The new cast of Broadway's "HAIR" with Diana DeGarmo, Ace Young and Kyle Riabko.

Proposal at Rockefeller Center on Valentine's Day. Gentleman, propose this way at your own risk.

Rockefeller Center on Valentine's Day.

Posting this photo only to prove I'm not delusional. There WAS a skating cupid at Rockefeller Center on the 14th. Please ignore the lighting/frame.

My dear friend Greg Scaffidi of the New York Times lost a photo assistant Tuesday night (He could have sworn he put him in his left coat pocket!), so yesterday morning, starting at 6:30 a.m., I stepped in to give him a lighting hand with Tory Burch's Fall 2010 presentation in Bryant Park. Greg has been at the tents* everyday for the past week doing a ton of "First Look"** shoots for the Times and guess what, they are all pretty awesome. So awesome, in fact, that the Times selected one of the First Look: Tory Burch photos as one of their global photos of the day.

To see more of Greg's beyond beautiful work, please check out the links:

February 17, 2010 NYT Pictures of the Day (#12)

NYT "First Look" slide show: Carolina Herrera

Obviously Herrera is my favorite so far, both in Carolina's designs and Greg's lighting, but if you wish to see more of his "First Look" slides, just use the drop-down menu on the right side of the page. Totally worth the 68 seconds it will take you.

P.S. - It's kinda cool to know you participated in an NYT global photo of the day. You helped make the day's news, less than one second in the history of the world. Crazy. Weird. Awesome.

*Arrangement of tents in Bryant Park which bi-annually hold New York's biggest fashion shows. Thhhey're pretty fun.

**A preview shot of each model's "look" prior to being presented on the runway. You know, sneak peak, first photos - same idea.

Photos courtesy of nytimes.com

(L-R) Designer Prabal Gurung and Hanuk at the 'Fashion Loves Hanuk' photography exhibition and party at Bellhaus on February 12, 2010 in New York.

Pre-event photo of the 'Fashion Loves Hanuk' photography exhibition and party at Bellhaus on February 12, 2010 in New York.

Internal view of the Timo Weiland Fall 2010 after party at The Wooly on February 15, 2010 in New York.

The focus is a tad too soft to have posted on Getty's website, but I love it. If you look closely you can see the corner of his smile.

(L-R) Designers Timo Weiland and Alan Eckstein attend the Timo Weiland Fall 2010 after party at the Wooly on February 15, 2010 in New York.

Self-explanatory.

Brooke Shields at the Choo 24:7 launch at Saks Fifth Avenue on February 11, 2010 in New York.

(L-R) Brooke Shields and Jimmy Choo Founder and President Tamara Mellon attend the Choo 24:7 by Jimmy Choo launch at Saks Fifth Avenue on February 11, 2010 in New York.

Keith Richards' daughter, Alexandra Richards, DJs at the Jimmy Choo event held at Saks Fifth Avenue on February 11, 2010 in New York.

Part of the Jimmy Choo event held at Saks Fifth Avenue on February 11, 2010 in New York.

After staring at my computer screen in stressed debate about whether to post Paris or the onset of NY Fashion Week, I racked focus toward a tiny icon on my desktop aptly named according to my latest archiving system: poutineMTs.jpg.

And [insert All-Mighty Power Du Jour] hath spoken.

Poutine - 1
Paris/Fashion Week - 0

Some might call this procrastination or perhaps avoiding an inevitable decision for just one more day, but I call it priorities. No, no... I call it necessity. I will try to write a wee review tomorrow, but right now, my eyes aren't focusing in the same place and I, yes me, have to go to sleep prior to 4 a.m.

Hmmm achievement? Surrender? A surrendering achievement? An achieving surrender? I don't know, I'm just plum tired.

Snowy village. I'd write more, but I'm at the beginning of a very important time in my life.

Watching.... The Goonies.

Hm. Accumulation not bad for having poured the first day, wiping out day one on the slopes. Funny how the last day is always when you desperately wish you could have the first day back. Four days? Not exactly what one would call enough.

Photo: Photo trek while skiing back down to the lodge. Gloves on this time.

Ok! It's -8 outside, but gee-golly, that sun is a-shining!! What a great day to ski with your camera! All right, let's try a few lift shots. Poles secure under thigh, one glove alllmost offf and HOLY CRAP I can't feel my hand. Whatever. Onward! Unzip camera bag, adhere naked hand to camera body, wrap Nikon strap around wrist multiple times, expecting the unexpected, and frame shot! Snappy snap snap snap snap.

