David Howell Evans, otherwise known as the Edge, lead guitarist for U2. 'Sup, dude? Yeah, so we dropped off an $8 Chardonnay in your dressing room. Hmm. You don't seem pleased. You're telling me you have the palette to differentiate taste between an $8 Chard and an $80 Chard? I don't believe you. I don't remember your Wikipedia entry saying "wine connoisseur."

One day last January, I was told by a prospective suitor to meet him on the NE corner of 33rd and 7th. He had a surprise belated Christmas present for me and punctuality, not always a strong suit of mine, was moderately crucial. With hair done, slight make-up applied, my best jeans, heeled black boots and a long gray sweater that sits elegantly off the left shoulder, I left my apartment just in time to catch the 2/3 train uptown to meet him.

I walked up the stairs to street level where I saw him standing in his nicely tailored coat. I said his name and he turned. At about 6'5, his linebacker frame wrapped around me with my third step onto the sidewalk - he facing the stairs and I facing Madison Square Garden. I was only present with him for a minute before I realized that I was not at work and yet again, staring at this building. Noticing the glance of my direction, he pulled out two tickets to the Pittsburgh Penguins/New York Rangers game that was about to start in T minus 6 minutes. I wasn't really dressed in my standard hockey garb, but at least I looked presentable.

Still, I jumped on him in excitement and away we went. The important part of this whole thing, however, was the conversation between us following the first period of the game:

"I just absolutely love this place."
"You keep saying that... it looks kind of old and in need of renovation to me."
(Blank stare)
"Well, hun, that's not exactly what I mean. I mean a few things... the history - the events and people that have graced this space. The world's greatest everything! Musicians, athletes, actors, dancers, production people, political figures, photographers, comedians, etc... Whether they were performing here or playing here or just coming to watch some kind of event, they have been here. I mean the effort and precision it takes to run a cat show, a Cirque du Soleil performance and a hockey game all in the same night and then do three totally different events tomorrow!"
"I think we're next in line for ice cream, what would you like?"
(Blank stare)
"Mint-chocolate-chip, please."

The Pens didn't score a goal that night, but I realized something very important. That I was in love with an environment. An environment that, with a year's passing, has now become a home, family included. Over the two days of Rock and Roll Hall of Fame shows, I watched the entire U2 set from stage right. I watched multiple performers from a legendary generation of music from every angle that venue has to offer. I got to see and hug my favorite and one of the best stage managers (DMB/Stones/Sinatra/etc.) out there. I got to quote Almost Famous within context multiple times. I watched the front row jump up and down yelling for Bono, yelling for Bruce, yelling for... Mick. I was in a one-of-a-kind position with people I love, yet again. Doesn't matter that it wasn't the best angle to shoot a show. I was home.

Photo: Stage right at the Garden for U2's set. U2's lead guitar, the Edge closest with Bono center stage.

Some of U2's gear from backstage right. The spot in the middle of the frame is lighting Bono downstage center.

Dinner breaks from Cirque du Soleil rehearsals = quiet theater = optimal editing time.

"Let me explain something to you - you have not been standing in front of thirty-thousand decibels for thirty-five years... WRITE ME A NOTE." - Ozzy Osbourne

*Ring* *Ring*

"Hey Jeff, this is Eric. I have some news - some pretty crappy news. My gallbladder's been giving me muchos problemas. Need surgery. Doc says I need two weeks recovery time. No, no - don't worry, I'm fine. I just won't be able to make one little girl's dreams of photographing my hands come true this week at the Hall of Fame's gig at the Garden. Yeah, yeah... I know. Big show. I'm bummed. What's that? Yeah I love that place too. So if you could be a pal and help me out, fill in for me, I would appreciate it. Thanks, Jeff. Yeah, yeah... Jimmy's on vacation. Pete doesn't want to do it. Keith might've died today. Jimi's dead. Carlos is busy making shoes... what can I say? You're my guy, Beck."

Photo: Jeff Beck

Coo coo ca choo, Mr. Robinson.

You go sing "Tracks of My Tears" with Stevie Wonder in 20 minutes. Have a ball.

Photo: Smokey Robinson

Nothing says "I'm performing at the biggest rock concert of the year at one of the most famous venues in the world" like a checkered navy blue velvet suit and black patent leather shoes. Few could pull that combo off as nicely as Mr. John Legend.

Not so much a legend quite yet, Mr. Legend, but you sure are cute.

When you see the Southern Cross for the first time,
You understand now why you came this way
'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from
Is so small, but it's as big as the promise
The promise of a comin' day...

In a somewhat appropriate (I saw/knew where to look for the Southern Cross for the first time in Australia), yet abrupt, transition, I'm going to switch gears to all the crazy happenings of this past weekend at Madison Square Garden before we return to the mystical land of Tasmania. When I posted last night, I tried to ignore my Rock and Roll Hall of Fame folder... but it just kept staring at me. *Sigh* - such a softy when it comes to legendary music.

