Starfishy.

Seal-faced pufferfish. I adore these guys.

A nice little fan... at a reasonable depth... unlike the previous fan photo shoot at 135 feet with an absurd current, eh-hem... Moral of the story? What doesn't kill you only makes you a better diver.

What are YOU looking at?

Yellow damselfish. What a punk.

Mr. President playing games. Hearts and hearts and hearts and hearts. Such an amazing creature. The guys on the boat reported this fellow as the biggest loggerhead they'd ever come across and all he wanted to do was play! Heck, that's really all I wanted to do too... so we were quite a good match.

I still can't get over how unbelievably fortunate we were on this trip. On a night dive, just a day or two prior to this meeting, we were also graced with the presence of a stunning manta ray. Now these creatures are just about as elegant as the ocean gets. Spanning about nine feet in wing-span, the ray just wanted to come check us out, you know, see what the source of light in a dark ocean was. Neither of us had a camera, but in many ways, I am so, so glad. We just stayed perfectly still in the water as the ray floated back and forth about a foot away. It was such a heart-stopping experience that I really just did a crap job of relaying it. I honestly don't know how to accurately recount what I saw. With the music in my headphones as I write and recall, my eyes are getting a bit watery with overwhelming happiness (I'm cheesy, leave me alone) and my brain just doesn't want to put this into writing. Maybe that makes me a poor writer, but I could tell it to you for hours and hours with a light in my eyes, though can't for the life of me convey that expression over the internet. I don't really know if that's a bad thing or a great thing.

You often wonder why you are able to experience these things. Why that moment? Why you? Is it your energy? Is it the animal's? Is it a compatibility of the two when neither of you feel the least bit threatened? Is it the attitude on life that enables you to jump into the Coral Sea at night and travel 70 feet below surface? What's the worst that can happen? A cool epitaph? Guess so.

I cannot stress enough how frequently perspective can change when you let go of everything that makes you hold on tight to things you think are your thing, as Mr. Matthews would say. To step out of your microcosm you've become attached to and continue to grow. Never forgetting where you came from, but always building upon it. Before I left for this trip I had the habit of concerning myself with the behavior of people who really didn't care at all about the things I found to be most beautiful, trying to keep them close, when really, there was nothing to be kept close to. I convinced myself that strong faith in who I saw in many of them was who they really were or who they would eventually become. Dear Alli, who they choose to become has nothing whatsoever to do with you (duh) and your opinions (again, duh), Love, the World. It's not a matter of which is right or which is wrong, but a matter of preference. I seem to desire a distance from the familiar, while others wish to achieve and maintain it. One way is certainly not better than the other, just different. I suppose you just want for them to see the beauty you are seeing, but it is absolutely something that cannot be taught, just experienced firsthand and often, solo. Besides, they undoubtedly are seeing their own form of beauty as it is, as they say, in the eye of the beholder.

All legs of this trip so far have retaught me that there is a great big gorgeous world out there. I want to do everything one human can possibly do to peer into every nook and cranny, to never ever ever stop learning about absolutely everything. At the rate I'm moving and learning, I'm going to have to dip into other languages to continue to find synonyms for beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful, stunning, amazing etc., etc., etc. or else this blog is going to get redundant pretty soon. At the moment, I'm truly a vagabond and once again homeless, but I couldn't possibly imagine a better life.

Guys and Dolls, it is my undoubted pleasure to introduce you to the President of the Ocean.

Having met him about 30-feet below, this stunningly gorgeous and ancient turtle followed us up to the surface! As we made our ascent, I had no idea this guy had snuck up behind us until Kerrin gave me the turtle signal and an excited point from the boat. I turned around, popped my regulator out, shouted to my dive partner and put my snorkel in to swim back toward him. He played around for another 5 minutes and then casually departed. I'm pretty sure I had the biggest snorkel grin on my face in the world in those moments swimming back to the boat.

I can't even begin to thank my Swedish buddy, Robin, for snapping this shot of my dive partner and me (obviously the diver wearing a 5mm hood in 80° water) with this huge loggerhead turtle.

These guys are called Sweetlips! When you get them in a school, their colors against the ocean's blue backdrop are uber colorful/awesome. Too bad I didn't do that.