Wedge camera out of unsheathed hand, recognize lack of response from stiff fingers, calmly panic, pray to God your glove is still in lap (success!), wiggle glove back onto frozen digits, fumble camera back into bag with mobile hand, zip up bag,

decide not to do that again.


Photo: Looking west on the north side of mountain from ski lift.

Come on Blog! Keep up!

Looking down the southern side of the mountain with Lake Tremblant below us.

Top photo: black and white
Bottom photo: altered black and white

Daylight version: Cathédrale Marie-Reine-du-Monde, Montreal. ID courtesy of John... what teamwork!

And again, ladies and gents, I will end up much farther behind on this blog than I'd like. Hmm I haven't even posted anything from Mont-Tremblant. And yes, I'm off again.

This time overseas and leaving the computer at home. Truly an experiment of disengaging.

Photo walk on our way to get dinner. In this case dinner meant fondue and, more specifically in my case, a ham/swiss/spinach crêpe doused in maple syrup. Heaven in my mouth.

As a side note, lighting in most of these establishments of deliciousness was less than ideal, which explains my choice to pair architectural photos with words longing (I repeat, longing) for regional cuisine. I'm very sad about it too.

When I refer to this "side-by-side" shooting, what I mean is one's compatibility in shooting next to another dude/dudette with a camera. Sometimes it's a major fail and sometimes the dynamic takes some time to grow - almost never is it an immediate success. Generally fearing the worst in this realm of professional observation, I've only tried this a few times - John being my 4th, I believe. What frustrates me the most about it is conversation, because it's the best part about it too. You don't want that person to stop talking, but you swap the facts you should be collecting for his/her thoughts. A fair trade, I suppose, but then the writer (me) looks like an asshole. Honestly, I wish I had three more ports in my brain to process all of the information to take a photo of something you know nothing about in a place you know nothing about. You are all at once trying to digest your thoughts, your technical decisions, your buddy's thoughts, your collected information of subject and worst of all, your stupid back-burner brain that loves to heat itself up from time to time.

Like every good relationship - and I consider my photo partnerships to be very important relationships - usually all it takes is time and a desire to watch how someone else is seeing the world in the exact place and at the exact moment you are. If you think about it, it's a completely awesome experience. Just takes some Effort. Capital E, my friends.

So here we have another photo about which I know nothing. Yes, yes, of course I'm annoyed, but not really in a bad way. All I know is there are some sharp lines, some high contrast, a nice moon and a solid conversation all in this photo.

Freezing our butts off to get some solid night shots in Montreal - the side-by-side shooting experiment continues.

Coooppppyyyy cool construction in Montreal on our quest through the city to find what we were told was the best poutine on the planet.

Again, way to go with the interactive art, Montreal.

Sweet mural, Montreal.

Finally got the clip below up and running thanks to John's Vimeo account. Many apologies for error. Check it out.

Sequence 1 from John F. McClellan on Vimeo.

Annnnd I'm on another train. This time northbound to Montreal and this time, with a buddy! Big steps for me... this travel with someone thing. I'm a pretty laid back traveler, but let me tell you, John takes the cake. Ahh haaa...ugggh... I'll explain it to you someday when you are older.

Though we will be spending a night in Montreal, our main expedition lies in Mont-Tremblant, a gem of the Canadian ski scene. Now, I am a proficient and experienced skier, but my (currently passed out) partner in crime to the right of me here, is basically a polar bear with an insatiable desire for all things surf and ski related. Our skill sets in this instance? A bit different. Our goals? The same. Pop in the headphones and boogie down the slopes. Good times, good times and more good times.

And the above? I adore this love/hate relationship. So much passion! So much motivation! So much dedication! Oh, and quite funny too.

Video: One of my favorite silly clips from Turbo. Gorgeous ski film, by the way. Many thanks to said Polar Bear for introducing me to it and for cutting it to post to the blog.

Designed by American artist/architect/OSS member/silk entrepeneuer, Jim Thompson (I highly recommend clickling), this angel hails from a most unlikely place - Bangkok, Thailand. While I am unfortunately not in Thailand at the moment, this little love delicately traveled back from Asia with me in February 2008 to remain in its permanent home in Monessen, Pennsylvania.

Since I was unable to see my family over the holiday season and the show is now over, a lovely trip to Pittsburgh was in order to celebrate a very belated Lutheran Christmas, a slightly belated Orthodox Christmas and Russian New Year (also referred to as Old New Year).

