Holy Tumbler, Batman!

Yesterday the Tumbler and Bat-Pod parked in front of Busch Stadium in downtown St. Louis as part of its tour across the country before Christopher Nolan’s super crazily anticipated The Dark Knight Rises film opens in theaters on July 20th. These kids were so incredibly precious. I can honestly say we were equally excited to see each other. As soon as I saw them across the street, I began waving frantically to their dad while leading Poison Ivy (or Allison Babka, as she’s known in her everyday life. Oops!) across the street to greet fellow masked avengers. Their dad asked if we’d pose with them for a photo, then I quickly grabbed a photo of’em before one lil Batman asked why I wasn’t Catwoman. I was a little caught off guard by the question, so I answered that “I’m her on the weekends.”

I’m seriously considering a change of profession. Fight crime at night, pose with cute kids during the day. Everyone wins.

Also, I wish we’d had the chance to run into some Cardinals players. I saw a photo of David Freese and Jason Motte floating around the interwebs, posing by the Tumbler.

Poison Ivy is probably tweeting here.

Ain’t she a beauty?

And now with the Bat-Pod.

Jon Gitchoff was kind enough to take these photos of us…

I don’t know if it’s just me, but it was kind of awkward to have my head in some bird’s beak.

And now it’s Jon and Allison’s turn.

100th Post & 13 Things That Make My World Go Boom (Boom Boom Boom Beep Boop)

Here it is, post number 100. I’ve been trying to think of something worthy of the 100th, and so decided to blog about (funny how words like “blog” or even “Google” have morphed into verbs…sorry, back to the point!) what’s important to me in life. Don’t worry, I haven’t made a list of 100 things. Instead, the following are people, experiences and qualities in life that keep me going and make me who I am.

Friends

This photo is of my best friend, Hala. We’ve been friends for about 19ish years, but over the past few years in particular, she has been the most consistent source of support in my world. This particular image was taken about a month or so ago, when Hala landed an interview at a reputable architecture firm in Illinois (she later got the job and began this month). She’d been searching since before graduating three years ago with not one but two masters degrees. I insisted we go celebrate the interview over sushi (she loves it and, after so many years, is finally slowly converting me…). That’s our friendship. We celebrate each other for our accomplishments—however small they may seem, we joke—as well as who we are as individuals.

Hala is everything the ideal friend and partner-in-crime should be—she always has my back, the gal is absolutely hilarious and she’s tough enough to tell me to “Check yourself before you wreck yourself” but compassionate enough to let me have my cry while lending her empathic ears that I’ve filled with everything from my hopes and fears to my filthy jokes. Our two biggest quarrels in our friendship have been Phil Collins (I can’t stand’em, she loves him and still occasionally slips in a song of his on mixes she gives me) and whether or not you can actually “make love in a club” (I never liked the song, but we spent a substantial amount of time arguing this point on a drive to Detroit about two years ago).

I can only hope that I’ve been as good a friend to her as she’s been to me.

(And of course, there are others who have been outstanding friends, but I must continue with the list…)

Family

My niece and nephew turned 3 in January (my niece Sadeel, aka “Boo Boo Face,” was born on January 15, my nephew Malik, aka “Tiny man,” on January 16—both my sisters-in-law were in the same hospital delivering less than 24 hours apart. It was very Father of the Bride Part II.) This image still makes me laugh because my niece’s drool is dripping onto the candles. It was taken during one of our Sunday night dinners at my parents’ house. I love these two adorable creatures more than anything, and I’m always left in awe of how funny and smart they are at so young an age. Just last night my dad mentioned them both and his face lit up, with his dimples even more defined as he smiled (my dad has the most infectious smile of anyone I’ve ever known) while bragging about their latest endeavors (Boo Boo Face tried to recruit my dad in a band along with her parents and the Tiny man recently schooled someone on all the different types of trucks that exist in the world. I can honestly say I’ve learned loads from him and his truck books.).

Regardless of what’s going on in our respective lives, we’re always there for each other. Support, love and the entertainment that only toddlers can provide is what makes my family whole.

