Now I’m Down In Brooklyn…

When it comes to NY, my experience has been limited to the shores of the island. Brooklyn only represented a Jay-Z reference, a land shrouded in myst, dripping in lore,  and populated by the mythical hipster. So when it came time to venture outside my burrow, I lugged along the camera and hoped to document the uncharted territory. Though the flea-market we visited ended up beingless market and more warehouse, the surrounding area proved to be a photographic paradise. Including an epic lunch at Diner, and a long walk down Atlantic “Antique” Ave, the day ended with a trip back to 20- something time Zagat rated steakhouse Peter Luger. I ain’t got no beef with that.

Pictures after the break…

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Yag Yug March

Hot on the heels of the Mermaid Parade, the NYC Pride parade promised to be one of historical proportions. In an electric atmosphere charged by the recent NY legalization of gay marriage, 5th Ave quickly became overrun with rainbows and raunchiness. The onlooking masses plastered the sidwalks, squeezing over guardrails and guards alike. As the ominous roaring of a hundred motorcylcing man-lovers (later folowed by lady-lovers) bellowed down the narrow route, I half expected these guys from Mad Max to appear around the corner. In all honesty they would have been moderatly dressed. It was an amazing spectacle, and one that left me more than a tad bit emotional. I found myself thinking it would simply be impossible to witness that expression of joy, and still coldly vote to deny these people that type of pure hapiness. In the words of Lady Gaga, a prominent and appropriate soundtrack to the entire parade, “‘Cause baby, you were born this way”

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The 5th of July | “We Were There”

God Bless America. God Bless Fireworks. And God Bless Joey Chestnut. Yesterday, on the nations holiest of holy days, my wildest fantasy came to fruition. Amidst an savage crowd, fondly embraced by the fragrant flavors of a nations body odor, I had the honor of watching Joey “Jaws” Chestnut attempt to defend his illustrious Mustard Belt. Standing between him and everlasting mythical glory… 10 minutes and 62 perfectly plump porkers. Was I in the front row you ask? Not even remotely. Was it crowded you say? Like a Walmart on Christmas. It was better on TV? I cannot argue. Would I rather have been anywhere else? DEAR LORD NO. “We were there.”

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Mermaids Should Wear More Clothing

I decided my first New York weekend had to be done the right way, filled with paisleys and perverts. Stepping onto the Coney Island bound N train, I couldn’t fathom the degree to which my senses would be assaulted. Despite previous mental preparation,  my mind’s visions of Ariel and Sebastien sharply contrasted the “experience” (since no other word adequately captures the ordeal) of blobby body paint and gelatinous man-boobery. Pictures after the break

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