And actually, Russian New Year is the reason for writing today. I spent the day in the angel's home yesterday, which is owned by an angel of other sorts. A 92-year-old woman who lives alone, cooks, cleans, bakes, trims shrubs, cuts her hair, knocks icicles off her gutter (with a broom stick) and says the rosary religiously 1-3 times a day. As you can imagine, these feats also come with the necessary amounts of stubbornness and determination. The woman still hand-washes dishes faster than me.

No part (to our knowledge) of our family is directly Russian, but we are primarily Eastern European by descent, which explains why my grandma met my grandpa at a Russian New Year dance on January 14th, 194_. The year, in this case, is irrelevant, as she was simply glowing all day on January 14, 2010. She had recently cut her hair to suit a left-side-part and placed a crystal bobby-pin on the right, not for decoration, but for efficiency. She looked beautiful. Just as you can hear a smile through the phone, if you missed the light in her eyes, you could taste her happiness in her pirohy* yesterday.

Oh pirohy, pirohy... heavenly pirohy.

My pap-pap passed away in 1997, truly a man with the heart of gold. One of the first stories she told me yesterday was his arrival to her house on that January day.

She smiles, looks at her latest batch of beef soup, looks up at me, smiles even brighter:

"When he showed up, I thought (groans)... he was wearing a sport coat and all the other men going to the dance had rented tuxedos. It was the new year! You were supposed to dress up!"**

This woman is a perfect example of why I don't believe in the description of true love that subscribes to one spouse passing soon after the second. Last time I checked, it was 2010 - thirteen years after his passing and she is just as wonderful as ever. Sure, her body isn't as strong as it used to be, but she has one of the greatest, simplest philosophies I've ever heard: "I'm just grateful I can get out of bed in the morning." - says the woman, who, when she can't sleep... bakes pies. Actions speaking decibels louder than words.

To get back to our friend pictured above, we didn't have a candle to light for Pap-Pap, but I did have my camera and we did have the angel. Very cool to think that I wouldn't have been sitting there with her if it hadn't been for yesterday, over a half century ago. You can say that about a lot of things and a lot of dates, but it just felt poignantly cool yesterday.

*Common to most Americans as pierogies, its singular in Slovak, piroh, is sadly as unknown as canolo/cannoli is to Italian-Americans.

**In relaying this story to my parents later that night, my mom knew it and my dad, haha, my dad just smiled a deep, soulful smile and said, "I loved that man."

One of the classiest joints in which I've set foot in NYC. I will not disclose the location online of said night-spot, just know that it is definitely open on Sunday nights and definitely a place one should keep on the hush-hush.

And to think, my day started with "Batman"! How does your wintry, non-snowy day get better from there? Elementary, my dear Watsons. Your partner in all things exploratory, wild and fun says, "Hey, I just bought a few rolls of film, I've got my Lomo, grab your baby (for new readers, 'tis nothing less than my camera) and let's go."

While it took a little more than that to drag me away from Batman (the lack of quotes is not an error, I repeat, not an error), I hopped the 4 to the J to meet John on the frigid corner of Delancey and Allen to begin implied photo journey.

It should be mentioned that I am on two very personal quests to be accomplished in the next five years. I partially agreed to this frolic in the frozen air to further one of the two goals to teach myself to not be ridiculously cold anymore. The other has to do with snakes. I'll keep you posted on both, not to worry.

Traipsing around the Lower East Side, we allowed the cross-walk man to guide every step. I like to pretend that I make choices on my own, but that little LED man has led me on more expeditions so far than any other single factor in New York. While he guided us in the direction of the Flatiron, I remembered that there was a delightful joint called the Rye House, which had garnered much respect from the New York circuit of Pennsylvanian transplants. Supposedly it was a suitable representation of some of our weird customs. Me being me, I knew of its existence and I knew the neighborhood, but had no clue of its precise location. Rather than dragging John across the universe, I made a wise decision in these modern times. What! Heck no! My good for nothing Blackberry browser? Nope. A phone call to the one and only GianCarlo. Not only did I get the cross streets, but I got him too! How about that!?! A 9-6 advertising guy hitting the town with two freelance crazies on a Sunday night!! Very few things make me as excited as this phenomenon... and tap-dancing elephants.

To proceed, as far as I could tell, the only PA thing about this place was their use of wood in the decor - but that was it and that's a stretch. I had a local beer (local Manhattan beer... meh) called Chelsea "Hoppy Holidaze" and some clam chowder. PA? I don't think so. Make no mistake, I love New York, but select Pittsburgh breweries could hop those holidaze to beer heaven! In fact, I can hear Penn Brewery call my name! As I write this!