Education

This photo is of Hala’s younger brother/my younger brother’s best friend/my fantasy baseball league’s commissioner Mahdi graduating with his bachelor’s degree in history at UMSL (University of Missouri St. Louis) last week. He’ll be going to join his brother at law school at UMKC (University of Missouri Kansas City). I was so proud of him—and still am, of course. I remember him and my younger brother graduating kindergarten together.

My God, time does fly.

And I’ll be going to grad school at Mizzou (University of Missouri) this fall to pursue my masters in photojournalism. I’m excited to be back in an environment dedicated to education and my TA (teaching assistant) position I landed may actually sway me to consider a future in teaching someday. As the photo editor at Webster University’s Journal my senior year, I enjoyed the feeling of helping the staff photographers and cherished the times that some actually came to me for advice on editing their portfolio. I didn’t think my input meant anything to them, and when I realized that it did, well, that meant a hell of a lot to me. And I learned so much with that job. And I’m still learning. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t been in school for two years, I find myself constantly learning new things—whether it’s trying to figure out the nuances of shooting concerts or learning to find a voice in writing.

The learning process for me will never stop because if it did, I would cease to grow as a photographer and as a person.

The Old Country

I’m Palestinian American. My parents were born and raised in Palestine. They’ve known war and occupation before moving here in the 70s. I was born and raised here in the States, but I too have known war and occupation—certainly not to the same degree as them, but I lived in the West Bank town of Beitin, right outside the city of Ramallah, for three years in the 90s, during what was dubbed a more “peaceful” time.

Yet we were under occupation.

There were days where my mother would literally drive us around mountains to get to school because the main road to the city—a mere 10 minute drive, tops—would be shut down by Israeli soldiers. Her livelihood and our education depended on getting to school (she was a preschool teacher at the English speaking private school my four siblings and I were enrolled in. Actually, my younger sister was only a year and a half when we moved, but she would stay with my mother in the preschool/kindergarten area. We would joke about how she’d graduated preschool three years in a row.)

Regardless of where I end up in this world, my blood is Palestinian blood. The people I see when I visit the “Old Country” are people that I admire for their resilience and strength. Sometimes, something as simple as going to school is an act of protesting injustice.

The image above is of a man in Ramallah who makes, sells and plays his own instrument that I only seem to know what it’s called in Arabic (“a’aood,” which literally translates to wood. If anyone knows what this instrument is called in English, feel free to share…).

Photography

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, photography is the love of my life. It’s not just a profession for me. I’m obviously not in it for the money (remember the time I said I was going back to school? Yeah, I’m hoping to have a job someday in this field…). It’s a way of life for me, a form of expression and the closest I will ever get to being a super hero (I can stop time, you guys). Before we all got obsessed with documenting every single aspect of our daily activity, from meals to concerts (I am guilty in dabbling with this trend, but I’m now trying to slowly ween myself off—or at least minimize it), photography was meant to tell stories and record significant moments/people in our lives (I’d read an essay by Susan Sontag on the evolution of photography and its role in mainstream society. It has been so long, but I’d love to read it again and I’m pretty sure it’s worth a read to anyone particularly interested).

Anywho…

My goal with this photography thing is that I might someday be trusted to tell compelling stories of people. I’ve been lucky enough to receive that responsibility from a few subjects. The people I want don’t have to be particularly remarkable individuals. Actually, I find that being human is an extraordinary thing already. We possess a certain power—lets call it strength—to overcome obstacles, to heal, to inspire, to love. How is that not remarkable? That’s what I look to capture, I guess.

The photo above is of my friend Theo R. Welling, a fellow photographer and Webster alum. I photographed him photographing others for a personal portrait project he was working on 2-3 years ago.

