07-28-2016, 04:41 AM
Here's my problem. And it is my problem. There is plenty of time in the world. But over the course of my life I have learned to do this thing where when I say let's leave at 6am, that is generally the time I like to leave. For some reason it is not that hard to do. When you say you are going to leave at 6 and the you don't leave at 6, it makes me cranky. Yes, it's a problem and something I have to work on accepting. Or not.
Until I learn that special zen composure, I might have to punch HK jr. Every day I am told, it will be another ten minutes until we leave since HK jr is still in shower. And it is never ten minutes. You would think maybe they would start their morning ablutions a bit earlier so they could hit the getaway mark.
So, we were late leaving the hotel for breakfast. Then the wait staff where we had breakfast seemed to have just started their new jobs this morning. Best of all it was really expensive. So, I'm in a rush to get changed into my interview clothes.
Being in New York, I have the added convenience of going down the block to grab the car at a parking garage. I dump half the gear with HK while I carry the two bags of equipment down the block to the garage and wait while they get the battered Sienna. Earlier, when I had awoken, I noticed plenty of street parking near the hotel. I thought it would be easy to grab a spot to load up the car.
Guess what is right next to our hotel and actually takes up the first five floors of the hotel? A school. By the time I was on the street with the bags, the street was full of busses dropping off kids. I texted HK to meet me around the corner so I wouldn't have to fight with the buses. Our hotel is on a one way street, like much of New York. I would have had to fight through the buses to get out again.
It was an easy slog uptown to Harlem to Peter Westbrook's brownstone. The only weird thing was the cars parked in the middle of the road. I didn't know what the hell was going on when I came across it. I originally just thought the line of cars in the middle of the street were waiting for a light. But the cars driving in front of me pulled to the right next into the empty lane by the curb and drove around them. When in New York, do like the New Yorkers, so I followed the moving cars. Which is when I realized the cars weren't stopped for the light but parked. The car at the end of the line even had his emergency blinkers on to warn you he was parked.
As I wove through the streets, I saw more and more lines of cars filling the center lane of the street and leaving the right lane open. I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on. When I finally pulled up to 123rd st where Peter lives, it was the same condition.
On this trip we've been unlucky and lucky. When I copied down Peter's number, I must have copied down the wrong one because when I called to confirm our appointment, I got some school instead of him. And it wasn't Peter's school. But I had sent him a letter, an actual USPS letter, confirming the date. And I sent him another email when I couldn't get him on the phone.
As we looked for a place to park, HK spies Peter walking down the street away from his house. HK rolls down the window and calls out to him. Westbrook comes to the car and says he had just called us. He saw the phone number in my email and had called to tell me it was the wrong one. He also mentioned he had forgotten about the interview until just this morning. I figure if we hadn't spotted him, he would still be walking.
Peter explained to us the cars were parked in the middle for street cleaning. We could park in the middle but in about thirty minutes all the cars would shift. All the cars in the middle would move to the right. The cars on the left would move to the middle. What a lovely dance to do every week.
Peter and his wife live in a lovely house. They have a lot of stairs. When Peter saw how much gear we had, he figured we should film downstairs rather than up in his office. Too bad his office was the only room in the house with air conditioning. The fact I was going to shut off all the fans and close all the doors for noise abatement, didn't go ever well either.
After I shooed Peter and HK from the living room so I could work without kicking them every two seconds, I began the sweating in earnest.
I'm beginning to realize that HK loves to tell his stories. He would talk about his Fencing Archive, his books, and his movie all day unless I stopped him. Some days I feel that hanging out with these great fencers is the bonus for him rather than making the actual film.
The interview went really well except for one minor hiccup. Peter is used to speaking and knows how to impart a message. Since our messages was the greatness of Piller, he constantly circled back to that message in his stories. His major story was Csaba Elthes, his Hungarian coach. But Piller was Elthes coach. So Peter, could talk about Elthes greatness as a reflection of Piller's greatness. It was very effective. I only wish that Piller had been Peter's coach because then we would have a ton of stories about Piller. Alas.
