I know, that's a bit of a rough way to start this retrospective, if thats what in fact this is. But as I began to do A LOT of self examination, I started to think, maybe i'm not a nobody, i'm just a somebody who hasn't exactly found them self yet, Which is a lot coming from someone who describes himself as a: Jedi Knight (If the name fits...), Ghostbuster (Have you seen my car?), A Navy Seal ( I shook ones hand once), A 5 star chef ( I made a Chocolate Pizza), A Secret Service Agent (I bought the earpiece online), A Nascar Driver (I do own some Hot Wheels cars), and a Retired Star Shortstop For The Yankees (Someone Had To Precede Jeter), Olympic Class Runner (I do run...) just to name a few....
My Mom, who encouraged me to embrace those kind of...eccentricities...would have loved those crazy little quirks. And the big quirks, and boy do I have those en mass. When I first started CSI, she was well within the sickness that would take her only a few weeks into my second term. I don't know how she endured as long as she did, knowing what the outcome would be, and here I am, more than a decade later, wondering how she imbued me with the strength that I want to beleive she did to endure. In her battle, she taught me perhaps her greatest lesson. Always hang on. Always.
I'm far from religious, in fact, I define myself as an Atheist, so I know she isn't metaphorically looking down on me, but I feel, sometimes, she's there, giving me some kinda push to try and help me get past that year. I still feel that push when the going gets rough. That time period of my life I can easily describe as not only the worst, but the hardest. I would easily wish it upon my worst enemies.
I could not have completed the journey to CSI without the aid of my father...literally. I, for many, many, many days relied on him to traverse to and from campus. I know it often brought him well out of his way, but he still did it, and, just like Grandma, he always makes sure I have food, it might sound silly, but that helps. I mean without him, I would probably still be eating week old Ramen.
His assistance did not end there. Without him, I wouldn't be able to forget all the math I learned. It took a lot out of him to drill into my head that Y + 45 equals...hey...is that a balloon...? Dad, without you, I likely would never have picked up a camera. What's worse, I might have picked up a chef's hat, and honestly, I think we can all be thankful I didn't. There's only so much chocolate and bacon in the world.
You taught me to always keep my eye on the ball, be it at the plate, or in the field, and though I have the knees of roger clemens and the arm of Tommy John, I hope that one day soon, we can hit the field again, and you can finally actually show me just how much the Mets need you instead of yelling it at the TV. These are just some of the great many things for which I always, always will be thankful.
Dad, your never ending ability and desire to support me...just like your curry-infused cooking is something I, to this day will never understand, but still be eternally be grateful for....except maybe that last part. I know I can always count on him, to help give thoughts on a paper, offer, and help with project ideas, and let me know just when to fall asleep during a movie. Usually right around the point of the nuclear explosion.
Like most kids though, be they 31, 11, or 51, you provided...and continue you to provide me with one of the best things I could ever have. That is the assurance that, whatever trial or tribulation I have gone through, however hard it might be, you have always instilled in me that at the end of it all, somehow, someway, it will be, I will be...alright.
Thanks Dad, for everything, but most of all, for being there for me.
I also look to his partner in crime, ruth, who, despite her joining this journey later on, helped me way, way more then she needed too. She essentially made me one of her kids, which, again, I don't understand, but am thankful for nonetheless. She, like my father is someone who looks past my many shortcomings, and like a true hockey fan, exhibits extraordinary patience.
My favorite film, Ghostbusters is something I also look to for guidance...or levity. I do this more often then I likely should, being an, "adult" and all, but I very often throw that ideology out the window. You see, CSI, like most colleges are supposed to "prepare" you for "adult life", but as my great friend and fellow navy seal/space shuttle pilot/Lego artist Don would say, "CSI is where high school students go to continue high school.", which is true...yet, once you go through the trials and tribulations of that "Adult" life, especially at CSI, sometimes all you wanna do is dress up in an accessorized jumpsuit and spend up to $800 or more on a light up, sound-making 55 pound backpack.
I feel like all those years of preparing to be a firefighter would have helped there, and even though I won't be wearing that gear, the FDNY has given me many life lessons that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.
