternoon and killed some time down at Mars. God, it's amazing how much time I spent at that joint. I'm glad I don't go there anymore. Hell, I don't go anywhere anymore, which is fine too.

I came back a few hours later to find that blur in my eye trapped and fully dead. Mouse and trap were disposed of together, but I set up another one just to be sure that he wasn't one of an army. I considered going out that night (back to Mars, of course), but ended up falling asleep on the couch.

The next morning I woke up on my own, at about 8:40. I laid there groggily for about five minutes when I heard that sound scream overhead, heading south, and feeling it shake the entire building. That can't be good was my first thought.

I don't remember how long I left the traps set until I finally decided there were no other mice.

Lafayette Torn Up

It's amazing that we never question why things are getting torn up or worked on, we just accept it as part of life:


Yeah, I'm feeling quiet lately. I know this. You know this because you read this, who ever "you" may be. You put up with this (if you so desire), or maybe you just look at the pictures (which is the prerogative of the blog reader) and say that they're just pretty pedestrian lately, much like the writing.

But if you have been putting up with this blog, you know I have my moments, even if those moments last for a little while. It's just part of the cycle of life. I have no idea what I'm talking about anymore.

Three out of Four

This is directly to the right of the main entrance of the Boyce Institute. I'm not sure I approve of that graffiti on the bottom right:


I'm not tired, but I'm not all there. Or is it that I'm not all here? No, I'm here, but I'm not all there. I might be a woman. I'm drowning my not-thereness in ice cream (haagen-dazs, chocolate peanut butter), soon to be on the couch watching Top Chef. Though I think I really need to laugh. Maybe I'll put in Bedazzled (the original, that is). I quoted it yesterday, so why not watch it? Besides, after using the quote last night, I ended up watching a lot of Dudley Moore videos online. I always loved that little genius. He was always more to me than just Arthur.

And he's buried in New Jersey, like I'll be someday. What could be better than that!

These Guys

I don't know these guys? Do you know these guys? Who do these guys think they are? What's the deal with these guys, and what does that guy of these guys got a camera:


Now this guy saw these guys and saw that guy with a camera so this guy with a camera pointed it at these guys including this guy with a camera and took a picture of these guys there.

With few exceptions I have little respect for any man over the age of 40 that wears a t-shirt out in public. Grow the fuck up already.

Today is the day after Labor Day. This marks the first day in four years that I'm not going to school. It feels a little weird if I think about it a little, but then it goes away. I think I might have said somewhere on this blog that I'll have to push myself even harder now that I'm out of school for the time being. So have I?

In some ways yes, in others...well...it's nothing I want to get into just yet.

I guess the thing I miss about school (and there's a lot I don't miss) is the research papers. Maybe that sounds funny, since I think a lot of students hate writing papers. However, I loved it, especially if it was a subject that I was able to choose and mold (with teacher approval, of course).

I wrote some damn good papers there. Stuff I'm proud of, and stuff that got As or A Minuses. I think I only got one A- on a paper. I miss my bed being mostly covered with books...cleaning out the library on whatever subject I was investigating. God forbid someone else would want to write a paper about General Douglas Haig, or examining the treatment of Thomas Jefferson's slaves. There were days I'd have to take a cab home I'd be so loaded down with clearcut forest.

And as much as those things consumed me, as much as I enjoyed developing and defending an argument — and even moreso starting a paper about one thing and discovering another idea I wished to explore — I'm hard pressed to sit here writing research papers for nobody; fun as that may be.

Let's face it, I'm a ham. I wouldn't be doing this blog if I weren't.

I'm on my knees won't you please come and love me,
Oh love me....

Greenhouse

Wow, I went two whole posts without posting a decrepit greenhouse......until now!


Scans tomorrow. Developments to come. That is, film developments. I thought I was going to write a bit about watching 7 Days In Tibet and my own semester of taking a Buddhism class with "Bullet" Bob Thurman (I know the only "Bullet Bob" is Bullet Bob Hayes, but I likes alliteration a bit too much to resist), but I'll save that for another time. But I will say that he's a pretty awesome dude.

