The entirety of my thoughtful ignorance is recorded here.

Some Short-Term Resolutions

  1. I will not watch anything on a screen on weekdays, including The Hunt. I'm sorry, David. It's just too dangerous.
  2. I will finish my book by September end.
  3. I will finish editing photos from the following trips by September end:
    1. Costa Rica
    2. Grand Canyon
    3. Patagonia
  4. I will not flake on anything from now til September end.


Sugar cookie sand. Sticky lemonade. Lollipop umbrellas. And those big bug-eye sunglasses. I love summer. I love it very, very much. For it is a special feeling to wake up from your nap and realize that the only worry on your mind is trapped in the plot of your little sun-faded book, distant and fantastic. 

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From The Ashes, A Phoenix Rises

I pulled the trigger.

I am now the proud new parent of a brand spanking new D750, Tamron 15-30mm f/2.8 Di VC UWA, battery grip and a Hoodeye eyecup. 

I can't tell you how bittersweet I feel. Some odd mix of the feeling you first get when you start dating someone for the first time with the feeling you get when summer camp ends and you have to say goodbye to all your friends. 

But there's no looking back now. I've already started putting it through the paces and I can tell you the Tamron lens is insane. I've never shot with such a sharp, crisp and bright UWA lens before.

It's the beginning of a beautiful marriage, worth $4k easy. Except this time, I'm buying a Tile to tag my baby. She ain't going nowhere.

Stay tuned.

My Children Are Missing

As many of you know, I lost two of my babies at Macao Trading Co. in the LES at one of my friends' birthday party two weeks ago.

Total damages were roughly $3,000 in camera equipment. My D750 body and my ultra-wide angle lens are now both gone forever. And you'd be surprised. The worst part isn't the money or the hassle and frustration at finding a replacement.

It's the little things. The things that made them yours and only yours.

It's the tiny dent on the bottom left corner only you two know about. The faded ISO button, third from the bottom. It's the chipped paint on the AE-lock from fumbling through the dark, giddy on your way to catch Fitz Roy bathed in the glow of a tangerine sunrise. The worn out straps, soft and supple like father's leather, from years of sleeping under stars and snuggling in the cold as you desperately tried to keep her batteries warm. 

It's three years of memories and laughs and near-death escapades. Often, just the two of you, not a soul for miles and miles and miles. 

My babies are now lost. My children are missing. And I'll never get them back, I know that. 

But I also know that moving on is only as hard as you make it. And so, I'm formally closing this chapter and beginning a new one.

I'll miss you, Delilah, wherever you may be right now. 

But it's time. Time to find you a baby brother.