I wasn’t allowed to express my opinions.
I’ve photographed some of the best and brightest politicians — Bill Clinton and Al Gore — and some of the least auspicious, like the fun mayor of Concord, New Hampshire, who moonlighted as my Social Work professor, while I was working on my Master’s degree.
When I photographed politicians and political campaigns in the past, I had to be objective and not let my own personal preferences sway my journalistic integrity. Spending so much time traipsing around the Granite State during The New Hampshire Primaries, I did indeed form opinions about the candidates I covered. But I had to keep those opinions to myself.
The alarm beep, beep, beeps and we jump behind the curtain shielding us from sensitive, Top Secret information coming in over the Comm system.
30 seconds later, the curtain slides back open and the missileers — one man and one woman — continue explaining their roles in this bunker, this completely secured capsule dozens of feet beneath the … where, I can’t tell you.
I think it was somewhere during my sixth or seventh trip up or down my daughter’s East Harlem apartment stairs that I realized just how lucky we are, how good we have it. Living on the fifth floor of an old building with terrible heat and no air conditioning, my daughter attended grad school at Columbia for two years.
The lack of heat wasn’t an issue as we moved her, though; outside it was 91 degrees. Inside it felt even hotter. But I can’t believe how fortunate we were, we are.Read More
The email came it at 4:06 pm Wednesday, “Call me as soon as you can. Need to discuss something with you.“
Maybe it’s the escapism, putting my mind into a different scenario each time the lights dim and the credits begin. Perhaps it’s the shared experience of seeing movies with others. After all, scientists say we all tend to blink at the same time when we sit together watching movies. But for whatever reason, I’ve been drawn to movies all my life at an almost obsessive level.
Encountering The Five Senses And More In The Conch Republic
“That’s the smell of Night Jasmine,” the tarot card reader told us. “Or maybe it’s Frangipani; they both bloom in the evening.”
The Gulf breeze carried the scent away, playfully departing as quickly as it arrived. Replacing the smell was the sound of a dozen weekend gin joints pounding out the pulsing beat of live bands, DJs and the crowded roar of revelers celebrating another successful sunset.