Seeking Solace at The Ohel

Less than two weeks ago my mom called me with sad news while I was stuck on a late bus ride back from a gig in Washington DC. My uncle Beno- my dad's elder brother and, to me, a real life Indiana Jones- was killed in a motorcycle accident in Colombia. Devastating. No words....
I had been planning on visiting The Ohel, the Queens, NY resting place of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the late leader of the Lubavitch-Chabad movement. So I went anyway, and instead of shooting for photos it became a way of connecting with something greater than myself, a way to surrender and join thousands in mourning. One man explained the reason we say Kaddish, a Jewish prayer of mourning. The words don't mention death, sadness or loss. They only mention God's omnipotence and wisdom over and over in different words. The idea of saying kaddish, as well as coming to pay respects at the Rebbe's gravesite, is that we as humans can't fathom the reasons for life or death, the Truth. But we can "shake hands" with holiness, and accept that those who have moved on now are with God and know truth, and peace.







and here I am, taking advantage of the opportunity to put on tefillin, and say kaddish for my recently deceased uncle.

Zum Zum Zum

For a little while in college and now again in Brooklyn I'm training in capoeria, an afro-Brazilian martial arts form blended with elements of dance. I feel myself becoming stronger and more flexible on the outside, but playing capoeria really transcends the soul. I played sports my whole life but was never absorbed culturally or spiritually by them - they were a way of exercising, pumping adrenaline, releasing the youthful need for physical competition. But capoeria's roots reach into history, and engage more than your muscles. There is a fluidity, trickery, camaraderie between players as they twist around each other in the "roda," (pronounced 'ho-da') a circle of capoeristas representing a microcosm of life. As the berimbau plays and the group sings and claps along, the rush of blood seems only necessary.

Check out a little piece about my group here, and their homepage here.

The other day I was given my capoeira nickname (everybody has one)... Abacaxi, which means Pineapple. My instructor Contra-Mestre Foca was on a fruit-nickname kick that day. It fits though, I think. My hair, the tropical origin, somewhat strange on the outside but sweet on the inside.

Hidden Treasures

Isn't it satisfying to look through old photos and dig up a jewel?
The thing about finding old photos is that they were always there, but never realized as 'important' or even as existing. But as we change the way we see things, the world around us changes also. In a given conversation you can say "hello" and have several different intentions, and the word can be received however the other person understands the word and the person saying it. Going through archives from India, I feel like the person who edited those photos was a different version of me. Still Danny, but in a different state of mind. This year I've done a lot of thinking, a lot of rearranging the wiring in my head to fit a new life - away from school, from a "normal" job, and into the abyss of independent production...Lots of ideas brewing...A new blog project, for example, is on its way..stay tuned.

Nymph

I spotted a magical creature in Blueridge, Georgia

Savannah Wedding

Looking the other way?

A bit of contrast.
Shotgunning a beer in 3 seconds while the mounted police chat it up with tourists nearby.

Ft. Lauderdale has nothing on Cancun, or Panama City Beach in terms of girls going wild. Finding pictures of open drunkenness is rare. Most people are just chillin in the sand, drinking inconspicuously. We wouldn't want any of the wealthy visitors getting upset, right?

Debauchery, cont'd

More From The Beach

Odd Cocktail

Ft. Lauderdale used to be the King of Spring Break in the 80s.
Over the years, residents got tired of the rowdy crowds, drunk stupors, the smell of urine along the beach, destroyed property, and naked college students...so the city cracked down. Its not hundreds of thousands anymore, more like 15 thousand (according to tourism officials, via the Sun-Sentinel). These days the bikinis and biceps are still hitting the beach, but its strangely tame. The upscale feel of the boardwalk in contrast with the sexual energy of college folks and brew is an odd cocktail. Chew on these:

The Weather Is Nicer in Florida

I visit home.
And it turns out
it's Spring Break in Ft. Lauderdale.