my cats are trying to kill me

I don't know why it's only just now occurring to me. Maybe it's because of being home enough to notice that my cats have it in for me. Yes. At first it was just Pinky, who tried venipuncture at every opportunity, slashing at my wrists and ankles when within clawing distance. Then, a more subtle approach was used: spewing dander-charged puffs of fur within range of my nose or mouth, a tactic most successful while I'm asleep. This resulted in a protracted upper respiratory illness, but it was not enough to induce death. Now it appears a psychological tack is being taken, much like the old French movie, Les Diabolique, using their physicality to induce stress. For example, yesterday when I let them out to "romp" in the garden so I could clean up the apt a bit one of them snuck back in while I was cleaning the litterbox, which took about 2 minutes but was enough time for him to take an enormous dump in the spot the litterbox usually is. I don't get it--he was just outside in the garden--the greatest litterbox in the hood, if you take other cats' word for it..... Yup, they're trying to wear me down.

Fun at the Hall of Science

Today was a great day! Here you can see some of my fun companions at the Hall of Science, where we interacted with some interesting exhibits and even learned a little bit about science. There were a lot of smell-based exhibits, not sure why. Apparently lots of microbes create smells. It was unanimously decided that space exploration was not going to smell good, although it sure looked interesting. These young scientists of the future were all smiles and we all had a great time!

bass solo

The musicians upstairs are having a jam session. There's a bass solo going on right now.... this is what it looks like in my mind.

portraits part 4

Neither pear nor person, this hapless fellow is caught between two worlds. Where is this pearson now? Last seen striding off the table in search of a new identity.

portraits part 3

Max in repose. Max is in permanent repose now. Here he disappears into the background of chemicals that make this image. He's an evanescent memory that barely exists anymore, just as all our present acquaintances and occurrences will cease to exist. But wait, this picture proves this cat happened to me...sort of.

portraits part two

Mr Redman was extremely kind to allow me to photograph him at a friend's studio.

portraits part one

For a while I had the opportunity to shoot portraits of musicians. This was fun. Portraits usually concentrated on their face or hands. Face? I mean unless you sing, you don't make music with your face. This is a portrait of a bass player, often the acoustic bass instrument is larger than the player's body, here I wanted so show the body as the bass. The bass is the heartbeat of a band, the thrumming of the music's blood in the ears. Yup.

remembering Guinness, three

Guinness had friends, boyfriends really. She didn't much care for other girldogs. This was her first playdate, with Django. Django really liked Guinness, even though she was taller. Her height did not intimidate him, he was still charmed. She had many suitors in the neighborhood, Max the rottweiller, Chester the Irish wolfhound mix and K.O. the all white Kishu Ken. Guinness flirted with them all but got serious with none.

straight donuts

On my way to the volunteer orientation for NY Cares, I saw this amazing woman, patiently waiting for customers, placid smile on her pretty and generous face, hair swept up in a neat, elaborate coif, nails perfectly manicured, a living serene Botero selling a snack popular in this part of Brooklyn. The churro, a yummy donut that's shaped like a line instead of a circle and dusted with cinnamon sugar. I had to admit I liked her style.

remembering Guinness part two

Guinness loved snow this was clear our first winter together, 3 months after we met. She loved diving into snowdrifts, plunging her barrel chest in deep. She was eating heartily and gained weight, her fur was plush. She could stay out for hours. We liked finding untracked new snow which there was plenty of in the South Slope. One icy morning I walked her after only 4 hours sleep (I worked late) and I took her where she liked to chase squirrels. Guinness had other ideas and quickly bounded off knowing her footing would be sure and mine would not. Incredibly she fled my grasp and as I watched her gain distance from me. My stomach pitched with despair as she crossed streets and mischievously looked once at me over her shoulder and ran. I struggled after her, hindered by ice and breathless with disbelief. I screamed once, it echoed off the middle school wall. But--she ran home and some miracle had stopped traffic--there was none on that early icy weekend day. She let me catch up to her on the steps where I hugged her and vowed silently to never let her go.

remembering Guinness part one

Came across this picture recently I'd forgotten I'd shot. This was a day after this amazing and beautiful creature came into my life. She's wearing a new collar and tags, she had none when I found her waiting on the corner. The vet said she had just given birth to puppies, which is why she is so thin and has the distended black nipples. Also why she has that forlorn look: her puppies were nowhere to be found. It took maybe a solid year of consistent walking until she stopped looking for them wherever we went. That's when she conceded, yes she would become my dog. I didn't mind that it took so long, in the meantime I marveled at her form, her long delicate snout, the dainty way she would sit with front paws crossed, her slightly irregular snout. I'd never had a dog before and it dismayed me that she would bring that lovely face close to the ground to sniff pee, poop and whatever would bring her information of the dog world that was invisible to me. She loved walking in inclement weather and any time of night, one time at 3 am we stared at the perfect alignment of Moon, Mars and Venus in the inviolate sky with only the chill wind to accompany us. That year established us as a unit, we walked and strolled as one, she always leading, I thought she'd had enough difficulties in life, it was her turn to enjoy.

random manhattan pics

Some sightings around Manhattan, but these almost seem like an alternate version of the city. GW Bridge as seen from underneath at the lighthouse there. A secret house in Fort Tryon Park. The "Magic Club" did not really exist, at least not as a club of any kind. Tads Steaks, Staten Island ferry ride, bocce ball player, shopping on Canal Street, the GWB again.

random brooklyn pics

Coney Island, Sweeney Mfg, the only bridge that is perfect, the corner of 7th and 9th, Atlantic Avenue, at the facepainting booth at Fifth Avenue Street Fair, this boy was too beautiful to paint, but he wanted to look like a lion, I could barely bring myself to paint his face. Below you'll see Prospect Park West and Clover's Barbershop in Park Slope.

stand clear of the closing doors

crazy bridge

Growing up in the greater NY area necessitated many crossings over bridges and tunnels by car to visit relatives. As a result, these structures impressed themselves into my psyche, or so they say, giving way to the recurrent nightmare of being in a car on a bridge, hurtling toward some other shore, when the bridge begins churning, melting and finally snapping so one outcome is being spit out into some unknown abyss. The other outcome is waking up.

a view of brooklyn

In New York, there are lots of reasons why when riding the subway, you want to be in the car closest to the exit stairwell you eventually want to end up on.

At a formerly unfamiliar stop, I made a mistake. Night had just fallen as I ran up the stairs, late for the appointment. Hitting the street and looking up, all was still, nothing but blocks and blocks of cemetary! It was as if I traveled forward through time, as well as space, and everyone I knew was already dead.