Nobody Calls Me Chicken

   In a few days, i'm going to run...quite far, because I want to. Today, a lot of people ran...because they had to. They literally ran for their lives.

   Once again, my city was the target of fear, of horror, and of cowards. I wish I could say this is a rarity in the world, or at least in my country, but sadly, it is becoming an all to common occurrence, one which I fear will become so common, it will one day be considered, "blase`", and carelessly forgotten. It is at  that moment, one that I hope never happens, that we will have truly given into fear and terror.

   We need to be shocked, scarred and frightened. We should not take this, or ANY attack lightly and, "carry on with our lives" as if nothing happened. People, innocent, good people died today. Innocent, good people died a month ago, nearly 60 of them, and has anything, anything at all changed? No. Will anything change after today? I hope so, but probably not, and if it does, I fear it will unjustly target those of a different religion and skin color.

   Terror...fear...it does not have a color. It has a mission. To hurt, kill and destroy. You cannot uniformly associate one group of people into that realm. It is xenophobic, racist, and simply put...not fair. We need to be better than that. We need to learn how to be kind, how to be inclusive, how to adapt and we just need to learn....how to learn.

   That's one way to fight this. We should not act wholly on our fears. Yes, we need to be cognizant of them, to acknowledge that they exist, but to let common sense and thoughtfulness take a side in our thought processes as well.

   I'm still running, not from fear, but in spite of it. So this Sunday, at 11am, I'm going to tighten my laces and run 26.2 miles. Sure, i'm scared. Of falling, going too slow, my legs giving out, getting a sock wedgie, or having Gatorade go down my nose(I don't have the best run/drink aim), but I won't let that deter me from going out there and kicking ass.

After Ascension

   Each year on this day I attempt to repeat the same schedule as I did 16 years prior, at least I try to. As the years pass, I have found life often alters the schedule. As a friend once said, "we plan and the universe laughs." Sometimes change like this can actually be for the better.

   That day is slowly beginning to fell like many years ago, and that actually scares me. The passage of time in general is quite sobering.

   The ruins of the chasm in lower Manhattan have been filled with the memories of a day forever frozen in memory. I, until this spring during a race, refused to set foot on that hallowed ground. "This is not my place", I thought, until the kindness of a friend imbued me with spirit and determination that made the open wound in my mind and soul begin to heal...just a bit.

   This is one of the many reasons why I run. It is healing, freeing, in a way, even though it can be at times tortuous, it lets the mind expand and breathe, giving birth to new ideas and thoughts, pushing the clutter aside.

   It seems as though we're sometime out of touch with ourselves and with others. And we need that to end. We need to learn how to make better use of what we have at our disposal.

   You may find that even what was a traumatic event, in many cases, becomes a learning experience. You grew and gained from it. Eventually, even, you might even become a better person from it. That is how we are supposed to grow as a species, as a culture.

   Yet, we're lately, we seem to be out of touch with ourselves and with others. And we need that to end. We need to learn how to make better use of what little time we have on this rock, what we have at our disposal, and utilize it to improve the world. We are not doing this right now.

   For example, Staten Island, while my home, no longer feels welcoming to me. A place I would once staunchly defend to no end has turned into a cesspool of bitterness and bigotry of which I fear there may not be a return from. This is something that was told to me by multiple people, all of whom I rebuked, until last year. We need to take a long hard look in the mirror and ask ourselves, "Have we really progressed as a culture, as a species?" I don't think so. If this is the best we can do, i'm not impressed.

   In fact, in light of the recent weather events, some people are claiming the, "end times" have finally arrived. Me being a staunch atheist, just sees it as a continuance of the cycle of life, albeit not a good one.

   Yet through all this, I still have hope. I'm no longer the full blown optimist I was a child, though I look to the rest of my city, once ruined, and see that it has been reborn, and though some may argue otherwise, I think this is truly for the better. It's certainly beats the alternative. Being stuck is something i'm good at. I'm not happy about it, nor am I proud of it. It is, in fact something i'm attempting to rectify. But, unlike this city, it is not a change that can happen in an instant. You to can make positive change happen.

   Making my way through this darkness, I'm still searching for the bright light of my finest hour. It has been a titanic battle of wills, and many days I find it difficult to even get out of bed. But I do, and push through to the best of my abilities. Some days are better than others, and some days the only way I can get through it is by using the mindset of, "I know something out there is trying to beat me, and i'm gonna fight it just to piss it off."

   What was once an empty sky has once again been populated with glass and steel. Stone and wire. Men and women. People. Going about their lives. Everyone of them fighting a battle most of us will never know anything about. So when you interact with these people, or any person, take the briefest of moments and remember that. Be human. Show compassion.

Timey Wimey Stuff

   It's been a little over 24 hours since the announcement that Jodie Whittaker would be the next in line to battle Daleks and Cybermen as the 13th Doctor in the Doctor Who series, and to many angry misogynists disappointment, the world is still turning.

Seriously fellas, its 2017, this whole preconceived notion that it has to be, "Male First" all the time needs to stop. We live in a better age now, one where gender roles should not matter, what should matter is equality, ability and talent, which is the only reason why Ms. Whittaker was chosen. Talent. Look into it as much as you want, conspiracy theorize to your hearts content, you'll still be wrong. She was chosen for her skill. Its not about gender this time.

Now yes, I'm new to the Doctor Who scene, but i'm not new to the geek world. You see i've been around the block quite a few times, and what I see now screams of hypocrisy. Up until I wanna say maybe 12 years ago, being a geek, being into comics, sci-fi, fantasy and wizardry was not considered, "cool." In fact, it brought about quite a great bit of ridicule and abuse, some of it physical.

Now that many people have embraced the geek world, or, "nerd culture" as it has been commonly called (side-note: I don't particularly like that term.), there has been a backlash directed at those who seek to make peace with the geeks of the world. And I have to ask you, how does that make anything right? I'll answer for you. It doesn't. It makes you just as bad a person as those who mistreated you, if not worse. Once people seek to learn something new and embrace what you see as, "yours" (side-note number 2: its all of ours.), the correct response is to engage that person and show them just why you enjoy what you do, get them interested in it the same way you did, and then you instantly gain a new friend, a new person to talk to and the world becomes a better place.

Now a lot of this backlash over the past few decades especially has been unfairly, unjustly and idiotically directed at minorities and women.

This irritates me to Hulk-like levels. The thought that a fictional alien who travels around in an old London police box through time and space cannot be a female for....whatever stupid reason would be laughable if it weren't so plainly moronic. Surely these, "Strong-willed men of men" had or have a mother, sister, wife, daughter or girlfriend at some point in their lives. What would these ladies think? What would their mother, who raised them, fed them, clothed them, bathed them, cleaned up after them think about the fact their son thought of their gender as a lesser than equal?

Women should not have to defend themselves to the fragile male ego any longer. We've gone into actual space, because of women. We've conquered diseases, because of women, hell we exist because of women.

Someone in some dusty online forum commented, "there'll be bras all over the Tardis!"...because Tennant, Eccleston, Smith, Capaldi and every other Doctor left their BVD's laying around...? I don't remember seeing any of Rose's or Martha's bras hanging off a railing...though, admittedly again, i'm a bit new at being a Whovian. When did the importance of a fictional aliens placement of undergarments become more important than the actual reason we became a fan anyway? Not since Superman lost his trunks have people been so concerned about the genital region of a fake character.