Writing

Photography may be the one, but writing was my first love. The strength of the written word is immeasurable. I don’t find myself to be a particularly gifted writer, but I’ve gotta say, there’s nothing like being in “the zone” for me. It’s this tiny window of time where my fingers take on a life of their own, possessed by what first begins as a frustratingly slow trickle that builds to a steady flow of whatever it is that I’m trying to say. The words form into sentences that form paragraphs that meander on, all escaping through the tips of my fingers, fingers that furiously hit the keys on my laptop with an urgent sense of purpose…this is my idea of excitement. Often, the things I write ramble the way I do in life. They’re probably just as random and incoherent as I am. But when I pull something off that actually makes sense and has something to contribute—whether it’s to a discussion or for entertainment purposes—well, there’s little else that makes me feel so accomplished.

The image above is from a full-length feature story I wrote for Phoenix New Times last summer on a woman’s story of her experience singing to hospice patients. Out of all the concerts, protests, food and portraits I photographed, this project was the most rewarding thing I’d done on a personal level. It forced me out of my comfort zone. This person trusted me with her life—from memories of loved ones dying to her current struggles. I needed to give as much of myself to this assignment as I could. The result was a +4,000 word story, photographs and a multimedia piece. The photo above is of Kellie Walker singing to a hospice patient at Dobson Home in Chandler, Ariz.

I spent most of my 24th birthday alone sitting on my front porch, pouring over the last version of the story I would send back to my editor in Phoenix (the birthday was technically already off to a good start since I was in good company past the stroke of midnight after a Cardinals victory of the Pirates and a lot of Ted Drewes frozen custard). It was the best birthday in recent memory.

Music

This photo is an unpublished image I’d taken of So Many Dynamos at an RFT show at Off Broadway in March (I unfortunately missed Bug Chaser and Old Lights because I was at a show at Old Rock House to see The Staves and Nathaniel Rateliff).

I once had a dream a few years ago where I could not hear anyone speaking to me, making it difficult to communicate—it was a bit like dealing with the adults in an episode of Charlie Brown. I was only able to hear music and, as I went along in the dream photographing my surroundings, I found it to be a beautiful thing.

Music both fills the unbearable silences and blocks out the excessive noise in life.

Travel

I miss Italy. I miss the Southwest. I miss NYC and Chicago, too. As much as I love St. Louis, there is a huge world out there full of strange and lovely things. Travel = adventure. I keep a cardigan or sweater on me at all times and rarely venture out to a restaurant or location that I can’t first study online. Adventure and spontaneity are things that lack in my life at the moment, but I’m working on it.

The image above is a scene of Florence at night that I’d taken with my 35mm Canon Rebel while in Italy for a large format photography class. When I look at this image, I can still recall the feelings of wonder and delight that rushed through me. Naturally, my friend and I rode the carousel after shooting.

Humor

I love Hala, but she’s been known to occasionally be clumsy (the roles have reversed, however, and while she now rocks 5 inch heels with cool grace I often stumble around photo pits knocking into other photographers’ lenses. Note to others: If I happen to bump my head in a lens, I’d much prefer Canon because Nikon lenses will leave you with a borderline concussion). Anywho, the first photo of a sign I’d taken for her was in the Vatican with an image of a man who looked like he was tumbling down a flight of stairs. Since then, whenever I see a sign that either warns of impending dangers or a sign I just find funny, I take it with her in mind. This particular image was taken on the free Staten Island ferry in New York in February.

Humor is one of the absolute most important things in my life. Whenever someone asks me what I look for in a man, I immediately answer that I need someone who can make me laugh. Also, I like beards.

That’s about it.

No, that’s not about it. That was a joke, people. CALM DOWN.

So, yeah…I like to be silly sometimes. I love making people laugh. I have a soft spot for “That’s What She Said” jokes and I’m known to pull a “That’s not what your mom said LAST NIGHT” on people. There is way too much misery in this world for people to not take themselves too seriously.

Tasty Treats

I love food. A lot. Last night I actually told the bride I was photographing that I’d been having indecent thoughts about fried chicken. I don’t know what exactly that means and I don’t care to elaborate other than the smell of fried chicken has been driving me wild lately. I should just get some but whenever it comes to mind, I’m rushing to get somewhere.