Hi guy!

"Shark. Jellyfish. Moray Eel. Barracuda."

Quote from comedian Ralphie May... Any divers out there, please, please watch this. Heck, even if you don't dive, please watch this. Passed to me by the one and only, Chaps McColon.

Too bad they aren't actually "cuddlefish"- cuttlefish is much less lovable. The cool thing about these guys though is that they change color as the go... wish I could do that.

Peekaboo!

For those of you who have never photographed anything underwater, let me tell you, it is an entirely different beast than photographing anything on land.

As you may have figured out, I've been unable to recount tales of my incredible week aboard Mike Ball's live-aboard dive boat for the past 2 weeks or so. It really makes me sad that I couldn't share as I went along, as writing in the present is always more detailed and progressively exciting. As I pull some images, I'll attempt to tell you about all the wonderful people and outrageously crazy experiences I've had in the past two weeks. It will be harder than I'd like as a) internet is hard to come by and b) I'm on to my 6th or so leg of this trip in Sydney and funny/great things just keep happening. For example, an anarchist/feminist cat from Bushwick, Brooklyn kicked me out of a good friend's girlfriend's harbor-front apartment last night. This thing honest to goodness hated every fiber of my being... trapped me on a barstool, locked me in the kitchen. Had to get a hotel. Good times... haha.

There is so much to write and sort through, that I'm a bit overwhelmed at the moment, despite this delicious cappuccino and cozy internet wi-fi cafe on Darlinghurst Road in Sydney, Australia.

Please bear with me!

Delay, delay, delay. Back from the Great Barrier Reef and safely tucked away in the hills of Cairns, Australia. I have fairly fickle internet possibilities at the moment, so I'm afraid images/stories will have to wait a bit longer. I'm pretty bummed about it actually, so I thought I'd toss this message up whilst I wait as well.

Well ladies and gents, friends and foes, cowboys and indians...

I've managed yet again to fall head-over-heels into the extraordinary. I mean heck, I bought my plane ticket to Cairns, Australia no less than three days ago. As Einstein said, "If at first the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it."

What is this lunatic doing THIS time? Well folks, she's yet again living on a floating apparatus and hiking jungles, this time with world-class diving, exploring, cuisine and company. When you combine the forces of the United Nations and and the forces of Panasonic, you get a world of cool. Really, nothing on the face of God's Great Earth is cooler than this and I still can't believe I'm here... though at times I feel like I'm in Florida. Weird.

I shall wrap this up tomorrow because the kind little Asian at the front desk needs to close the lobby area. Also strange. So I shall leave you with the wild local fish that I had for dinner, which is now resting peacefully in my stomach. Delightful.

Mr. Barramundi

Photo: Low tide outside Cairns. Parasailer in the distance.

Low tide? Orrr muddy field with stream?

I wonder how you get to be a specialist...

Final road shot. Haha. I'mmmm a terrible blogger. Still posting about the trip annnnd I've been in LA for a week.

I have never felt so small in my entire life.

After staying in Buffalo Bill's Plywood Castle just outside Tulsa the night before, we decided that following the advice of the gas-station guy at midnight in Flagstaff was our best bet for roadside accommodations, part deux.*

"Excuse me, Sir... Is there lodging available right outside the national park? We'd like to get a few good hours of sleep and see the canyon at sunrise."

"Oh sure. Just take 89 north. Where 89 meets 64, yeah, I think there are some places there."

Well Mr. Gas-Station-Guy, what you failed to mention was that those motels you spoke of are in fact located where 180 meets 64...

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CANYON.

Upon the realization that the lodging options at 89 and 64 were nonexistent, our two choices were to either go back to Flagstaff or venture into the park to see what we would find. I would probably chalk our decision up to at least number 17 on my list of top 20 greatest decisions ever made.

Ummm soooo, you need a reality check? You need to reevaluate your priorities? You need something to kick your butt? One caliginous abyss coming right up! I advise a drive around the canyon's perimeter in the middle of the night. Holy. Moly.

Standing up there with the wind and the darkness, you just feel you need to grab hold of something. You could be 15 feet away from the edge, but the stillness and visual proximity of such an awe-striking site provokes an oddly calm fear. I assume that fear is the catalyst for the humbling, defenseless aura that suddenly envelops the microscopic being that you are, but who knows? I could be wrong.