Just for you, I shall ignore its summons and continue.

Next? Undisclosed location above, donated to my knowledge bank by Carlo. Personal inquiries will be honored.

Photo, photo, photo... diner, diner, diner. Hollywood Diner. Yes. Nothing in the world like a Monte Cristo at 3 a.m. Monday morning with two beyond wonderful dudes - photo/camera dudes at that.

Who knew things could be better than Batman on a Siberian winter night?

Photo: Racy wallpaper - what else do you want me to say?

Ok. I lied. Tomorrow is the day.

Until then, the only thing I can say is all I've ever really wanted is a tap-dancing elephant.

Happy, oh so very happy. I wonder what he charges for lessons.

Locomotive Breath. Jethro Tull.

Too much of a glare to edit photos on this westbound train. The stories of perfect Sundays shall resume tomorrow.

Headphones in, heater on (obviously I mean my overheating Macbook Pro), siesta - now.

Above? The German-made "Grand MA" lighting console, used by a majority of large productions all over the world. Complete mastery of this board means that you are one smart, well-trained cookie. Sadly, mastery is eons away from my skill level, but I was delighted to begin to learn its basics, separate from my work with the follow spots. If the show designers had wanted to, in addition to lighting and effects, they could have controlled all the projectors through this thing too - and trust me, that's a whole lot of expensive, high-tech gear channeled through one console. I would love to bore you with specifics, but I'm still learning myself.

I often wonder if Fisher-Price models their baby tables after lighting/audio boards with all the lights, buttons, knobs, levers, drawers, dials, colors, etc., etc., etc. perhaps with the intention we all will become board ops one day? If that is indeed their intention, Fisher-Price... I salute you. What a world of fun. What a gorgeous, gorgeous world of technical fun.

Photo: Grand MA, John's hand and Act II. My station/deck was just to the left of the board, so when I rolled my chair over to try and shoot this picture, I managed to get tangled in my headset AND get my chair wedged into the platform. Grace comes in many forms, my friends, but sometimes she goes on vacation.

Note: At the time, I liked this photo better with the show in focus, but now I wish I had shot it the other way around!

Two to three times a day... for two months... this angle... long, wonderful hours.

On that note, take it away Bing!

Where it's snowing all winter through, that's where I want to be
Snowball throwing, that's what I'll do!
How I'm longing to ski!
Through the snow-oh-oh-oh-oh...

(I can find "White Christmas" and/or Bing Crosby appropriate for most any occasion, at most any time of year. Try me in July.)

She learned that from me. Forget the gymnast mother, the Cirque-act-designer father. All me. You should see me juggle flaming maracas upside down on a highwire. Defies all laws of physics, really.

Photo: Elena Lev, one of the most graceful contortionists I've ever seen, performing her hoops act for Cirque du Soleil's Wintuk.

With the Cirque schedule being what it is, it's very difficult to accomplish lengthy tasks in the hours we are actually off. Those hours, of course, not pertaining to normal human functionality, come at unusual times, where one can sleep, eat, read and not get two of his/her 16x20 photos printed. Why are we printing such large photos, you ask? New Years Eve, of course.

Let me explain. A very dear friend of mine, Mr. Chris Hondros (there's an entry on him from the summer, if you are unfamiliar) and his close friend, Mr. Todd Heisler, were throwing what was destined to be the greatest NYE party ever. Renting a gorgeous space (with multiple fireplaces, might I add) in Hondros' former Brooklyn loft building, the dynamic duo of a Getty staffer and a New York Times staffer were asking their friends to contribute his/her art to the NYE decorating cause. What a stellar idea! So I get the call from Chris, asking if I "happen to have" any 16x20 (or larger) prints of my work "lying around."

"Uhhh nope."
"Ok, Alli Harv, if a few happen to materialize in the next day, you just let me know and I will swing by to pick them up."

Yoi. How on Earth was I going to pull this off? We're not talkin' run to Kinko's/Staples and get this printed, but legitimately take the time to choose prints, tweak prints, choose a printer, choose a paper, choose an ink and choose a frame with maybe-a-border-maybe-without-a-border-I'll-see-when-I-get-there?

The truth is, I didn't end up having time for most of that. It's not really like me to crap out on something so cool, but this year it just wasn't going to happen. What I did have time for was the lengthy process of sorting through hundreds of gigabytes in order to find a print I'd actually want to put on my wall. You better believe though, that if I was dropping the cashola to do this right, that thing was going on a wall somewhere.

