My philosophy on love (for today)

Love isn't something you feel for any one boy or girl. True love is felt for everyone.

UFO's over Brooklyn

Last weekend my friends and I saw at least 20 UFO's flying over Brooklyn. It was Saturday night and we were enjoying a BBQ on my friends rooftop when we spotted them coming from the south, flying steadily northwards. We couldn't for the life of us figure out what they were. They were flying too low to be meteors and they definitely weren't airplanes. It was clear that they were on fire, moving in an orderly direction, and totally freaking us out.

The next morning we learned that nobody else we knew had seen them and that the burning objects didn't make the local news. Perplexed, we studied the footage shot to see if we could figure the mystery out on our own. After blowing up some of the camera stills we think we've finally got it. See the video to find out what they were.

Falling Dominoes

When I was a kid I was so obsessed with watching dominoes fall. Now I laugh at what a strange cult fascination this was for me and many others! Taking much painstaking time to set up each domino, careful to not let them fall during set up, only to tip the first one with a gentle touch and watch them knock each other down. One by one. They make that cool sounding "clickity-clickity" noise as they fall. It became such a popular past-time that network TV shows, like Ripley's Believe It Or Not, would actually air these falling dominoes as national entertainment! The insiders call them domino chains, domino rallies or domino runs. Bizarre.

Photographic memories

I love this picture of my parents from the '60's. My dad with his buddy holly glasses and skinny tie, my mom with the houndstooth vest she made herself. This photo was taken shortly after they started dating. Looks like a beautiful day. They're still this in love.

Train Through New Jersey

As I ride the train through northern Jersey
I imagine myself within each crack and crevice of its used landscape
Abandoned parking lots, split with wild veins of grass
wrapped in chain link fence like industrial ribbons
Kearny, 99 cent stores, phone cards, baptist worship center; faded signs burnt from the sun
I picture myself seated at the weathered, makeshift bench parked on an asphalt lawn
Playing solitaire while drinking coffee, songs ringing loudly in my head
I am alone, but somehow see it all captured on film; images for future generations
The heat is bold as I sit and watch it roll on by

India Part I

I am trying to think of a way to properly write about my travels to India, from which I only just returned. The place is mad chaos. And I loved it.

I was sent to Mumbai by my company for 8 days. It was an intense trip. As I stepped out of the airport I was immediately hit by a wave of thick humidity and heat out of which I could barely breathe. Stray dogs scurried around, people dodged the careening taxis, it was dark, lit by dim, yellow halogens. I commented on my driver's cap, "I'm completely charmed....drivers don't wear caps anymore in the US." He laughed.

I've never seen a city so crowded, so dense, so utterly lived in. There is never a calm moment during the night or day. Millions of people out and about, doing something, even if it looks inane. I once saw a man hammering a sheet of metal with a large sledge hammer on the street. He was a small, scrawny individual; could barely lift the over-sized tool. And yet he would swing it over his head and come crashing down on the aluminum, over and over again. Occasionally he would turn it over, to expose a fresh space in the alloy to bang away at. Everything here can be done on the streets.


Goats everywhere. People own them, but sometimes it's hard to tell since the animals wander around the streets, loosely tethered, eating lettuce. Seems a good, lazy life. They are a future meal.

Driving around town is maddening. There is a hierarchy in place, similar to the caste system I suppose. Buses and trucks are on top of the chain, followed by cars, ceded by tuk-tuk's, trailed by motorcycles and ending with bicycles. Each vehicle cuts off the other, missing a head-on collision by mere inches. Horns blare constantly. There are different types of honks, that I think I could've translated had I stayed a few weeks more. But the beeping is pervasive, as if a part of the air.


The streets are filled with drama. I saw a man fly off his motorcycle, skid half a block down the street, get back up and re-mount, speeding away. A crazy-eyed old man threw a rock at our car and it slammed violently against the passenger door, thoroughly freaking us out. Beggar children would come and knock on the windows at traffic lights, "please sir, please sir, please sir." I could see entire families sleeping on the street, torn sheets barely covering their naked feet. Men get a shave on the sidewalk. One night I hopped into a tuk-tuk, asking the driver to take me to a restaurant that was only a few blocks away. Instead he drove up and down the crowded street in circles, laughing like a maniac. I jumped out of the moving vehicle for the relative safety of the sidewalk.

For the most part the people of India are very friendly. We would wave and smile at each other as I meandered down the crowded allies. They would ask me to take their picture, help me with directions, recommend their favorite place to grab a meal, and sometimes just approach me to shake my hand. Although the medieval looking streets and the sheer numbers of people felt intimidating at first, over time I felt quite comfortable and safe.

After a full week of adjusting to Mumbai's buzzing atmosphere, I was finally feeling more at home. I could discern true poverty from just the typical living standards. I could sense a motorcycle speeding my way before I could see it with my eyes, darting out of the way as if through premonition. I could see order in the chaos. That pile of trash isn't there randomly. The neighborhood has chosen that corner as their refuse deposit, for lack of garbage cans.

Sometimes I wished I could become invisible, so I could walk along these dense alley-ways unnoticed. See life without my presence known. On my last night I came about as close to my wish as possible. I walked along the beach at night with no moon in the sky. The people of India love walking the beaches after sunset, when the air is cooler, and the waters of the Arabian Sea froth about their feet. I was among my Indian brethren that night, in near blackness, enjoying the simple pleasures of life. They could not quite make out if I was a foreigner or not. I was a mere silhouette and felt more alive than ever. I walked down that beach happily; whistling a tune and feeling totally satisfied.

Pt. II - Pictures of India

The elephant caves



Monkey's always a good time


Laundry day

I was eating at a diner and this guy was perpetually shouting into his telephone. I think it served as his office.

Street scenes of Mumbai...






Temples like this dot the urban landscape

These vintage bikes are commonplace. Stylish New Yorkers would love to get their hands on them.

"Horn OK Please" is written on the backs of just about every truck in India. And indeed, horns are used quite generously.

Owners paint their trucks with such wonderful expression

Tuk Tuk

There's no such thing as historic preservation in India. All the beautiful old buildings just slowly fall apart as they are left to rot in their foundations. This is the Crawford Market; architecture left over from the Victorian colonial era.

The interior of the Crawford Market

There are no garbage cans or dumpsters in Mumbai. People just pile the trash onto the street.

Some of the buildings are literally built of cloth and wood

The Chor Bazaar

I went inside one of the buildings and found these gentlemen hard at work....well except for the guy with no shirt on.

Another street along the bazaar

Vintage shops along the Chor Bazaar


Taking a nap after a long day