Once we learn to stop being afraid of change, and I need to practice a lil of what I preach there as well, we can all pay attention to what will in all likelihood be a wonderfully told fresh set of adventures and stories for us to enjoy.

I for one, look forward to this. You should as well. You need to open your mind to new ideas and erase archaic ones. The human mind, like something else I know of, is bigger on the inside.

Send PD Back In Time!

   Ok, so a lot of you have commented on my running over the years, and some of you have joined me both in training runs and in big races, and for that I will be forever thankful. Since a few years ago I decided to focus all that run energy on to a bigger item.

And today I'm announcing that the number 7 item on my bucket list is a go. I will be running the 2017 New York City Marathon for Team Fox to help raise funds for the The Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson's Research . The race will be November 5th, starting around 9am at the Verrazzano Narrows bridge and ending 26.6 miles later in Central Park.

You can help!! The fundraising goal given to me by the foundation was $3200. Deep breath in. I know, i know....its a lot. But i'm not asking each person to donate $3200, as nice as that would be...I'm just asking for a few bucks here and there.

This is something extremely important to me. Not just the running. Helping others who are in need is perhaps the greatest thing about this whole endeavor.

At the end or start of this message depending on how the post works, there will be a link to my Team Fox profile with info on how to donate.

You can also message me for details on how to join my team if you want to tackle the challenge yourself.
Expect more posts in the coming months as I spam your feeds with this. :-PFeel free also, to share this with as many people as you can.

This is a great thing, a wonderful thing in fact, and very important to our future. The future is an important thing, for as Doc Brown said, "your future hasn't been written yet, no ones has, so make it a good one."


https://fundraise.michaeljfox.org/2017-TCS-NYC-Marathon/LCPhotowerx

Fifteen Catalysts

   Time is an odd thing. It is often said that, "as time passes, old wounds heal." What is often left out is the fact that sometimes, when wounds heal, they leave scars. Scars are everlasting, and usually...hidden. But, on occasion a scar is used as a turning point, or sometimes even shown with pride, so to say, "I was wounded, but here I am, still breathing, resiliently defying..."

Fifteen Years ago, we, as a people, were wounded. The scars are not hidden, yet we have somehow become frightened of expression and of compassion. We have used a once galvanizing clarion call fade into the background. Thousands of people gone in one day. We vowed to do right by them, to make ourselves better, but it is now difficult to see that solemn promise being kept.

I have watched, for years as the people in charge chanted, "we will remember!"...then shook my head as many, including my friends got sick and succumbed to the toxic cocktail they inhaled. It took a, "fake news anchor" who exhibited genuine human outrage to right the wrong, though his efforts were successful, for many, it was simply too late.

Remembering this day is important to me for a number of reasons. One is to educate, both myself and those who come after me, that in the darkest of times, goodness does actually shine through. Another reason to remember, for me is to set firmly the demarcation line of where my naivete ended.

I look at my, "Old Life" in the days before that one with fond memories, and while it wasn't always a picnic, it had a certain carefree feel to it. I enjoyed it, my youth. I miss it. I look back at photos of myself and friends and smile, thinking of how much better things were. Each day, I'd wake up and go about my day with relative ease in regards to the world around me. I'd go to bed each night, say goodnight to my turtle, Barney, whom just passed away two weeks ago, after being my constant, my pal for twenty five years...I'd then drift off to sleep, dreaming of another grand adventure awaiting me the next day.

Now, I glance at the world around me, and find cynicism and morbidity taking an ever increasing foothold on the collective consciousness of society. Hope and good will are being replaced by myopic attitudes and cruelty. We as a people, as a race are supposed to advance....culturally, mindfully, healthily and personally.

"Here comes another liberal minded rant", some will undoubtedly say, rolling their eyes. And that is where the problems begin. We are so consumed with defining others, putting them in a pre-labeled box before we get to know them, without realizing we're putting ourselves in the same type of box.

"We live in a great age, where we can accomplish great things.", others will say, boastfully. Terrific statement, yet we couldn't even take care of our own after Katrina. The U.K. can't even decide what it wants to do, and North Korea is one stubbed toe away from a potential nuclear annihilation. "It's just politics.", the saying goes. That is essentially the same concept as driving a car with no tires. You know how to can fix it, but you go ahead and let it happen because you're too lazy.


There is absolutely zero evidence supporting the statement that we live in a, "Great age." And the blame for that lies within us. We were given opportunity after opportunity to better ourselves and at nearly every step of the way, we stumbled. "We're gonna give you better healthcare options, so you can see more doctors, but that medication you need to keep you alive? $600. Don't have it? oh well, enjoy death!", "An original idea for a movie? Psshh...we're gonna do that movie you saw and liked years ago, but change everything! The Shawshank Redemption is now set in a downtown Phoenix daycare facility!"

I don't remember the 60's or the 50's, primarily because I hadn't been born yet. But from what I've been told, and seen, parts of it were refereed to as, "The Greatest Generation." Once you get past segregation, threat of atomic death, and sexism, sure, we can call it that. Back then, we landed on the moon and, which gave us the will to dream for better, the economy was booming, family meant something, and the civil rights movement was in full gear. We used to fight for things that mattered. Now we fight because "my team is better then yours."

We aspired to be better for our future generations. Now we strike down laws because some jagoff politician in Texas wants his constituents to be able to carry an assault rifle to Arby's in the event their sandwich isn't cooked right. Countries oppress love because of some misguided interpretation of a book. We make people famous for no reason, and belittle those who should actually be praised. Then out come the "matters masses." without realizing they're all being divisive. And in return, more people are sacrificed for what essentially matters to nothing.

Fifteen years ago, in the days following, we cared, we showed compassion, good will, and kindness to everyone, the world over. We may have boasted, but it was part of coping. Now we boast because we're the lunatic in the room screaming at a light switch.

We once constructed things that mattered, bridges and railroads to carry people everywhere, hospitals and libraries, schools and homes for all. Now we build soaring glass clubhouses to honor the wealthy and unworthy, while many others, who actually are worthy, call a piano box home.

The wealthy want to explore the universe, meet other beings, and this is something I agree with, but I wish they could see that we haven't even figured our selves out yet. Much of the ocean world remains a mystery to us, as do our own bodies. Land on Mars? Great idea, I'm actually in 100% support of that, but first, lets maybe get a cure Parkinson's so we don't have to see people like Micheal J. Fox suffer anymore. Let's get Lupus and MS nipped in the bud so I don't have to see my friends go through pain ever again. Is this the world we really want to show?

There was a time when we once interacted with each other, searched, discovered and explored the world around us, but now, we sit behind glass and plastic screens and abuse, mock and deride. We rate, we click and we drool, but we don't live. We ignore others just build a digital farm, while the impoverished dig in dumpsters for dinner. But remember, we live in a great age, where everyone gets a piece of the pie right?

Money is hard to come by these days, and I don't blame any one specific person or group. It has been my belief that our over-reliance on most technology to the point of which it has even invaded our toilet paper tubes, is causing more harm then good. Not everyone is adept when it comes to technology, not everyone wants to be, and some are simply inaccessible to it. But when you create an object which has the sole purpose of rendering another object obsolete, you then extinguish an entire legion of employment in that sector, creating a valley of talented, hard working and educated individuals who now find themselves aimless.