My stroll through digital memory lane had me stumble upon the above image - one that just didn't make the cut the first time around. I don't think this is the one I would have printed, but it was one of the first shots of a great friendship developed that summer, so I had to pull it into my "edits" pile. Just before I started writing this last night, I saw the file number on my desktop and immediately picked up the phone and called "T-Funk" as he's still labeled in my phone. I've never called him by that name, as everyone else does, but it kinda made me laugh. He didn't pick up, but I left him a stupidly long, nonsensical voicemail. Goodness only knows what I could have been talking about, but whatever it was, I assure you it was endearing.

The outcome of all this?

1. No prints with my signature on the walls of that Brooklyn loft.
2. A pretty solid reason to wear a vintage black leather pencil skirt.
3. The greatest New Years Eve I've ever had.
4. A kick in the butt to give a very good friend a call.

And I'm more than ok with all of that.

As our December sun is setting...

Two shows down on Christmas Eve and the tech team and I were ready to book it. If that juggler dropped one ball, man, if it had been any other day, she would have had 52 stagehands ready to pummel her with her own bouncing green artillery.

I'm pretty sure John, our dear lighting board op, bolted before the curtain even dropped, while Chris and I shut down our stations - haha I'mmmm preettty sure John's Grand MA most likely ran through Christmas.

By the time I made it out of the Garden, I was also on a separate holiday mission. Wrap, cookies, church. I am a master of the Christmas Eve prep, but this year I was on a little more of a time crunch and in a new environment. Thank goodness I had just scrubbed the apartment from top to bottom a few days prior or Houston may have had a problem.

But I digress.

Ok, wrapping... check... cookies... in progress, despite minor setbacks in sprinkle selection, which under different circumstances, would be a good reason to abort mission. More importantly, what's Christmas Eve without an amazing Jewish roommate with whom you can listen to Jimmy Buffett's Christmas selections, smoke hookah and go to the midnight church service? Assuming there will be many a holiday spent in New York, I just can't imagine it any other way - I mean, come on! When a Jew and a Lutheran attend an Episcopalian service, magical things happen!

Unbeknownst to us, the midnight service was moved from Trinity Church* to the St. Paul's Chapel, the oldest public building in continuous use in New York City. We arrived to find a smattering of Episcopalians and rogue patrons from all over the world... and on folding chairs. Four corners of folding chairs, all facing each other, altar in the center. Do you know what folding chairs mean at a religious service?? Participation and interaction beyond normal protocol. Goodbye celebratory formalities of Trinity Church, hello groupthink at St. Paul's Chapel. It wasn't at all what I had expected to find this Christmas Eve, but we still enjoyed the very new experience, more or less because it was a new experience. If nothing else, candles were lit, Christmas hymns were sung and it provided plenty of food for thought on the way home - and no, no, I don't mean the assortment of cookies the acolyte placed on the altar prior(!?!) to the end of the service. Certainly neither of us were trying to save the world through conversation, but, as always, there is nothing as comforting and thrilling as an exchange of sound minds. Perfect for a chilly walk home on what now was Christmas morning.

*Land for Trinity Church was purchased from the Lutheran congregation in Manhattan (1696). How 'bout that tid-bit?

Photo courtesy of Trinity Church Museum. I've been stalling on this entry for a few days now because I've not had a suitable image to post with the copy... so for now, this snowy shot of the church stands.

Going to watch my 3rd favorite Christmas film while baking cookies the other day, I was heart-broken to find that I had left "The Preacher's Wife" back in Pittsburgh. There are a few items that have not migrated to NYC and unfortunately, that was one of them.

Most of you, I know, will roll your eyes. This is not so much about a man's firm belief in a textbook God and His heaven, as it is about a character who has come to understand life on his own terms - and for him, it is through his definition of God. For you it may be something different, for me it may be something different, but either way, this time of year, spending time with loved ones makes you remember. Remember what, you ask? I can only answer that from my thoughts, friends. Take what you will from this.