To continue, we emerge from the park, almost having had a 12-foot-tall buck plow through us (ok, I'm exaggerating, but it was HUGE), to find the promised land of parkside lodges. We briefly rejoice with hoorays and hurrahs until we think about onnnne wee little detail.

Oh hey, Shasta and Alli, it's LABOR DAY WEEKEND. Haaahaaaaaa. They say two brains are better than one and if that's the case, I hate to think of... ok, I just don't want to think about it.

Having found, literally, the last room within 100 miles, we rested up, only to wander back into the park a few hours later. We missed sunrise this time, but one day, when I go hiking/riding through the canyon, I will see it every single day of that (pending) adventure.

And don't get me wrong, the canyon is unbelievable in the daylight too, but having your first views of it in dim moonlight is terrifyingly bewitching and incredibly thought-provoking.

So tiny, we are. So, so tiny.


You've built a dam to hold this stream;
And you'll break your back to pan this gold.
A 24-carat mind, so what did you think you'd find?
Don't trade it for shining things that will clip wings in your soul.

There is beauty everywhere,
But you've got to get out of your own way.
Allow yourself the comfort of others
And relish in the secret sweetness
That is unique to every day.



*None of this road trip was planned out whatsoever per the norm, other than a) we knew we were driving west b) we had to get there in 3 days or less and c) I was bringing Halloween Moose Munch as my primary form of sustenance.

My dear friend/road warrior/canyon goddess, Ms. Shasta Cross.

Good work, Shasta!

At this point in the trip, I was both driving and on the tele, limiting my shooting skills. Not to say I've never done all three at once before (helllo Central PA fall foliage), but fortunately, the lady in the passenger seat is a) a fast learner and b) a good framer.

"Shas! That's gorgeous! Bump up both the ISO and the shutter. Look at the rain in the West! The lightning in the South, the pink clouds in the North! Look! That ray of light is the coolest thing ever!"

I'm not quite sure if the title should be a) "Are you giving photo lessons in the car?" or "Al, you're gonna kill me, I keep getting the dashboard in the frame." Both are equally endearing, so when in doubt, use a backslash.

(Example: "I'll have the taco/burrito" "The what?" "The taco/burrito." "Ok, do you want a taco or a burrito?" "The taco/burrito." "One taco and one burrito." "And a cookie. Thanks!")

I find that appropriate here too. Or maybe I should call it, John/Shasta.

Or maybe I should shut up and let the photographer name it.

TEXAS.

Methinks sitting cow indicates approaching rainstorm... dark sky, schmark sky.

Also, big fan of the colors here... hahaha no pun intended.

NYC -> Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania train: September 1st
Pittsburgh -> Columbus, Ohio via car: mere hours on the 5th, deliciously spent at Bob Evans.
Columbus -> Los Angeles, California via car: 5th-7th

Once upon a time, Shasta Cross was looking for a co-pilot to drive cross-country from Ohio. A little girl named Alli had never done that before and was more than ready to make it happen. And so they did.

Photo: Shooting the passing sunset (somewhere in Missouri) through a pair of honest-to-goodness 1970s Vuarnets given to me by Mr. John F. McClellan.

A little bit about Vuarnet and why John, me and everyone who has ever put them on their face LOVE them:

1957: Invention of the Skilynx lens. The history of the company begins with the meeting of two opticians, Roger Pouilloux and Joseph Hatchiguian, who were developing night-driving lenses. It is by associating various surface coatings (more or less dark coloring on different but very luminous glass bases) that Joseph Hatchiguian discovered a lens which allows one to see the sun without being dazzled and increased its luminosity in dark weather. Glass of this quality and with this capacity of absorption did not exist.

1960: Vuarnet Sunglasses. Pouilloux and Hatchiguian watch the news and see Jean Vuarnet, interviewed after his win at the Olympic Games (Squaw Valley), wearing the sunglasses Pouilloux had given to the entire French ski team. Contacting the skiier, the two opticians then got approval to name their Skilynx Acier sunglasses after him.