I'm really happy your iphone can shoot 9 megapixels, but do you know what ISO is? Got a great filter there I see. Only took you a swipe to add it huh? What about the hours of prep work a real photographer goes through to make sure the shot is perfect? Guess that means nothing now huh? I'll just use my degree as a dinner plate now thank you. All those years of hard work will taste really good with this Chicken Piccata.

They say money can't buy you happiness, which may be true, but it sure as hell can keep the bills away and put food in my stomach. I don't want billions. I just want to survive. And right now I don't feel like I'm even doing that. I feel like I am treading water with a 50 pound weight tied to my ankles.

I haven't been truly happy in a long, long, long time. I don't remember the last time I was to be honest. I had a connection with happiness, maybe it was in my childhood, but now I just have spits and spurts of random joy, which, while nice, isn't what life should be about. I am aware adult life is not an everyday party. And I know I'm not perfect, no one is supposedly. I guess that most people at their core are decent and kind, but even those, I feel far behind from.

I was careless with someones emotions once, and I'll be paying the price for it for the rest of my days. My best piece of advice on this matter is something that was given to me once by a friend who was a police officer, and its something i've tried, but likely failed at...maybe it will serve others better. He once told me, regarding another matter, "Go with your gut, your cut will get you home at night." He, of all people would know. Extrapolate on this a little and apply to other facets of life, particularly to the one you love the most. Learn from my mistake.

It's not just frustrating to know exactly what you want out of life but can't get it, its infuriatingly sad, and leads to a defeatist mindset. Maybe i've become as cynical as the rest, but I can't help it.

I've been trying to understand the meaning of being. I can't grasp it. We live our lives, day in, day out, often repeating the same schedule, acquiring mass quantities of everything and nothing along the journey, consuming them rapidly, and then relieving ourselves of them. We recycle this patern until we to are eventually relieved of our life. So if we live just to eventually die, whats the point in everything in between?

I know my place in the world. If the two year fruitless job hut i'm currently enduring is any proof, I'm also not that important. I'm insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and any chance I've had to accomplish great things has likely gone by. I hope i'm wrong, but chances are, I won't be remembered in 200 years.

That being said, I am still effortlessly stubborn at times, and that is why I haven't quit yet. I will battle the darkness just for the sheer sake of pissing it off. Maybe that's the New Yorker in me, maybe its part of my mothers Irish heritage, I'm not sure. She passed in September of 2003, just another notch in the framework that leads me to utterly despise this month. I'm not one for attaching personal meaning to songs, but when Green Day released, "Wake me up when September ends.", I couldn't help but feel like they were in my thoughts. One of the lessons I learned during that time was to get to know your parents. You may disagree with them and that's ok, but they are your parents. They are, unpretentiously, the greatest link to your existence, and one day, they won't be there.

Aside from that , I, as always, look to my friends. I've had many and lost many, some through my own idiocy, some just through the passage of time, but the are a select few who I've learned will always be there for me. Be it sitting in a garage eating bubblegum on a random summer afternoon, putting their arms around me when the world was falling apart, or some who seamlessly mix top hats, aviator sunglasses and sledge hammers because, it really is no big deal. I keep these people around because the older I get, the more I realize I need these people, and just maybe, they need me.

I think about others mortality more then my own. as I said, I know my place, its not very high up. Others are more deserving and that's why I care about others more then myself sometimes. Those weather alerts I give out that people laugh and scoff at? I do that because I want to use my well educated and knowledgeable weather brain to help people. 

I don't have money, so I can't help that way, I'm not in the greatest physical condition, so that's out, but I want to assist in anyway I can. If I could sacrifice myself so that everyone I care about doesn't die, I would, and the fact that I can't...eats at me sometimes. I can't fix the fact that I worry about these things. I worry constantly. About the future. About the present, and about the past. And here's the masochistic thing; I know that worrying about it won't do anything, but I can't stop myself, I can't stop my brains constant motions. Its one part of a larger problem, one that cannot be easily fixed.

It has been said that everyone dies alone. But if I mean something to someone, anyone, if I helped someone, if even a single person remembers me, then maybe I haven't truly"died." Maybe none of us have. I'm an Atheist. I don't believe in religion, but i'd like to hope that my life, and everyone's lives have meaning, or purpose, or, as Carl Sagan once said, "It's an awful waste of space."

Glory Gets All The Green

   The doors of the elevator opened with a typical ding, and the usual wooshing motion as most elevators do. This despite the atypical stair count. One Hundred Three.

   "I must be insane.", I thought to myself as I stepped onto the skydeck floor of the Sears Tower(I refuse to use that other name.). Immediately, A sense of overwhelming emotion overtook me. The skyline I gazed down on...was not one I was used to.

   "No, this isn't right," I thought. "This is not home." To the left was a lake, not Brooklyn and Queens. To the right, endless landscape, uninterrupted for as far as I could see, not the Hudson river. Most jarring of all? What lay in front of me. It was not the Flatiron, leading to the World Trade Center, eventually offering a glimpse of my home of Staten Island. It was more skyline, this time with a lake end capping its reach.

   Yup, I definitely wasn't home anymore. This fact I had known for at least 24 hours. Hell, I knew it even before we entered Chicago. I knew it when we, that being my friends and travel pals(re: willing victims), Chris and Lauren stopped along I-80 in front of a sign that proudly exclaimed, "Welcome to Ohio!"

   We would later discover the exclamation point offered far more hope then it should have. You see, Ohio is a wide empty space, not to unlike donald trumps brain. I do believe a travel guide of Ohio would be as fun a read as a book on the history of tissue paper. I had to think long and hard about that joke, because not much can compare to the monotony of a drive through Ohio. Maybe C-span?

   I'm sorry, I trailed off. That's likely because I left a part of my brain somewhere  back in Ohio.

   I was taken aback by my emotional response. I didn't quite understand it, and I still can't fully wrap my mind around it. It was almost as overwhelming as the intense vertigo and unbalance I felt atop that building, but not as strong.

   Two weeks later, after recanting the tale of my trek to the Windy City, I've been greeted with another response. One of raucous joy. One of my friends pounded down on an exercise table, seemingly more excited than I was. This surprised me even though I've found this to be a common thread, and today I was told why. "You don't go anywhere, you live in a bubble."

   This much is true. I do live in my 5...well...pretty much 3 borough bubble. I don't get out muc...well...ever. Being in another timezone, even one right next to mine, was a first for me. Having deep dish pizza was a new experience(one i'm still trying to wrap my stomach around, though it wasn't bad), as was seeing a fire truck with a black top.

   That's life when you have Asperger's. It's a type of Autism. Some of the symptoms, at least a few of which I have; include a difficulty in maintaining relationships, an inflexible adherence to routine and self sustainability, an extreme focus on a subject to a point of obsessiveness, and environmental sensitivity. I was sadly diagnosed with a learning disability later in life, which made pinning down the exact type difficult, but, with research, its been made a little easier. Sadly, however, this is just the tip of the iceberg of my medical troubles. More on that another time, maybe.

   My main purpose for the trip was to work Comic Con Chicago, or as its lovingly called, C2E2. I would use whatever skills people thought I brought to the table, be they wearing a fire helmet for hours on end, or yammering on about my new camera to the point of exhaustion, as I once again managed autographing department for another con. The, "Con-Life" we call it, cognizant of the fact we are likely never to be mistaken for hardened criminals.