Occasionally, I would stop the cameras so we could do a sweat mop and turn the fans on. We broke once so HK could participate in the car move dance. I also had to stop occasionally so Peter could speak off the record. This involved a lot of swearing about his coach and what a bastard he was. I got him to retell one of those profanity laden stories a little less blue for the cameras.
My fawning was on overdrive with Peter. He told me to call him Peter. Otherwise, it would have been Mr. Westbrook all day. It made such a big impact on me when I was fencing to finally see an American win an Olympic fencing medal. So, I sucked up like crazy. I hope it didn't offend him too much. But since he is such a great guy, he treated me graciously all day.
So, good luck in finding Peter walking down the street. Bad luck? Not one, but two jack hammers commenced to work outside across the street from Peter's house. One was Con-Ed digging a hole in the side walk. The other was a guy removing the concrete from the stairs leading to a house. The noise pounding from the street reached us on and off for about an hour.
I had this crazy idea that since I did all the set up and break down while HK chatted and HK jr played with his phone on the porch, that those two should carry all the stuff to the car while I took photographs of Peter's medal case in his office. They kind of agreed.
They went slow enough that by the time I descended from the office (Where I walked in on Mrs. Westbrook working. Ooopsy. Where did she come from?) they had only managed to get the gear from the living room to the top of the steps, a distance of about five feet. I also heard the distinctive sound of one of my lenses hitting the ground. Someone didn't check the zippers to see if the panels were closed before moving that particular bag. Thankfully, I didn't walk out to a small but expensive pile of metal and shattered glass. Thankfully, lenses are tough.
I helped load the car rather than just stand there and talk with Peter. I decided if I was going to take pictures of anybody on this tour it would be with Peter.
We ate lunch at the Triple Decker Diner, which was far superior to our breakfast choice and looked like our breakfast spot for Tuesday.
I was pretty much done with HK and HK jr for the day, but we made tentative plans to get together for dinner. I spent an hour recharging batteries and ingesting footage from my hard drives.
Earlier in the day, I had gotten an email from the devil/pusher. You probably know it better by the name B&H Photo. They are a huge camera and video store on 9th Ave. They are something of a legend in the photography business. If you are serious photographer and come to New York, you make a pilgrimage to B&H.
Well, I got an email from them saying they were having a 24 hour sale on a very nice LED light of which I already have 2 and a third wouldn't hurt. Best of all this light was half off. Bastards. I especially need it since one of my CFL lights decided not to work anymore. I feared looking stupid with only one light. The point is, the die was cast and there was nothing I could do about it. Except for the just not buying the light part.
I decided I would walk over, since I am now behind in my exercise and over in my calorie intake. It was about 4 miles from the Marriot on 92nd to B&H on 34th and 9th. I got to walk through the park. I saw the famous Bridge and fountain. I swear walking through New York is like walking through a Studio back lot. It's like every corner has been in a movie.
I photographed the NYAC, where Westbrook fenced and Csaba Elthes taught. I tried to talk my way in but the guard gave me that 'Are you really that stupid' look? Well, yes.
The rain started on the way to Times Square. Lightning crackled across the sky. The storm was so close there was little pause between the flashes and the booms. I huddled for a bit in a doorway before deciding it wasn't raining that hard and I could make it to Times Square.
I walked on in the downpour which ended by the time I got to the mass of humanity in Times Square. I was kind of thrilled to see the Naked Cowboy, now, no longer naked due to ordinances. I took his picture before continuing my walk.
B&H was everything I imagined and more. The first stop through the door was the professional video department. They had every camera I had read about it, but none of the local camera stores in Los Angeles carried. I played with all of them. Everywhere you looked in the store, I saw gear I desperately needed to have in my kit. I realized quickly, it would be best if I got the light and got out of there. Which I did.
When I was checking out,the nice Jewish man, (The store does close for the Sabbath), asked if I wanted a plastic bag for my light. I laughingly said I should just take it out of the box, since the light was already in it's own bag. He gave me a bemused look and said maybe the B&H shopping bag will help keep your light from getting wet?
