The Everywhereist

Don’t get your camera wet.

These seems to be a fairly obvious rule, right? I can do that, can’t I? And yet, aren’t the simplest rules the hardest ones to follow? There were only three rules to taking care of a Mogwai, and none of them were that complicated, but look how that turned out.

So even when it started raining at Machu Picchu, and folks pulled out all kinds of covers and gear to keep their cameras dry, I kept snapping away. I’m pleased to say that no evil little cameras were spawned from my larger one.

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As you may have noticed, I’m usually the one wielding the camera during most of our trips. Rand doesn’t share my same enthusiasm for snapping pictures of amusing copywriting mishaps, nor my tendency to meticulously photograph desserts. His snapshots tend to be of landmarks or geographic points-of-interest, or – gasp – of his friends. I know. He’s weird. I try to keep my camera away from him for precisely this reason. I don’t want him using up all my non-existent film on stuff like that.

As such, I’m used to seeing things from one perspective: my own. But that wasn’t the case in Peru. Rand’s coworker Casey, who is far more adept at using a camera than I am (though let’s be fair: the same can be said of most primates), captured some great images. And their colleague Tom was there, too – snapping away photos on his soul-catcher of choice: an iPhone.

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When I met Rand, he was living with one of his guy friends.

Their apartment was a quintessential bachelor pad: it had two bedrooms, smelled of Old Spice deodorant, and was furnished with enormous black leather couches and geometric prints. There was an abundance of electronics, and not a single framed photograph of a loved one.

When Rand later moved in with me, the transition must have been somewhat traumatic. The bathroom was filled with all sorts of foreign items: straightening and curling irons and a crimper that I kept around in case of emergencies (having since thrown it away, I now live in fear that someone will have an 80s party, and I won’t be able to attain big hair). There were multiple laundry hampers, with specific instructions as to which items could be placed inside of them. There were weird things like low-fat yogurt and almond butter in the fridge. In the early months of our co-habitation, we fought over stupid things, like where the dish sponge should go, and important things, like where our alarm clock should go.

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Today’s guest post is from my friend John Doherty. Rand and I met John last spring in Boston – right before he was about to move to New York. Since then, I’ve been keeping up with his life through his twitter stream and updates to Google Plus. His insights and observations are always interesting, but it’s his photos that really fascinate me. In an era where every kid with a Canon SLR thinks they’re a photographer, John is creating art with his camera phone. You gotta respect that.

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I am a fairly new New Yorker, having moved here in the middle of June from Philadelphia, and before that I was living in Switzerland for a while. Having grown up in small-city Virginia, I have been used to fairly homogeneous surroundings (I’m not saying that’s a good thing, I’m saying that’s what it is). Since I’ve moved to New York though, I’ve become enthralled with the variety of people around! I started this Instagram pictures series a few months ago on Google+, and Geraldine loved them so much that she asked me to write this guest post for her.

Some of the subway photos may come across as creepy, but I think they give us an interesting view into the world of New York City. The shots of the protesters at Occupy Wall Street will hopefully help put a face to the people that you see on the news.

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Occupy Wall Street
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The protesters down in Liberty Square were peaceful when I went down there on the afternoon of October 8th. Shouts were rising from back in the square and music was playing, but everyone was calm and peaceful. Here are a few shots of what I saw.
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The American Dream is the American Plight

"The American Dream is the American Plight."

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It seems so odd that I’m doing a round-up of photos from Florida, of all places. I lived there for years. I might as well do a photo round-up of my own house. Actually, come to think of it, I have done that.

Aaaaaaaand on that note, here’s ten photos from that strange and magical place I used to call home.

1. I show my enthusiasm for Jews for Jesus. And vacation rentals.
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   I'm also fairly intrigued by Boston Nails and New Wave Fitness.

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2. I may have screamed when I saw the license plate on the car in front of us – it read “Pastry Chef.”
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   Pardon the quality of this photo. My hands start to shake whenever I think of dessert.

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Note: Since my posts are generally too wordy, I decided to see what happened when I made something a little too photo-y. Enjoy.

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One hot summer’s day, seemingly a lifetime ago, when I was in Kansas, we drove and drove.

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We drove through a part of the country most people only fly over. We drove until there was nothing but sky and grass. It didn’t take us long.

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The place: a restaurant on the lower west side in Manhattan.

The time: a few weeks ago, on a very warm summer night.

The characters: Tom Critchlow (admitted smart-ass); me (totally not a smart-ass AT ALL).

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Tom: You know what your blog needs?

Me: What’s that?

Tom: More photos of you and Rand kissing. There’s definitely not enough of those.

Me: Piss off, Tom.

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Though I was in Wichita for less than four days, I took more than 900 photos. Yeah. Since whittling that pile down to 10 pictures was pretty much impossible, and would require me leaving out photos of pink (yes, pink) milk, I decided to share my 20 (20!) favorite photos from Kansas. Enjoy.

1. Road to nowhere.
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   I could have stayed in the middle of the road for as long as I liked. There were literally no other cars to be seen.

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2. Chocolate and strawberry milk in glass jugs, Dillon’s grocery store.
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   Harbinger of a city gal: I don't know that I've ever seen milk in glass jugs before.

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