   The secondary purpose for the trip was to fulfill my brains desire to see the, "Second City" I'd been so obsessed over for years, even though I couldn't, and still in many aspects still can't figure out what the pull is. It's as if some unseen force is telling me to find or do something there. I still don't know what that, "something" is, and i'm not sure when i'll find out.

   One thing however, did dawn on me. One reason this journey took place was my need to get out of my bubble. This was my brain's way of telling me, "This is where the journey starts." Why it chose Chicago first is anyone's guess. Perhaps its the similarity to New York, as to ease me into the trek. Maybe there is something more for me there and I simply haven't found it yet...maybe I found part of the puzzle. Maybe it's preparing me for greater things when I get to Washington D.C. later this year, I'm not sure.

     I am sure of one thing. Despite every thing holding me back, i'm grateful to have accomplished what I once thought was out of my reach. Hell, even the day of, I was still convinced it wasn't happenning.

   I'm happy it did. I'm happy I breathed in the cool Lake Michigan air. I'm happy I got to hug Ryan and Brittany. I'm happy to have met Enrique and Toni. I'm happy I heard the little Gelfling laugh. I'm happy I got to experience life an hour slower. I'm happy I that I want to do it again, because, in my mind at least, that means I did something right out there, whatever it may be.

   I'm happy that all of you are happy for me, because it means, despite all my shortcomings, despite all my problems, I still have friends. There is happiness in friendliness, but glory in friendship, and with you all at my side, I have glory days ahead.

The Paramus Holiday Inn

   In six days I will be able to purchase large quantities of my favorite food group, Chocolate, for heavily discounted prices. Except that with no steady income, I really shouldn't.

But I will allow myself a few pieces because its nice to treat myself every so often.

Undoubtedly, many of the chocolates purchased in the coming days will be accompanied with other sugary treats, along with flowers, cards, a gold metal bikini(I know there are a few of you out there.), and in some cases a rock that indicates you will soon be part of a joint bank account. Yippie for you.

Cynical? Yes, yes I am. I've seen love before, in its many forms.

Love for a sports team...until that team cashes out on itself and its fans in favor of the almighty dollar. Love for a fanbase...until that fanbase becomes so self-involved it alienates its core. Love for a food...a food so tasty that you know you can eat it forever, until you find yourself hunched over a toilet at 3am.

But love of another person? It never worked out for me. Oh sure, i've had my fair share of crushes...who hasn't? But that one form of unconditional love, what the Greeks commonly call, "Agape", wherein one that sees the person for who they are, regardless of flaws, shortcomings or faults? That type of love that everyone really wants? Well, I failed miserably at that.

I had my chance, I truly believe I did. The best part of it was, I wasn't looking for her, nor she for me. It just happened. It was lightning. It just felt right, felt natural, not forced. After countless pursuits, it just...happened.

But I blew it. She opened up to me, I to her, until I sabotaged myself. I got in my own way. So used to the proverbial bad luck that I call my life, I was unable to process the simple fact that, "Hey jackass, she likes you for you." was staring me straight in the face. The toxic mixture of fear, ignorance and stupidity was one I moronically drank, leaving the aftertaste of complete regret in my system.

I don't know what would have happened if I, for once, took a chance at being happy. I don't know if i'd be running marathons with her, or if i'd be building a house with her, or if i'd be with someone else entirely. I don't know this because I didn't take the chance. It's a regret i'll have to live with for the rest of my life.

You're only given a finite number of chances at real happiness in life, I believe. I had one, and I let it slip away. There aren't any second chances for a guy like me.

And I know you're saying, "that's not true.", "there are other fish in the sea", and every "don't give up" cliche that you can think of. I've heard it all. I've done the math, which by the way, I suck at, and I know where I stand. I stand alone. But i'm ok with this. Really, I am. This is restitution for my actions. This is my punishment, and it is exactly what I deserve.

Let mine be a cautionary tale. Don't let your fears dictate your other emotions. If you get, "silly little butterflies in your stomach.", don't ignore it, don't push it aside. Embrace it.

If misery is what follows you, take the path to happiness. Trust me, it's exactly the detour you need. If doubt seeps in, plug it with belief. Belief that you are an amazing person and that you deserve to be happy.

Liberté

   In the middle of New York harbor stands something not many know about, even if they think they do. It is an Eiffel Tower of sorts, one not visible from the open skyline, but from the inside of the Statue of Liberty.

   This structure is in fact, what is keeping the statue upright, it is the statues skeleton. It is ingenuity designed by a brilliant individual, Gustave Eiffel, a French individual, as part of a gift to America.

   It is now that very same integrity, compassion and generosity that the French people are exhibiting in the face of a truly despicable act. The courage and grace the are showing in light of todays tragedy is something we can all learn from.

   Sadly, this is something they have seen before. Sadly, this is something we too have seen before. The coming days will see many reactions, ranging from grief to anger, and likely everything in between. This is a natural human reaction to a catastrophic event. One reaction that I fear is unwarranted violence. Violence is not an answer to an act of violence. This is not an example where, "fighting fire with fire" will solve anything. "An eye for an eye" will not end this. Nor will a rush to judgement without knowing the facts.

   Today was a terrible, terrible day. The best way to combat it, is to celebrate life. Give. Live. Love.

   There has been an image that has caught on in the past few hours. It features the Eiffel Tower as a peace symbol. That is not simply the French way, it should be the universal way.

   Some will argue that this is not the time for peace. This is the time to react with, "swift, unquenching, unrelenting justice." I ask you, what, precisely will this accomplish? Violence begets more violence.

   There are many who argue that these are, "terrorist masterminds." No they're not. "Masterminds" are brilliant people who solve hunger, cure diseases, discover new species and reach for the stars. No, the people who did this were cowards who hide behind a shield of weakness and fear. They are afraid of the freedom and lust for life that the people of France and the rest of the civilized world relish and enjoy every day.

   We as a race, as a people are better then the sum of our weakest. The strength of our kindness is what we should choose to put in the spotlight.

   What was the response of the French people following todays acts? They opened their doors to offer safe harbor to those in need. Normal citizens, in the midst of a city gripped by the unknowing terror of cowards, giving refuge to total strangers. That is what today should be remembered for. Humanity. Love. Compassion. Hope. Giving.

    That gift Gustave Eiffel helped fashion stands in the middle of our harbor not just as a gift from the French, it was proof that they stood, defiantly on the side of Liberty and peace with us in a time of struggle. Now it is our time to stand with them, to lift them up when they've been knocked down.

   Our best self must be shown. It is not the fire of a gun or an explosion for which this day should be remembered, but the fire of, "Liberty Enlightening The World." that should resonate. That is human way, and as we witnessed tonight, the French way.

Vive la France!

Blue Thunder

   When i write about today, i usually try and put a positive spin on things...try and encourage light through the darkness. This year however, that might be a difficult task to accomplish.

Personally, the past 14 years have been one unending roller coaster, and now, I fear i'm at the lowest dip on the ride, and i'm just not sure I have enough gas in the tank to make it to the top.

Fourteen years ago, the world changed, irrecoverably. Your world and mine. Fear replaced joy, anger replaced common sense, and i'm still not sure it can ever be the same, and in some ways, I fear we've...i've...grown so accustomed to this way of living, instead of fighting to restore the world we once knew, we fight to further isolate ourselves, to push away those we love, and those that love us. We turn away help instead of asking for it, we lash out, with hostile abandon at the slightest thing. We shun differences behind a mask of acceptance. It's sad.

