“Gare de Lyon” by Jon Siegel
I love this photo. He just nailed the depth of field. The colors and the lighting are incredible. The urban-porn of all these different people going in every direction from the train platform. The single, centered vanishing point. The halo around the girl.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I just love this photo. That is all. I saw them being cute on the hill above me, while I was taking some photos of the house, and when I pointed the lens at them, they posed. Normally I hate poses. But this came out very nice. And I had to laugh when I looked at it later, and realized how similar their poses were. I have a picture somewhere of my mother and sister unconsciously doing the same thing.
This is Rockstar Shannon. This is not Friend Shannon. Friend Shannon is not as angsty and full of venom as my show photos of her often look. Friend Shannon sits in her old apartment, playing a highly customized version of “horse with no name” on an acoustic guitar; wearing long, stripey socks. But Rockstar Shannon is pretty awesome too.
And to all my friends who are jealous of the attention these few women received? It’s just because you don’t pay me as much to do your PR as they do.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Finally processed most of the photos from the shoot a couple weeks ago. You can click on the photo below to see them. WARNING: There is nudity, and it’s probably not safe for small children, nor my family.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I really like this shot of Lenore, behind the scenes at the photo shoot the other day. She was done shooting for the day, and standing in the back, occasionally art directing.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Often when I’m walking the streets at night, after being out with friends, (or while still in the act), I really have this urge to just wander and take pictures. Cities take on this whole new life at 2 or 3 AM on Fridays and Saturdays. Crowds fill the street like it was rush hour. And cars line up from corner to corner.People are loud and boisterous. Instant connections are made that last 30 seconds. The police can be seen around the edges, not so much strictly enforcing the law as encouraging people to keep the mal-drama to a minimum.
Sounds to me like the perfect place to take pictures.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I spent last night in NYC, with Indri. Two words to describe Indri: disgustingly cute. You know… in every possible way. She’s got chipmunk cheeks, big anime eyes, and bouncy little outfits to match a bouncy little personality. She rambles on about anything and everything, and still comes across as fascinated with life and her surroundings. And those occasions when she doesn’t seem to know what to say, a look overtakes her face like she just stepped in pudding. In the nine or ten years I’ve known her, she’s never once let on that she’s anything more than sweet and polite, with a little bit of innocent mischievousness, which I take as reality, since it would be a shame to believe anything else. In her presence, I can’t bring myself to spout my more lurid innuendo that someone like Sara might experience. It would be like drawing a mustache on the Mona Lisa. I can’t even be as stubbornly negative as I occasionally still tend to be.
I swear… she’s a living pixie.
(There, Indri. NOW you can be embarrassed.)
Hopped the Washington Deluxe each way, which turned out much better than expected. I’d heard them referred to as the “pauper’s limos“. But I personally think it’s a pretty amazing service, for only $35 round trip. Top of the line busses, that make Grayhounds look like mobile shithouses. Clean and well kept up. Televisions with movies at the start of each ride. convenient pick-ups and drop-offs in the heart of each city. Couldn’t get all that if you drove your own self.
New York City always fascinates me. I came from New York to DC almost exactly 8 years ago. And although I’ve dug out my own niche, I’ve never fit perfectly here. And each time I visit New York, I’m reminded why. While I grew up in Geneva, somewhere up in central NY, there’s a certain ruggedness of personality, about any New Yorker, no matter where they call home. And no where does this essence seem more concentrated than New York City. It’s especially visible in the women, most of whom have the air of just having castrated a potential mugger with their umbrella, and are now on their way home to slip into pink, fuzzy slippers. Where women in DC confronted by lurid behavior may go the other way, cry, and sue, (not necessarily in that order), the same New York woman would probably grab the man by the balls and threaten to remove them manually if the assailant doesn’t grow a brain cell. You know, it’s there in the men too, but harder to notice since aggressiveness is more universally common in them. I remember a line from Crocodile Dundee that was supposed to be funny, about how New York City must be the friendliest place on earth, if 20 million people all wanted to live together. Joke or not, there’s a tiny bit of truth in there. I don’t know if you can call it friendliness. But the residents all seem to realize they’re packed in like rats, and naked hostility and apathy aren’t going to help anyone. New York City is really one of those places you can only experience first-hand.
Oh… yeah… happy birthday, Indri.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
You know… I may get kicked out of the He-man Woman Haters Club for saying so, but I love my kitty. And I’m starting to believe that she may see me as more than a walking food dispenser.
To set the scene… for the last couple weeks, Pixel has been sleeping on the far corner of the bed… most of the day. And once she’s comfortable, she won’t move for anything short of a flock of seagulls swooping through the apartment. Day or night you can find her on the far corner of the bed.
I woke up about 7 this morning feeling like absolute shit. Pixel was, of course, at the far corner of the bed. I sort of hobbled into the bathroom and sat doubled over for a few minutes. I finally collected myself and went to wash my hands, and found her sitting on the sink waiting for me. It’s all sweet and nice, of course, but I still felt terrible. So I wandered back and collapsed on the bed, determined to sleep it off. About ten seconds later, Pixel hopped up next to me and curled up against my chest. At the top of the bed.
I woke up late this morning feeling fine. She has returned to the normal cat mode of ignoring and abusing me.
Anyway…
I am not the most sociable person in the world. (If you know me, you may need to stop now and compose yourself before continuing to read.) But somehow I know what seems to me to be an inordinately large number of people.
I’ve always had people in my hometown who remember our childhood together better than me, (my recollection usually being: not at all). It hurts when they’re cute women.
College was college, and a seemingly never-ending stream of people flow through your life. Just recently, there was a girl’s name I couldn’t remember, right up until I started writing just now. (Sally… though I knew her as Odie).
The Internet has only made this problem more severe. People who are bad at names should avoid at all costs an addiction to IRC. You will form interesting relationships with dozens of people, none of which is likely to last longer than 2 or 3 months, (the average productive lifespan of a channel). But these people will keep popping up. I know I know them. I’ve talked with them for hours. I have their pictures. But damned if it isn’t all sort of a blur. (The fact that most of it took place at 2 or 3 in the morning may be a possible cause for the distortion).
Well… I’ve also now been working professionally for seven or eight years. God help me when they call up telling me how wonderful our previous project went and they can’t wait to work together again. (When they bring up the project, I’m fine. I could tell you the details and evolution of every piece of art I’ve ever touched.)
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