"Beloved, God never promised us a perfect life. He's savin' that for the Hereafter. While we're here on this Earth, there's some things we just got to work for. It could be a job, it could be a church, it could be a community, could be a marriage. But the good news is, He gave us two secret weapons to help us succeed: Hope. And love. Hope is all a prayer is. And love, loving is giving. Pure and simple. But in love, there is also forgiveness. And forgiveness belongs to everyone. It's a right, like the right to breathe, or eat, or even to fall in love. Sometimes, we take love for granted. Am I right about it? Those who are nearest to us, dearest to us- those are the ones we forget to love. But the miracle is, when we love someone, we are really lovin' God. Look and wonder at those you love, for they are the face of God. And when the path is dark and the road bends, we will let the Lord show us the way. He will give us heart and make us whole again. Because I know! He did me. You may ask me- how? You see, He's got these angels, waitin' in this loonnng line for the chance to come down and help each and every one of us. And They do! So you see, Beloved, today I am truly blessed. Blessed with hope. And blessed with love - and blessed with the belief that I can make a difference. All of us can. We can save this church! We will help our poor! We will help our young! And our lonely! And our needy! So now, let us begin again. Let us go forward! Forward in hope! Forward in love! And forward into the new days of our lives. Put your hands together and praise God."

-Christmas Day sermon from "The Preacher's Wife"

On a completely separate note, Denzel Washington can be my angel any day.

"And hey, happy Winter Solstice - this is the longest night of the year, it's our night to shine, Kiddo." - J. McClellan

What are you doing inside reading my blog? Go shine!

Before I start my story, let me give you an idea of the beginning/middle of December last year. With a fair level of stress sitting on my shoulders, I tried to be as reasonable a human being as being a reasonable human being would allow. Not only was I a fresh freelance photographer in the most densely artistic city in the world, but my month sublet in Gramercy had ended and an exhausting real estate search through Manhattan, plus various boroughs, had begun - all the while sleeping on a friend's living room couch in Park Slope, retrieving necessary items from my suitcase that was her car on a daily basis. Working through my issues, working through the issues of people I loved - everything happening at once. I don't know that I solved my problems or theirs, but I did find a wonderful abode at the southern tip of Manhattan, which was certainly a start. With work not flowing as regularly as I would have liked and a move-in date of the 15th, a Christmas tree wasn't out of the question, but definitely wasn't likely.

So I've been here over a year now, and the tree you sort of see above is my first Christmas tree in New York. I found its purchase particularly necessary, because this year also marks my first Christmas spent in this extraordinary place. Now, I'm not the sentimental anniversary type and usually wouldn't bother to mention this occasion, had it not come about as it did.

Cue week 2 of December 2009...

Last Tuesday, Ms. Brown, my gentile roommate, and I set out to get a tree. As of Monday, there hadn't been any tree vendors in our neighborhood, so we were assuming the worst (or the best, in my opinion) of having to take a subway ride with our new fragrant, green friend. By Tuesday morning, Brown reported that our local 24-hour market had some trees out front. Super. Great. However, by the time we were both off work, we arrived to find three sad Fraser firs left, about 6ft, going for $75 a pop with the market's owner refusing to lower the price. The guy handling the trees told us to come back late Wednesday night, as a different owner would be there and would give us a deal. Done.

I got out of my last Cirque show on Wednesday around 9:30, promptly calling my cohabiting Gentile to make our festive purchase. No answer. Despising inefficiency, my final decision was to get off the train two stops sooner to check out the prospects on my own. As I got off the train, I called B again. Still no answer, though with the excitement of a Sheik spotting an oasis in the desert, my eyes widened to see trees! Trees! Lots of green trees!

As I approached with a little dance across the street, I saw a small Ukrainian emerge from behind a row of trees:

"Excuse me, Sir, how much for a tree?"
"Eh, what kind you want? What size you want?"
"Fraser, balsam fir, either will be fine... mmm 6-7 feet"
"Come."

Unlike a lot of the trees he had, the tree he lead me to was an unbound, deeply green, 6.5 ft balsam fir.

"It's 60, but for you, I give 50."
"It is quite pretty. I do like it, but just to be sure, may I see another?"
"Other tied up, on wall, will have to untie. This one prettiest."

Skeptical of his motives, despite the tree's outward good health, I agreed it would be foolish to open more trees because of a compulsion. I asked him to pick up the tree and drop it. The only needles to fall off were the dead ones. Okie dokie. Check and check.

"Sir, it's a very pretty tree, but I'm not quite sure how I'm going to get this tree home. My roommate isn't answering calls and with my computer bag, I'm not sure if this is going to work."
"I vould help, but have to stay with trees. Can help you at 10."
"How heavy is it?"
"Eh" (he lifts the tree again) "Not bad. Can carry for you at 10."
"No, no, thank you, but I appreciate the offer. All right, Sir, I'll take it. I need a stand too. How much?"
"20, but for you, 10."
"Do you take cards or just cash?"
"Both, but ATM 'cross street."
"Not my bank and I hate bank charges." (Running joke: my bank is STILL in NJ, but now with a full branch in Manhattan)
"Listen [pronounced l-eee-sen]. I pay bank charge. No tax vhen you pay cash."