Also, I know I sound insane sometimes when I talk/write about food. But I don’t care, because this goes along with humor (see above).

And I realize that this photo is not of fried chicken but of a fried waffle thing with strawberries, toasted pecans and whipped cream from a stand in New York City. I don’t know if I a.) Have any photos of fried chicken or b.) Can handle the sight of fried chicken without running through the wall and leaving a Kholood-shaped hole behind.

Baseball

Last season was spectacular for all sorts of reasons.

Aside from the Cardinals making for some of the best damn television I can recall in ages, it gave me something to cheer for when I was down about other things. It gave me a reason to be hopeful. It was a welcome escape and a wonderful excuse to bond with thousands of other folks—affectionately known as Cardinal Nation—and cheer my freaking mind out and cause what may be permanent damage to my throat (I’ve noticed that my voice sounds different, and I can’t help but wonder if last season had anything to do with it…).

All the tears and agony and suspense was worth it. It was an example of a time that felt like something greater than just another season of baseball, just another playoff push—it felt like the motherflippin’ planets aligned to get us into October. It felt like a miracle. 

Only, it wasn’t a miracle.

It was a group of guys playing each game as if it were the last of the season. I recall some of the naysayers, trying to make it seem like it was too little, too late. But even if we didn’t make it to the playoffs, I wanted to see our guys play with dignity, win or lose. I’m by no means an expert on baseball. I occasionally participate in fantasy baseball leagues, but I’m not invested in the sport for stats. For me, as cliché as this may sound, I realized last season that it’s not just about winning the game, but how you play it.

The image above is after the World Series Victory Parade in Downtown St. Louis.

Kindness (of Strangers)

Hala jokes about me living in a “bubble” much like the one Jon Hamm’s character in 30 Rock is in. Three things: First off, I promise I have friends other than Hala. Second, I’m not nearly as beautiful as Jon Hamm. Third, she totally dedicated Jay Z and Kanye West’s “H.A.M.” as my new ringtone for when I call. I’m really excited about this—a little too excited, I think.

Every now and then I’ll tell her about someone who was incredibly kind to me for no apparent reason. I’m lucky to have these occasional encounters with people because sometimes I forget that not everyone in this world is a raging asshole. Things as simple as a server giving me extra bread or a random person complimenting my shoes are enough to brighten my day. This whole kindness thing I’ve been experiencing doesn’t exclusively pertain to strangers, however. I’ve said this before, but I’m not going to assume anyone still reading at this point recalls anything I’ve said in the past. The photographers in this town are ridiculously kind and supportive. Some have lent me or offered to lend me expensive equipment without so much as 1/250th of a second’s worth of hesitation. Others have given encouragement, compliments and helpful criticism that’s always appreciated.

If someone shows me any sort of kindness, I try to return the favor and pass it along to others. This isn’t me being preachy or self-righteous. Honestly, I know I can never truly repay some of the people who’ve helped me, so I try to “pay it forward.”

The photo above is of the artist Eduardo Sarmiento, who came to Atomicdust during a Cuban Poster Art exhibit a few months ago. I approached Sarmiento shortly after he spoke about the poster photographed behind him, of the idea of immigrants drifting away from their native land and eventually coming home. I just wanted to let him know that the idea spoke to me as a Palestinian and he insisted on giving me a signed poster for free (I later joked with friends about how being Palestinian finally paid off). I asked to take a quick portrait of him and send it as a thank you. Unfortunately the email bounced back, so I’ll need to mail a print.

New Experiences

This past year in particular has been jam-packed with new experiences, most of which have been really good. I blogged once before about how I’d made it a point to go to more shows and support the local music scene. This is what I’m doing now and because of it, I’ve been exposed to new bands and a community of really interesting and funny people I’d never have known had I not set out to explore a bit. Twitter has been great in helping me connect with folks, but it’s not the same until I actually step away from a computer or cell phone and just have a conversation with’em in person—a conversation that’s more than 140 characters long. I’m more open to meeting new people then ever before, whether it’s someone standing in line at Off Broadway or a fellow baseball fan at the ballpark. Just putting myself out there has more often than not been worth it. It helps keep me from leading too mundane of a life, and St. Louis is a much more fun place when I run into familiar and friendly faces around town.