I'm sad. Yes, woe is me, as the the cliche goes. Well, to be honest, woe is an apt way to to describe my current situation.

I remember the summer of 1994. I remember the heat seeping in through the windows of our apartment. It would bake the wooden doors and give off this ever so slight sweet smell that would permeate through the house, like every summer. To me, that was the sign summer arrived. Sure the calendar would say June 21 is the true start to summer(and my birthday), but to me, summer actually began when that scent entered my nostrils. That summer was, for some reason, to me at least, the pinnacle of my life, it was where I thought all things would be possible. I thought I could accomplish anything.

I was foolish. As I lay here in my darkened room, body wrecked and mind weary, I look back at that time and shake my head.

One can only endure so many hits, so much bad news until you wonder, "what the hell am I doing wrong?" Bills. Injuries. Lost family. Lost Loves. Lost Friends. Loss of peace of mind. Life is loss, thats all it seems to be.

Lately I find myself laying awake in bed each morning, asking, internally, "whats the point?", then I shuffle my feet to the floor and press through the day, numbly trudging through the seemingly endless "thank you for your interest, but we've decided to look at other candidates." emails. I look up at my diploma, a framed reminder of tirelessly learning a skill that I really have no true talent in. Then my eyes shift to a wall of framed photos. Photos of friends and family, all of them smiling. Enjoying life as it should be. I silently wonder when i'll see these people....if i'll see these people again. No one wants to be around, "Mr. Woe is me.", I mutter to myself. A 33 year old joke that life has passed by.

"Whats the point?" I again ask myself. This time my glance turns over at my running shoes, positioned neatly under weights that i'm unsure of when i'll be able to lift again.

In many ways, I think I injured more then my arm, I injured my psyche. Perhaps that was always damaged and this simply brought it to the forefront. It made me realize how fragile things can be. It's personally reminiscent of that day fourteen years ago, when the realization that reality is at times, needlessly tragic.

I'm not ok. I don't know how to be ok, I know what people say makes them ok. They think because it worked for them, it will work for everyone. That's not how things work. Things don't simply, "get better" because of a magic pill, or a happy picture. It requires a lot more, and i'm just not sure how to go about it anymore. I've exhausted option after option, and been met with no results. This is something I find ironic in our, "mental health is the most important thing!" culture.

It's incredibly hard sometimes, to even go outside, with an ever encroaching fear, dread and sense of worthlessness in your system. I think that part of me sometimes hates my life so much right now that i'm at the point where one big motivating factor is that I want to get revenge on my own bad luck so much I just keep plowing through the day just to piss my bad luck off. I'm stubborn like that. I can't keep that up forever though. No one can. Thats not how you live life. You're supposed to be happy right? Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. Thats one of our rights, isn't it?

Well, i'm still waiting on it to come to fruition. I've tried to make happen, but to little or no avail. Trying and failing time after time after time is not ennobling, its simply exhausting.




Once more, I glance up at the picture wall. I see the photo of Larry Sullivan. Ok Larry...I'll keep pushing.

   I'm listening to KISS now. It was my cousin Joe's favorite band. As I start to write this tome, the date reads June 25th. He has been gone two years. This October he would have turned 47.

   As far as blood family goes, he was more like a big brother then a cousin. More of a mentor and a best friend then any of my family, outside of my parents of course. Joe was far greater a person then I could ever hope to be.

   He, in spite of seemingly endless tough breaks never let the world keep him down for too long. He was the quintessential optimist in a world that, at times, seemed to revel in negativity. When, during, "the storm", he lost it all, he still managed to put on a brave face, smile, and find a ray of sunshine through it all.

   That he always, to this day manages to put a smile on my face is something I wish he knew. Be it through his kindness of heart, or his, and I am not exaggerating here, endless stories, he always found a way to pick me up. If I lived life half the way he did, it'd be an accomplishment.

   He will always be my best friend.

The E-Street Band, Performing Live At The Enchantment Under The Sea Dance!

   I don't exactly remember the last words my mother said to me. She was far gone by that point, physically, whereas, I was too far gone mentally and emotionally. I know I was afraid. I didn't know how i'd carry on without her.

   12 years later it still seems like just yesterday. Its kind of difficult to grasp how much has transpired in what in my mind anyway, amounts to a short period of time. Twelve years shouldn't have rushed by as quickly. But I look to where I am now as opposed to then and I think the trials I went through prepared me to better survive those of today.

   She knew and accepted the outcome of her diagnosis and faced it without fear. She did not fight it, which at the time angered me. Then I realized, after a while, in some odd way, she gave me her final bit of strength to fight what would be the hardest time of my life. Its as if she knew the days ahead would be filled with difficulty, but somehow, I made it through. I've often told of how trying those times were, and sometimes been met with, "how did you not jump off a bridge?" For starters, I don't like heights. Unless there's rope involved, I do not like them. Even then, i'm not a fan. But...I made it becuase she gave me the strength. For the record, i'm an Atheist full and through, but I know, in some way, she helped me through it all.

   Shes not in the clouds looking after me. I'm well aware of that. If that was the case, I wouldn't be going through what I am now. But I know, inside me, shes there in some way. She is the reason people claim I make good art. If dressing my friends up in costume is what she had in mind at the time, i'm unsure of that, but I am sure I enjoy it, and she would absolutely love that. She loved the idea of art, of creativity, be it with a paintbrush or a pencil.

   I choose to remember her by trying to make my own kind of art. I use a camera. Or multiple cameras. The camera holds memory, both in physical and psychological form. You look at a photo and your mind snaps to what was happening at that moment, and the mind starts to imagine. And thats what I love about the art of photography. It gets the imagination in motion. That in turn, gives the spark to the engine that will produce excellent or horrible ideas. The only way to find out what the result is to go for it. Make art. Good or bad.

   Thats what she would want me to do, and thats what I am doing. I'm doing something. I'm in motion.

   I find that when i'm not in motion, I struggle more. I think thats one of the reasons I run. I feel better when I run. I don't like stopping. I don't like stasis.

   I like energy. I like movement, flow, locomotion. Maybe one day i'll stop, but for now, I just have to keep on going. Keep moving, keep pushing, keep producing. And there again, is the big message. Keep doing, keep going, but above all, keep being excellent. Thats what she would want, and i'm fairly sure all our maternal figures would want.

Boxing With Doc Hollywood And The Geenie

   I've been working to get a photo project off the ground where I photograph people looking up at me as I stand on a slightly elevated position facing down. The whole thing came about from something I've noticed. Everyone looks down these days. Literally and figuratively. Smartphones, Tablets, Smartwatches. Down, Down, Down. I'm guilty of it as well.

   The past few weeks in general have had a downtown look towards them. Building explosions, journalists passing away, terror attacks...its all so depressing. I'm already depressed, so i suppose this project is another one of my many ways to find an outlet...or a means to help fight that depression.

   So, with that in mind, i'm calling it, "Always looking up." I took the title from Michael J Fox's first book, of the same name, with the subtitle, "the adventures of an incurable optimist."