Debris

No, this isn't a picture of my apartment (though it's pretty damned close to it), it's just another part of the Boyce Institute:


Despite my apartment's current state of messitude, it is good to be home after a long days' out. I'm showered, there's a nice cool breeze coming through the windows and I'm in full Columbia gear; sweatpants and long sleeved Columbia University thermal. I'm leaning back in the office chair I have here and am just typing, typing away.

I never bought any NYU apparel when I was there, but it's not like I wasn't proud to be there. Around the time I got in the NYU shirt (NYU on simple gray) was a pretty popular fashion item, made so by that movie where Jimmy Smits and what'sherface from Sea of Love end up (Ellen Barkin, oh yeah!) changing bodies and she's (or is that he's?) jogging with that very NYU shirt on. Lest anybody think I'd jump onto a trend, I refrained. That's the same reason why I cut my hair and shaved my goatee in 1992. I was sick of people saying, "Dude, what are you? Grunge?"

No, I was just lazy, young, and who doesn't want to grow their hair long, and didn't feel confident enough at the time that my facial hair could fill out a full beard. And I had been wearing flannel shirts since I was a kid. Somehow looking like a scumbag became popular.

So I was walking home today and saw all this hoopla by one of the NYU dorms. Police, Fire, and multiple ambulances. There was this fresh looking middle aged black dude standing by the open rear door of a van and I asked him, "Do you know what's going on?"

"Yes, I do know what's going on," he replied.

Oh, but I do love a good wiseass.

"Well what's going on?" I asked.

"Somebody's threatening to jump."

"Goddamn," I said, "and school hasn't even started yet!"

"And all this for just one life."

"I went to NYU. I didn't like it so I dropped out, just not from a window."

As he laughed I went on my way.

Always leave 'em laughing.

Corridor

Here marks the farthest (furthest?) point that I went into the Boyce Institute:


Long day. Just ate. Two word sentences. Three word sentences.

Say goodnight Gracie...

Greenhouse Complex

This is like the center "hallway" with the greenhouses shooting off both left and right. I think it sort of has a cathedral motif going on, if that cathedral is in Reims aprés La Grande Guerre:


I like this one. Actually, I think all my greenhouse shots came out pretty cool, but I promise I won't hit you over the head with them every day. I'll space them out tastefully. And hell, I've only put up SWC shots. I've yet to even start scanning the Rolleiflex stuff from that day, which I'm also pretty gosh darn happy with.

The reason I mentioned Reims (and why wouldn't I), is that I was there six years ago. I actually spent a month traveling through France. I suppose it was my own "Eat Pray Love," except that A: I had never heard of the book, and B: I didn't do any of those things while I was there. Well, of course I ate, but I didn't go on any gastronomic explorations. There was no lapin, escargots, or even cheval pour moi. I was just as boring over there as I am over here. But the story of this journey through France will have to wait for another time. There's too much of it. Maybe I'll finally get to writing the real story, or even a book about my exploits. I'll call it, "Cry Masturbate Sleep."

Wait, that's actually not much different than my life right now...

Max

I'd seen max hanging out with some of the art vendors in the park, yet I didn't quite know what his deal was. Today I asked one of the art vendors just that.

"Max has dignity," Louis (who helps sell his wife's paintings) told me. Louis went on to say that even though he's homeless and sleeps in the park, he never asks for anything or tries to squeeze the vendors for a few bucks if he does them some small service (like getting someone coffee, for example). Louis told me he's currently in the process of dealing with the city to get housing. I've talked with Max just a little bit. The first time it was about the Flatiron building, and how when he stood right under it and looked up, he felt like it was going to fall on him.

The second time was right before I took this picture. I was out with the SWC (I'm sure you can guess that from all the headroom) and he noticed it right away, and we were soon discussing ISOs. He had also been a photographer once upon a time before he called a public park his home.