This photo is of my friend Jill’s dog, Monster. I met Jill kind of by chance one night a few months ago. Friend and RFT music editor Kiernan called me after I’d already left the house for an assignment to let me know I was no longer on the list to shoot a Babyface concert in St. Louis that evening and invited me to join him, former RFT co-worker Tucker and Tucker’s friend, Jill. I figured I was already headed to the city and decided to swing by The Royale.

Once Jill and I got to talking, we discovered a similar taste in music. She’s still newly back in St. Louis after moving here in October, which probably contributed to her being especially outgoing and sociable. We immediately decided to be “concert buddies.” I’d never met/exchanged numbers with anyone so quickly, but soon after that, we started going to shows together. Now, she’s not only my “concert buddy,” but a friend with a precious dog named Monster that I get to play with and adore (Monster = huge bonus to the friendship).

(Shooting) Friends with Kids

Yup, I’m now at that age where my friends are poppin’ out babies or gettin’ others knocked up who then pop out their babies. And being a photographer, I like to shoot their kids (which I’m also always flattered to do).

Here are a few I did of Jason, Nikole and their adorable baby Greyson (oh, and a really bizarre shot of the fellas and their dog). The cute kiddo was born in February. Still can’t believe Jason’s a dad but as soon as he called last summer to tell me the good news, I knew he’d make for a wonderful one. Actually, I’m more in shock that Jason and Nikole are raising chickens and growing a quaint little garden behind their Kirkwood home in addition to raising a kid. Domesticated and adorable.

This photo actually makes me laugh because Greyson looks like he’s actually posing for me. But…HE’S A BABY!

Is “The Circle of Life” playing in your head when you look at this?

Love the way Greyson’s mean muggin’ me here. Or is he just bored? Another shot I find amusing.

Oh, and just because my friends are just as strange as I am (I say this lovingly, of course), I humored Jason with his request for a very stoic photo of him, Greyson and their dog Frank…

Insert Amazing Spider-Man Photo Caption *Here

An unlimited texting plan seems pretty logical here. Or is he tweeting? For the dozens of you (that’s optimism for ya, folks) who actually occasionally check this blog, I’m curious to hear what YOU think a good caption for this photo should be. The funnier, the better. I’m too broke to offer you some prize that isn’t in the form of praise and mad street cred.

Yes, in case you’ve been searching, I can provide you with the street cred which you so desperately desire.

Ballpark Polaroids

Wrigley Field in Chicago, Illinois in April, 2009 (day off).

I began a project back in 2009 I so cleverly dubbed as “Ballpark Polaroids.” It wasn’t a premeditated series, rather, it just happened. One day, Polaroid announced that they were discontinuing production of their film. So I—like many other photographers/nostalgic crazies—went out and tried to purchase as much film as I could find.

I also bought my first Polaroid camera off Craigslist for $1.

Because the film was hard to come by, I wanted to save each shot for something special. Now if I’ve got a pack of Polaroids, I use them to document my own memories (photos of my first time visiting the ocean with a friend or posing in Webster University’s May Gallery next to my photos that I got in a juried show decorate my “Polaroid Wall” in my bedroom). While on a trip to Chicago with the Latent Image photo club I was an officer in (I know, I was just as wild in college as I was in high school), I still didn’t own my own DSLR at that point and couldn’t take a school camera, so I took film cameras (and really over-packed). Among the cameras I took: my giant honkin’ Mamiya RB 67 (funny thing, I became so accustomed to shooting with the Hasselblad in the studio that I’d forgotten that I had to advance the film on the back as well as cocking the shutter for the next frame. So, this tank became a moot point on the trip), a 35mm Canon Rebel and a Polaroid 600 camera.