   Now i won't go as far as to call myself that, but I tend to skew towards hope and light in the world as opposed to darkness, which is why my geek hero of choice was Superman. No disrespect to Batman, whom I also like, but I need light and happy in my world. I know a lot of folks tend to say, "The world is not a happy place." Well, those people need to watch a baby laugh. That'll change their mind right quick.

   With this in mind, in the coming days, weeks and months, i'm gonna need some help with this and a few other projects, so if you could be so kind, keep yer eyes open, and look up, you might catch a glimpse of something wonderful.

Effie, Brace Yourself...The Mayor Threw Thunder In Jail

   Earlier this month would have been my mothers birthday. Each year I try and write a little something to keep my mind at ease. The whole idea of writing is something that came about as sort of a cathartic way to cope with the eleventh of September, and has sort of morphed into an even further form of catharsis.

   I'm not a writer by nature, I'm a photographer, as well as a kind and gentle lover, or so i've been told by...well no one. But maybe that lucky someone will say it. More then likely she'll say, "what are you doing? you do know this isn't Showtime After Dark right?"

   But yes, I'm a photographer. People sometimes ask me, "Luke, how many batteries did you lick as a kid?" followed by, "Why do you stick with photography when you should be doing anything else?" After informing them it was only 15 batteries and that they were only triple A's....I get to answer the other question, and i've come up with this answer; Photography for me is utterly freeing which is a bit...interesting, in that i'm essentially freezing a moment forever. If that sounds a bit oxymoronic, it is, but bear with me.

   Photography is a beautiful thing. When I have a camera in my hands, I instantly feel better about the world. I won't say all problems disappear, but they seem further away. I feel like i'm in my element, like its where I belong. From the feeling of a shutter click to the smell of a darkroom, from the euphoria of a shoot gone well, to the weary happiness at the end of a long edit...it all just feels right. Thats what I love about photography. But lately it seems as though it's not good enough for the world.

   No one cares if you are passionate about something it seems. You're simply looked upon as some kind of obsessive lunatic who doesn't know how to, "grow up." as they say.

   My mother wouldn't have stood for that. She didn't. She did things her own way. She dreamed, just like I do. Today, twenty nine years ago, seven others followed their dreams on the backs of legends, and though they took a different path, and their ride to Valhalla, like my mothers, ended far too soon, I am here to pick up the reins.

   I am here because I am too damn stubborn to quit. It's hard, life has always been that way, especially lately, but through every time I cry, I somehow hope to gain a little strength from it. I don't know how...Inspiration is a fickle thing, but when it does strike, it carries me further and further each time.  One day its photographing book biting girls, the next its capturing the moment that pie goes -SPLAT!- in someones face.

   Everyone finds their own inspiration, be it through photography, cooking, acting, etc., I just hope that people stay with their chosen passion and not let too much reality take it away. As the great Robin Williams once said, "You are only given a little spark of madness, you mustn't lose it."

Rooftop Plumbing With Teddy Roosevelt

    Christmas while in serious debt, and without a job or money is a depressing situation. Christmas with an ailment is even worse.

    I’m desperately attempting to remain optimistic, to stay positive, which became a bit easier in light of everyone’s uplifting, encouraging messages recently, which did help. Still, situations being what they are, its extraordinarily difficult. And while I’m happy I got my card done, and happy that it seems a majority of you hopefully enjoy it, I still cannot shake the searing pang of helplessness and despair, which crushes me even more. Ailments will do that I suppose.

    Christmas is something I’ve always enjoyed, since I was a kid. Its something my late mother loved, and that is something I’ve tried, again, desperately, to carry on for her. Every year, we prep for it, as i often say, "the way NASA preps for a launch." I remember, the first year we moved into this house, 2001. That Christmas was utterly...absolutely...excellent, which was strange considering it was only a few months after September 11th and no one knew how to feel. I remember our house being packed with so many people it overflowed outdoors, and at one point someone had to park on the lawn due to lack of spots on the street…There was just a feeling of joy, the way it should be, it was a bit of a catharsis, a moment to let your hair down. I loved it. It remains, for me, my favorite Christmas.

    I tried like mad to duplicate it every year since, with diminishing degrees of success, and I’m unsure it will ever happen at this point, with my family shrinking ever so rapidly, and with friends moving on or moving away.

    One thing I do have a solid feeling on however, is that this Christmas will be the first in which I haven’t had a job in quite some time. “Take any job” they say, without realizing just how my brain registers that statement. If I take, “Any job”…I will be stuck there, more miserable then I was before. I will be wasting my talents, and my degree…one that I valiantly battled to acquire, and I will never attain true happiness.

    Confucius is known for saying, “Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” Well, Today, a friend of mine retired after 30 plus years of “work.” I’m fairly sure if you do something that long, you have to love it at least a little bit. That’s what I want. I want to take the important photographs, the ones that matter for centuries, and I’m not afraid to say that.

    I knew…had a fairly good idea anyway, that life would be difficult following the completion of my degree. Everyone tells you that, and having seen the real world firsthand prior to getting my degree, I felt like I had a better…not total, but better idea of just how daunting the future would be, and would be prepared for it. Well, I to say I was wrong would be an understatement of gargantuan proportions. You don’t know depression till you purposely sleep on a couch for weeks because you think, “Beds are for winners.”

    Now, I’m not about to have a “George Bailey moment” if you will, and if you don’t know who George Bailey is, educate yourself. You’ll thank me later. No, I’m not at that point, but this year has kicked me around more then it should have to the point one of the things I enjoyed since childhood, Ghostbusters…one of the things that’s become associated with me more then I care for it to be…means nothing to me anymore, due to the actions of many. And It’s sad when something you used to love becomes work…work that you not only find miserable, but work that eats another childhood memory.

    I need this Christmas. I need the next, I need all of them. It is not about religion, not for me, never was. I am after all an atheist. Its not about receiving gifts. No one will buy that 40 pound bag of marshmallows off my Amazon wish list anyway. Christmas, for me…its about happiness, traditions and memories, be they reminders of good ones from the past, or of the establishment of new ones…that’s what its about for me. It’s about people enjoying the smell of a fresh, giant Christmas tree. It’s about the crunch of cookies, the sound of “Grandma got run over by a reindeer”, the reminiscing of Christmases past.

    New Years isn’t a big deal for me, I’m perpetually alone. No one wants to be around the straightedge guy who sips Pepsi out of a wine glass and chomps on Cheez-It’s and then has nothing to do but be asleep by 12:45...but Christmas…I need it. We all need it. We’ve gotten to far away from it. I want to wake up on Christmas morning to 4 inches of freshly fallen snow and sip hot chocolate. Many have said, it looks like. "Christmas vomits in your house." I love it.

    I want to forget about the negative, if just for a moment, and remember what its like to have hope again, so that maybe I can build off that moment and make it a lifetime. I want everyone to remember what it felt like to be a kid...

I'm Just A Kid From Staten Island.

...A Kid from Staten Island. Sure. Let's go with that. I suppose its good to want to emulate Captain America. Everyone wants to be the hero or heroine, the good one, the pure one, the one with the right moral compass, and especially the one who did it despite all odds. The perfect one who leads others.

   Except i'm not really any of those. I'm not a good guy, i'm not a bad one either though. I'm flawed, immensely flawed at times, and while I've never drank, done drugs, assaulted anyone or been arrested...i'm broken. I've said and done things i'm not proud of. But the comics, the cartoons, the movies, they make it all seem so simple to be flawless, even when they show the flaws. The recovery is so simple.