I ran across the street to the ATM assuming he's sawing off the bottom and putting it through that net-machine thing that I had assumed existed.

I crossed back over and saw that I guessed correctly about one of the two.

"Can you please tie the tree up? Twine? Net?"
"No more twine. Garbage bag?"

Four pauses of me staring at him pass.

"Sure."

I call Brown again, because while I was sure I could carry a wrapped tree on my own, I was not sure I'd be able to manage the width of an open tree. Again, niente for B.

So this delightful small Ukrainian and I tore a hole in the bottom of a giant garbage bag for the trunk (aka grip 1) and shimmied that tree into its carrying pouch. I tossed the stand into the bag and with my right hand on the bottom of the trunk and my left hand somewhere at the 3/4 mark, my new green friend dressed in plastic and I in Marc Jacobs were off on our 15-block trek home.

Receiving plenty of questionable glances from passing pedestrians, I suddenly became aware that it appeared as if I had just kidnapped a Christmas tree from goodness knows where. Now I'm sure someone has carried a 6.5 ft. tree in a garbage bag through Manhattan before me. Probably during the middle of June. As far as I was concerned, it was just a method of getting my friend home.

When my willing captive and I landed on my doorstep, we had two flights of stairs to tackle and then we were home free... into the apartment, onto the stand.

It wasn't until Thursday night that Brown and I were able to collect the suitable trimmings, put on some Christmas tunage and make our little tree look divine. Simple, affordable, elegant. As Brown plugged the lights in, I switched off the lights. A home is not a home until you make it one and we had just done that. Brown went to sit and watch the tree and I walked over to do the dishes. With nothing but the tree light, I was a happy, serene little clam. Listening to music, taking in the soft light and dancing about the kitchen: wash, dry, dance, repeat. I don't know what it was, but it made me very happy.

Happiest of holidays, Kids.

Photo: Tree, apartment, me.

Let's see, let's see... Warhol being from Pittsburgh aside, what do I love about pop art? In this case, make-up entirely inappropriate for everyday use: light orange eyes and magenta lips!

This is one of the raw images from a project started a few months ago. As all art of this genre goes, goodness knows what crazy color and design will enter into the final product...

Speaking of color, once again, having an RGB profile issue with the true color of this photo. Imagine it? Sorry guys, Noah did a great job lighting skin tone and I can't quite do it justice. :(

In case you were wondering, that frowny face is me.

Didn't think you'd see this rare breed again, did you? She essss-CA-pes* to the ocean when she doesn't want to speak, where no one expects her to speak. Just swimming amongst the colors, taking in the wavelengths of light and thinking about the universe. At 110 ft in the Coral Sea, she couldn't have found a better spot.

Photo taken by a fellow diver aboard the Spoilsport and yes, yes that is the camera rig in my hand. Fan coral in the foreground.

*I try to be serious, but cartoon references (in this case, "Finding Nemo") often foil my plan.

One of the most venomous feeessshhies on the ocean floor: Mr. Lionfish!

I've been saving this picture from the Great Barrier Reef specifically for the holiday season that is now upon us. What's festive about this, you ask? They're Christmas Tree Worms!

These guys are shy guys too! Well, not like Super Mario's shy guys, but with each passing shadow or the slightest touch, they retract into their little burrows in the coral. If you wait a minute, they slowly reemerge looking as pretty as they did when you spotted them.

Bondi Beach, Sydney, Australia.

Probably one of the coolest populated places on the eastern coast of Aussieland.

Cataract Gorge, Launceston, Tasmania.

I've had a number of people ask me over the past few years about the origin of my profession(s) and how I keep myself employed. Below is a sample voicemail for a work inquiry. I hope it answers some questions.

Fuckin' Harvey! Didn't answer my call.

Shocker. Stunning.

Hello?... It's your pal... Cory. I hope you are doing well... ahhhmmm.... I can't get too mad at you for not picking up because you just sound so darn cute on that little cell-phone recording. Uhmmmm... please call me at your earliest convenience... I have a proposition for you if you're not doing anything from September 3rd to September 12th.

And it's not going on vacation with me.

Although that would be nice.