Hopefully that won't be for much longer.

Greenhouses Affected

By over 30 years of neglect:


I found some info about the Boyce Institute from the always infallible internet.

Apparently the Yonkers facility was built in 1924 and was vacated in the late '70s (a new version of the institute was built up at Cornell). Wow, I thought I was going to have more, but that's about it really. Dig the shot (if you please) taken by the SWC. Besides that and the Rolleiflex, I also shot an exterior roll with the Medalist with good old-fashioned Ilford Delta Pro 100 (which of course, has yet to be developed).

We took some pictures of the native girls but they weren't developed.
But we're going back again in a couple of weeks...

Jody

I knew about the building for years, ever since my old dentist retired and I started seeing Dr. Jerry up in Yonkers. I knew about the building in the sense that I would see it, but I had no idea what it was. Every time I drove up Executive Boulevard I'd see it; this massive, abandoned, out of place monstrosity in a field of unmowed, overgrown vegetation right next to a modern corporate office plaza. I figured it had probably been some kind of factory maybe, but never bothered to investigate — until a few weeks ago.

It was an overcast day, and I only had two rolls of 3200 with me (pulled to 800iso); one for the SWC and one for the Rolleiflex. I parked in the complex and nobody seemed to notice the man with the soft briefcase walking his way around to the back of the building. I came across this flat expanse. The building had the footprint of a C, the large concrete expanse in front of the main entrance, over which was chiseled, "Boyce Institute."

As I pondered what the Boyce Institute might have been, I sensed I wasn't alone. I turned to my right to see a man and woman coming my way. The man looked as though they were going on a nice summer's outing. "Nice place for a picnic, eh?" I said. As they walked up to me I complimented the woman on the Pentax K1000 slung around her person, and she couldn't help but say something about the SWC, and we got to the business of small talk.

Jody is a senior at Tisch (I seem to be meeting all these Tisch film students lately, it's like they're somehow rubbing it in that I never had the fortitude to finish) majoring in filmmaking (experimental mostly). She's well practiced in "urban spelunking" (as some people call it. I'm not sure I like the phrase), and the Boyce Institute was high on her list of places to investigate. She told me it had been a botany school, and mentioned that on the other side there was a whole complex of greenhouses. I remarked that I was shocked at how accessible the building was. You can see in the background the unboarded ground level window openings.

When I asked Jody to pose, she thought I was asking her for some kind of professional appointment where I'd be taking model-type shots of her (which she does, which you can see among all her other endeavors on her site). But of course we know that's not what I was after, and I took this single shot of her with the SWC.

Even though I had the viewfinder with me, I didn't use it for this shot. I'm still trying to figure out If I can claim the massive amount of headroom as an artistic choice, or is it simply someone who's still not used to taking portraits blind with a super wide-angled fixed lens camera. Though I do like the idea of using the SWC for portraits, and have had the chance to take some more that hopefully will be developed sometime before December 2012, The Big Crunch, or a fourth term for Herr Bloomberg.

All that said, I really do like this shot.

HP TEL

On Greenwich Ave:


I don't know if the fireboxes even work anymore. I think I heard sometime back that they were going to slowly get rid of them, now that they've been made obsolete by the proliferation of cell phones. However, I have seen a lot of people using pay phones lately, and I don't even think they're all drug dealers or people calling drug dealers.

Do drug dealers still have beepers? I mean, not that I'd know about that sort of thing, but these are the kinds of things you hear after living in NYC for 18 years.

The latest song obsession is Beyond and Before by Yes. It's the first song of their debut, eponymous (ooh, what a big word!) album. Or maybe I just like it because it starts out with a solo bass guitar, like Chris Squire was stamping the fact that Yes was his band.

Masquerading leaves of blue
Run circles round the morning dew
Patterns understood by you
Reaching out beyond and before

Though right now I'm listening to Bach (my all-time favorite composer), Six Sonatas for Violin and Harpsichord. Glenn Gould on the keys (my all-time favorite piano player. yes, I am a Gould person), and Jaime Laredo on violin. Later on the CD there's a sonata featuring Leonard Rose on the Viola, who was Yo-Yo Ma's mentor.

