If you want to make your child happy on occasion, and I don't recommend it, there is one sure fire way to succeed. Drive down a quiet, non policed street, open the sun roof and allow them to stand in the car with their head out of the roof as you drive as quickly as you can. Keeping one hand tightly clenched to the little tykes clothing is strongly recommended. Taking pictures as you drive is not. It slows you down.
After a lazy Sunday morning we finally rallied ourselves to head on out in order to run a few errands and enjoy the day.
Once outside we were met by an abundance of wild life including horses, birds and bulls.
Just down the street the fine folks at Red Bull were offering free samples of their "energy drink." They also had a hyper alert, cyclist put on a show of bicylce daring-do. He did it very quickly.
A little further down the block, and we stumbled upon a Matisyahu concert!
I was at at the Yankee game last night and was fortunate enough to witness Derek Jeter tie Lou Gehrig's record for the most career hits by any Yankee. 2,721 to be exact. 50,000 faithful Yankee fanatics showed their appreciation with a simultaneous primal scream that was as pleasurable to witness as it was painful to the ears. Of course if you care little about baseball, or the Yankees, the fact of Jeter's feat is about as interesting as dry toast for dinner. What is interesting to consider though, is how much hitting is like the act of making pictures. Even the best hitters fail 70 % of the time in their attempt to hit the ball. Most photographer's would be pleased if three out of every ten pictures they made were considered a success. I'll make a generous guess and say that the batting average for photographers is something more like 1 %. That is that one out of every one hundred pictures taken can truly be considered a success. We've grown accustomed in the world of sports, and life in general, to anticipate the dramatic "big" play. The game winning home run, the knock out blow, or the winning three point jump shot that sinks through the hoop right at the buzzer. But in sports, as in photography, or any other creative endeavor, true success like Gehrig and Jeter's is won by those who persistently and undramatically grind it out. Over and over again. Year after year. Day after day. Frame after frame.
Derek Jeter stands on first base after the "big" hit.
We had a fun time at the recent Columbia County Fair. It's always a good time. The highlight was my daughter getting to meet an actual princess.
Maybe it's only my imagination but by Monday morning it seemed as if the temperature had already chilled and dropped a few degrees. The sun also seemed to rise a little bit later. It was a beautiful, clear weekend and many summer rituals were attended to. There was the county fair, milk shakes, camp fires, egg breakfasts at the diner, barbecues and a lot of wine drunk out of doors. Sigh and goodbye to all of that.
Labor Day. The saddest two words in the English language and the symbolic end of summer. What better way to celebrate the return to the regular work week than with a look at Lewis Hine's great pictures of laborers. 
I found myself, like a moth to light, fixated on the ever changing hairstyles of Phil Specter during his recent trial for murder. And that got me thinking and looking and...well... see below.
When home was in the East Village we would regularly go for Indian food a half block around the corner at Panna II. I hadn't been there in some time and it was fun to go back for a visit. The restaurant is about the size and width of a subway car but feels much, much, smaller. It's entirely smothered and covered with glitter, sparkle, mirrored balls and a dense canopy of lights shaped like Chile Peppers. Walking in is like entering some festive and demented Third World Alice in Wonderland amusement park ride. If the amusement park was in Bengal and served Lassis and Vindaloo. 
My son is entering middle school this year and when a letter came from his school listing the various school supplies he would need for the upcoming year I was excited to get back to doing some back to school shopping. Number 2 pencil? Check! 3 hole hole puncher? Got it! Pencil case? It's in the bag! He seemed nonplussed and puzzled by my enthusiasm which he did not share. I remember that getting school supplies at the beginning of the school year was always the best thing about the new year starting up again. I don't remember the name of the store where we shopped as kids for these things but I do remember it as being a small, tight store with wood plank flooring. I think it was owned and operated by an older man who had been there for years and had full knowledge of each object on every shelf. While there, the likelyhood of running into other classmates, friends or neighbors was great. Many were strange but few were strangers.
While there may be places today in New York like the store of my memories they are few and far between and most are not open on the weekends. And that is how we found ourselves at a Staples in Brooklyn on a rainy Saturday. If there is any joy or poetry to be found in the act of shopping, and I imagine there is, then Staples one, true, great success is that they have managed to find a way to completely obliterate it. The big box store felt like an over crowded, tired airport terminal a few days before the holidays. The shoppers were frazzled, irritated, slightly confused and indifferent towards each other. There is such an absurd, abundance of stuff there that to try and take it all in in one big breath too quickly is to risk collapsing spastically in the isles in a state of dazed and paralyzed confusion. The one and only Staples employee assisting the herd of befuddled shoppers was a young, energized, horse faced kid with a long, mane like, pony tail and a number of fresh Jean-Paul Sartre quotes tattooed on his arms. He was constantly galloping the store's perimeter in a calm and determined way pointing out the approximate whereabouts of the endless variations of binders, looseleaf paper and composition books. I'm guessing he was stoned. At least I hope he was. I added to everyone's shopping pleasure by standing in the center of the crowded isles, making pictures and snapping away in paralyzed, spastic, oblivion. 
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