Those who know me for .5 seconds know that the FDNY has been an immensely powerful motivation tool, and provider of hats for me. More important, it has given me some great buddies, like Billy Smith, who has sideburns i'll always be in awe of. Arsen, who I know at some point will give me rope. And Tory, who somehow managed to not get punched while rebuilding my elbow.
Some mock me for my allegiance to them, describing it as, "Childish hero worship"...and while I first began my interest in firefighting when in kindergarten, I don't see it as childish. I see my affiliation with them as a way of striving to be what we all want to be inside; someone who gets to drive a big red truck, smash stuff with hammers, and at the end of the day, help someone.
That's what I...what we should all take away from what they, as well as countless others do daily. They help people. That is what we, as New Yorkers, nay, as humans the world over should do. Help those in need. We did it 13 years ago on that day, and continue to do it today.
You see, for me, September 11th is a wound that still hurts. It happened before I came to CSI, but once I got there, you could tell the wound was still raw. As I progressed through classes and campus life, the wound slowly began healing, until summer of 2012, when my photography and that day would once again coincide.
It began simply enough, a photograph taken a few years prior. The photo, that of firefighter Larry Sullivan, nicknamed "Sully", from Rescue 5 walking away from a fire here, was a decent enough shot I figured, never one to boast about my own work. Shortly thereafter, I presented it to him at the firehouse as I always do.
In 2012, on another routine photo-drop, I was told that Sully was sick. His body ravaged by what he inhaled that day, and the ones following. I knew, despite my best hopes, the prognosis was grim. I was then told, "That photo you took of Sully? Not for nothing, but that's probably gonna be at his funeral."
That was a gut punch and still is. The intent of my photography has always been to uplift and showcase the positive aspect of the world, especially that part of it. That photo has grown to become something more then I originally intended it to be. It has showcased an extraordinary individual to inspiring others. I don't want to think of it as the photo that was used at his funeral, I want to think of it as the photo that has inspired, and continues to inspire. That is, as I said, the goal of my work.
You see, photography has centered me. Hell It was at CSI where I discovered that it was exactly what was missing in my life. Since I was a kid, I'd always had a camera with me (when I say camera, I don't mean iphone. I mean actual physical photography device.), but it was at CSI where I honed my craft, where, under professors like Beatrix Reinhardt, Stephanie Powell, Mikhael Antone, Dan Nelken, Dan Hughes, just to name a few, i'd really find my footing, and now, I can at least in some way can fake being a photographer.
Photography, in my mind is the epitome of working hard for something you love. My good friend Zara once said, “My film Camera is three years old. I just put color slide film in it for the first time today. I'm so nervous. I'm so excited. I'm so dorky. I'm so in love.” Its rare thing, loving what some call a hobby, that much.
Be it getting a pie to the face, sucking in so many chemical fumes you become a walking bio-hazard, or going so long without sunlight, you begin to wonder if its the darkroom or if you're becoming part-Irish. For the record, as someone who is 50% Irish, I deem that joke only 75% racist ( Sorry Dad, I still suck at math.) You just have to love it that much.
You spend hours, days, or even weeks trying to do produce something, sometimes you fail, but then 2 things happen; one, you get frustrated to the point of tears & Hulk like-rage that results in wall-punching & Steven Tyler-esque screaming. The second thing, is quite amazing. You find yourself surrounded by people asking, "what happened?" and "heres what you did wrong, lemme help,", or "Is there anything you need?"
That is how photography works. Especially at CSI. It turns into a a pseudo-family where everyone helps one another when the going gets tough. Once, when faced with a pressing deadline and nearly insurmountable problems, my friends Cassie and Mike, swamped with their own work, dropped what they were doing to help me, and I didn't ask. They did it, becuase, as Mike said, "We want to see you succeed." If that isn't damn decent humanity, I don't know what is. And, lemme tell ya, if you ever want something to get done right in the photo department, you go to Cassie. She will get it done, with a smile, and do it while wearing a Disney princess backpack.
It doesn't matter if you're digitally inserting someone into a shot 6 times, like my friends Laura(who knows that photo is a major) & Lisa, or shooting roadside memorials, which my friend Don managed to make into a hauntingly beautiful project. Someone will always be there to help. That's what friends do.
