Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Where Everyone Knows The Murderer: Catching The Real Bike Path Rapist

On The Trail of The Bike Path Rapist
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

I thought I’d put in a plug for one of my best friend’s work. He’s a producer at NBC Dateline and on Monday night one of his shows premiered on TV to rave reviews (see comments on Rayner’s blog).

It can now be seen online on

As the following article denotes, the redemption of an innocent man, imprisoned for 22 years, and the capturing of the real Bike Path Rapist, highlighted the notion that Buffalo, with a population of over 275,000, is actually a small town, that is getting smaller.

It is ever-shrinking, not only in the sense that since 1950 Buffalo’s population has diminished as its industrial base declined—in the last 7 years alone, almost 6% of its people have moved elsewhere—but also in the more dramatic light that this investigation shined on the fact that many people had everyday, seemingly quite provincial connections with the serial rapist and killer of three.

Needless to say, this gave those involved a poignant sense that—indeed, it is a small world after all.

Strangely enough, this it’s-a-small-world-in-Buffalo phenomena hit home for me this past summer as well.

For while Rayner was in the throes of his investigative journalism on the case, unbeknownst to him, it so happened that I was dating a law student from Buffalo, who was in New York City for an internship.

One evening, fresh from one of his trips to Buffalo, which is 6 hours and 400 miles north of New York City, Rayner stopped by my apartment for a visit.

It so happened that Becca was visiting too, and so when I mentioned that she was from Buffalo, his eyes popped open and he was suddenly inspired to ask her if she happened to know the woman he had just started dating—the woman who would eventually move to New York City from Buffalo and become his live-in girlfriend, the woman who I would come to consider a good friend and who would eventually end up working directly across the street from me on Park Avenue, the woman with whom I would share our television debut, the woman who was a photographer and a fire dancer….

Becca smiled and immediately said, “Yes, you mean Karen? She used to live in the apartment directly above me…”

Needless to say, I too have come to believe that indeed—it is a small world after all.

On The Trail of The Bike Path Rapist
by Rayner Ramirez

One of the safest towns in America reignites a cold case that haunted police for decades after the mysterious killing of a middle class professor's wife and mother of four. Keith Morrison travels to Buffalo, N.Y. to report on the death of Joan Diver and the possible return of the town's "bike path rapist," Dateline

Buffalo, NY: The City of Good Neighbors is "not a small town, but a big room with a large couch." Local historian Bill Zimmerman says that it’s the type of town where everyone knows everyone -- or soon will. From my experience working on this story Buffalo truly is a city of good neighbors.

Perhaps one of the strangest coincidences in this story that reflects Buffalo’s small town feel is that Anthony Capozzi’s sister Pam Guenther attended the same high school only a couple of years behind Altemio Sanchez.

The multi-agency task force was made up of more than a dozen investigators; each brought with them their own personal history of the legendary bike path rapist.

Bike Path Rapist Take Force at Niagara Square, Buffalo, NY

Chief Scott Patronik from the Erie County Sheriff’s Department grew up with Detective Lissa Redmond who happened to attend the same high school as one of Altemio Sanchez’ rape victims.

State Police Captain Captain Steven Nigrelli’s father was a Sergeant in the Buffalo Police Department and his uncle was an investigator on the bike path rapist’s second murder victim.

Amherst Police Detective Joseph LaCorte was on patrol when Linda Yalem was killed in 1990 and has continued to work on the case since.

The tragic killing of Joan Diver, mother of four, brought the four agencies together four agencies -- the Amherst Police Department, the Buffalo Police Department, Erie County Sherriff's Department and the New York State Police. With the advent of modern-day DNA technology identifying the assailant's genetic make up as possibly Hispanic and the unprecedented cooperation and information-sharing between the agencies, the 20-year-old cold case was solved quickly.

Within two months of the formation of the task force, the suspect and admitted bike path rapist and killer was apprehended.

Many of the investigators consider this the best case of their career, not simply for solving a case but also for the silver lining of the investigation: the exoneration of Anthony Capozzi, wrongly imprisoned for more than 22 years.

Detective Dennis Delano (left) with Anthony Capozzi at a party to celebrate his release

As Detective Alan Rozansky said "I told my kids, I’ve been here 36 years. You'll hardly remember who I arrested. But you remember the one person that was innocent that got out because of our police work."

A party to celebrate Anthony Capozzi’s release was thrown by the very same restaurant where Sanchez had dinner with his wife and where investigators collected the glass and napkin that yielded DNA evidence that linked Sanchez to nine rapes and three murders.

In the end, Altemio Sanchez apologized for his crimes at his sentencing. He is serving 75 years but that brings no comfort to his victims or the children who will grow up without their mother.

Monday, January 28, 2008

I was, once

I was, once
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

January 28, 2008, New York City:

Chasing Numbers

I am
but I was, once—
the torch bearer
the horn blower
the eternal lover
of 222.

Obviously, eternal no more.

February 22
used to be my book of oxygen
until it became a book of matches
inflamed, engulfed, charred
by life itself.