1984: Vuarnet sunglasses are official partners of the Los Angeles Olympic Games.

In conclusion, if you...

a) like your view of the world to pop with extraordinary depth every time you look out a window
b) prefer warmth in images (though now they make many a shade of lens)
c) value and appreciate a great lens
d) don't understand the overwhelming and recent trend toward the Ray-Ban Wayfarer

... then Vuarnet is probably an excellent choice.

Hell, I love these glasses so much, I had to call John while driving to tell him how stoked I was to be seeing the country through these lenses. It just couldn't have waited.

So it was decided that we were going to write to Vuarnet to see if they will cut a filter for Nikon lenses. Wish us luck!

"Warhol's enthusiasm for life was rivaled only by his love for the methods of capturing it. He loved the framing device - the camera, the silkscreen, the empty box, the tape recorder, the shopping bag, the telephone - as much as the content it framed." - quote on one of the walls at the Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh.

This town and its people have a lot. A lot of what, you ask? Well, a lot of a lot. I've found that some of the ideas I've held as a staple all my life are quite foreign outside the steel of this city, but c'est la vie. You work hard, you keep working hard - at whatever it may be. Warhol did it. Try, try and never give up. That's what my parents always taught me, anyway.

I shall miss this town more than usual.

My name is 905 and I've just become alive...

I know I'm a photo blogger, but right now, I have no photos for you. On a nine-hour Amtrak train, I have the most delightful ray of sunlight on my face, the Who (as per my extended travel tradition) pumping through my earbuds, the words of two of my greatest friends in my head and the world feels as if it's tilted on its proper 23.5 degree angle for once. The beginning of yet another beautiful voyage.

A crowd shot from Paul van Dyk's show in Central Park on Saturday night.

Crowd shot of the Paul van Dyk show in Central Park Saturday night.

Paul van Dyk performing in Central Park on Saturday night.

Artsy shot of the Paul van Dyk show in Central Park on Saturday night. Sleepy now. Apologies, dear Tumbas, for not posting all week. Very busy.

Gong! What are you doing with a Yankees cap on television?!?

Every once in a while (or alll the time), you are reminded that you have absolutely amazing friends all over the globe. This time, I am excited to inform you that my wonderful friend, Pakawat 'Gong' Suphanakhan, was Anthony Bourdain's tour guide on "No Reservations" during the traveler's most recent excursion to Thailand.

My love for Bourdain is no secret, but my love for Gong is a horse of a different color - partially having to do with the ability of his palette to handle some of the most mouth-scorching, tear-duct-destroying flavors on Earth.

I met Gong while on set in the Philippines back in 2007 and though we worked on many projects together, my most delightful memory with Gong is from my month in Bangkok when he rescued me from the evil mosquitoes on our ship. Gong showed me everything from his gorgeous home to the culinary delicacies of the Bangkok streets - fried grasshoppers and frogs included.

So don't let Bourdain steal the thunder of this episode, even if he is everything I want in a travel buddy (a no-bullshit eater/writer who always wants a new perspective? Si). Gong's engaging personality and his 34-million-baht smile is the perfect complement to the host's style of dialogue. Not only that, but Gong co-created, co-owns and runs Greenlight Films, one of the biggest production companies in Thailand. His company shoots anything from commercials to documentaries to feature films. His productions are truly great, no matter the task.

In any case, watching an old friend guide Bourdain through the same streets he took me, I couldn't help but miss Gong and Thailand a little bit. Not only did I know those places, but Bourdain was now going to guide millions of viewers through Gong's tour. How cool is that?

Please catch Gong's episode, "No Reservations: Thailand", next on 8/24 at 11 a.m. - if for no other reason than to learn a little bit more about Thailand, and quite literally, the Thailand I got to know. If you can't catch it on the Travel Channel, please follow the links to the episode parts below.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5

Missing Scene: Street Food!


Photo: (L-R) Bourdain cameraman, Zach Zamboni with Gong Suphanakhan. This is how we had to shoot/film through the jungles of the Philippines too! Driver up front and cameraperson (Kaloy/me) sitting backwards and shooting. How I love/miss Asia.

