I am not rich and I will probably never be rich.  I mean maybe some day I will make some normal amount of money that will afford me some luxuries in life.  I live rather simply.

Somehow though I am endlessly fascinated by the lives of the rich.  Well, not the rich now, but the rich of years gone by, in particular, the rich of the Gilded Age in America.  That was the first time when wealthy was made on a grand scale and the Gilded Age rich, they knew how to live.  A lot of the time, when I am on the green line on my way to work, I read books about their lives.  Their lives really resemble the lives of Downton Abbey, with the footmen in their livery with their valets and butlers.  A far off existence for sure.

The Gilded Age brought the Newport mansions or cottages as the rich people called them.  Cottages.  Cottages that were 70 rooms sometimes and had four floors.  Cottages that were lived in for seven or eight weeks out of the year.  Cottages that in some way conferred the social status the groups had so desperately wanted.

Now, well, now the Gilded Age is long over and the cottages are all museums.  I wonder sometimes if the people that lived in the Newport Cottages ever thought that a large number of tourists would be traipsing through their bathrooms everyday.  Every year the houses are decorated according to the season and people are allowed to go through them.  The houses are suddenly alive in a way that they aren’t when you are on a regular tour.  It is almost like you are going there to see the family.  A family that hasn’t been home for over a hundred years.

And so there are photos, as always.  A short note on these.  They are taken with a super wide angle lens that makes them look all weird and distorted.  Just like I like it:

the Newport

I decided to get an early jump on ski season this year.  No big trips to any resorts.  I just went to Wachusett, to shake off the rust of not skiing for eight months.

Every time I restart the sport, I’m surprised.  I warmed up on a trail on Saturday that two years ago, I was going doing constantly turning and afraid I was going to fall.  This time, no.  I just went down easy.

It was the best day for skiing.  The mountain was covered in granular machine made snow,but it was worth the ride.  I still love the sound of the snow under the skis and it was a good way to get the season going.  Just quietly and to get myself in shape again.

Yesterday Wachusett had the guns on to start the season.  I guess I was getting myself ready and they were too.  Not to mention the whole thing produced some pretty great images:

Well, a couple of weeks ago, Santa was up here, not exactly fully clothed.  Today he’s clothed, but no less special.

I was at Wachusett on Saturday, trying to get myself back into shape for another ski season.  There will be an entry about that whole thing in a second.  But first, Mr. Claus.

I went into the lodge to have a bowl of soup and to think about how the day was going when I heard an announcement over the loud speaker.  “Santa will be arriving in a helicopter to enjoy a drink at the Granite Lounge.”  Now if anybody needs hard liquor at this time of year, it is him.

Now I was inordinately excited about seeing Santa Claus arrive in the helicopter.  Perhaps a little too much for a grown person. And then he got out and I thought of those arrival ceremonies for dignitaries at the White House, this dignitary being no less important:

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my photographic work.  I guess I can call it that now.  I started out just photographing what was conventionally pretty.  Then I put a twist on it.  Then I was told that I couldn’t just rest on pretty.  The work had to show some kind of photographic skill.  Back then I just photographed scenes.

Then suddenly people crept into my photos.  A lot of people.  A lot of people in general crept into my life, so they started appearing in my photos.  I didn’t notice that shift at all.  I’m not sure why because I do look at my own work.  I guess photographing people is much more difficult than photographing scenes or objects.  I always said people could talk back, but now I also think that you need to get people from the correct angles at the correct time in the correct mood.  Maybe this new fascination with people also comes from the fact that I work in a school.

And sports.  I’ve gone sports mad since I’ve moved here, both doing them and photographing them.  Photographing sports is insanely hard.  It is like a work out for the mind.  Do you look where the action is or do you look where the ball or puck is going?  Going to the hockey games lately has made me acutely aware of both of those things.  Photographing the hockey games is hugely entertaining because you also get to see the side stuff, when the players hit each other or generally annoy one another.

Well, anyway, these photos today, they go back to what I used to do.  They just rest on pretty.  I guess not pretty.  But the pictorialist aspect of photography that used to attract me:

I never stopped loving hockey.  I’ve always thought of it as a sport played by Canadians, Europeans in these small towns where the only thing was ice hockey to get the town through.  I know.  I watch too many movies and documentaries about that kind of thing.

It is also, really, one of the most exciting sports to watch.  The games have a kind of an edge to them that is interesting.  I’ve gotten the opportunity to watch a lot of the games of Providence Bruins lately, from close to the action.  The Providence Bruins are an AHL team, not an NHL team, so the arena is smaller, but kind of closer and more family like.  There are a lot of kids at the games and they seem to really reach out to the community, kind of how I see the Red Sox doing in Boston.

I’ve also gotten the chance to observe the players.  Some of them look so young.  Other guys look like they’ve been in the league for a long time.  Some are the sons of some hockey greats.  A few weeks ago, I got to watch Ulf Sameulsson’s son Frederick play.  The next generation, I guess.  See the players up close, you see the struggle on their face, the exhaustion, the anger, the elation, all of it.

On a funnier note, what is with the peculiar title?  Well, a friend I attend the games with is Japanese and I looked up the name of one of the hockey teams in Japan and they are called the Nippon Paper Cranes, which to me is super funny because you can get a pretty bad paper cut from making a paper crane.  And that’s about it.  I guess Japan doesn’t have too many killer animals.  I guess its better than calling them “the Nippon Fugu Fish.”

Anyway, onward Paper Cranes, I mean Providence Bruins.  Who won their game against the Manchester Monarchs on Sunday!!!!  (Click to make the photos bigger):

It was the end of a week that could be described as slightly difficult.  All is well, but it wasn’t without its breakdowns.

Well, who cares about that now?  There were people in speedos and Santa hats running through the streets of Boston.  One of them even ran over to me, hugged me and lifted me into the air.  Now that might have been the best thing that happened to me all year.  Thank you man in the red speedo!!!!  You rock my world.

Here they are all!!!:

Sometimes a scene happens in front of my camera that is like something out of a movie.  It can be classy, it can be campy.

This one happens to be campy.  Really campy:

It makes sense pedagogically:

Downtown Crossing and Paris are not usually used in the same sentence.  Paris is an elegant place of classical beauty.  Downtown Crossing is a place where you can buy cheap spandex, lottery tickets and get your watch battery changed while being accosted to contribute money to some kind of charitable cause.

But its also this place that changes mood and form all the time.  And I kind of love that about it.  It has seasons and moods.

Night time brings this Parisian mood.  I went to Paris about 13 years ago for a week and loved it.  I never had a bad meal, found the people kind of like New Yorkers and spent a lot of time walking around at night.  The city also changed mood at night.

For some reason and I cannot for the life of me figure out why, these photos remind me of Paris, but they are Downtown Crossing.  Go figure:

Again with Harvard.  No, this is not the Harvard fan club blog, but hey, I live a mile from the school, so it is going to appear up here occasionally.  And I will say good things about it.

Recently, I got to visit the Harvard Art Museum which had been closed for five years.  To give you an idea of how long that is, when the museum closed, I was not a teacher yet and the idea that I would even become a teacher had not even entered my mind.

Now I was bringing my students over to see the museum.  In a torrential downpour.

But the museum is gorgeous.  The art of course is top notch, but the museum itself is a sight to behold.  It isn’t flat and sterile and “modern” but has this old fashioned feel to it that makes you feel like you are in a museum in London or some place.  Like you are on a special trip to a see a pretty great place.  And you are.  Click to enlarge, as usual: