Many years ago – okay, only eight but it feels like a decade – I lived in New York for a spell. It was a brief stop between a long sojourn in the Bay Area and “am I going to get into graduate school anywhere?” Which I did, as you may or may not know, and went off for a few years to one of my favorite cities: Washington, DC.

I had long wanted to live in Manhattan. New York! Center of the universe! Like half the planet, I’d become convinced that I absolutely had to move to New York in order to be happy and to find myself and to do all the important things one needs to do in life and so forth. While this may be true for some people – and really, I want to meet those people and stare at them in wonder and then dissect their brains when they are dead – for Leah in her mid-20s it was not at all the case. And anyway, as we all know, you can’t move somewhere in order to be happy. Being happy is a little more complicated than that.

But let me tell you one of the things I was most excited about when I moved to New York – one of the things I never stopped being excited about. In fact, you could go as far to say it’s something I’ve been excited about in every place I’ve ever lived or visited, city or otherwise: The little things.

I’m not a very good tourist. I don’t go to the right places, see all the important sights or sites, and do not ever make me take a guided tour. Please, for the love of all that is holy. No guided tours. I feel itchy and agitated just thinking about it.

When I go somewhere or move to a new place, the best thing to do in my estimation is go get coffee. Wherever the people who live there get coffee. And see how the people who live there do it. Last year I went to Seattle to visit friends and I’m quite certain that was one of the first things we did – and not because Seattle is known for coffee or because I hadn’t had any yet that day, although those things played a role.

So when I moved to New York, I was terrifically excited about this one little thing in particular: Getting a real New York cup of coffee. It wasn’t quite as prevalent as it once had been, given the rise of boutique coffee shops and espressos and lattes and all that. But you know what cup I’m talking about – the small cup, flat lid, usually carried by someone rushing off to catch the subway and who also has the newspaper folded just so under the other arm. Having that cup of coffee meant that person lived in a neighborhood, had a neighborhood coffee spot, knew exactly what to order and how to order it, and did it all without a hitch. Everything had a rhythm for them, was a part of their fabric of life, which is what created the real city, the city I wanted. If you marched into the joint and ordered the coffee wrong, not only would you disrupt the rapid flow of service and make people late, you’d clearly be marked as an outsider, a non-local, someone other than. A loose thread to be yanked. Who wants that.

Eventually I mastered the coffee – the ordering, the carrying, the rushing. I still can’t fold newspapers for the life of me.

It’s been a long time coming, but I finally bought this cup. It sits right next to me on my desk, way here over here on the west coast. And funny, I got it from an amazing store in Seattle, not New York. You should get one too. And if you do, call up and get some personal service from Emily. She’s about as sweet and friendly as they come. Unlike some of the people in line waiting for coffee in New York.

Go check out: Velocity

Need help deciding what to get? I can show you my wish list.

Wait, did I say wish list? I meant… oh hell, you know what I meant.

As a number of you know, I’m lucky in some ways. No, I don’t win contests and I have rotten luck when it comes to raffles (ask me about this some time) but when it comes to friends and family, the goods are definitely canceling out the bads. Which is saying a lot because there have been some pretty craptacular bads over the years.

For instance, I have a very nice friend named Chris. On flickr, he goes by deadslow. You should really check out his stuff (when you’re done reading this, of course) because he takes exceptional photos. The reason I mention him is that Chris decided one day to lend me his extra Yashica Mat 124. Right? I told you. Lucky.

However, luck can only take you so far. Unfortunately for me, the pretty little Yashica Mat had a problem with its shutter, which I discovered only after running some film through it. So I took it to a camera repair shop in downtown Oakland, told Chris how much the repair would cost (a reasonable price for a quality repair), and we decided to go for it. Yes, I’m this responsible with anything I borrow. I take very good care of your things, friends. Just beware they don’t turn into my things…

And then I waited.

And waited.

About three weeks later, the camera was ready to pick up. I anxiously zipped down to Oakland, parked my car, and tripped to the corner near the shop. When I saw the car. Yeah, this one.

It just so happened I had a camera loaded with Agfa Precisa 100 in it that I was planning to have cross-processed. And what better way to shoot a cherry red Malibu Classic? As I was ogling it, the owner of the barber shop you see behind it came out and smiled at me.

“You like that car?” he asked.

“Oh man. Are you kidding?” I replied. “And the film I have in here now, it’s gonna make the car look like candy. Like an Easter egg.” I took another shot. I turned around to say something else to him, but he’d already disappeared back into his shop. So I took a photo of the car reflected in the window, and went to pick up the Yashica Mat.

When I picked up the camera, I straightaway loaded it with some expired 220 (sent to me by the lovely Jen). I wanted to go back and shoot the car with the Yashica Mat. But when I walked back to the corner, it was pulling away. I stood there for a second, watching it go, and decided it was time.

I walked up to the barber shop and opened the door. It was cozy and tiny, with two chairs, the walls covered with snapshots and photos, the shelves crammed and cluttered with products and tools of the trade. It felt comfortable inside, masculine, but not affected. Just a regular shop, with a regular way about it. A few wooden chairs were lined up against the wall with the big windows looking out onto the street; a man sat in one of them, perhaps a customer waiting, perhaps a friend sitting and chatting with the barber. Another man was cleaning, trash bag in hand, moving around the chair farthest from the door, tidying up the sink behind it. There was a customer in the chair closest to the door, a black drape covering him and much of the chair, and the owner was busy working away on his hair with a razor and a comb. They all looked up at me as I stepped inside.

“I was wondering if I could take a shot or two in here,” I said, somewhat shyly, removing the cover from the Yashica Mat. The barber stood a little taller and said it was no problem, started fussing around the place, trying to tidy up a bit and give me some room to shoot. The customer looked at me askance, as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what to do. I told the owner not to worry, I didn’t need much space and wasn’t going to shoot in that direction. And I told the customer I wouldn’t get him in any of the shots; I could see his shoulders relax, and the barest hint of a smile skipped across his face.

Just then a tall, imposing man walked in the door, his sunglasses on. He looked at me and paused for a second. I imagine it was surprising to see me there after all, an unfamiliar face in a familiar place. I doubt many white women meander into this barber shop too often. I grinned at him and said I was just taking a few shots. He smiled back and said, “Knock yourself out.” And then everyone went back to whatever it was they were doing, and ignored me.

As I was leaving, the owner told me he’d love to see the shots. I told him I’d bring a print of any that came out, as well as any of the car I’d shot earlier. He told me I was welcome to take a shot of the front window of his shop. I’d already done so, with the reflection of the red car in it, but I went ahead and took another. I’m glad I did.

Luck is great, but it’s even better when you manufacture the opportunities that bring you more.

xo

Hi everyone!

You may have noticed that sometimes I’m compelled to write a little more than people normally do on flickr. I’ve decided to move the words here, to a proper blog, in order to give the photos a little room to breathe. The photos will still be at flickr but they’ll make appearances here as well.

I hope you’ll grab a cup of coffee and join me in both places.

xoxo