im in love ...

with the new orleans!

i have been to the big easy before. exactly once.

and every time someone asks if i have been to louisiana's most famous of cities, i reply - 'yes, i was 19 and my sister was pregnant.' that pretty much sums it up. i took a bonding cross-country trip with my sister 13 years ago, the first time we really spent any quality time together, when i was still grasping to my ever disintegrating my teenage years and big sister, then 30 - younger than I am now, had gotten herself knocked up. even for the most ignorant to the debauchery known to take place in this city, its clear, that that was not an ideal set of circumstances.

enjoyable for sure, this perhaps lackluster introduction to the city made me all the more excited to explore it all over again, this time with a little help from Redbull. when asked to spend the weekend in new orleans to shoot the Redbull's Street Kings of New Orleans competition held under the Claiborne Bridge in historic Treme, i didn't hesitate. i was in. strangely enough i accepted this offer knowing it would be part 1 of my journey, as just a couple week prior i had booked my flight to a friends wedding the following weekend. i guess when it rains, it pours. needless to say, my october will be fraught with fantastic live music, friends, and fried food!

by the time we landed touched down at msy i had been in transit for approximately 12 hours. i was exhausted and in desperate need of a shower so i did what any red blooded american woman would do - i went to eat. mikey and i partook in some po' boys and bloody mary's giving me an immediate buzz and even more immediate hangover. a quick change back at the international house and we hit bourbon hard if hard means leisurely strolling the streets while intermittently being assaulted by cheap beads being hucked at us from above and having our eyes assaulted by some unshapely ladies of the evening loitering in dimly lit doorways.

more drinks and beignets were greedily consumed and bed in my windowless room was heaven on earth.

the next morning i was up and at 'em, excited for The Street Kings of New Orleans event I was set to shoot. a quick wander and a hearty meal and i was set to head to treme in the back of a beat up minivan to be delivered at the event bordered by colofully painted homes, and even more coloful characters and situated directly beneath an overpass.

The day was a full one. Full of shooting and interviewing and perhaps some more eating. Full of glitter and colors, music and laughter and the most beautiful children i have ever seen. Full of a the sort of genuine human interaction i so often fall head over heels for in my foreign travels, yet available without a valid passport or grasp on spanish or french. available in our own backyard.

4 bands battled it out, with la pinettes taking the crown and literally changing the game, or name of it, from street kings to queens!

treated to a great meal with great company at Drago's post festival I was drained, proving yet again that my 20s are long behind me. luckily, my compatriots were also in my generation (or perhaps the one before me) and after a literal round table meal fraught with great stories via a group of nawlins natives, including legendary mannie fresh, we were all off to our seperate beds, respectively.

having already drunk the proverbial kool-aid, i could not help but reflect on a lengthy conversation i had with a woman on a side street mikey and i stumbled upon on a stroll around the neighborhood. a new jersey native, this woman for whom i wish i could recall the name, told me of her impulsive decision to relocate and gave me both words of kindess and encouragement. sometimes it is those chance encounters with strangers on a random street that offer you insight and hope. thank you kind lady.

the following day was a mix of drunken football fans, balcony dining, work and travel drama, peppered with live music and day time drinkers.

a quick re-introduction to this magical place it was love at first, or rather second sight.

inspiring visually and spiritually i can't wait to visit again. which, strangely enough. is tomorrow.

beheard x missinfo x mikey fresh

a little collaboration with mikey fresh and superfluous calories.
check out all photos and words at missinfo...

cafe du monde
new orleans, la
october 2013

beheard x redbull x vibe

new creations
new orleans, la
october 2013



see the full story: red bull x vibe.com

the lonely teddy bear and other ramblings of solutude

My heart is made of steel.

Not in that strong, impressive, Superman sort of way, but in a way in which it hangs so heavily in my chest it makes it difficult to gather my bearings; to stand up and rise when my subway stop approaches without a considerable amount of effort. Where I then begin to lumbar clumsily toward the opening doors.

Of course the old cliche of time heals all is tossed about on a semi-regular basis, yet the weight in my chest remains. The unbearable pressure on my internal organs remains, making it difficult to breath and squeezing the water stored in my ducts to release often and with passionate fervor.

Sure, time dulls all. I no longer have strangers on the train offering brand name Kleenex and words of encouragement, likely assuming I'm leaving the hospital housing the still warm corpse of a blood relative. Little do they know, they are with the corpse, seated in a crowded 1 train heading uptown. Crying for the death of hope and possibility and love.

Like a corpse; like I am trapped in a bad version of 'Weekend at Bernie's, although looking at that sentence I realize that may be a bit redundant. I feel like some sort of bloated shell forced to go through the motions and pretend to be a normal participant of society despite the fact that the confines of my cozy 1 bedroom apartment offers more solace than any fellow strap-hanger could ever.

Heartbreak is like a newborn, still calculated in months until toddling out the door with no hands, masticating ones own food, and ideally wiping ones own ass without enormous amounts of effort or the help of one more skilled in those particular departments.

13 months in and my step is still unsteady and I still feel like my peas and carrots should be strained into a more tolerable form, at least if I am expected to keep up. Keep up with the other toddlers fumbling around this world looking for meaning and love, neither of which I have yet to have been graced with.

Being looked upon with a strange mix of pity and disgust leaves one feeling dirty and impotent, unable to handle what, according to most is just another part of life, but to you has felt nothing like being alive and only like death with the unfortunate side effect of still needing to pay rent and, in turn present yourself to the world in a way that limits their discomfort and your embarrassment. 

This can't be normal - feeling this way. How long is one expected to pretend and suffer? How long is one expected to wake up every day knowing it will be the same combination pain, irritation and overpriced coffee.

I get that everyone has had a broken heart- I am a fan of Motown and teeny-bopper pop, so I am fairly well versed in love, it's loss and the inevitable inspiration derived from said loss and instantly made into a hit single. However, without the Chi-lites to back me up with their melodies in bell bottomed pants and fedoras, all I feel is hollow.

All I feel is alone.