In The Salmon of Doubt, the collection of posthumous writings by Douglas Adams (who I actually met once), he wrote that it was his belief that J.S. Bach was the single greatest genius to ever live on this here earth.

I'm inclined to agree.

No Focus

I think that might sum up this entire blog, and not just this picture:


I still have to get the hang of the fast focus pull with the Rolleiflex, or hell...with any camera. I really dug this chick's heart-shaped frames, especially with Sol Moscot's in the background. Though I think my lack of focus (pull) had more to do with not wanting to look ostentatious with the camera, not wanting her to know that I was focusing (my attention) on her, you know, not wanting to be obvious. You know, I still have that self-conscious thing going on (you know?).

Deco-rations

Up by nearby up by near the Chrysler building there:


I'd like to think that there were people who called Abraham Lincoln "Abie." Who says "Abie" should only be left to old Jews?

And what about Marty "I have a dream" King? Was he always so Martin formal for his entire life?

Rommel, you magnificent bus stop!

Fred Sanford, Is That You?

Oh, how I wish it really was:


I've pretty much stopped watching network tv. I have no interest in it. I've never seen Lost aka Gilligan's Island in the Fourth Dimension (I think that show should have had a guest spot by the Harlem Globetrotters. That would have jazzed it up a bit, and maybe would have gotten me as a viewer). I hear 30 Rock is good, but I don't care to invest any time to find out. I'm now watching the American Office, but only in reruns. It's okay, but doesn't approach the brilliance or the pathos of the original. Gervais and Merchant knew that two six-episode series and a Christmas special have way more power than running something into the ground.

That even happened to Sanford and Son, one of my favorite shows, though I guess we now all use the phrase "jump the shark." But we want what we like, our culture of excess.

The left ridicule Sarah Palin because they're scared of her. I don't think I've seen a nation of hipsters more scared of one woman. If I were a moose I might be scared. The more they protest and give voice to her actions the more powerful it makes her. Let her have her show on Discovery or TLC or wherever it is. Let her have an opinion on the "Ground Zero Mosque." Who gives a fuck. I'll be at home with Redd Foxx on the TV giving LaWanda Page what for:

I could stick your face in some dough and make some gorilla cookies!

Amsterdam Ave

Just below 110th:


I'm feeling very distracted lately, very moreso than usual, and that's saying something for me.

Today I post my 365th photo, in my 366th blog post. I think that's the extent of my anniversary observances.

Very distracted indeed.

Not by any kind of a big deal issue type deal. Nothing like that. Just...distracted. The distractible one is distracted. Who distracts the distractors? Who makes the shoeman's shoes? Does your gum lose its flavor on the bedpost overnight?

North Portal

Of St. John the Divine:


It's amazing how quickly knowledge leaves your brain.

For the mandatory art history class at Columbia, we had to learn all the ins and outs of Gothic cathedrals, especially the front door section. I can remember some terms like quatrefoil, trumeau, but I forgot exactly what these dudes would be called. Not the dudes themselves, but their title in the greater architectual sense of the word.

It's sad to think that all that knowledge that gets crammed into your brain in college only temporarily resides there until the next semester's load comes in and you have to dump the old. Now I know this isn't entirely true, but I used to look at notebooks of mine even from previous semesters, and I'd have no recollection of even writing those words down. It's like someone else can write in my handwriting. Did I really know all that stuff? Did I really know enough of that stuff to get an A in whatever class that was?

You remember some small things, you know, things that can impress people during a game of Trivial Pursuit, as if people even still play that game anymore.

Do people even play games, period? It doesn't even seem that long ago that there used to be television advertisements for board games. Life, Headache (though I much preferred Trouble), Stratego, Battleship...But now we all get together on XBOX live, right? We all put on our headsets and curse at each other and use racial slurs because we can all be big men hiding behind our consoles in the privacy of our own home as we stun grenade and eviscerate each other, right boys? That's the same thing as sitting in front of the fire with Monopoly, right?

