I spent Friday in sensory overload at Photoexpo and met Mary in Little Italy for a late lunch. When we were done we caught the 6 train at the Canal St. station, which is in Chinatown, which borders Little Italy (5000 miles and I wasn’t even winded). If you’ve ever ridden the subway in NY you know that each station has it’s own musician and Canal St., being in Chinatown, had a gaohu player. I can appreciate different music and am willing to give anything a trial listen, but after about 30 seconds we were both ready to throw ourselves under the next train. Somehow this girl had managed to zone out by getting lost in her book.

On the train to NY for Photoexpo. We had a couple hour layover at Union Station in DC so we decided to have some breakfast and people watch. I love train stations and airports for the people watching. I make up little imaginary lives for them. This guy is ex-military, a former seal, who works for the government now in a non-descript agency, hates it and is thinking about re-enlisting. Probably not even close.

I was doing a shoot this week in a vintage car restoration shop, using this 1937 Lincoln Zypher, which has a bit of a history. It was originally bought in 1937 by a member of the Baltimore Orioles, who later sold it in 1941. The gentleman who bought it moved to Ashland in 1943 and developed a reputation as a lady’s man. When the owner of the vintage car shop bought it last year, he was cleaning out the glove compartment and found this vintage 1940’s bra. Reputation confirmed.

This was our accomodations. It sits on a steep hill overlooking the south fork of the Shenandoah river and is part of what used to be a resort back in the 20’s called “Riverfalls”. It belongs to our neighbors and they generous enough to loan it to us when we need to get away for a few days. It didn’t look anything like this when they bought it, but they’re a couple of very hard working folks and have turned it into this beautiful retreat.

Luray has an art warehouse and that’s pretty much what it is… a warehouse full of “art”, which is pretty subjective. As they say, one man’s art is another’s birdcage liner, or something like that. Anyway, we checked it out and some was good, some, not so. Just as I had seen about as much as I needed to, I turned a corner and stepped in a room and stopped in my tracks. It was a room full of heads, a very sobering sight. Creepy, but kind of cool at the same time.