on slush and google

Why snow is only charming in NYC for 10 minutes. Cross that street.
+google and the sign that slants up to the right. though, gee, it looks straight from this wide angle perspective.

we can’t live like this

May 10, 2013. One week later a gay man is murdered here in a hate crime.

Somehow tragedy is harder to take when it’s in your own neighborhood, along your daily walk.

We don’t need to live this way. We really don’t.

May 19, 2013

hot. soup. food. coffee. tea. chocolate.

My kind of advertising.

coned & tulips

Springtime in NYC. I’ve never seen so many tulips in the city. The garden at Jefferson Market Library is particularly amazing.

This wasn’t on my walk to mysore, but on the way to teach. I’d crossed the street to be in the sun.

white man says walk

I have started a new series. Drivers who almost take me out while I cross the street with the right of way. It is called “White Man Says Walk!”

The cabbie who almost wiped me out on the walk to Mysore. Hey! Look at the signal. Yesterday it was a street cleaner. Lordy.

White man says walk!

the giving tree

always shoot your beloved tree in bloom outside the shala window because you never know when the city of new york may decide to chop it down

i.e. always say it do it mean it
you never know when it could be too late

January 4, 2013

January 22, 2013

May 10, 2013

May 13, 2013

brokers protected

I dropped the ball on the people in your neighborhood, though I suppose I have only one character left. After Jacob and Cafe TiNY closed and John started making inappropriate comments (“What did you expect?” asked the Turk), I lost some enthusiasm for that route, but didn’t really gain it for another. In fact, yeah, I kind of got sick of my walk to Mysore. I did keep shooting. I fell behind in the thick of the semester and I’m still tagging the February 9 blizzard. But we’re moving along.

I still walk. I still Mysore. I still shoot. It’s light out when I leave now and the sun is much more harsh. By the walk back it’s too bright and contrasty to take good shots. With the point and shoot I can’t even see the screen with the sun glare. But I do adore the sun.

On all but the coldest days of winter, this woman lives on E 8th Street, just east of Fifth Avenue. She sleeps in front of this empty property near the painful sign SPACE AVAILABLE. BROKERS PROTECTED. There’s usually trash around her, spilled coffee, opened packets of cookies, wrappers. And her belongings are strewn about with it. Backpack. Dirty blankets. Books. She’s always sleeping when I walk to the shala, and usually awake by the time I walk back. She sits sometimes with a cup of coffee. Sometimes with a cigarette. She’s clearly ill. If it weren’t in her eyes, she’d make it known by hissing at passersby. Or yelling. My heart hurts each time I see her.

One day, near Valentine’s maybe, as I’d recently asked someone why anyone would find a stuffed animal an appropriate gift for an adult woman, I saw her teddy bear. Grey and grimy on the street near her pillow.

Heartbreak.

What is happening to us? How can we let people live like this?

a little surprise

A little surprise on the walk to Mysore this morning. The Five Boro Bike Tour.

be sexy. write.

Remember that blizzard? Me either.

love is missed by