Maybe King Crimson said it best:

Nothing he's got he really needs,
Twenty-first century schizoid man.

Sitting Around St. Vincent's

This is just about all the action the hospital sees lately:


One goes one way, the other goes the other, but there's nobody in the middle to say, "What do you want from me?"

I think I've exhausted all my St. Vincent's material. I've established I'm not thrilled that it's closed. And well, it ain't coming back, no matter how much I bitch about it.

Waiting for Alms

Up on 96th, between Broadway and Amsterdam, walking by with the SWC:


Far away from the needy is Jersey Shore, which is both the pinnacle of television programming and the downfall of Western society. Someday in the future when we have to answer to our Chinese overlords, we'll be able to point at Jersey Shore as one of the reasons. That, and whoever pays a million dollars to Lindsey Lohan to get her first post-prison/rehab interview, and whoever's taken the most pictures of Britney Spears' vagina.

So why do I love this show so much?

It reminds me that there for the grace of God (or Satan, or punk rock, or Black Sabbath, or common sense — pick one), went I.

I didn't grow up on the Shore. We didn't even vacation there when I was growing up. We weren't a shore family. But there was plenty of Americanized Italian culture to go around. Half of my little town was Italian and half of them were related to other and were involved in all aspects of municipal government. But that's getting off the track here. I like those people because I know them. I knew them. Not personally, but their ilk. Maybe it's more accurate to say that I knew their forebears, especially 20 years ago, when I was a student at Bergen Community College.

We called community college, "high school after high school," or "the thirteenth grade." I was fond of using the former. Even though I never dressed or comported myself like "those people," I didn't think they were odd. It just wasn't me to have my hair done in a rattail mullet, nor did I drive a white IROC-Z with ground effects and a talking alarm. Neither did I wear muscle shirts (not that I could have filled one out), or loose-fitting black and white tiger print pants with a New York Giants helmet on them. They wore lots of neon, too. I referred to them as "day-glo dagos" (not to their faces, of course).

Another thing about the cars is that they'd do them up with purple neon lights under the carriage that they'd turn on at night. The first time I saw it I thought it was a UFO driving down the street. Or maybe that's because I was with a bunch of drunks walking from one of our houses to a restaurant bar.

And what does this have to do with me liking Jersey Shore so much? I'm not sure, really. Maybe it's just that the show reminds me of all these silly people from way back when. I wonder what ever became of the Guidos of Yesteryear? Did they get their associates' degrees and move on to the 14th or 15th grade? Did they steer clear of becoming faggot-hating wife-abusers? Though I guess today their greater fear are towelheads, sand-niggers, and people in favor of the "Ground Zero Mosque." Though "sand niggers" got lots of play during the First Gulf War. Yes, these weren't the most enlightened people in the world.

I'd like to think that Snooki, The Situation, DJ Pauly D, and the rest carry with them a more current, broader understanding of the world today. Of course they try to live in a "Grenade-Free Zone" (and who wouldn't), but that doesn't preclude a more enlightened weltanschauung (a word I learned in community college! You see, it's not all worthless!). Perhaps they do carry a certain tolerance their forebears didn't have.

I really hope so.

Post Office

I don't know in which circle of hell resides the post office. I also haven't read The Divine Comedy so I can't fill this post with, "I'm showing off by making references that only people who read The Divine Comedy," will get:


I love the rain, or as Albert Einstein put it, "It's only water."

I walked to B&H today to pick up some DDX (that's for all you photo insiders out there) in a wonderful, at times unrelenting downpour. It was just warm enough outside for it not to be uncomfortable walking casually with my clothes stuck to my body as people ran in vain to avoid the inevitable from the heavens, or were just hiding in doorways.