And, Don, while some of the deer on Staten Island may disagree, is perhaps one of the best men I have ever met, not just at CSI, but in my life. Always there to lend a hand, a saw, a face to be pied, or sage, Yoda-like advice, such as, “Warm blankets are the enemy of productive days.”
I also look to his partner in crime, ruth, who, despite her joining this journey later on, helped me way, way more then she needed too. She essentially made me one of her kids, which, again, I don't understand, but am thankful for nonetheless. She, like my father is someone who looks past my many shortcomings, and like a true hockey fan, exhibits extraordinary patience.
My favorite film, Ghostbusters is something I also look to for guidance...or levity. I do this more often then I likely should, being an, "adult" and all, but I very often throw that ideology out the window. You see, CSI, like most colleges are supposed to "prepare" you for "adult life", but as my great friend and fellow navy seal/space shuttle pilot/Lego artist Don would say, "CSI is where high school students go to continue high school.", which is true...yet, once you go through the trials and tribulations of that "Adult" life, especially at CSI, sometimes all you wanna do is dress up in an accessorized jumpsuit and spend up to $800 or more on a light up, sound-making 55 pound backpack.
I feel like all those years of preparing to be a firefighter would have helped there, and even though I won't be wearing that gear, the FDNY has given me many life lessons that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.
Those who know me for .5 seconds know that the FDNY has been an immensely powerful motivation tool, and provider of hats for me. More important, it has given me some great buddies, like Billy Smith, who has sideburns i'll always be in awe of. Arsen, who I know at some point will give me rope. And Tory, who somehow managed to not get punched while rebuilding my elbow.
Some mock me for my allegiance to them, describing it as, "Childish hero worship"...and while I first began my interest in firefighting when in kindergarten, I don't see it as childish. I see my affiliation with them as a way of striving to be what we all want to be inside; someone who gets to drive a big red truck, smash stuff with hammers, and at the end of the day, help someone.
That's what I...what we should all take away from what they, as well as countless others do daily. They help people. That is what we, as New Yorkers, nay, as humans the world over should do. Help those in need. We did it 13 years ago on that day, and continue to do it today.
You see, for me, September 11th is a wound that still hurts. It happened before I came to CSI, but once I got there, you could tell the wound was still raw. As I progressed through classes and campus life, the wound slowly began healing, until summer of 2012, when my photography and that day would once again coincide.
It began simply enough, a photograph taken a few years prior. The photo, that of firefighter Larry Sullivan, nicknamed "Sully", from Rescue 5 walking away from a fire here, was a decent enough shot I figured, never one to boast about my own work. Shortly thereafter, I presented it to him at the firehouse as I always do.
In 2012, on another routine photo-drop, I was told that Sully was sick. His body ravaged by what he inhaled that day, and the ones following. I knew, despite my best hopes, the prognosis was grim. I was then told, "That photo you took of Sully? Not for nothing, but that's probably gonna be at his funeral."
That was a gut punch and still is. The intent of my photography has always been to uplift and showcase the positive aspect of the world, especially that part of it. That photo has grown to become something more then I originally intended it to be. It has showcased an extraordinary individual to inspiring others. I don't want to think of it as the photo that was used at his funeral, I want to think of it as the photo that has inspired, and continues to inspire. That is, as I said, the goal of my work.
You see, photography has centered me. Hell It was at CSI where I discovered that it was exactly what was missing in my life. Since I was a kid, I'd always had a camera with me (when I say camera, I don't mean iphone. I mean actual physical photography device.), but it was at CSI where I honed my craft, where, under professors like Beatrix Reinhardt, Stephanie Powell, Mikhael Antone, Dan Nelken, Dan Hughes, just to name a few, i'd really find my footing, and now, I can at least in some way can fake being a photographer.
Photography, in my mind is the epitome of working hard for something you love. My good friend Zara once said, “My film Camera is three years old. I just put color slide film in it for the first time today. I'm so nervous. I'm so excited. I'm so dorky. I'm so in love.” Its rare thing, loving what some call a hobby, that much.