Two things to preface:

1) I'm not quite sure how I feel about marriage. Ideas of love and trust say yes, experience says *cue headshake and an "Are you ____ kidding me?" brow furrow*

2) I never had quite the driving force I do now about said concept, but that being noted, I've never even come close to being in a relationship that would warrant such talks. Regardless of how long I've kept this under my hat, it seems that TIME has beat me to the punch. Haha and no, that was not intended as a play on words.

Back in July, TIME Magazine's cover story read, "Unfaithfully Yours: Infidelity is eroding our most sacred institution. How to make marriage matter again." Cover art? A white wedding cake with the bride and groom figurines sinking into the decorated confection under the iconic TIME flag written in ... pink?? Ughhhh.

Flipping to the center of the publication, you were slammed in the face with a giant full-page engagement ring (partial band, prong-setting and stone re-photographed by yours truly above), the text reading, "Why Marriage Matters: Buffeted by affairs and ennui, the intact two-parent family is under assault. What America needs to get over its commitment issues. (Hint: it isn't love)"

While the article went on to be dully written with no intention whatsoever to expand/answer the title questions (while pointing out the affairs of various politicians), I got to thinking. The valid point that the author did end up making was that if traditional marriage disappears, so do traditional families ---> so do traditional values ---> so do traditional societies.

Ok, maybe that's a bit drastic, but it's food for thought.

As mentioned previously, at the old age of 23, I am still uncertain of my thoughts on it, but when your friends around you start saying the "E" word and the "M" word, I can't help but try to understand each individual perspective of what being married means to them. Is it a symbol? A fairytale? A goal? A terrible idea? All of the above?

I'm not here to answer these questions either, but my most recent case-study, has less to do with the act of tying these knots, than the road to leading up to "the plunge". Well that and in accordance with the article, proof that we're not helping this idiotic cultural (generational??) "commitment" issue. Scenario: Ted and Jody* have been dating since freshmen year of college. Ted is a brillant, adorable, hilarious dude and Jody is a beautiful, smart, funny girl. For the first three years, different hometowns make summers hard, but the two always manage to have love for one another prevail in the end. Next. Ted ends up cheating on Jody their last year of college. However, realizing that Jody is the one that he wants, the one he wants to "M" word, he apologizes and Jody forgives him. Resume dating.

College ends. Jobs take Ted and Jody to different places. Far, but doable far. Things are good, visits are infrequent, but they happen. As it turns out, Ted can't, for the life of him, keep it in his pants. So why not break up with Jody? Simple, because he wants to "M" word her, this he knows (What?!?! Ew.). He also knows that Jody loves him, regardless of all the toolish, I mean foolish, things he might do.

Tom-foolery. Tom-foolery, I say. Ok, ok, so he's a guy with the inherent stupid gene running ever rampant. Good excuse, no, but valid? If you really love the dude regardless of how he feels about you "at the moment", for the first 10 times, sure. Valid. (Dear Feminists, This is just an opinion, Love, Alli.)

My 4th most basic question (after, "Who do you think you are?," "Why would you do this to her?" and "Have you no brain, heart, courage?**) to this sporadically lovable gentleman, of course, is WHERE ARE YOUR FRIENDS?? The friends who are supposed to say, "You idiot. She's the best thing that has ever happened to you and you're jeopardizing it with this girl that you think is 'fun'? Jody is wonderful and you're a dick! She deserves someone, something so much better than this, but she loves you and you know it. And it's sad, but the problem here is that you know it. You know that she would do anything for you no matter how much of a cowardly, selfish piece of shit you are being.*** Etc., etc., etc."

Where are these friends who are supposed to kick Ted on his ass and remind him that he's a way better person than his behavior might show? The friends who make him remember that he DOES love her and it's about time he proves/shows it to her? Forget Ted's balls for a minute, but where are their balls?

Maybe the center of what's important in a friendship has changed, I don't know. It seems though that in certain circles of friends, as long as the bodies together in the same room are having a good time, who cares about any part of the equation who's not present and accounted for.

And folks as I'm sure many of you know, this story is nothing new. The dude who wants what he wants when he wants it. It's so unoriginal that when these guys think they are doing something special and independent, it's almost laughable. Because the truth of the matter is that it's way more difficult to love someone than it is to be on your own. That's the basis of why TIME Magazine has to write these silly articles. Because it's hard to chart your direction and destination with someone else's map. With that difficulty though, you always are creating, growing, building over time, a strong, layered relationship so unique to two people that it's the one thing you could never do alone - and that takes guts.

