Sailing on mutli-million dollar America’s Cup boats in the Caribbean is a dream opportunity. Unless you’ve been hired to shoot the event and because of the gear, you cannot participate. I love sailing and have spent some time on boats and it was tough to be on these incredibly crafted boats, cradling my gear and watching others grind and tack.
These photos were from St. Maarten on board the Stars and Stripes, racing against the Canada II. The water glimmered, the sun was bright, the winds were brisk, our boats skimmed the surface of a jewel all afternoon long.
The one downside was that I was sprayed several times and the salt water damage to my D300 and D200 still exists, even after several visits to the Nikon Repair Service. Nothing kills gear like salt water.
Oh, and we lost to Canada II. Bastards.
Helene is one of my good friends in San Diego, a great dancer, an even greater photographer. Last June, she got hitched to Preston and their wedding was truly a spectacle.
A traditional Jewish ceremony and a warehouse party / reception the following night with circus performers, contortionists, a fire dancing team, Regaton beats by the groom, a Brazilian band, a ceremony with an African priestess, acrobats swinging from the ceiling and more and more and more.
If you think you’ve been to a cool wedding, trust me; you haven’t, unless you were at Helene and Preston’s (or at Aaliyah and Patrick’s).
To view more images, click here.
One of the most beautiful and wild weddings I have been to was the party that Patrick and Aaliyah threw in the Dominican Republic. Shooting with the one and only Hella Hot Helene, the wedding was a wild occasion filled with crazed golf cart drivers, rum filled coconuts and the wedding reception ending up in the infinity pool.
Some people just know how to have a good time.
And damn, Patrick and Aaliyah are a good looking couple.
Nikon D300, 80-200mm Nikkor.
Things happen, the day grows older, measured in moments and the mundane minutiae of right now; there are tasks, events, drama, weddings, the accumulation of responsibilities and obligations, all of these pile up on top of each other and account for the passage of time.
And then sometimes, sometimes, a child wanders in, oblivious, magical, barely held down by gravity to this earth, in a complete pre-Copernican world, the sun revolving around them and only them, strewing charm, wonder, and flower petals in their wake.
The One Girl at the Boys Party
When I take my girl to the swimming party
I set her down among the boys. They tower and
bristle, she stands there smooth and sleek,
her math scores unfolding in the air around her.
They will strip to their suits, her body hard and
indivisible as a prime number,
they’ll plunge in the deep end, she’ll subtract
her height from ten feet, divide it into
hundreds of gallons of water, the numbers
bouncing in her mind like molecules of chlorine
in the bright blue pool. When they climb out,
her ponytail will hang its pencil lead
down her back, her narrow silk suit
with hamburgers and french fries printed on it
will glisten in the brilliant air, and they will
see her sweet face, solemn and
sealed, a factor of one, and she will
see their eyes, two each,
their legs, two each, and the curves of their sexes,
one each, and in her head she’ll be doing her
sparkle and fall to the power of a thousand from her body.
-Sharon Olds, (1983)
There was a punk rock show in Tompkins Square Park last weekend, an anniversary of a big riot there in ’86 when the park was full of punk squatters and dealers. That was back when going to a hardcore punk show many times had a strong element of danger and fear; fear of getting stomped, sometimes fear of the police, or just in general, fear of getting hurt.
So seeing reunion shows or bands that are still performing 20 years later is always a dicey proposition. I remember at the tail end of the summer in DC in ’84, everyone was agreeing that hardcore was dead and you could feel the energy of the scene move elsewhere. I kept going to shows but they were not the same. Sometimes these shows are depressing. We’re all old and slow and fat and should know more than three chords by now. Other times, you remember the energy and the reason why you went to every show. Plus seeing the East Village Whole Foods crowd with their little doggies watching the show was funny.
This was a good show. Mongrel Bitch, Urban Waste, Hammerbrain, Nihilistics and Reagan Youth.
When I moved to New York in January, I met Laura of Mongrel Bitch while looking at apartments. She gave me the heads up on the show so thanks, Laura.
The only time I saw Reagan Youth was in 1985 or ’86 at the Rock Against Reagan show on national mall in DC. That was a long time ago, with a massive outdoor crowd, cops driving their cars through the crowd periodically, helicopters overheard. Dave Rubinstein has long since passed.
What would a hardcore punk show be without David Peel. He still looks exactly the fucking same.
And to cap it off, I got my feet puked on and I was only wearing flip flops.