My favorite coffee place in Long Island City offered bottomless servings of happy thoughts...

Only in a taxi depot ... Only in New York City. <3

Astoria Park drum circle, Thursday nights, last summer.

Paul McCartney opening CitiField, July 2009. Great concert, great seats, great view.

I love nature. I can't believe that behind me and this view was a dingy house project and an industrial park.

Matt was the best adventure partner, ever. He was game to do whatever I wanted, and pushed me to do things I didn't think I could; like walk along ledges of immense drops. One afternoon, after a glorious ride down the Erie Canal, we went exploring in a sleepy village. This vintage car graveyard was by far the most interesting find.
My inherited appreciation for cars and all-things vintage aside, my mind always hits overdrive when I think about who would have thought to keep these cars around for 50+ years? Where does the line lie between Historian and Pack-Rat? What's the science behind designating something valuable after a time? Is it, actually, secretly, subjective to the source and whether or not they can convince their audience?
I'm my own historian. I keep the things that are sentimental to me. Most of them are completely meaningless to anyone else. I always mourn a bit when I discard something that suddenly loses meaning to me, or needs to be expelled in order for me to keep going. After all, we're built to strive for the future, not fester in the past.

This is the beach I frequented as a child. It was a quick drive from our house, it was the LI Harbour and not the ocean -- safe for kiddie swimmers, and it had facilities, BBQ pits and a playground all within a hop, skip and jump.

Coming back after what was probably a decade, this is what I find.

Be careful with your eyes. You only get the one pair. If you hurt your eyes, get it checked out. Your eyes are the windows into your heart, your soul, your mind. They're also the windows outward, and that is something especially important to appreciate.

This is the view from the end of my street in Queens, NY. I took this photo in April, 2009, on my way to work at CitiField. April was beautiful, albeit bitterly cold at some points, but the sun shone extra strong as if it knew that 90% of the summer would be rainstorms. I walked an extra 20 minutes (in the opposite direction) to the 7 train in order to walk along this park, stop at my favorite coffee spot, and enjoy the wonderful waterfront and artsy village that stands in contrast to the grimy, slimy housing project grid that I live within. This photo is the background of my laptop because even though its spitting rain in London, the feel of the sun on my face that day still warms my heart every time I look at it.

Definitely built for children, the Wartime Museum under the London Bridge was really amazing. It's a completely new and different perspective from which I've ever looked at the war, and believe me, with my family and where I grew up, I've looked long and hard at the war.

It was an incredible museum, and my favorite exhibit was the Blitz room. It was basically a walk-in art installation of a city block after an air raid. Really, truly, moving.

For a long time, I was the only non-resident that would walk "through the block" in my neighborhood. I was escorted the first few times by residents, telling me that I was safe for a few reasons that would probably sound more racist and classicist than funny if posted. I'd like to believe that more and more it's less threatening, although I'm constantly reprimanded for walking at night. It's a great short cut through the grids of housing projects. Out and around the grids is slime, and grime, and inner-city dirtiness that can only be summed up by numerous bodegas, Chinese and fried chicken joints mixed with unmarked stores and warehouses.

...But in the spring time, at the corner of one of the most inner squares is a cherry blossom tree. When it blooms, and it does for such a short time, it's exquisite. It's a lovely reminder that there is more than just a concrete and brick laden world. I loved passing it, and one day it was so sunny and the diagnol in which I was walking made the blue sky swirling above the pink blossoms against the red bricks and the blue reflected from the windows... It was a moment to capture.

I've always favored buying independent whenever I can. I like the small guy. My mom's businesses are "the small guy," and I've never fit with corporations, their ideals or the wake of destruction they often leave behind, so why should I patronize them?
This young man, Jack, and his older brother, Tom make this lipbalm on their parents' farm. And they sell it, and are fairly successful. And it smells delicious and feels like heaven on my lips because it's made from real ingredients.
Okay, I'm going to admit something that I probably wouldn't normally. But that's what personal growth is, right? Accepting the things that you would rather ignore. I hate myself for drinking Starbucks. And back home, where I am familiar, I knew all the local spots to grab my espresso. Here, in London, I don't as often, and even less, in countries where I don't speak the language. Lost, alone, and frustrated in Germany, the salvation I found to get a grip was inside a starbucks. I knew that the soya latte I was ordering was going to taste a certain way, and it was comforting. Speaking of, I've always wanted to open my own coffee house. Ooh, the irony.

I've always romanticized the idea of communal living. Harmonious communal living. Where people come together, to live separate lives, together. I like that. I've always wanted to live on a commune.
Living in a tent city for eight days was probably nothing like that, but it was still really fun. I was on my own, and still, I felt together with 500 other strangers.
I met some amazing people. Actually, the people that I met were more than amazing. For the most part, they were life-altering. That's amazing.

The coolest part of New York City is actually an island just south. Ellis Island is how my family came to the United States. Ellis Island is history. I love history.

I remember taking this photo. I was walking along the lane in Covent Garden with some girls, new to London. It was day 2, and we were on a lunch break from our rigorous orientation. Being new somewhere, you can sense when you're probably not going to be friends with the people you immediately befriend for much longer. It's just a situation of immediate convenience.
There is something to be said for that quiet, psychological contract. It's much better than being alone, in a big, new city, left to your own devices to get around and experience the grandeur.
That's when we came upon this doll...
There she was, lying alone, abandoned, and forgotten in the midst of the lunch-time rush. On a very crowded pavement in the heart of London, businessman and grocers alike were just stepping over, around and aside so as to not disturb the blip on the walkway.
It was more than obvious our friendships weren't steadfast because they couldn't see the luscious beauty encapsulating irony in this shot.

Welcome to Photo-ology 101

I was going through my old pictures on my computer, and I found I have a lot of photos that I felt compelled to take for one reason or another. Not only that, but I'm a pretty amazing iphone photographer...
So, since I don't really do the whole "album-sharing" bit because I lack a real camera, I'm going to share these.
Enjoi.