Anywho, me and two friends bought tickets for a Cubs vs. Cards game at Wrigley Field (we lost in the 11th due to a walk-off homer, but the overall experience was very cool nonetheless. See below for a Polaroid of us). We were in such a hurry to escape the obnoxious cheers of our division rivals that I didn’t get to shoot to my heart’s content. So later that weekend, on a rainy April day with Radiohead playing on my iPod, I grabbed my cameras and headed back to Wrigley.

And I waited.

The great thing about film is that it forces discipline. You have to really be certain of the image you’re about to create. I waited in the rain for some time for that Polaroid above. I wanted the “Home of the Chicago Cubs” on the sign. I wanted the blurred female where she is, briskly entering the frame.

One year later, I went to not one, but two Opening Days—both were Cardinals games, one was away at Cincinnati, the other was home in St. Louis. I took my Polaroid camera again. I loved the idea of photographing baseball stadiums with Polaroids. Baseball, America’s pastime. What better subject matter to capture with a medium that immediately invokes nostalgia, and a sense of timelessness?

And thus, my modest project was born.

When I’m in a new city (that has a pro baseball team), I make a pilgrimage to the ballpark. I don’t always get to go inside and the team isn’t always home, but I take my Polaroid camera regardless. And here’s what I’ve got so far.

Busch Stadium in St. Louis, Missouri during Opening Day on April 12, 2010.

Great American Ball Park in Cincinnati, Ohio, before Opening Day on April 5, 2010.

Comerica Park in Detroit, Michigan in September 2010 (off season).

Coors Field in Denver, Colorado, August 2011. (Away game)

 Chase Field in Phoenix, Arizona before the All-Star Game on July 12, 2011.

I did visit Citi Field while in New York last month, but my camera jammed and when I unjammed (that a word?) it, the Polaroids didn’t develop. I lost quite a few Polaroids desperately trying to get my shot (and the lighting was exquisite), but I finally had to move on and resolved to come back for that and Yankee Stadium during the season.

By the way, here’s that Polaroid of my first trip to Wrigley Field…

(There’s another scanned version of this with writing on the Polaroid, but not sure where it is at the moment. I also need to find the actual Polaroid of Wrigley Field. It was on my Polaroid Wall, but when I returned from Phoenix, it was nowhere to be found. The only Polaroid to go missing. Still searching…)

The Sounds of Stl on a Saturday Night at Off Broadway

I’d like to think this dog was searching for a recycling bin.

Now that I’ve lured you in with a photo of a dog (who’s reppin’ the Lou with his Schlafly trash), most of the rest of the photos are of Scarlet Tanager, Union Tree Review, VOLCANOES and The Blind Eyes. All four of these local St. Louis bands performed at Off Broadway this past Saturday night. And I’m very glad I caught all four (I’ve only seen Scarlet Tanager once before and was/still am charmed).

As I’ve already mentioned throughout my blog, I had a fellowship this past summer in Phoenix and while out there, I started shooting more music. Really, I photographed all sorts of subjects, from food to spot news, and enjoyed it all. It was great to be consistently shooting—something that I really haven’t been in the habit of since college (cue the sad freelancer face). So I made a resolution before returning to the Midwest that I’m now trying to keep.

Well, I made at least two resolutions. First, I told myself that when I came home to St. Louis, I’d pay more attention to the music scene and the art scene. And not just to photograph. Sure, I took a camera along with me this past weekend, but I also finally met up with my new friend Jill who is now my concert pal (we immediately clicked and agreed to see Margot & the Nuclear So and So’s together, but they cancelled their show. I’m tempted to take off for SXSW with her but will have to show some restraint. At least we’ll have LouFest…and probably a dozen other shows between now and then). Anywho, as much as I enjoyed my time in Phoenix, it made me really appreciate Stl music venues. We have it good, people. I’m still working on being better about art, but I am more active with seeing/shooting music now (the other resolution was to pick up a personal photography project, which I’m just now starting…about seven months later).

I’m sure I probably looked a tad on the creepy side, but I couldn’t stop myself from grinning throughout most of Scarlet Tanager’s performance. Especially when taking that second to last photo from the series above in. I remember smiling so much during that moment in particular because they looked like they were genuinely enjoying themselves (added bonus: they make marriage look like magic and rainbows. Awfully sweet.).

