Day 14; Sailing the Pacific

When we unexpectedly stopped at the Marina the other day to stock Kenichi’s  boat for the upcoming trip. I wanted to kick myself for not bringing my camera. The sight of all the boats and yachts docked amongst the beautiful blue sky was breathtaking to say the very least. While I did regret not having my side arm on hand. I reminded myself that some moments are better left to memory. There was that and the fact that we would soon return to put that boat in the water and sail the Pacific with enough provisions to keep our bellies full for days. Well, that day came today and despite some initial concern on how I was going to get my unbalanced ass on to the boat. Boat (1 of 1)       It was, for lack of a better term “smooth sailing.” Kayuri’s Dad Kenichi has many passions in life, sailing being his greatest. Not only is he an excellent sailor. He’s won more than his share of trophy’s and ribbons in sailing competitions over the years. As a man who always seems to be in high spirits. Laughing and toasting for days on end. Seeing him at wheel of his boat is by far, the happiest he’s been. Over our last two visits and this one. He disappeared in to the ocean for days on end. Lucky for us, we got to go out with him today and will have a second chance before the weekend is over. I’m happy to say. The New Year started on the right foot. Be well. Be awesome.

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Day 13; Hayama (Beach Day)

With plans to walk to the beach. We made a point to leave earlier than usuaL. Then, just as we were finishing breakfast Kayuri’s mom asked if it would be alright to walk there with us. Before long, two became three and with the addition of her Dad Kenichi. Our duo became a quartet. Not to complain, but I was a little bit worried they wouldn’t be able to keep up with us. The walk itself is a long one. One that, much like most of the rural areas we’ve visited, is one climb after another. It’s a steep climb whether you’re going up a hill (Like it almost always seems) or downhill. Yet, before we knew it. They were leading the path and leaving us in their dust.

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Now an outsider might view staying in the same rural area for more than a day as “Taking it easy”.  I can assure you, the terrain here has helped me rediscover my once lost balance while giving me strong, durable hiker legs.

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After a long, twisting walk, we arrived at the beach where we did a lot more walking and climbing. Overall, it was an exhausting day. Making it back up that last hill at the end of the day took all that I had and more. As we head in to the New Year and the last four days of our trip. I begin to think of the people and things I’ll miss the most. We ended our day with another great meal that took up the entire table and more. I had the biggest cuts of sashimi I’ve ever had and got to sit and drink with my Father-in-Law when we were done.

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Day 8; (Shibuya) Tokyo

To be perfectly honest. I am beginning to lose track of the days here. So I’m just going  to pretend no ones looking and go with the flow of what my blog tells me. With Friday being our last day in Hakone. I took advantage of the rain and the fact that it was Christmas day to spend as much time going back and forth between the hot springs and the sauna before packing and heading back down the mountain on the way to our home base in Hayama.

With the threat of a do nothing weekend I bolted for another option in the Shibuya area of Tokyo. and the promise of a couple of extra record stores and the shrines. While I liked the Shibuya area. Everything there seems to be created to satisfy the tastes and influences of Americans. Shop after shop featured apparel with the name New York, Brooklyn and even Harlem. There were times when I felt as if I was strolling down St. Marks Place and others (many, many others) where I felt as if I was in the heart of Times Square. I really can’t complain, considering what an awesome day we had. Maybe I just need to give up on the idea that every big metropolis is unique to the other. On a side note. I can’t go without mentioning the incredible noodles we had at that little back alley hole in the wall. Sh8 (1 of 1)Sh6 (1 of 1)Sh1 (1 of 1)Sh2 (1 of 1)Sh (1 of 1)Sh5 (1 of 1)Sh7 (1 of 1)

Memories Remain

Strangely enough, I have little to no memories of my parents time together. Being that their marriage was long over by the time I was six and legally documented by  divorce papers before I ever entered the second grade at the age of seven. It’s hard to recall or visualize much at all. The two or three events that have stuck with me all these years are not, by any means worth revisiting.

HorshackIIAs I do grow older, many of the memories of my very early life have been kept alive and unexplainably visual through story telling and writing about people and events that took place so many years ago. Some of my stronger memories from that time revolve around the toys and for the most part, action figures I collected throughout my childhood. Graduating to puberty and eventually adulthood. Much of the collections from my childhood were sold, donated or given to anyone willing to take them. In some very rare cases. I’ve come to reacquire some of the rarer or more unique items through flea markets and ebay searches.

For years I somehow held on to the the memory of one of my Mom’s eccentric friends giving me a Horshack figure from the then popular show “Welcome Back Kotter”. No, not Vinnie Barbarino, Freddie (Boom Boom) Washington, Epstein of even Mr. Kotter. The one and often lonely only Horshack. In limited searches over the years I’ve seen the boxed figure going upwards of sixty bucks on Ebay. I’ve even come across a buck naked, broken legged one at a Connecticut Flea Market priced at a dirty thirty. Finding this excellent condition nerd DeJour on Ebay for the price of a happy meal gave me an enduring nerdgasm I won’t soon forget. After years of searching. I finally hit gold. The only thing left to do was share. Enjoy.