Sooo call me... 3rd of September through the 12th of September. All those days. Working. Call me back... bbhhhyyyeeee.

Peacock, peacock, how proud you are with your pretty, pretty plume. Were you so proud that you had to chase a little 8-year-old Alli around a farm many years ago? How beautiful she thought you were, but perhaps you didn't know that. Despite that treacherous lap around a barn in West Virginia, she still finds you exquisite.

Crazy writer, talking about such nonsense as peacocks in West Virginia or in this case, Tasmania. Such things surely aren't possible.

When we last left Australia, we were roaming and romping around the countryside of Tasmania. What's really inconvenient, however, is that my Cape Tribulation photos are still stuck on that stupid XD card (damn you and you inferior storage methods, Olympus!! Why do I have an Olympus you ask? The 550uz was part of my underwater rig that I wanted to test on dry land). I confidently inform you that my battle with it is far from over.

In the meantime, I'll stray from my frustration and leave you with an image from our hike through the gorgeous Cataract Gorge in Launceston, Tasmania.

Rihanna attends the release party for her album "Rated R" on Thursday at M2 in NYC.

Think of every one-of-kind place in the world you've ever wanted to visit. Why do you want to go there? What makes it so different, so solitary? It's funny, but I started to type the word "rare" then "uncommon," however realizing using either would be an incorrect use of language within context. Those words imply that there is a level of equality elsewhere, but what if that's not true? Sometimes I feel redundant, always talking about how utterly incredible the above is, but then again, I do that with everything and everyone I find astounding and inspiring. If it/he/she is that amazingly incredible, it/he/she deserves to be spoken of admirably and frequently. Very frequently. I can't say it's happened often, no more than seven times in my life thus far, so I won't apologize, but if you don't want to read about the Garden anymore, it'd be best to find alternative material. I'll be very sad to see you go, but I'll understand.

In being absolutely honest, it's one of the very few things that has left me speechless on a repeat basis. When we came down off the roof, Tim just looked at me and said, "You know how I knew you were excited? You were emotionless." Which means two things... 1) That he understood something that many people do not, in that a lack of projecting socially recognized emotion often indicates the greatest expression of feeling and 2) that he had been paying attention since the day I met him. It's like when you try to hand-write your thoughts, or even type them, sometimes even speak them... the result that is displayed is only a part of the calamity that has taken residence in your head.

My point? The widest smile and the brightest eyes wouldn't have been an adequate translation of what was in my brain.

As a rule of thumb, if I'm still able to form sentences and carry on a dialogue, well, it's not always exactly what I was hoping to find. It puts life at a different standard and is a wretchedly terrible, yet splendidly terrific personality trait - a flaw and an attribute all rolled into one. Fantastic because I look for it in everyone and everything and awful, of course, because I look for it in everyone and everything. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've met my own standard - two fingers and a half... maybe. Call me difficult, call me impossible, but while I try to meet my own expectations, I have what I might call a "good time" doing it.

Creating reality one hour at a time.

Photo: Roof of Madison Square Garden on Thanksgiving around 7 p.m., 8th Ave. to the left, 33rd St. (almost) dead on.

I usually make no mention of this, but as some of you know, it was my birthday yesterday. Furthermore, I had a completely different blog for today until late last night when a string of stanza-ed text messages came rolling through from one of my favorite dudes out on the road.

Ladies and gents, my absolute favorite birthday present of 2009:

One summer afternoon I met Alli in PA.
She picked me up, even though I was out of her way.

Then we had to part for quite awhile,
And were separated by much more than a mile.

But we'd soon reunite in a city farther east,
And enjoy together an authentic Chinese feast.

Then back to her apartment she would bring me,
But it was only so I could assemble her Wii.

And when I proved undoubtedly inept,
Remarkably still her patience she kept.

So that's how I know Alli is sweet and kind,
And not just another superb behind.

Now I hope we'll hang out whenever we can,
And I promise I'm better at working things made in Japan.

- Bryan Strickland, tour manager/photographer/poet/class-A friend

Even if he's lying about the sweet, kind, behind part, the rest is awesome and true. From working my first big show in Pittsburgh to late night adventures in Chinatown to Mario Cart in my apartment to DMB catering at Fenway, we've managed to grow a wonderful friendship, which can be hard to do in the music business. I think it's frickin' great. Contrary to my usual stance, I give communication technology a big thumbs up for this one.

Photo 1: Bry's cover shot for DMB's Live Trax (Lisbon) vol. 10 album
Photo 2: Bryan!