Be it getting a pie to the face, sucking in so many chemical fumes you become a walking bio-hazard, or going so long without sunlight, you begin to wonder if its the darkroom or if you're becoming part-Irish. For the record, as someone who is 50% Irish, I deem that joke only 75% racist ( Sorry Dad, I still suck at math.) You just have to love it that much.
You spend hours, days, or even weeks trying to do produce something, sometimes you fail, but then 2 things happen; one, you get frustrated to the point of tears & Hulk like-rage that results in wall-punching & Steven Tyler-esque screaming. The second thing, is quite amazing. You find yourself surrounded by people asking, "what happened?" and "heres what you did wrong, lemme help,", or "Is there anything you need?"
That is how photography works. Especially at CSI. It turns into a a pseudo-family where everyone helps one another when the going gets tough. Once, when faced with a pressing deadline and nearly insurmountable problems, my friends Cassie and Mike, swamped with their own work, dropped what they were doing to help me, and I didn't ask. They did it, becuase, as Mike said, "We want to see you succeed." If that isn't damn decent humanity, I don't know what is. And, lemme tell ya, if you ever want something to get done right in the photo department, you go to Cassie. She will get it done, with a smile, and do it while wearing a Disney princess backpack.
It doesn't matter if you're digitally inserting someone into a shot 6 times, like my friends Laura(who knows that photo is a major) & Lisa, or shooting roadside memorials, which my friend Don managed to make into a hauntingly beautiful project. Someone will always be there to help. That's what friends do.
And, Don, while some of the deer on Staten Island may disagree, is perhaps one of the best men I have ever met, not just at CSI, but in my life. Always there to lend a hand, a saw, a face to be pied, or sage, Yoda-like advice, such as, “Warm blankets are the enemy of productive days.”
Don, who once paid me perhaps the greatest compliment i'll ever receive, “Your mind is filled with amazing useless information” is easily one of the most talented, most genuine guys i've ever met. If this were Hawaii Five-o, you would be the "Donno" to my McGarrett. I am glad CSI gave me you.
CSI gives you more then an education, it gives you friends for life. It gave me my friend Zara, who knows the value of a good diner, and of is perhaps one of the most level headed people I've ever met. She once told me, “Sometimes chasing nothing when everything is chasing you is better then standing still when it's all you think you can do,” That's advice you can take to the bank.
CSI gave me Friends like my buddy Mari, who, for some unknown to me reason, offers me the kind of help I wish I got from the Time Warner helpline. She, much like E.B. White said about New York, "is a miracle that she works at all. The whole thing is [at times] implausible"....Mari is the Swiss-army knife of life.
Friends like Gella, who was one of the first people I met on my 3rd tour of duty in the forests of Willowbrook, and someone who knows how to get the back of my skull to look good in a blurry camera phone shot. Though i've mentioned quite a few folks, the people I have met at CSI who have had an impact on my life are far to numerous to even begin to mention by name without sounding like a Nascar driver who just won an academy award, but for the record, I would like to thank Pepsi, Caterpillar, Canon, Old Navy, Samsung, Pontiac and my pit crew.
Its not just about the friends I gained from being a CSI student, its also about the friends, who are essentially family, that I have known for most of my life...that helped me complete this journey.
My sister-friend Michelle, really is just my big sister, even if she cannot point out Hawaii on a map. Shell is the one person who has been there for me more than anyone. I am, and always will be proud to call you family, and proud that you drew the duck blue. Ours is a friendship that has, in recent times, been through more downs than up's, but, hey Corky, here's a pretty big, "up." Now, have I earned a cup of lemon juice yet, or do I still have to clean the kitchen? Nooch.
Her parents Mark and Eleanor, who have more hope for the Mets then even my father does, pretty much adopted me as the son they never wanted.
Shell's sister Kim, husband Brian, you guys have always believed in me, encouraged me & fattened me up with what I will hope is in no way vegan food, otherwise, I promise the next batch of potatoes I cook for you will be cooked in bacon fat. Their kids, Arielle and Dylan, are the best "not quite-but actually are" niece and nephew I could ever ask for, and without a doubt the greatest, smartest and wittiest hope for the future, and with the future in their hands, I know the next generation will be just fine.