Nice Truck

BloomI’ve always been intrigued with dusty old things. The older the better. If it’s run down, rusted or sitting abandoned in an open field somewhere. It’s character, stories and history draw me in, inviting me to explore and uncover.

On our first trip to Blooming Hill Farm a few weeks ago. We immediately noticed this particular truck in distance. Driven by hunger, a little lack of balance and not being sure how to get close enough to inspect without dredging through the crops. We kept a respectful distance. On our return, my curiosity peaked and a sense of determination got me from point A to B without stomping the yard or losing my ever vanishing sense of balance.

As I grew closer I began to feel the trucks rich history and purpose. It had most likely served decades hauling vegetables from the farm to markets and restaurants throughout the tristate area. As I opened the cabins squeaky cabin door to capture the rusted steering wheel and eroded seats I imagined the many drivers who navigated that truck down dark and dusty roads on the way to the highway and it’s intended destination. And while my wife will often lurk close by wondering just what it is that draws me to things of this nature. She understands and perhaps shares that wanderlust.

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A Change of Plans

BK-4227We were all set to head out for a day in Toms River with my Dad when our plans were suddenly changed due to some post shoulder surgery crankiness my Pop was experiencing.                Not having a solid backup plan. We decided to make the most of our early morning and head to Brooklyn in search for the perfect slice. With lessons from my last trip over the bridge learned. I headed out in better spirit and a lot less tension.  The day itself is somewhat of a blur.        A long walk through a number of Brooklyn neighborhoods. Followed by a panic free walk over the bridge back into Manhattan for some delicious congee on the Bowery and a lot more walking. Overall, a long rewarding day that left us exhausted and fulfilled. You really can’t ask for more.

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Sometime The Picture Presents Itself

As i began crossing the street at 23rd and the Avenue of the Americas. I noticed one of the vendors was selling one of those bubble guns. (You know, the ones that produce those massive oversized bubbles.) Wanting to pick one up for my friends son Luke. I made my way towards the table. Quickly, rethinking my gift choice and how it might turn my dear friend’s home in to one big puddle. I instead decided to get a few photos to take home. Being that I have gone back to my                           “Bring your camera with you everywhere” mantra. I was more than prepared to take action.Bubbles-1893Looking for a solid, unobstructed background. I set up a few feet away from the vendors table and waited for him to load up. Within seconds the enormous bubbles began streaming from the barrel of the oversized toy gun. Colors and shapes slowly made their way upward before bursting in to the early morning air. Along with the haircut, it turned out to be one of the highlights of my Chelsea morning. These little moments, the joy of a good haircut and a good image to take home to the demanding wife, keep me happy. Having an added piece to sell at the next gallery show or exhibition make us both happy.

Just Because you don’t Like it…

It happens sometimes. You go to a club or music venue to see your favorite band and there are four to five bands you’ve never heard of playing before them. Some of those bands will knock you on your ass, opening the doors to becoming the next band you give your heart to. Then there are the ones that make you second guess why you ever left the house in the first place. Over the years I’ve seen my share of bands that left scratching my head, covering my ears or imagining myself as a machete wielding harbinger of death to shitty bands across the planet. Felix Almentero The Wailing Kids

You can often remedy that disdain by heading out for some much needed fresh air, hitting the bar or merch table. Or, if you’re like me. Document that shit.             I’m often surprised at how I can manage to get a quality shot of a band I dislike or absolutely hate. Sometimes a good shot can go a long way to erase the memory of a bad experience and in the end, make it all worth while. And remember, while you might not like a bands sound, music or personality.           There’s always going to be those that do.

She’s Not Heavy. She’s My Mother.

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Teenage Hottie.
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50 Years Later. Just as beautiful. If not more.

It’s been close to a week since my Mom’s first visit to our new home here in Jersey City. During her week here, I made it a priority to capture some intimate images of her stay. Being that we’ve lived so far from one another for over twenty years now. I don’t get to see her nearly as much as I’d like to. While her stay had it’s share of ups and downs. It reminded me of how much I love, respect and appreciate how much she’s shaped the person I am today. By far my favorite moments of her visit was seeing her interaction and the positive foot print she left on everyone she met. Her smile, positive outlook and ability to make complete strangers feel like family are inspiring. Looking back at her visit, I realized that the thing I enjoyed the most was hearing her speak in Spanish s0 often with anyone and everyone she new spoke the language. For me personally, it’s always been one of the many traits that made her so beautiful. Till this day, I still remember the first words she taught me as a baby “Dame Un Beso.” (Give me a kiss.)     All these years later, I still tell people about my first words and about what an amazing woman my Mother has always been. Despite all our differences and endless similarities. We still love one another to the fullest. Thanks Mom.