Not the best shot of CSN, but Stephen Stills is looking at me - who cares if I had a camera in my hand. I also had no flash... under-equipped and doing just fine.

Photo: (L-R) David Crosby, Stephen Stills and Graham Nash Thursday night in the press room at Madison Square Garden.

Do you think he thinks about the possibility of getting stuck?

Launceston countryside.

Not so devilish now, are you Tasmanian Devil? Yes, I'm talking to you...

Speaking of Tasmanian Devil, was anyone else unsure of their existence (or the state's existence, for that matter) when watching Looney Tunes? I would add, "as a kid" to that, but I still watch them... frequently.

The correct plural of platypus is platypuses and NOT platypi. What a bummer.

Photo taken at the "Platypus House" just north of Launceston.

In taking a trip to Hobart from Launceston with Justin and his family my first weekend in Tasmania, I was able to see a lot more of the state than I had expected. Passing mountains, horse pastures, sheep pastures, canola fields and other sorts of farmland, I quickly noticed that I wasn't part of the conversation for a majority of the three-hour trip. For those of you who have spent some time with me, all I can say is that my inability to focus on the audio of the primary situation was certainly in full swing. Had I been driving, it would have taken us about seven hours to get to Hobart, as I would have insisted on photographing everything I passed.

Our destination upon arrival was a darling house owned by a family friend of the Hermans. Again, I was taken aback by yet another beautiful home with an even more beautiful view. With the warmth of the sun frequently luring me into the window's right corner, I couldn't resist the perfect perch with a cup of Earl Grey each time I was in the kitchen.

My final stop on the Australia itinerary had nothing whatsoever to do with work... for once. In a last-minute miracle of scheduling, solid flight prices and a cognitive decision on my part, or both our parts, to breathe, my dear, dear friend Justin flew around the world to meet me (ok, ok, and his family too) in Tasmania.

Justin's father, Dr. Brian Herman, relocated to Tassie over 5 years ago to continue practicing cardiology. Justin makes an annual visit and was kind enough to invite me to come check out Launceston, Tassie's 2nd largest "city".

A lot of sheep. A lot of trees. A lot of farm.

I'd love to write more, but at the moment am in the middle of a Cirque du Soleil load-in at MSG. Byyye for now!

Photo: Sunset from Dr. Herman's back window.

If a red door welcomes opportunity, what does a big red door mean? Justin, maybe you'd like to field this question, based on your experience with this door?

In any case, welcome to Tasmania where big doors stand alone!

Loving parent attempting to communicate with wandering daughter on October 7th, 2009:

Have you left for Tasmania yet? What adventures have you had?

Love,

Dad


Mere hours later...


"Tsunami warning for Australia, New Zealand and Indonesia" - Like I need your mother to see this scrolling along the bottom of the screen on the 10:00 news! What's the scoop? Whatever it is, stay safe! Remember, the shot is not worth it if you don't get to publish it!

Love,

Dad


True Dad, true.


Photo: Getting off the plane in Launceston, Tasmania.

Sunset from the patio... probably right around the time Angus was whipping up some delightful homemade Vietnamese cuisine and I stepped outside to collect my drool.

As mentioned a while back, my stay in a cozy harbor-front apartment (again, arranged so perfectly by Mr. Brad Hayward) was cut rather short due to an angry anarchist/feminist cat from Bushwick, Brooklyn. I'm honestly not sure which part of that I like least. Clearly kitty and I didn't jive too well, which for better or for worse, left me vagabonding it through Kings Cross. After a few nights swapping from hotels to hostels, my dear friend Andy was kind enough to connect me with his step-brother up in Neutral Bay, on the other side of the Harbor Bridge, who happened to be willing to take in a stray American.

Thus I was introduced to Sydney: Act II's lovely cast of characters: Ben, Tanes, Angus and Nadia. Ben and Tanes came to pick me up (in my favorite car ever - Jeep Wrangler/manual trans) at a cozy wi-fi cafe on Elizabeth Bay Road and took me for my first drive across the Harbor Bridge en route to the apartment.

Arriving at Ben's place, I stepped out on his patio to see this view of the city. Pretty cool neighborhood, pretty cool view, pretty cool... music library! First order of business? Commence the music swapping party!

As the great Malibu* might say, "Takin a little brewski, holdin' onto a hard drive full of music and I'mmm fiiiinnnne today."

*Running joke for the past 7 months or so - link courtesy of John.

Lord Nelson Hotel, Sydney's oldest pub, or "hotel" as they call them. Such a wonderful establishment. Fire place, crafted beers and delicious meat pies with mushy peas! Brad was such an excellent tour guide that I was often left speechless with delight. So, let's hear it for Brad, history, beer, traditional cuisine and long, cold walks through the rain to reach fabulous destinations!

"Horatio the ghost requests that you do not hog the fire."

