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?

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.

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.

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.

On the home stretch of the trip. Hard to believe I’ve been here almost five (!) weeks already. Despite spending most of my time here either working during the night, sleeping during the day, or running around in-between, I managed to snag a fair number of photos. Just under six thousand at last count, though of them maybe only a quarter made the cut. Still, I’m happy with those numbers.

One thing I’d forgotten about the Philippines is that many people—especially the masa, those below the poverty line—aren’t self-conscious about staring. In fact many will continue to do it even after you meet their gaze (which is usually the point where even the most brazen starer will turn away).

I found myself with some downtime earlier today and took the opportunity to visit Quiapo, known for its sprawling markets and back-alley bazaars, and explore Hidalgo street, itself known for having a ton of camera stores and bargains galore.

No accompanying text tonight. I’ve had the longest day in recent memory and I just want to go to sleep.

I love my GF1 a little more each day. I was able to get down nice and low for this shot thanks to the electronic viewfinder, that can angle up at 90º. Even if I had shot this using the main LCD–which grants some level of leeway when it comes to shooting angles–I still would’ve had to position myself awkwardly to get the capture.

New Yorkers don’t seem to like umbrellas very much. Or perhaps they just don’t like owning or carrying them. Whenever a decent amount of rainfall hits, they all buy cheap $5 street corner umbrellas, use them for a day, then toss them into trash cans when it stops raining. I call them “donebrellas.”