I followed his glance to look out the window. It was ominously black outside despite the fact it was still two hours from sunset. I took the bag.
When I left the store, rain was sheeting down. No one was on the sidewalk. All the customers were huddled in the small alcoves along the building. I tried to make a run for it, but I only made it around the corner before the rain made me seek shelter.
I stood there for about five minutes watching the lightning bolts. Since it didn't look like it was subsiding, I decided it was time to head out. Since my camera backpack had a rain cover, I knew the gear would stay dry.
In about ten steps, I was soaked to the skin. It was like I stood in the shower with it on full. I stopped again in the next block to rethink my strategy. I checked my phone while water dripped off my ball cap on the phone screen. According to my friends at Google Maps, the nearest Subway stop wasn't too far away. Just a couple of laps in the pool. I manned up and went for it, thankful for every awning I could walk under.
Since, I just was on the London Tube, I figured the New York Subway would be no problem. It is amazing how often I figure wrong. There were no big indicators on the map on which train was which. Even the routes had multiple numbers attached to them. I finally decided I needed to find a train that took me towards the Bronx. The ticket process was also problematic. I opted for a single use fare and hoped no one would arrest me for having the wrong ticket.
I guessed which train to take and the guess worked out. There was a lovely sign on the side of the subway car wall that lit up to show you which stops were coming up. After about five minutes of staring, I figured the train was headed in the direction I needed to go.
I had been texting with HK about meeting for dinner. It looked like we were on for 6:30 at the Delizzia Italian restaurant. I picked up the pace since I wanted to be on time. But then, after I got off the train, I received a note that HK jr was sick and they weren't coming. Fine.
The rain still fell as I climbed the stairs out of the subway but not as hard as it was downtown. I don't think I could have gotten any wetter so I just walked the seven blocks to the restaurant with the carefully wrapped light in it's B&H bag in my hand. I opted to get my order from the restaurant to go.
As I sat in my chair in the hotel, after finally getting into dry clothes, I spied a final message from HK asking if I still wanted to go for dinner since HK jr was now well enough to eat.
Tomorrow, we meet with author Richard Cohen. I hope for good stories.
Until I learn that special zen composure, I might have to punch HK jr. Every day I am told, it will be another ten minutes until we leave since HK jr is still in shower. And it is never ten minutes. You would think maybe they would start their morning ablutions a bit earlier so they could hit the getaway mark.
So, we were late leaving the hotel for breakfast. Then the wait staff where we had breakfast seemed to have just started their new jobs this morning. Best of all it was really expensive. So, I'm in a rush to get changed into my interview clothes.
Being in New York, I have the added convenience of going down the block to grab the car at a parking garage. I dump half the gear with HK while I carry the two bags of equipment down the block to the garage and wait while they get the battered Sienna. Earlier, when I had awoken, I noticed plenty of street parking near the hotel. I thought it would be easy to grab a spot to load up the car.
Guess what is right next to our hotel and actually takes up the first five floors of the hotel? A school. By the time I was on the street with the bags, the street was full of busses dropping off kids. I texted HK to meet me around the corner so I wouldn't have to fight with the buses. Our hotel is on a one way street, like much of New York. I would have had to fight through the buses to get out again.
It was an easy slog uptown to Harlem to Peter Westbrook's brownstone. The only weird thing was the cars parked in the middle of the road. I didn't know what the hell was going on when I came across it. I originally just thought the line of cars in the middle of the street were waiting for a light. But the cars driving in front of me pulled to the right next into the empty lane by the curb and drove around them. When in New York, do like the New Yorkers, so I followed the moving cars. Which is when I realized the cars weren't stopped for the light but parked. The car at the end of the line even had his emergency blinkers on to warn you he was parked.
As I wove through the streets, I saw more and more lines of cars filling the center lane of the street and leaving the right lane open. I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on. When I finally pulled up to 123rd st where Peter lives, it was the same condition.