Why is that notion not awesome**** to these people?

Anyway, TIME put on paper an idea that I've been nursing for a very long time now. While it didn't exactly go in an enlightening direction, it got me to putting some of my own surface thoughts in cyberspace. Why does my opinion matter, you may ask? Well, it doesn't really, but I knew this was going to be a lengthy piece and I just got a new keyboard iSkin and my unbelieveably tactile self just wants to keep pushing keys. So there you have it.



*Names may have been changed to protect both the innocent and not-so-innocent.

**Have you never seen The Wizard of Oz? Duh, Dorothy needed all of those to realize that she had what she wanted the WHOLE TIME.

***Note: not "you are"/ I hope you liked my imaginary guy-to-guy monologue, haaaha.

****Awe: an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, fear, etc., produced by that which is grand, sumblime, or extremely powerful.

Edith Shain, 90, in Times Square on Friday speaking about her iconic role in history as the nurse pulled aside by a celebrating sailor and kissed in Times Square on August 14th, 1945, the day of the Japanese surrender. You know the image - in fact, I blogged about it during Fleet Week! And as many of you have experienced, my obsession with her generation, this part of history and this perfect photo runs far deeper than even my obsession with Cole Haan's finest pebbled leather anything.

What's even cooler about bringing Edith back to Times Square is that it was sponsored by an organization called Keep the Spirit of '45 Alive which is dedicated to collecting stories of the end of the World War II and the effort it took to rebuild the globe. This non-profit celebrates the greatest generation and hopes to inspire and encourage younger generations to embody the same valor, commitment, ethics and service it took to reconstruct the world.

I love it, love it, love it. Take a lesson, kids and go through the four stories showcased on the site currently. Maybe you'll learn something.

What a celebrity! :)

Edith Shain, 90, remembering the Japanese surrender on August 14, 1945 in Times Square last Friday. Mr. Tony Curtis (pllleeeease tell me you know who that is) was supposed to re-enact the famous kiss scene, but was unfortunately hospitalized the night prior to the event.

(I was very, very sad.)

Hip-hop legend, Rakim performing at the Highline Ballroom last Thursday night. Crazzzy crowd.

Event poster for the unveiling of a special exhibition of Woodstock photographs - some never before seen - at the the Morrison Hotel Gallery's Bowery location on August 13, 2009 in NYC.

As always, MHG threw an absolutely delightful party full of photographs, story-telling, new faces and old.

Three legends. (L-R) John Sebastian, Michael Lang and Henry Diltz.

Tidbits about these three delightful humans for those of you who do not fall into the category of rock-history nerd:

John Sebastian: Songwriter, musician. John's popular 60s group, the Lovin' Spoonful ("Do You Believe in Magic?") was only part of his contribution to pop culture. He's written music for films and television, working with Francis Ford Coppola and Woody Allen. Having played iconic festivals like Woodstock and the Isle of Wight in Europe, John was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2000.

Michael Lang: Promoter, producer. Most noted for co-creating and producing Woodstock, Michael produced some of the largest music festivals to date (see below). Also, he was the owner/producer of Just Sunshine Records who put out albums for Billy Joel, Betty Davis, Mississippi Fred McDowell, Karen Dalton, Blue Cheer and Copperhead.

1968: Miami Pop Festival / 1969: Woodstock / 1994: Woodstock / 1999: Woodstock / 2005: Amersterjam (Randall's Island, NYC)

Henry Diltz: Photographer, musician. Official photographer at Woodstock and the Monterey and Miami Music Festivals. Henry has photographed over eighty record album covers and (most importantly) is the co-founder of the Morrison Hotel Gallery.

Fun Fact: Henry played on a few recording sessions with the Monkees!


What wonderful company for a Thursday night at the Morrison Hotel Gallery.

Official Woodstock photographer Henry Diltz signs a copy of "The Woodstock Experience" at the Morrison Hotel Gallery's Bowery location (the BEST one) in NYC on Thursday evening.