It is no surprise, no mystery
that I can breath better now,
now that I bear no number,
now that I’ve scraped away
the tattooed number that once
marked my heart.

I chase other numbers now,
but I often wonder,
and ask


(R&O thank you for the inspiration)

Rose, Olive & Me

We Either Live...or Die

We Either Live...or Die
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Stop! Blaming Others For Your Life

We all know them—the whiners, the cry-babies, those that blame others for their miserable lives.

Alas, seemingly they were born like this. So, most of the time, the best we can do is either just listen, walk away or simply roll our eyes.

Otherwise, trying to help them is apparently futile, because most of the time it’s just too late—their childhoods, parents and DNA have had their sway, and now, you’ve got to deal with it.

Unfortunately, I still believe there is hope.

I still find myself saying, “Gosh darn it good people get a hold of yourself! Stop! eating that ice cream. Stop! dating him—or—forget her. Stop! smoking. And most of all, stop blaming others for your misery.”

We’ve all got one thing in common when it comes to our misery, our pain and suffering, our unhappiness—we each, ultimately, have the power to be happy, change our circumstances and ultimately, control the outcomes of our lives.

We may not be able to change our lives today, or tomorrow even, but —

If we diligently apply ourselves and see the stumbles as steps forward; and still muster the courage to step forward to risk falling, time and time again;

If we take others’ barbs and not jibe back in return, and still weigh the merit of their words;

If we recognize that the ills of the world begin at home and accept that the responsibility for change begins with the awareness of and willingness to change ourselves;

Than, then, we’ll see that we only have ourselves to blame for the woes of our lives, and that if and when we make the effort, we might have the opportunity to take advantage of life’s inherent wonders.

For life is truly wonderful after all. The first step toward realizing this—is to see it that way. The second step toward experiencing it though—is making the effort.

We are born and then we either live or die; ultimately, the merit and quality of our lives depend upon which outcome we choose to embrace.

"...the greater part of our happiness or misery depends on our dispositions and not our circumstances."
Martha Washington

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Big Nicky for Red Giant

Big Nicky for Red Giant
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

January 24, 2008, New York City:

It's that time of year again, the agencies are starting to ask for those W-9s.

Hence, I thought I'd share a sample of the work that Red Giant did with some of my photos. My youngest son Nicky is the ominous looking mud-covered kid in the foreground. His older brother is behind him.

Click HERE, From Mud to Men, to see the original set that this image was taken from.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

10 Most Intriguing Things Heard at The Party…

Feed Me!
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

January 18, 2008, New York City:

10 Most Intriguing Things Heard at The Party…

10. “I slept with six different women on New Year’s Eve….I’m breaking hearts all over the city. Guess, I’ve got to learn to be more ‘sensitive’…”
9. “No adults over 13! exept for caots.” (coats)
8. If you’ve got a “Lorenzozini,” I must have a Lorenzano

“You are merely a general. I must be a king. ...”
Prince Feisal, Lawrence of Arabia

7. “20 years after we were first high-school sweethearts he found me on MySpace, and then he told me, ‘I don’t ever want to lose you again.’ He’s the perfect man for me.”
6. “We’ve been dating for 6 years now. Then she decided to come to this country for her internship. Now my work contract is over, so I decided to come here and see ‘what was what.’ I’m returning to Berlin tomorrow.”
5. “I’ve got to go now. I just came back from China six hours ago and I haven’t slept in 40 hours.”
4. “This is my ‘golden weekend,’ the one time each month that we get two days off in a row.”
3. “So, you’re Lorenzo…”
2. “This is Laura…”


1.Come in here…I’ve got something to ask ya….

Note: Of course, there were indubitably many more interesting things said and heard at this party, but this is all I heard, or at least, what I found most intriguing…

Friday, January 18, 2008

It Depends on Your Vantage Point...

It Depends on Your Vantage Point...
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Best Vantage Point: LARGE. If you are a PC user, press F11 for the full-screen effect.

As per Michael Brenton’s remarks on this photo, as I was crouching down in the middle of the street, I too thought this was pretty risky.

But then I thought of my courageous son— Nicky, The Brave; I thought of other times I've done this before; and I thought of what a great shot this would be to capture yet another decisive moment that combined quintessential elements (i.e. the New Yorker Hotel, The Empire State Building, the Vantage Point poster, the vagrant sitting at the bus stop with her shopping cart full of possessions) that make New York—the city I love.

Alas, I am well aware that one of these days my timing will be off, one of these days a taxi cab will not be paying attention and will not see me from his vantage point, one of these days I'm liable take one risk too many and pay the price...

Oh, well, sometimes that’s the price we pay for living.

Anaïs Nin once wrote, “Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.” I’d prefer to execute my life as if it were expanding.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

It was a good 40 years…

I did it my way...
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

I’m dying…

Which is merely to say, acknowledge, accept—that I’ve likely entered the latter half of my life.

After all, even The Chairman of the Board, Ol’ Blue Eyes, the once-immortal Mr. Frank Sinatra eventually had to die too, at the ripe-old age of 82. Both my grandparents lived into eighties as well. And my maternal grandmother passed away at 94—so I’m not really worried…

Although, I did wake up with a sore throat this morning.