On this trip we've been unlucky and lucky. When I copied down Peter's number, I must have copied down the wrong one because when I called to confirm our appointment, I got some school instead of him. And it wasn't Peter's school. But I had sent him a letter, an actual USPS letter, confirming the date. And I sent him another email when I couldn't get him on the phone.
As we looked for a place to park, HK spies Peter walking down the street away from his house. HK rolls down the window and calls out to him. Westbrook comes to the car and says he had just called us. He saw the phone number in my email and had called to tell me it was the wrong one. He also mentioned he had forgotten about the interview until just this morning. I figure if we hadn't spotted him, he would still be walking.
Peter explained to us the cars were parked in the middle for street cleaning. We could park in the middle but in about thirty minutes all the cars would shift. All the cars in the middle would move to the right. The cars on the left would move to the middle. What a lovely dance to do every week.
Peter and his wife live in a lovely house. They have a lot of stairs. When Peter saw how much gear we had, he figured we should film downstairs rather than up in his office. Too bad his office was the only room in the house with air conditioning. The fact I was going to shut off all the fans and close all the doors for noise abatement, didn't go ever well either.
After I shooed Peter and HK from the living room so I could work without kicking them every two seconds, I began the sweating in earnest.
I'm beginning to realize that HK loves to tell his stories. He would talk about his Fencing Archive, his books, and his movie all day unless I stopped him. Some days I feel that hanging out with these great fencers is the bonus for him rather than making the actual film.
The interview went really well except for one minor hiccup. Peter is used to speaking and knows how to impart a message. Since our messages was the greatness of Piller, he constantly circled back to that message in his stories. His major story was Csaba Elthes, his Hungarian coach. But Piller was Elthes coach. So Peter, could talk about Elthes greatness as a reflection of Piller's greatness. It was very effective. I only wish that Piller had been Peter's coach because then we would have a ton of stories about Piller. Alas.
Occasionally, I would stop the cameras so we could do a sweat mop and turn the fans on. We broke once so HK could participate in the car move dance. I also had to stop occasionally so Peter could speak off the record. This involved a lot of swearing about his coach and what a bastard he was. I got him to retell one of those profanity laden stories a little less blue for the cameras.
My fawning was on overdrive with Peter. He told me to call him Peter. Otherwise, it would have been Mr. Westbrook all day. It made such a big impact on me when I was fencing to finally see an American win an Olympic fencing medal. So, I sucked up like crazy. I hope it didn't offend him too much. But since he is such a great guy, he treated me graciously all day.
So, good luck in finding Peter walking down the street. Bad luck? Not one, but two jack hammers commenced to work outside across the street from Peter's house. One was Con-Ed digging a hole in the side walk. The other was a guy removing the concrete from the stairs leading to a house. The noise pounding from the street reached us on and off for about an hour.
I had this crazy idea that since I did all the set up and break down while HK chatted and HK jr played with his phone on the porch, that those two should carry all the stuff to the car while I took photographs of Peter's medal case in his office. They kind of agreed.
They went slow enough that by the time I descended from the office (Where I walked in on Mrs. Westbrook working. Ooopsy. Where did she come from?) they had only managed to get the gear from the living room to the top of the steps, a distance of about five feet. I also heard the distinctive sound of one of my lenses hitting the ground. Someone didn't check the zippers to see if the panels were closed before moving that particular bag. Thankfully, I didn't walk out to a small but expensive pile of metal and shattered glass. Thankfully, lenses are tough.
I helped load the car rather than just stand there and talk with Peter. I decided if I was going to take pictures of anybody on this tour it would be with Peter.
We ate lunch at the Triple Decker Diner, which was far superior to our breakfast choice and looked like our breakfast spot for Tuesday.
I was pretty much done with HK and HK jr for the day, but we made tentative plans to get together for dinner. I spent an hour recharging batteries and ingesting footage from my hard drives.
Earlier in the day, I had gotten an email from the devil/pusher. You probably know it better by the name B&H Photo. They are a huge camera and video store on 9th Ave. They are something of a legend in the photography business. If you are serious photographer and come to New York, you make a pilgrimage to B&H.
