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I might just miss these crazy lights once I’m gone. Click for high-res photo

I might just miss these crazy lights once I’m gone.

I’m never leaving.

The carnival begins Thursday marks my fourth year living smack dab in the center of New York’s largest festival. More than one million people will pass by my front door during the next 10 days. Never thought I’d say this, but this year I’m finding beauty in it.  Click for high-res photo

The carnival begins

Thursday marks my fourth year living smack dab in the center of New York’s largest festival. More than one million people will pass by my front door during the next 10 days. Never thought I’d say this, but this year I’m finding beauty in it. 

I can’t remember exactly what I thought when I first heard. I was a senior in high school in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I walked into AP English and my teacher had the TV on. I don’t remember who I talked to about it or what my teacher told us. I don’t remember if they let us out of school early or if I drove home alone. I do remember walking into my house and my mom standing in front of our kitchen window crying. It was the first time I saw one of my parents scared. I will never forget how that made me feel, how I suddenly understood the magnitude of what happened, and yet didn’t; how helpless and unsafe I felt. A loss of innocence. Ten years later I went about my day as usual. I didn’t feel right about going down to the World Trade Center site. It’s a strange thing—being in New York makes me feel closer yet further from what happened. I’m surrounded by people who actually saw, heard, felt, and smelled that day. I can’t imagine what it was like to be here. I know 9/11 was personal for everyone, but compared to many people near me here, I feel removed, and being around those mourning at the site felt voyeuristic. So instead I’m curled into bed in my downtown apartment, reading New York magazine’s incredible 9/11 encyclopedia. And, for once, I’m enjoying that Sinatra’s New York, New York is blaring into my apartment from the Little Italy restaurants below. photo via vneckandcardigan

I can’t remember exactly what I thought when I first heard. I was a senior in high school in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I walked into AP English and my teacher had the TV on. I don’t remember who I talked to about it or what my teacher told us. I don’t remember if they let us out of school early or if I drove home alone.

I do remember walking into my house and my mom standing in front of our kitchen window crying. It was the first time I saw one of my parents scared. I will never forget how that made me feel, how I suddenly understood the magnitude of what happened, and yet didn’t; how helpless and unsafe I felt. A loss of innocence.

Ten years later I went about my day as usual. I didn’t feel right about going down to the World Trade Center site. It’s a strange thing—being in New York makes me feel closer yet further from what happened. I’m surrounded by people who actually saw, heard, felt, and smelled that day. I can’t imagine what it was like to be here. I know 9/11 was personal for everyone, but compared to many people near me here, I feel removed, and being around those mourning at the site felt voyeuristic. So instead I’m curled into bed in my downtown apartment, reading New York magazine’s incredible 9/11 encyclopedia. And, for once, I’m enjoying that Sinatra’s New York, New York is blaring into my apartment from the Little Italy restaurants below.

photo via vneckandcardigan

gnomesweetgnome:

Ten Years Later: A Tribute 9/11
My favorite 9/11 tribute in New York City can be found in Bryant Park. 2,819 empty chairs on the lawn facing the site where the World Trade Center once stood, one chair for every life lost. The number of empty chairs captures the enormity of the lives lost and the stark emptiness of it just drives home the point that I hope is never forgotten. 2,819 people were here one moment and gone the next. 2,819 went to work or boarded a plane one morning ten years ago thinking it would be another ordinary day and they never came home.

(reblogged from kevin)
There’s a lot of exciting stuff going on in my life right now. Tonite after work I had to walk off my charge. I passed Radio City Music Hall, a family taking photos in front of a flower shop, the edge of Times Square, and some fancy designer stores on Fifth Avenue. And then, as I turned the corner on to Lexington, this. The street steam and the art deco Chrysler Building felt all too film noir and beautiful. I reached for my camera. And in this moment, a surprising moment, seeing my favorite building in a whole new perspective, I knew New York would always be home. Click for high-res photo

There’s a lot of exciting stuff going on in my life right now. Tonite after work I had to walk off my charge. I passed Radio City Music Hall, a family taking photos in front of a flower shop, the edge of Times Square, and some fancy designer stores on Fifth Avenue. And then, as I turned the corner on to Lexington, this. The street steam and the art deco Chrysler Building felt all too film noir and beautiful. I reached for my camera.

And in this moment, a surprising moment, seeing my favorite building in a whole new perspective, I knew New York would always be home.

52hearts:

Irene NYC (by Buffalo Picture House)

This makes the hurricane look beautiful. I hope those of you along the east coast weren’t badly affected even though it wasn’t as bad as most people thought it would be.

Scenes from this weekend, shot in my neighborhood. The scariest part of this storm was definitely how empty NYC felt.

Let’s all be thankful our amazing city was not damaged, today especially, the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina’s landfall in New Orleans. Much love to both of my cities.

(reblogged from 52hearts)
maybe my last walk outside for awhile. stay safe nyc. Click for high-res photo

maybe my last walk outside for awhile. stay safe nyc.

“
Coming to the city was like entering a tunnel, and finding to your surprise that the light at the end didn’t matter; sometimes in fact the tunnel made the light tolerable.
Let the Great World Spin