   "Hey, here's a hero or heroine with a bit of angst, but don't worry...in 20 minutes, or 20 pages they'll get over it and succeed with minimal difficulty!" It's never that simple in reality. The angst, the doubt, the fear...it always stays with you, sometimes it eats at you for what feels like eons.

   Sometimes you get the, "Here's the hero or heroine surviving a 30 foot fall barely a scratch. Watch in wonder as they stand right back up!" Yet I can barely keep my left side from shaking most days due to an ailment I'm too afraid to confront and barely able to understand, thanks in part to a learning disability so hard to diagnose, that my barely functioning doctors on my even less functioning health insurance have all but given up on trying to figure out.

   "Now our protagonist will be asked to solve a complex scenario that will ensure his or her's team a victory instantly!" Nice, but I can't keep my mind from running all over due in part to said previous disability.

   These are some of the battles I face on a daily basis. These and others such as, "I am to crippled with fear to talk to that pretty girl." or, "Let me check my email for the 3rd time in the past 5 minutes"...or my new personal favorite, "Not going for that job that everyone tells me to get because its a job!, and instead holding out for the job I want." Turns out no one wants to hire a passionate photographer with a B/A in his ideal field when, "we can hire someone with an iphone."

   I don't know whats more frustrating, that or the fact that its becoming increasingly difficult to find reliable persons to shoot. You'd think in a city with more then 8 million, you'd find a few willing bodies to pose for a few photos. Apparently not.

   Yet despite all this, I do not lose hope. And i'll tell you why, and roll your eyes if you must, but it might make sense. It might not. Just take the ride. You won't get wet.

   In a few days, on the 25th to be precise, it will be one year since my cousin Joe, who was pretty much a brother to me passed away. It was sudden, and way, way, way to soon. Now, I know, all 6 of you reading this will either tune out, click away to pornhub or the nearest cat video, but for the 2 of you who stuck around, first of all thanks, second of all, read this with an OPEN mind. 

   I'm not going to tell you much about him, because, I realize in all honesty, you likely don't really care. That's ok. You didn't know him, you don't have to know his life story, nor do I want to tell it.What I will tell you is this. He easily was the epitome of the phrase, "He'll give you the shirt off his back." This much was true, and I do recall seeing him shirtless a few times. Chris Evans he was not.  But he really was that kind of a human. Didn't matter if you were a Yankee fan or a Met fan. Man, Woman, cat or dog. He did this regardless of how it impacted him.

   And thats where I get my hope from. The kindness of others. The realization, that in this world, there are real "superheroes", willing to drop anything to help others, regardless of the situation. These superheroes don't always wear capes. They don't always have a badge, drive a firetruck, or even use a stethoscope. These heroes are me, and you, the friend next to you, or the lady on the subway reading the paper.

   Everyday people willing to stand up for the right thing. Friends lending an ear. It doesn't matter. Everyone at some point will have a chance to help someone, maybe once, maybe multiple times. And the person being helped likely won't care about any failings the other person has. Thats what makes humanity great, and what gives me hope, is that chance to be great. Everyone can be great, and once you get a taste of it, you get that spark of hope back, and the challenges seem a lil less daunting, and hope seems all the more eternal.

Light Leaks

   "I'm a nobody," That's what I thought eleven and a half years ago when I first set foot onto the Willowbrook campus of the College of Staten Island. I still, in some ways, believe that statement to be truthful, all this time later. It's depressing, sure, but CSI has a funny way of letting you know just where your place in the world is. For me, I always believed that place to be mid-pack. Perpetually 20th place in a field of 40 race cars. Not special. I may still feel that way today, when I finally exit the campus as a graduate, but if I had my way, I'd escape that place like a greased watermelon on a grassy hill (Larry the Cable Guy, eat yer heart out...Since he now shills for Prilosec, that might not be the best advice.)

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.”

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.

The Reading Room At Arkham

   "You are officially a candidate for graduation.", read the letter...and with that...the hopeful last steps in a decade plus long journey begin, and they scare the crap out of me, At first the prospect of this was to alarming to talk about. And I have no problem admitting to that, for fear has long been a powerful force in the past decade plus for me...both good and bad.

   Fear, in all its forms, is always a motivating tool for me, either holding me back from things or situations that will have some sort of meaningful impact...or pushing me to do what I once thought was impossible.

   Thankfully, lately at least, its been the pushing fear that has been winning out...albeit with mixed results.

   I don't want to look back at my academic life just yet. Its not over, and if I do, that...bad fear...will permeate me, forcing me to a excellent land of panic attacks, cold sweats and shaking more violent then a Staten Island ferries "new" engines. The time will come for that soon enough, for now is the time to plow headlong into the last few weeks of it all. Y'know the thing I shoulda finished years ago? That's what the real kick in the ass has been...and continues to be.

   I'm sitting in classrooms at 10am on a random Wednesday with people born in a year I was a sophomore in high school. I say it to a lot of people repeatedly, many of them being the very people in those classrooms, all the while, the people I deserve to be with, the guy scaling a ladder, the girl with cupcakes, the kid I grew up with who has 3 jobs and is already a homeowner, the girl with a 3 day a week job...have started their lives. 

   It makes me feel like i'm playing a game of catch-up, that I always will. But within them, within the ladders, the cupcakes, inside the cozy house, the 3 day job, they have all given me that extra drive, because they have all given me a piece of themselves, they've worked with my quirks, hell, they've made them shine, and made me realize that the quirks aren't as much a hindrance as I thought.

   Hell, some of these lunatics have even let me hit them in the face with a pie. Thats a whole new level of trust. Or maybe they just really like pie. I know I do. I actually want some right now. Thats me, in the middle of introspection, I think of pie. Apple pie, Lemon Meringue(Which i'll freely admit I had Google help me spell.), Wildberry Pie, Key Lime, Chocolate Pudding...Theres nothing quite as sad as disappointing pie. I had it a few months ago at a place I almost always enjoy, and it damn near ruined my day, but then I remembered one of those people I just talked about, and wrote them a quick text, and it made it all better.

   Thats some kinda power. To help me overcome bad pie, you either have to be part Kryptonian or part Jedi, maybe both. Thats why i'm happy I have these kinda people in my life. I only wish I had the power to show you all how much you mean.

   Wow, now I really want some damn pie. And a good book. Yeah...pie and a good book.
  

The Bully Day

   "Valentines day is every guy's least favorite day. Valentines day is the bully of holidays. It forces love on people who aren't in love." were the ever so fitting words uttered by Allison Pill's "Newsroom" character Maggie. The continuation of that line should have been, "...and reminds those who have no one just how alone they really are."

   Am I complaining? Yes. Yes I am. I'm alone in a city of millions, and that...is an accomplishment I am not proud of.

   I've seen it day after day, night after night with nearly every couple i've ever met, They bitch, moan, scream, fight and are just generally awful for each other, while some of us just lay in bed at night, alone, wishing we had anyone, someone...to hold, to talk to, joke with, put cake batter on each others noses with, run with...its tough. Achingly tough.

   We wonder what we're doing wrong, saying wrong....is it the way we dress? Something we said? Is our face to ugly? Are we too poor? Maybe our brain is too slow to catch it all. Why can't we just say what we wanna say?

   It's fear. Fear of rejection, or even of acceptance. Because with acceptance comes change...and change is scary, it brakes the homeostasis, the familiar, the routine.