"I love this! This is great," I heard a man say to my right as I walked down 34th street. He too was completely soaked, yet didn't add any haste to his stride.

"I think we're the only two!" I responded, as we both laughed.

Not my best work, writing or picture taking, I know...

Coming Soon

Mendez Boxing!

See for yourself:


I've never seen the musical Wicked. I've never even read the book. To me that's blasphemy. I'm not going to read a book by some L. Frank BUM about what Oz was like "back in the day." Witch please! It's Baum or bust. I read a lot of the Oz books as a kid, and I've discussed my love of the 1939 filmed version of the story. Though I've never seen the 1925 version. I don't even know if it's survived. I have seen the clips of the Edison version from 1910. I like saying "version" a lot, don't I.

So what's all this got to do about the freshness of Mayor Bloomberg's testicles?

Popular.

I can't stop listening to that reedy Kristin Chenowith singing that damned song. It's a good one, I gots to admit.

Laaaaaaaa Laaaaaaaaaa, Laaaaaaaaaaaa Laaaaaaaaaaaaaa, you'll be popular!

Just not quite as popular as MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

Coming tomororw, a discourse on Hello, Dolly!

Or maybe not. You'll have to tune in to find out (as if...).

Walking Her Bike

Put your ray-gun to my head...

If you've guessed that I'm listening to David Bowie right now, you've guessed correctly. But to be more specific for the more specific crowd out there I'm listening to his David Live album.

One of the things I like about this shot is that I barely touched it in photoshop. This is pretty much the way it scanned:


Boys, boys, it's a sweet thing...

Okay, I'm realizing that it's pretty hard to keep one's concentration on a blog post of supreme importance while listening to music. Then again, I shouldn't be surprised by that. I can't get any real, serious writing done with music playing (music with lyrics, usually). I'm too...no, I don't want to say "distracted" because I don't see music as a distraction. Music moves me way too much to be a distraction.

In the time I wrote that last sentence to the time I'm typing this one, I ended up farting around on the internet completing a whole lot of nothing. Now that's a distraction.

I still don't know what I was waiting for...

Astor Place Station

Uptown entrance:


Entrance, or entrance?

Holy crap that might have been the worst entry ever.

The only thing that would make this entry worse would be me admitting that I'm all revved up for the next all-new episode of Jersey Shore, the best show in the history of television. I'll use another entry to expand on why I feel this way. But until then, it's Situation time.

Empire of the Sun

I enjoy being a girl.

No, that has nothing to do with this entry. That's just Nancy Kwan singing in the background as I'm writing this entry. I love how Flower Drum Song can simultaneously push Southeast Asian culture forward while pulling the feminist cause farther back. Rodgers and Hammerstein were really ahead of their time.

What does all this have to do with a picture of the Empire State Building taken with a camera with a really wide angle lens? Nothing really:


I had a good driving soundtrack earlier today. Lately I've been in the habit whenever I get in the car to leave the city to set the ipod (which is hooked up to the car stereo) to Exodus' Fabulous Disaster. Nothing quite gives the car more pickup than some serious thrash. And yes, I do have Slayer, Metallica (nothing after And Justice For All... and even that album is pushing the limits of good taste as far as thrash/speed metal goes), and the rest, but there's something about that Exodus. Or maybe I'm just a sucker for a good double bass roll.

I was heading up to Yonkers, to take some abandoned building shots. I'll admit, I'm a newbie at "urban spelunking" (as some call it), and I didn't venture far into the building, though I plan on making some return trips. Of course, the results will end up around here (that goes without saying, of course).

After taking three rolls with the SWC, Rolleiflex, and Medalist, I headed back into the car and menued up some equally inspiring music — Public Enemy's Fear of a Black Planet.

'cause the brothers in the street are willin' to work it out...