Even with friends like that, I will still remember my family, particularly one great person who could not be here today physically, but will always, always be there in my heart and mind.
Last summer, maybe due in part to Hurricane Sandy's impact, my cousin, Joe, my best friend, passed away, another loss in a life full of loss. I don't want to remember Joe for the way we lost him, he wouldn't want that. Joe would want to be remembered for all the good things, and those good things could fill a library. Joe was the epitome, the absolute epitome of the phrase, "he'll give you the shirt off his back." I know, wherever he is, hes...probably bugging the crap out of Harold Ramis to sign this photo for his, "kid cousin." Thats exactly how Joe was. He never once thought of himself. Be it friend or family, day or night, he'd be there with a smile, and an endless list of stories sure to keep anyone entertained, regardless of whether or not the person in the story was, as he sometimes put it, "a bum!" I will always consider it the greatest privilege that he was as much a part of my life as he was.
Oddly enough, When the news about Joe reached me, the one place I went to for an escape was not firehouse, not a friends place, or a diner, but CSI. Thats when I had to acknowledge that, while the place is not perfect...in fact, it is such an utter disaster at times, i'm shocked it functions as a place of "higher learning."...It began to dawn on me at that point, that for the past 11 1/2 years, its been...home.
It was at that moment I realized, like "Brooks" in, "The Shawshank Redemption", I'd become institutionalized...dependent on a place I thought I disliked...due simply to the fact I'd been within its physical confines so damn much. I got used to it...comfortably numb to its problems, of which there were many.
However, at this moment, I then realized why I was comfortable, why I sought refuge within the 200 plus acres of often dimly lit, goose poop infested windiness.
In my introspective retrospective, I found it was all about the people, not the physical place, but the people. I wasn't exactly a social butterfly at first, and i'll argue i'm still not, but I eventually found people, like-minded weirdos that would help me trudge through the landscape of what was once - and in my mind continues to be, an asylum, run by good hearted inmates, a crew of misfits on a ship in deep space. I'd learn something unique from each of them, be it for good or bad, i've pulled a lesson out of each of them...out of each of you. I couldn't have done this journey, this odyssey without you.
The song, "Somewhere Out There." was one that was sung during my elementary school graduation from P.S. 11 in 1993, and one that is currently being belted out by my playlist. I know that somewhere out there...This odyssey i've rambled on about will help, and hopefully all of you, find true happiness.
This is not an ending. Endings suck. They usually result in tears and regrets. Its a new beginning. I'm not sure where my life will take me next, I have vague ideas, such as Lego mansion builder, Chocolate skyscraper owner, but whatever mile marker I, or you, run past next, I want you to take this advice to heart; Don't Cross The Streams....wait, that's not right, oh here it is...
Be as unique as you want to be, don't let anyone tell you that being, "Strange", or "Weird" is a bad thing. Being strange and weird means you are letting your true self out, which is one of the hardest things you can do. You leave yourself exposed, but when you do that, and I say when, because I beleive everyone has the strength to do this...you've begun your road to true happiness, which, just like each and every one of you, is one of the most beautiful things you could ever accomplish.
CSI gives you more then an education, it gives you friends for life. It gave me my friend Zara, who knows the value of a good diner, and of is perhaps one of the most level headed people I've ever met. She once told me, “Sometimes chasing nothing when everything is chasing you is better then standing still when it's all you think you can do,” That's advice you can take to the bank.
CSI gave me Friends like my buddy Mari, who, for some unknown to me reason, offers me the kind of help I wish I got from the Time Warner helpline. She, much like E.B. White said about New York, "is a miracle that she works at all. The whole thing is [at times] implausible"....Mari is the Swiss-army knife of life.
Friends like Gella, who was one of the first people I met on my 3rd tour of duty in the forests of Willowbrook, and someone who knows how to get the back of my skull to look good in a blurry camera phone shot. Though i've mentioned quite a few folks, the people I have met at CSI who have had an impact on my life are far to numerous to even begin to mention by name without sounding like a Nascar driver who just won an academy award, but for the record, I would like to thank Pepsi, Caterpillar, Canon, Old Navy, Samsung, Pontiac and my pit crew.