   I hate change mostly. It scares me to the bone sometimes. Big change especially. Loss of my grandparents, change. Loss of my mother, change. Loss of My Cousin, Change. Loss of use of my elbow, albeit temporary, change. All of them bad. Change for me has been bad for the most part.

   I want desperately to experience the good change. The change that comes with waking up that one random morning where the sun shines bright and warm and the day is full of seemingly unending energy, so much so i'm bounding through it like rocket on a course to a new planet.

   I want to not fear change. I want the happy, and I know, many, many people will say, "it will come, you just need to wait for it." or, "if you want it, you need to make it happen.", and i've tried both methods, and have, as always, been left questioning myself.

   I'm better then that. I'm the guy who, without question, managed to get on a major movie set with a fake accent. I'm the guy who pied people in the face, who printed photographs on fire hose, the guy with the Ghostbusters logos on his car, the one who painted his old bedroom electric lime green...i'm the guy who in the same year, got a letter of denial from the White House(Which I framed), while simultaneously getting  a Christmas card from In n' Out burger. I managed to bake cookies in my car. I stood up to high school tormentors when no one else would....I think i'm pretty damn excellent.

   I think almost everyone has some excellent, some courage, like love is a powerful and wonderful motivator. It moves us to do great, sometimes stupid things, but mainly great. Hopefully we all get the courage to make it all possible one day.

Waiting To Pound The Miracle Button

I'm a dreamer. I beleive in miracles, I guess I get that from my mother. Yesterday woulda been her birthday. I'd like to think she'd believe in the miracle of me getting as far as I have with all 9....no...still got 10 fingers...whew.

Its not been easy. I've been burned, physically and emotionally (yeah, i know, "woe is me", but this is me writing not you.), as well as frozen (last week when it was oh...-349 degrees comes to mind). I've been strug out, strained, broken and crushed. I've been all but melted and rebuilt from the ground up.

While its not any different or any worse then what others have gone through, its been my battle, so for others to belittle it is bothersome, and to them i kindly extend my demented middle finger as a sign of my not not giving a damn.

Throughout this all, ive learned a few mighty truths.

The past will never, ever truly go away, so stop trying to make it, stop trying to forget it and learn from it. I'm serious. The farther you attempt to run from something the quicker that the "something" will catch up. Trust me, I know about running. I'm the lunatic who runs when its 204 degrees out. (I like it when I sweat so much my clothes stick to me like a superhero. Woooosh!!)If an issue from the past, be it good or bad, confronts you, charge at it headlong...you might find the result to be surprising. The past is vitally, and yes, sometimes achingly important. It reminds us how to build for the future, and reminds us of where we came from, maybe not in the form of a physical place, but in the form of an experience. It the best instruction manual you can use, and since you wrote it, you can read it in whatever damn language you want.

Variety is not always the spice of life. After going down the cookie aisle at the supermarket, I once again noticed a new flavor of Oreo, bringing the current total to....329223. This is more absurd then wearing underwear backwards so the fart escapes via the pee flap.(don't try this at home, try it at work.) This absurd amount of variety is breeding a society so bored with what we have for 5 minutes that it "needs" something new in 3 minutes, which it will then get bored with just as fast, leading to more stressed out workers, who will then never to engage in watercolor conversation about who has an uglier set of argyle socks. 

Technology is not always a good thing. Leave it to a fictional character voiced by James Earl Jones, but when Darth Vader said, "Don't be too proud of this technological terror you've constructed...", he likely had no clue it would resonate so well almost 40 years later. People laud the e-book, but fail to realize the printed book didn't have to run on battery, and when it got wet, all ya had to do was dry it out. They probably didn't realize that by downloading books, the publishers, book binders, and book store workers(myself included), would be out of work. Give me a 4 pound hardcover any day of the week. I'll use it to keep me dry in a storm, then read later while you get an electrical shock from your now soaked nook.

Scary is good. While not always true, more often then not, the old adage of, "the things we are most scared of are the most worth it." is usually spot on...keep in mind this does NOT apply to eating bugs or licking batteries. But being scared of that girl or guy, for whatever reason is not worth the fear. Break through the wall and be a hero, to at least yourself. You'll find that it was worth it, and while it might take a bit, it is worth pushing past the fear. Fear is nothing more then a stuck jelly jar. Its always easier...and far more satisfying to open with a sledgehammer.

While I'm not a philosopher, I do play one on TV...er...if I was on TV. Thats not true. I'd probably play a firefighter...or a race car driver. Or a male cheerleader. Regardless, its possible these could work, but being one who applies to the method of, "not following ones advice"...I might not be so sure. I would like to find out, I would also like to find out what Pepsi Cheetos taste like to. Theres only one way to find out...and maybe, just maybe, i'll get that miracle.

One Of These Years I'm Going To Beat Him To The Check...

   I'm breaking out like a 15 year old right now because i'm stressed. Ironically maybe, stress comes easier now than it did when I was 15. When one is 15, the things we found to be, "stressful" often in the long run turned out to be nothing of the sort. Kind of frightens me for what the future holds.

   When I was 15 life was different, it almost seems a world away...I was still a kid...and everything was magical and the world held promise and hope. Then adulthood comes along and tries to beat it out of you, and it seems that, as of late, it has. This year has not been entirely kinda to me, nor has it been kind to others.

   But, I the eternal optimist, with the 15 year old still living inside me still has hope that the promise of a new better day awaits. After all, thats part of what this season is about, isn't it? Being a kid again? Why limit it to one day, month or season though? Its time to unlace the boots and run in the mud again. Its time to sit on a comfy couch and read comic books. Its time to cover your neighbors car in water on a cold day so it freezes over...alright...maybe not that last one. Unless you have a grouch of a neighbor...which I do. Its time to have a soda drinking...and then burping contest...We need to let our freak flag fly proudly again...

   ...If we don't, we might not get another chance. One thing i've learned this year is that ages old and sometimes irritatingly cliche` mantra of, "life is precious, live today like it could be your last."...I wish i applied that mindset for no practical reason, but sadly I had to.

   Christmas is not about religion for me, I am an atheist after all...but it is about togetherness in regards to the, "life is precious" thing. Spend time with those you like and love. Enjoy that time, enjoy those people, and don't be afraid to open up to them, to joke with them, or to be there for them...unless you happen to be pooping...privacy is important too ya know.

   Realize that some people might spend this holiday alone, and welcome them into your life. No one, and I mean no one should be alone on Christmas, "Home Alone" taught us why. Give an 8 year-old that much freedom and Joe Pesci gets burned, and Joe Pesci doesn't deserve to get burned...nor do the cookies I made, but, hey, ya win some, ya lose some.

   One thing I...you...anyone shouldn't lose is the ability to hope for a better tomorrow, a better year...whether its something as simple as downing a chocolate milkshake without getting an ice cream headache, or something as complex as getting a favorite tv show back on the air(yes, that one), you need to act on what you want. Make that your goal for the next year, not your resolution, because those are meant to be broken...make it your goal.

   Don't accept anything less then what you want(unless it means cracking a brick over someones head, thats considered a felony), or what you deserve. Instead of saying it, go out and do it, give you all, and if you fail, you at least gave 100% effort. Be the person 15 year old you wanted to be, be the person you want to be. Its Christmas dammit. Have some hope.