Sniffen Court

Yeah, I was sniffing around Sniffen Court, and here's what I snuffed:


Normally this little private half of an alley is gated with a key. Fortunately the day I walked by there was construction going on, as you can see by the plywood path covering over the more aesthetically fitting flagstones. I'm happy I was actually able to get in there to take pictures instead of poking through the gate. Also, I was happy to walk to the end and back, so I can mark off on my map that I actually traversed the alley. There are a few private streets that I hope to get access to for my walking project, the big ones being Patchin Place and MIlligan Place, which are right around the corner from each other. Years ago I was in MacDougal Alley, so I marked it off on the map. I think that should count. Though I'd love to get in there again, "officially" as my project goes.

Oh yeah, I also got in Broadway Alley, but I didn't have any film cameras on hand and it's nowhere near as charming as Sniffen Court.

Aaron and Friend (l-r)

Aaron couldn't help but notice the SWC hanging around my neck. He's from Austin, going to college at Yale (studying photography), and spending the summer in NYC. I told him it was my first time taking a portrait with the SWC and was maybe standing between 4-6 feet from him when this other person jumped into the shot. She was friendly, yet I didn't know if they knew each other, or if she was just some random pretty girl needing to be part of the action. Well, she was sort of both, since they were coworkers, beating the pavement to promote a salon (or maybe a spa. it was something geared toward feminine types to sit around and pay for the privilege of being preened and pampered).

I have to say I'm pretty happy with the shot. Even they're in somewhat softish focus, I don't think it's detrimental to the image. I even did a closer crop:


And yes, I know I cropped closely to his closely cropped Robert Terwilliger inspired hairdo (though I think he wears it well).

Cookies. Yesterday was all about the cookies.

Homemade cookies, I believe from scratch, baked by my friends' 10 year old daughter and her friend of the same gender and age. They were the first things cooked at yesterday's get-together. There were a lot of kids at the house. Only three of them belonged to my friends, the rest were neighborhood hanger-oners who decided it was the place to be on a Sunday afternoon. Myself and another friend were up for the day to hang out with the older generation, but unlike the youngsters we didn't run around the backyard hitting tree branches with sticks. We just guessed who would get hurt first.

The boys were clamoring for the cookies when they were done, but the head of the household would have none of it. The privilege of having cookies and Coke went to the adults, guests, and to the issuance of my friends. I stood in the kitchen with a freshly-baked cookie in hand when one of the non-related, non-resident children came to the back door and asked my friend (the head of the household), "Can I have a cookie?"

"Get out of here!" he said.

"But he has a cookie," the boy said, motioning to me.

"I'm forty," I said with as much adult emphasis as possible.

"I'm four-teen," he threw back.

"How often are you over here?"

"A lot."

"Exactly. Go away."

I think I'm finally an adult. I've discovered the joys of throwing around my age, bossing other people's children around. All the while eating my warm, oozing cookie — washing each bite down with sugary goodness straight from Atlanta GA.

Ah yes, the little things...

Girl With Balloons

Oh, if they only had big square mylar balloons when I was a little boy. Then my memories would be so much sweeter:


So I'm noticing that this is now the third picture I've posted of late of a chick on the street taken with the SWC. Is this what I'm turning into? One of these photographers that all he does is take pictures on the sly of hot women walking down the street, minding their own businesses and they have to be subjected to creeps like me who are going to post their pictures on the internet without their knowledge or consent? Now why would I even write, "knowledge or consent," since if I put it up without their knowledge it goes without saying that consent is not given either, right?

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.

Hanging Wires

Somewhere on the East side, midtown or a little bit lower:


I gots nothing today.

And no, this blog isn't just slowly turning into a more picture, less words kind of blog. I suppose the word count per post will always fluctuate. This is something we'll just have to accept.

à demain...

Lafayette and Spring

Looking north:


I wasn't sure about this one at first. I'm still not sure about it. I guess I wanted that whole unbroken expanse look, but I suppose the woman directly in the center of the frame in mid-stride isn't so bad either. And yes, this was taken with the SWC. I don't know why I have to mention that just about every time I put up a picture that I used with the camera. Maybe I'm just happy to be having fun with the durned thing and want to pass it along.