. . . particularly in August -- when the pavement bakes, the air is a haze, and it is not possible to walk more than one block without smelling urine that you hope but don't believe is just from somebody's dog -- that this place is also beautiful.
An old photo I neglected to post at the time of its capture:
I still haven't edited the photos from my trip out to Walla Walla. Or from my nephew's birthday. Or my Mom's birthday. Or . . . well, I've got a lot of editing to do.
To get started, some everyday shots from around town.
First, the best thing ever:
Below are some informal shots I rattled off on my cameraphone. I've been using its panoramic function the anticipated way and also toying around with it to stitch together noncontiguous/in-motion photos, usually as I ride the subway.
My subway chronicles:
Also seen around:
The poles of the gun debate encapsulated:
More fun with sign disrepair:
Late last night as I headed home on the F train, I espied this gentleman:
The best part was that he was reading a book called The Greatness Guide at the time. While I can't claim to have read that volume, I have to believe that it contains no directive to be completely fucking disgusting on mass transit. But it's just possible that it fails to tell its readers not to do so. So please, readers of this undoubtedly fine work, consider this a supplemental chapter:
A long time ago, I got a voicemail from a woman named Naia who was looking for another woman (named Kimba) so that custody of a child could be transferred. Now, my voicemail greeting very clearly says "Adair". Not "Kimba." So it should be obvious to any caller at that stage that there is no Kimba to be found. That was problem one. Problem two was that even if I had wanted to call the angry-sounding woman back and tell her the mistake she'd made, I couldn't--her number was blocked from caller ID.
So I just ignored it.
Then, a while later, I got a follow-up voicemail. A voicemail of such surpassing brilliance that I saved it every three weeks for OVER A YEAR. It's not high quality, but I've finally managed to digitize it for you, my reading public:
If embed fails: The Glory of Naia
Pardon the ripped-off Adrienne Kennedy quotation. Especially since its only applicability is that all of the photos I took on today's Brooklyn Bridge walk were black and white compositions.
We've got yer basic moon through the cables shot:
And yer folks walking over the bridge with Brooklyn behind them and the Manhattan Bridge to the north:
Aaaaand we've got the first album cover for The Adairdevils. (Album forthcoming once musical talent attained.)
The Gates were every bit as cool as they were intended and reputed to be. And since we went into the park up in Harlem, the crowd was merely bustling rather than insane.
I got a swatch, so I think I may now consider myself the object of near-universal envy.