Matthew Morrison of FOX's new musical comedy series "Glee" performs for an umbrella-laden crowd at Broadway in Bryant Park on Thursday. For those of you unfamiliar, the New York Public Library's west facade stands in the background.

John Stamos took a break from rehearsing "Bye Bye Birdie" to come down to Broadway in the Park to make unfulfilled "Full House" dreams come true and to say a few delightful words about the (re)new musical to open in the fall.

Uncle Jesse, I mean, John Stamos promoting "Bye Bye Birdie" in the rain at Broadway in Bryant Park yesterday afternoon.

Since the visual peril of clouds and thunderstorms canceled our 1:18 a.m. train ride out to Spring Lake to catch the peak of the Perseid meteor shower, two of Tommy's gorgeous shots from his perch north of L.A. early this morning will have to suffice.

Christina Decicco of "The Marvelous Wonderettes" performs at the 2009 Broadway in Bryant Park concert series last Thursday.

All Points West load-out.

Last Coldplay photo, I promise, but truth be told, I'm quite fond of this shot for how it came to be. Explanation? If you've never seen Coldplay live, you wouldn't know that they MOVE ALL OVER THE PLACE. We're talkin' a main stage, a B stage (downstage left) and C stage (frickin' out past the soundboards... whose idea was that??).

This is all well and good for show purposes, but for a humble photog, it can be quite the pain in the butt... ooorrr super fun. Granted, I had already talked to Coldplay's crew to see where they'd be moving and when, but in true Alli fashion, by the time I got up to the bleachers to shoot the wides, I already lost count of the songs. Good forsight kid, poor follow through - usually a notion I'm only familiar with in my personal life. Nice work.

So. I see the stage lights go dark. Crap. Crap. Crap. They're on the move to C.

Well, my sprint to get over there was literally through mud/crap/swamp that came up to my shins. When I say "sprint", I mean attempting to move my feet as fast as the Okefenokee would release them, which, was by no means a textbook definition of sprint. That being said, on this voyage to Coldplay, Stage C, I could do nothing but laugh. What was I going to do? Curse the skies for opening and dumping the Atlantic on us for three days? Nope. This was like the Oregon Trail of concert photography. My bag was covered in mud, I was covered in mud and I was cradling my camera like a mother and child under "Native American" fire. Thank God all of my oxes were already dead or I really would have been S.O.L.

End result? A lot of silly "WTF?/how in God's name am I going to get this shot?/what do I do if NJ eats me?" laughter, seeing an acoustic "Billie Jean" and shooting a not-so-shabby shot of one of the biggest bands in the world. I giggled and shook my head through the entire song as I kept sinking lower and lower into New Jersey.

I love photos. I love music. I love mud.

I do not love New Jersey.

I think some people are having a good time. I could be wrong though.

Coldplay/Sunday/All Points West

For as much crap as I've given Coldplay through the years, when it comes down to it, these guys can really put on a show. Not only can they put on a show, but they're some smart dudes too.

Another example of a artist/band being larger than life. Lower left, Chris Martin in the flesh - to the right, Chris Martin broadcast on a Daktronics PST-12HD panel, one of the highest-res LED screens in the world.

Big difference, eh?

Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah, they were all yellow.

Photo: Crowd at All Points West during Coldplay's performance of "Yellow"

I came along,
I wrote a song for you,
And all the things you do,
And it was called yellow.

Photo: Coldplay performing "Yellow" at All Points West

Chris Martin of Coldplay on Sunday at the All Points West Music and Arts Festival.

Coldplay photo/mud pit. We are all still cleaning New Jersey out of our toes.

"I don't care what you dooo, I don't want to be a mud hippie like yoouuuuu..."

Kid, your ma is gonna kill you.

And furthermore, why the hell didn't we invite Billie Joe Armstrong and Green Day to this gig?

Photo: Kid (napping? cloud-gazing? mud-angeling? dying?) in toxic NJ's version of Woodstock '94/post-monsoon Vietnam.

The crowd beginning to fill in before Coldplay at the All Points West Music and Arts Festival on Sunday. Take a gander at that luscious mud hole house right.

Downtown Manhattan's skyline from Liberty State Park in Jersey City, NJ.