^ That’s Jill

…and ^ this photo is dedicated to her. *Those are not her feet, by the way*

Oh, hey there, Union Tree Review…

I’m pretty torn between these two images of Jenn Rudisill of Union Tree Review, so I’m posting both. Because I can.

(These are more repetitive than the third I’d left out. The idea was to choose between the two.)

Can you spot Tawaine Noah’s glasses, which had flown off his face during UTR’s performance?

Really impressed by Union Tree Review’s performance. I think I’d only heard a song or two of theirs before this show, but I can generally get into indie folk rock pretty easily.

VOLCANOES performed with such wicked tenacity that it only furthered my desire to become a kickass drummer. Like, I could smell the stench of their sweaty bodies drift my way. This is not an insult. Not by any means. The guys switched off between drums, vocals, keyboard and bass. Holy hell about sums up this two-man show.

The Blind Eyes were celebrating a birthday of sorts and thus were the last band to perform. Their debut album, “Modernity,” was released three years ago. Another first for me was seeing them live, although I do have their music on the ol’ iPod. Very much enjoyed watching/shooting them, but as you can tell, I photographed less and less as the evening went on. Mostly so I could just hang.

Also, in addition to seeing Jill…

…I was stoked to see my friend (and fellow photographer) Caroline Philippone at the show, also shooting. I noticed her Facebook status saying she’d be at Off Broadway that night, so I coordinated with finding her—although we were both pretty early, making it easy to spot each other.

Oh, and naturally I had to creep on her. I love how the light is causing this glare in her glasses, not unlike a super awesome villain (although Caroline is anything but that).

NYC Subway Series

For those of you baseball fans out there (or at least Yankees or Mets fans), who clicked because of the title…well…GOTCHYA!

Sorry about that. I’ve recomposed myself. These are just a few images I took while in NYC last month. I’ll probably dedicate at least another post or two to NYC photos since my camera was my main/constant companion during the trip (DSLR and Holga. When I have the money to spare, I’ll begin developing my film from the Holga, which dates back to my Southwestern journey from last summer).

I found the subway a wonderfully fascinating place. For someone who enjoys people watching—or creeping with a camera—this is a great place to linger. So much happens under the Big Apple, and I soaked it in with the wild curiosity of a child. And each stop would unveil a new aspect of the city, which I always enjoyed when I’d reemerge back to the Earth’s surface (I often referred to our stops as “going up to the Earth’s surface,” which amused my friends whom I was visiting).

New York City truly is a place where culture thrives. I rejoiced in the many languages that would fill the subway (along with the mariachi band who would hop on, playing for a few stops before moving on to the next train). I also appreciated the fact that I, for the first time in my life, did not feel like a minority. As much as I love the Midwest, it’s strange when I’m asked, “Where are you from?” This is a loaded question for me. Do I reply with where I was born (St. Louis), where my parents are from (Palestine) or where I currently reside (St. Charles)? If I opt for the first or third answer, I’m often met with a “No, where are you really from?” But when a nice older fella at Midtown Comics asked where I was from and I replied “St. Louis,” he exclaimed, “What’s a girl like you doing in a filthy city like this?!” Even when I lived in the West Bank for three years, I felt like a minority. Yes, my skin was a similar shade of olive as the rest of the folks in town. Sure, I’ve got the thick dark hair and dark brown eyes, but I was still viewed as “The American.” And here in the Midwest, I grew up as “The Arab.”

So yeah, NYC was nice. (And don’t even get me started on the fashion. In St. Louis, when I come across someone with a really cool outfit/shoes/accessories, I often stop to compliment them. If I’d done that in NYC, I would have never reached any of my destinations. The subway alone was a true visual feast for a gal with an appreciation for beautiful shoes. Shoegasm, anyone?).

I’m not super into the shoes in the photo above. Not my cup of tea, personally, but I just looked down and noticed the combination of the shoes/bright yellow ground/word.