Its not just about the friends I gained from being a CSI student, its also about the friends, who are essentially family, that I have known for most of my life...that helped me complete this journey.
My sister-friend Michelle, really is just my big sister, even if she cannot point out Hawaii on a map. Shell is the one person who has been there for me more than anyone. I am, and always will be proud to call you family, and proud that you drew the duck blue. Ours is a friendship that has, in recent times, been through more downs than up's, but, hey Corky, here's a pretty big, "up." Now, have I earned a cup of lemon juice yet, or do I still have to clean the kitchen? Nooch.
Her parents Mark and Eleanor, who have more hope for the Mets then even my father does, pretty much adopted me as the son they never wanted.
Shell's sister Kim, husband Brian, you guys have always believed in me, encouraged me & fattened me up with what I will hope is in no way vegan food, otherwise, I promise the next batch of potatoes I cook for you will be cooked in bacon fat. Their kids, Arielle and Dylan, are the best "not quite-but actually are" niece and nephew I could ever ask for, and without a doubt the greatest, smartest and wittiest hope for the future, and with the future in their hands, I know the next generation will be just fine.
Even with friends like that, I will still remember my family, particularly one great person who could not be here today physically, but will always, always be there in my heart and mind.
Last summer, maybe due in part to Hurricane Sandy's impact, my cousin, Joe, my best friend, passed away, another loss in a life full of loss. I don't want to remember Joe for the way we lost him, he wouldn't want that. Joe would want to be remembered for all the good things, and those good things could fill a library. Joe was the epitome, the absolute epitome of the phrase, "he'll give you the shirt off his back." I know, wherever he is, hes...probably bugging the crap out of Harold Ramis to sign this photo for his, "kid cousin." Thats exactly how Joe was. He never once thought of himself. Be it friend or family, day or night, he'd be there with a smile, and an endless list of stories sure to keep anyone entertained, regardless of whether or not the person in the story was, as he sometimes put it, "a bum!" I will always consider it the greatest privilege that he was as much a part of my life as he was.
Oddly enough, When the news about Joe reached me, the one place I went to for an escape was not firehouse, not a friends place, or a diner, but CSI. Thats when I had to acknowledge that, while the place is not perfect...in fact, it is such an utter disaster at times, i'm shocked it functions as a place of "higher learning."...It began to dawn on me at that point, that for the past 11 1/2 years, its been...home.
It was at that moment I realized, like "Brooks" in, "The Shawshank Redemption", I'd become institutionalized...dependent on a place I thought I disliked...due simply to the fact I'd been within its physical confines so damn much. I got used to it...comfortably numb to its problems, of which there were many.
However, at this moment, I then realized why I was comfortable, why I sought refuge within the 200 plus acres of often dimly lit, goose poop infested windiness.
In my introspective retrospective, I found it was all about the people, not the physical place, but the people. I wasn't exactly a social butterfly at first, and i'll argue i'm still not, but I eventually found people, like-minded weirdos that would help me trudge through the landscape of what was once - and in my mind continues to be, an asylum, run by good hearted inmates, a crew of misfits on a ship in deep space. I'd learn something unique from each of them, be it for good or bad, i've pulled a lesson out of each of them...out of each of you. I couldn't have done this journey, this odyssey without you.
The song, "Somewhere Out There." was one that was sung during my elementary school graduation from P.S. 11 in 1993, and one that is currently being belted out by my playlist. I know that somewhere out there...This odyssey i've rambled on about will help, and hopefully all of you, find true happiness.
This is not an ending. Endings suck. They usually result in tears and regrets. Its a new beginning. I'm not sure where my life will take me next, I have vague ideas, such as Lego mansion builder, Chocolate skyscraper owner, but whatever mile marker I, or you, run past next, I want you to take this advice to heart; Don't Cross The Streams....wait, that's not right, oh here it is...
Be as unique as you want to be, don't let anyone tell you that being, "Strange", or "Weird" is a bad thing. Being strange and weird means you are letting your true self out, which is one of the hardest things you can do. You leave yourself exposed, but when you do that, and I say when, because I beleive everyone has the strength to do this...you've begun your road to true happiness, which, just like each and every one of you, is one of the most beautiful things you could ever accomplish.