Drive by.

Midtown parking garage.

Protest.

Maybe FedEx raised the price of copies. Perhaps Dress Barn stopped selling petites. Whatever the case, nothing says lunch hour like a little protest

Hot damn, this weather is fine.

Work is busy. Life is crazy busy. Best I could do on this beautiful day was snap a photo or two in midtown while waiting for my lunch-partner-in-crime. This weather is putting everyone in a better mood; let's hope it means we'll avoid another summer Rain Watch.

People go here.

Somewhere in midtown. Atrocious bystander conveniently cropped out of view.

(Almost) never a fan.

I generally loathe cats. Small cats, fat cats, and in this case oversized artistic cats. Doesn't matter. If you can't fetch, you're not for me.

There was only one cat I ever liked, and he spent most of his time chewing on a sofa cushion and living in a bag.

Enough said.

No, I don't want a swig of your beer.

Wish I was carrying a real camera at the time for this one. This guy was great. Flirtin' with the ladies, chastizing the guys, posing for shots.

Sidewalk intruder.

Anywhere New York. Anywhere Philly. Anywhere urban.

Better than strollers, tourists, and uncurbed dogs. Weeds - like subway rats, find a way.

Shoes and shadows.

Somewhere in midtown.

Monday morning.

Just another job. Just another commute. The difference between yours and mine?


I look up.

42nd & Madison, looking east.

Arguably one of the best visuals in the city.



Southeast corner of 42nd and Madison. Put your headphones on to block out the tourists and pubic accountants crossing paths.

Be there at night.

Grand Central holds its own, surrounded by its taller neighbors. Chrysler gleams white and silver - as always - in the backdrop. Compliments, not competition for one another.

Stand there for a minute and tell me that the 14 hour work day isn't worth it.

Not your everyday midtown dress code.

A lot of people wear green on St. Patrick's Day, regardless of their ties to the land of Guiness (romantic, hereditary, or otherwise). But this guy - well - I hope he wasn't in your office.

Beware of the dog!

Yes, I googled it.

Snowwwwww.

Listen up, people. Most of you are complaining about the snow. Maybe that's because you're trapped in a cube (ahhh, one perk of temporary unemployment). Perhaps you don't have boots or misplaced your wool socks. Regardless of your ill excuse, I have this much sympathy for you.



It's February in New York. For those of you who consider this concrete jungle the center of the universe, that's fine. This proverbial center also happens to lie somewhere between the frozen tundra of Canada and the equator. Suck it up, bundle up, and wipe that scowl off your frostbitten face. Get outside and enjoy the snow while it's here. Here are a few pictures to whet your appetite if you can't be bothered to - or simply can't - leave your desk for ten minutes.

I wandered trudged through midtown, Central Park, and the LES this afternoon snapping away. Additional pictures (some of my favorites) can be found on my Flickr page.

Monkey see, monkey listen, monkey drink.

I found myself pre-(f)unemployment typically partaking in drinks more during the week than on the weekend. A combination of factors went into this:

1) my job often entailed social events
2) my job drove me to the bottle
3) my job's hours limited social time to other people from the firm or other overworked midtown friends

Let it be known that I wasn't out in a bar four days a week like some lush or cad. I just, you know, enjoy a drink every now and again.

So Thursday night came and went, and I found myself killing a couple hours at a name-forgotten pub in the east 50's. The place looked and smelled like it was freshly stained - the pungent kick in the face when I first walked through the door reminded me of 6th grade shop class and my Minwax-stained baseball clock. My friend KDubs was there, and we caught up over Bud Lights and Blue Moons. I tiptoed through the (f)unemployment daises for a bit. She brought me up to speed on her long distance, vacation-fueled, Canadian based relationship. Her sleeves are were made up of more emotion than cashmere, so it was not difficult to see how happy she was. I was genuinely happy for her, too, more than I probably expressed.

Then there was this guy.


I don't know what part of Irish lore includes monkey heads, but these guys adorned the front of the bar. We don't know why, and frankly we didn't want to know. Tip money down and out the door.

Where a small is actually a small.

I spent my afternoon at Juan Valdez Cafe on 57th Street in midtown, catching up on some business. I wasn't there for more than 30 seconds before I realized I had found something worthwhile. After all, I simply wasn't in one of the dozens of Starbucks in the area, and here's how I knew:

1. The store was bigger than the typical studio apartment.
2. There wasn't a line - longer than that at the counter - waiting for the bathroom.
3. I was asked whether my Americano was "to stay or to go." My answer lead to...
4. ...my coffee being served in an actual mug. Like an actual cafe. Shocking. No, really.
5. The seating was ample, and catered to the lonely-guy-with-his-laptop crowd. Bench seating wrapped around the walls of the back area, corralling the small tables into some kind of manageable order.
6. My request for a small coffee was not met with the correcting confirmation, "You want a tall coffee? Sure." Hold the critical undertones, thanks.

Between two pillars - anywhere New York.

I love this picture.


In a way, it embodies what I originally set out to do with this blog - capture the very simple parts of New York that I appreciate, cherish, and try not to take for granted. The daily reminders of what life is like here. It's not sexy, glamorous or the fast track to the proverbial diamond penthouse in the sky. But I love it.

Catching an express train across the platform at Union Square. Spotting the Empire State Building lit up in blue and white after the NIT championship game. Walking past garbage that a local artist tagged with his slogan. These are the moments. This was a moment.

I stepped off the uptown 6 en route to an interview and spotted the newspaper stand on the downtown side. Augustana blared through my headphones. The guy behind the counter didn't move as some this Suit snapped away, trying his best to keep the point and shoot steady in his hands.

Click on the picture to expand it. Soak it in. This could be anywhere in New York. Gum for the night out; Financial Times for Street news, the Post for sports. Mentos? He has Mentos.

Lonely Lincoln.

The city sleeps only after Sunday brunch - two eggs and twice as many mimosas deep. Constant flow, lacking only calm. Make the light. Train. Meeting. Midtown ants make daytime purchases; trucks make evening deliveries. Pictures are taken in Times Square, later shared in Detroit. A balanced push and pull. Twist. Turn. Gears clicking rhythmically. Chaos from the surface. Beauty from within.

Look up. Everywhere. Constant movement. Today's Park Avenue view is not tomorrow's. Good intentions slow the inevitable cranes that transform the skyline. It's an organism, feeding on itself. It will feed on you.

Look down. Locked in. Its lifespan there is short, but be jealous nonetheless. Slowed to a frozen standstill. There for the taking.

Do your best to refrain from "that's what she said" jokes...

I can't get enough of 6th Avenue and the ridiculously large but ever-so-tasteful decorations that adorn the corporate landscape that is midtown. These giant red Christmas balls seem to float on top of the water fountain. Definitely a sight to see, I need to come back here one weekend and photograph them during the day.

Classic sign.

This one is a favorite of mine. Classic neon in midtown. 48th Street parking garage. I've been here before...

Occasionally inadequate cameras pull off decent shots.

And by decent shots, I mean colorful blurry ones:




Back to 6th I went tonight, this time taking shots of the oversize Christmas lights. Here's another shot to give you have a better idea.