Well, I got an email from them saying they were having a 24 hour sale on a very nice LED light of which I already have 2 and a third wouldn't hurt. Best of all this light was half off. Bastards. I especially need it since one of my CFL lights decided not to work anymore. I feared looking stupid with only one light. The point is, the die was cast and there was nothing I could do about it. Except for the just not buying the light part.
I decided I would walk over, since I am now behind in my exercise and over in my calorie intake. It was about 4 miles from the Marriot on 92nd to B&H on 34th and 9th. I got to walk through the park. I saw the famous Bridge and fountain. I swear walking through New York is like walking through a Studio back lot. It's like every corner has been in a movie.
I photographed the NYAC, where Westbrook fenced and Csaba Elthes taught. I tried to talk my way in but the guard gave me that 'Are you really that stupid' look? Well, yes.
The rain started on the way to Times Square. Lightning crackled across the sky. The storm was so close there was little pause between the flashes and the booms. I huddled for a bit in a doorway before deciding it wasn't raining that hard and I could make it to Times Square.
I walked on in the downpour which ended by the time I got to the mass of humanity in Times Square. I was kind of thrilled to see the Naked Cowboy, now, no longer naked due to ordinances. I took his picture before continuing my walk.
B&H was everything I imagined and more. The first stop through the door was the professional video department. They had every camera I had read about it, but none of the local camera stores in Los Angeles carried. I played with all of them. Everywhere you looked in the store, I saw gear I desperately needed to have in my kit. I realized quickly, it would be best if I got the light and got out of there. Which I did.
When I was checking out,the nice Jewish man, (The store does close for the Sabbath), asked if I wanted a plastic bag for my light. I laughingly said I should just take it out of the box, since the light was already in it's own bag. He gave me a bemused look and said maybe the B&H shopping bag will help keep your light from getting wet?
I followed his glance to look out the window. It was ominously black outside despite the fact it was still two hours from sunset. I took the bag.
When I left the store, rain was sheeting down. No one was on the sidewalk. All the customers were huddled in the small alcoves along the building. I tried to make a run for it, but I only made it around the corner before the rain made me seek shelter.
I stood there for about five minutes watching the lightning bolts. Since it didn't look like it was subsiding, I decided it was time to head out. Since my camera backpack had a rain cover, I knew the gear would stay dry.
In about ten steps, I was soaked to the skin. It was like I stood in the shower with it on full. I stopped again in the next block to rethink my strategy. I checked my phone while water dripped off my ball cap on the phone screen. According to my friends at Google Maps, the nearest Subway stop wasn't too far away. Just a couple of laps in the pool. I manned up and went for it, thankful for every awning I could walk under.
Since, I just was on the London Tube, I figured the New York Subway would be no problem. It is amazing how often I figure wrong. There were no big indicators on the map on which train was which. Even the routes had multiple numbers attached to them. I finally decided I needed to find a train that took me towards the Bronx. The ticket process was also problematic. I opted for a single use fare and hoped no one would arrest me for having the wrong ticket.
I guessed which train to take and the guess worked out. There was a lovely sign on the side of the subway car wall that lit up to show you which stops were coming up. After about five minutes of staring, I figured the train was headed in the direction I needed to go.
I had been texting with HK about meeting for dinner. It looked like we were on for 6:30 at the Delizzia Italian restaurant. I picked up the pace since I wanted to be on time. But then, after I got off the train, I received a note that HK jr was sick and they weren't coming. Fine.
The rain still fell as I climbed the stairs out of the subway but not as hard as it was downtown. I don't think I could have gotten any wetter so I just walked the seven blocks to the restaurant with the carefully wrapped light in it's B&H bag in my hand. I opted to get my order from the restaurant to go.
As I sat in my chair in the hotel, after finally getting into dry clothes, I spied a final message from HK asking if I still wanted to go for dinner since HK jr was now well enough to eat.
Tomorrow, we meet with author Richard Cohen. I hope for good stories.
As a matter of fact, my anger does keep me warm