Horatio and I were obviously snuggled up close, telling stories by the fire place, right below this plaque, as this genius (who packed in August and was unsure if she was spending a month in Los Angeles or a month in Australia) didn't have enough warm clothes for what was jarringly colder and wetter than expected.

View of Harbor Bridge and Opera House from ferry.

Sydney kind of looks like Pittsburgh from this angle. Fireworks in celebration of the beginning of the Sydney Food and Wine Festival.

Sydney in the background. I'll have to get Brad to remind me (again) of this particular bay's name. I'm a terrible journalist.

We can finally skip to Sydney as I'm having technical difficulty retrieving my photos from Cape Tribulation and the like. In a way, that's a good thing as I've already managed to make my way back to New York for yet again, my most jam-packed insanely busy weeks of the year. On that note, if I don't call/see you, you know why. And no, no it's not what you think it is. I haven't decided to go to Australia three days before I'm supposed to leave... again.

Hopefully, between Cirque and a bunch of music (including the most epic rock show of the year), I will have some stellar imagery for you in the future.

Koala.

I really dislike this time constraint nonsense. Too many stories, not enough days.

I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.

Overcoming fears one wild snake at a time. That is not my hand, but I held it too!

Sweeeeeppppy. This roo is straight up passed. out.

Dearest Cait,

I searched and searched the Great Barrier Reef for the elusive magenta fish known as Queen Cait III, but was unfortunately unable to locate her. However, this photo reminded me of Maria and/or you, so I thought you would appreciate it all the same. I can't wait until you come to NYC again.

Loveyoumissyoubye!

Alli

Hi Bird. You're not a flamingo, but I'll let it slide.

Sunrise over Port Douglas, our next base camp for exploring Cape Tribulation, just up the coast.

(If you might be wondering why I don't have a photograph of our aforementioned aboriginal friend, Ernie, it's because I have the tendency to be a moron. I made the conscious decision to leave my camera in the car as our day was packed (waterfalls, navigating seriously unknown territory, quiches, putting out figurative fires of varying degrees) and I didn't think I'd have much time to shoot the way I wanted to. Big mistake. I sat through the whole interview intently staring at this man's hands. They were beautiful, seemingly over-worked, but still so gentle. The way he held them, laying his right over his left and loosely grabbing his knuckles made me just want to clasp my hands over his... or photograph them for three hours. I did neither. So you get yet another sun(rise/set) photo.)

I usually don't post images of places I stay (mmm perhaps because they don't usually look like this?), but it was outrageously kind of the Australian Tourism Board to put Mike and me up in a gorgeous three-bedroom serviced condo for our stay in Port Douglas on the next part of the trip. With outdoor BBQ, private pool and spa, it was nice to come back to such unexpected luxury after days of hiking. Since we had Andy, our dear friend, trusty guide and coincidentally the chef from Mike Ball's dive live-aboard, along for this trip, we ended our stay in Port Douglas with his magic hands grilling up some kangaroo, lamb and steak. As we were dining at the table it was one of those moments for all of us that, I believe my dive partner said it best, "There is absolutely nowhere else in the world [you'd] rather be." I'd like to add to that and say that I couldn't have asked for better company either.

For more information and much better photos, please visit http://www.coconutgroveportdouglas.com.au/.

Trust me, my standard jungle hike accommodations usually include two tarps, some twine and a few sticks (They didn't call me MacGyver for nothing), so this was certainly a bit of a change.

Thank you again to the Australian Tourism Board for all of your kind assistance.

Color negative of another Vuarnet image. Purposefully left the rim in frame. Though not my favorite of all the Vuarnet shots, I still like it. You can see where the sun is by the density of the color. If you look closely at the various color changes, you can also see where one mountain level begins and another ends. In case you have no idea what I'm talking about, look at how many colors are in the lower right corner. That's how well these glasses pull depth.

Millaa Millaa Waterfall. The first of three waterfalls on the circuit below the Tablelands.

Spotlighting wrapped up our day out and about with the wonderful Wet Tropics' experts, Julia, Martin and Paul. Now... Mike and I were on our own exploration of what the Wet Tropics World Heritage area had to offer.

First stop? A drive south to visit an aboriginal and a waterfall circuit.

If you're wondering why I didn't post a picture of a (real) kangaroo crossing, it's because I don't have one. Each time I found a (real) kangaroo crossing sign, we were always in the middle of the highway. My dive partner would refuse to pull over. Not that I blame him that much, but that meant I had to settle for the above.

As I later learned, tree kangaroos are actually more adorable than real ones and probably far less delicious... on that note, did you know that you can eat kangaroo? And that it is the world's leanest and most protein-packed meat?

"Freeze possum punk!"

Caught red-handed (or red-eyed I should say), this one...

Part 37 of this adventure? Spotlighting for possums climbing high in the forest canopy up on the Tablelands. Spotlighting, of course, is also just as it sounds. You get a giant spotlight and scan the trees until you catch a flash of red nestled in the branches. It's like hide-and-seek for naturalists!