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street shooting the city

square one

I once went busker hunting with my X100s and brought my d700 along in case I wanted any close-up shots. Every time I pulled it out of my bag, I felt like I was intruding. Every time the shutter snapped, I wanted to apologize. Needless to say, I didn’t use it much. Read more [...]
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street shooting

tha police

My dad was a cop. One of New York's Finest. He served for eleven years before retiring as a Detective Lieutenant (Auto Crime) when we moved to the Philippines in '82. Whenever someone would ask what my dad did when we lived in New York, there was always a sense of pride in my reply. Every kid thinks his dad is Superman, but how many of them actually threw people in jail? How many had guns and dress blues and medals? Read more [...]
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street shooting the city

only happy when it rains

It's raining out. Despite the fact that she isn't even here yet, Irene has officially taken hold of New York City. Stores stripped bare, the streets so empty you'd think the Ascension had happened while you were napping. At home and bored, listening to the rain pelt the streets outside, I decided to hop into a ZipCar and do a little cruising. Read more [...]
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street shooting the city

yawn

I think perhaps New Yorkers' unflappability might be born in part of their disdain for tourists. Out-of-towners gawk. New Yorkers, worldly wise and having seen it all, simply go about their business. And while there might be some merit to not gaping wide-eyed at every little thing you see, if you spend all your time walking around in a cloud of disaffectation you're gonna miss out on a lot of the fun stuff. Read more [...]
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events street shooting the city

bay to breakers

In the eight years I lived in the Bay Area—three of which spent living in the heart of downtown San Francisco—I never once attended Bay to Breakers. Friends and coworkers often participated, to the point of thinking up fun and crazy costumes (usually group-themed), but I never did. I wish I could provide some valid excuse but really it just boiled down to laziness. Weekends were my sleep-in days, Sunday the holiest of holy Days of Sloth, and I'd be damned if anyone was gonna get me out of bed before ten or eleven in the morning, let alone at seven o'clock. Read more [...]