I had to take photographs of it, of course:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I come from a small family.  It’s essentially just me and my parents.  Always has been.  I have extended family, but they don’t exactly live nearby.  I love my parents very much, but  we’re not a riotous family.

Coming from a small family, I’ve always wanted a big family with lots of people around.  I guess you always want what you don’t have.

Connecting with my extended family can be difficult.  They don’t really relate to us that well, nor we to them.  I guess I am lucky to be friends with a large family.  One much more riotous than my own family.  The friendship started with the daughter a long time ago, but now extends to much of the family.  Sometimes I even think of them as a second family, a family in addition to my own very loving family.  What a lucky person I am to have two families.

But this family is a riot.  In the best sense of the word.  They get into fights with each other.  They make up.  They debate the oddest topics to the minutest of details, always ending in riotous laughter.  Time spent with them is never boring.

Which brings me to the photos.  I guess I never made a real effort to capture the riotous quality of the family before in photos.  Since I visited them recently, I took advantage of it.  Some of the photos are of the family, some of the friends, some poignant, some playful.  All together a riot:

A couple of days ago I was on Commonwealth Avenue, cheering on Aerosmith is a light vest and a thin shirt.  Then two days later, this happened, at the exact same place:

 

Yeah, the first snow of the season and for sure not the last.  Just a lovely preview of the next couple of months of wet clothes, salted jeans and general mayhem.  At least the view is nice:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I can’t remember what the first Aerosmith song I ever heard was.  It was either Janie’s Got A Gun or Dream On.  And there is this one song of theirs called “What It Takes” that I listened during my first breakup from my first high school boyfriend.  At the time, it all seemed so important, but this person crosses my mind one or twice a year, or nearly never.

Anyway, as far as rockers these guys were really good.  Growing up I knew they were a Boston rock band, but I had no idea how closely our fates were really intertwined.  Turns out they lived for two years around the corner from my current house, exactly at 1325 Commonwealth Avenue.  Pretty amazing.

A few days ago, it was announced that they were to play there.  As I live near there, I was worried about the commute and all, but then it hit me.  A free Aerosmith concert was happening near my house.  How many times was this going to happen in my life?  Probably never.

I didn’t even think I was going to be able to go, but as luck turned I could go.  And it was massive fun.  Unfortunately, I only got one photo of Steven Tyler:

 

But there was a glorious post concert celebration:

Weddings don’t make me sad or upset me or anything, but I find the forced conviviality at  them a bit too much to take.  There are always a lot of people around who don’t know each other and must make seemingly endless conversation on I know not what.

But this entry is not about such a scenario.  This entry is about a wedding I attended recently that was absolutely lovely.  The location marvelous, the company outstanding.

A close friend of mine from another chapter of my life got married recently and this made me very happy.  Happy to see such a good friend so well married.

The wedding itself was simple.  Gather everyone together in Central Park, perform wedding ceremony, eat and be merry.  Well, the venue presented certain complications, as my shoes kept sinking into the soil at it, but otherwise it was lovely. Central Park.  I mean in the fall it doesn’t get lovelier.

Let’s take a look at our bride and groom, together, apart and with family:

 

The groom is in the black hat.  The young lady next to him is not his bride.  Here she is:

 

More of the two of them:

 

 

 

 

A really arty shot:

 

And the wedding guests did not disappoint:

 

 

 

 

 

And finally, a few from the reception:

 

 

 

 

 

And finally, the bride rushes up the stairs.  To her reception:

Not fabrics, but actual patterns:

 

 

 

Go away evil hurricane.  Go far away.  I never want to see you again Hurricane Sandy. Don’t ever come back.  Here are some photos to help Sandy on her way:

 

Just look at this person I saw on Park Avenue over the weekend.  They need to cool it with the plastic surgery over there:

Years ago I watched a movie called “Pleasantville” about these people who get trapped in a sitcom about the 1950s.  It was all in black and white and whenever a character would open themselves up to something, they’d turn into a person who was in color.  It was an interesting concept and I do understand how life can have color.

But black and white can have meaning too.  Black and white doesn’t mean boring and it takes more for it to be contemplated and figured out than color.  Color amazes.  Black and white makes you contemplate.

That brings us to the subject of the following pictures.  It is Grand Central Station, one of my favorite spots on planet Earth.  Five years ago, I was in Stockholm, watch Serena Van Der Woodsen walk through Grand Central, just as I had done for years.  The place makes me happy and reminds me that New York does have history and that it not just glass and steal and coldness.  It has warmth and it has history.

Hence these photos are rendered in black and white: