Couldn't resist.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Friday, February 02, 2007
Stranger 033
I know, Fashion Week models don't count as Strangers (though technically, they are), but I spent the entire day down at Bryant Park shooting. Max Azria and Nicole Miller and Akiko Ogawa to come! (Above is one of Marc Bouwer's models.)
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Linkage
1. Oh, honestly. I didn't think it was possible to lose any more respect for Annie Liebovitz, but I was so, so wrong. And Beyoncé Knowles as Alice in Wonderland? Lyle Lovett as the March Hare? Poor Lewis Carroll must be spinning in his grave.
2. This, on the other hand, is amazing. I'm going to make it my goal to try every single one by the end of the year. (Although I might skip La Maison du Chocolat ... $8 for a cup of hot chocolate? Man.)
3. If you haven't seen them yet, Bill Sullivan's photos taken of people as they're swiping into the New York City subway system -- he calls them "turns" -- are pretty cool.
4. Those crazy Germans and their strange hotels are at it again. These are even stranger than the Kunsthotel's rooms -- one suite is made entirely of mirrors.
5. AUGH! WHY?! MY EYES!
Stranger 032
Mustache slips through the doors of the 1 train just as they slide closed. He looks crotchety and tired, so I explain the premise of Stranger-a-Day and ask to take his photo. He nods, grudgingly, waits for me to take three or so shots, and then winks.
I stare.
"A journalism student, eh?"
I hate this question. It seldom merits the full explanation: "Well, not technically -- Columbia doesn't have an undergraduate journalism major, but I work on the newspaper and I do hope to be a journalist one day. I'm actually an architecture major. Why? Well..."
I feebly attempt to stammer out a response, "Well, not technica... I mean, I would but..." and then give up.
"Yes, I am."
He winks again.
"Well keep that up. We're losing all our serious journalists. There's no real news anymore! The government wants to stop people from telling the truth. It's just... well, you know."
Even when he's talking, his mouth stays buried under his mustache. It's fascinating.
The doors open at 116th Street and I signal that I'm getting off. He pats me on the back as I slide past him.
"Stay strong! Don't let the government get to you!"
I grin and head for the stairs. God, I love New York.
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