In the past, usually I’ve thought a sore throat was just a sore throat, and nothing more to fret about. However, lately, I’ve worried a little more about how, for the last 16 years, I’ve tried to make up for the first 24 years of being relatively straight-and-narrow.

In particular, I’m referring to the regular-irregular indulgence of-in tetrahydrocannabinol.

Hence, I’m slightly more paranoid than usual about my “sore throat.”

Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m dating a doctor who tells me about her dying patients, almost daily.

In fact, in the last 40 days I’ve heard the word “metastasis” 10 times more than I’ve heard it during my first forty years.

Hence, I woke up this morning a bit more worried than usual. Hence, I thought, “Regardless, nonetheless and allthemore—it’s been a good 40 years.”

I’m satisfied that if I were to die today, that I’ve left behind a legacy for my boys, which readily conveys how happy and how exuberant I’ve felt about living. And that, hopefully, will likewise inspire my children and others to feel the same about this wonderful life.

Hopefully, I will live another 40 happy, healthy and fruitful years, if only to enjoy my night on earth just a little longer.

Thus, I’ll think positively, and, for the moment, believe that I will survive my sore throat—especially since it went away an hour after I woke up…

(Although, I’ve still got that certain dull heaviness in my chest that seemingly makes it hard to breath every once in a while—the metastasis pressing against my lungs and all…)

And now, the end is near,
And so I face the final curtain.
My friends, I'll say it clear;
I'll state my case of which I'm certain.

I've lived a life that's full -
I've traveled each and every highway.
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Regrets? I've had a few,
But then again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.

I planned each charted course -
Each careful step along the byway,
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew,
When I bit off more than I could chew,
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I ate it up and spit it out.
I faced it all and I stood tall
And did it my way.

I've loved, I've laughed and cried,
I've had my fill - my share of losing.
But now, as tears subside,
I find it all so amusing.

To think I did all that,
And may I say, not in a shy way -
Oh no. Oh no, not me.
I did it my way.

For what is a man? What has he got?
If not himself - Then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows
And did it my way.

Yes, it was my way.

My Way, Frank Sinatra

Note: Because I believe it is important to give credit where credit is due, here is the story behind this seminal song in Sinatra’s repertoire, according to the writer of the song, Paul Anka, as relayed on his website:

Paul first heard the French song, Comme D’habitude (written by J. Revaux, G. Thibault, C. Frankois), in the summer of 1967 when he was in Europe. Although it had different lyrics and a much different feel, Paul instantly connected with the melody. After running into Frank Sinatra, in Florida, who mentioned retiring sometime soon, he asked Paul when was he going to write something for Paul, determined to do just that, returned to New York, sat down at the piano at 1 a.m. and wrote the song. Five hours later, this seminal composition was finished and was sent to Sinatra. After hearing the song, retiring became a distant memory— ‘My Way,’ went on to become Frank Sinatra’s signature song, and one of the most recognizable songs in the world.

Monday, January 14, 2008

God, I Love New York!

God, I Love New York!
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom


I know I’ve said it before, if you count my posted photos that’s practically 25,000 times before, but I just have to say it again—God, I Love New York!

I got off the R train this morning at 6:55 feeling exuberant after taking a few good shots on the subway and walked up onto Broadway at 23rd—I was in awe of what I saw.

Most people, especially hurried-frazzled, and often frustrated, New Yorkers might likely say, “There’s a bunch of people crossing the street—so what?”

So what is that I saw something much more magnificent.

For I saw a unified horde of dark and tan overcoats scurrying across the glistening wet streets of this teeming metropolis, streets that are often striped with incredibly-aesthetically appealing white lines; the moving scene as a whole, complementing an exquisitely grey-and-blue overcast sky that served as the backdrop to the landmark Flat Iron building in the near-distance.

At that moment I yearned to get my camera out and take more photos. Alas, I knew I had important work at the office waiting for me, and so I couldn’t linger and loiter about the streets as I would have otherwise preferred to have done. I thought to myself, “God, what I would give to be able just to take photos of the city and its people all day long!”

As I crossed Madison Square Park, I also thought, “God, I Love New York!”

Because, I do.

What I see everyday is often gut-wrenchingly amazing to me. Thus, I am often compelled to either take my camera or pen-and-pad out to somehow capture the ineffable.

In particular, I am especially enamored by city people, if only because I believe everyday people are beautiful—much more so than nipped-and-tucked, botoxed-and-otherwise “beautified” celebrities. And I think, if I lived in the country, instead of the city, I find the weathered faces and callused hands just as beguiling.

Nonetheless and allthemore, I am rather fortunate to live and work and love in New York City.

Thus, I practically creamed my pants this morning when I saw a young lady crossing the street dressed in a fashionable P-coat, Prince-purple velvet stilettos, an unlit cigarette coolly dangling from her hand, and jeans tattered at the cuffs—I was whet, not because it turned me on in some sort of sordid-lascivious way, but rather because it piqued the bestial aesthete in me.

Sometimes I walk about this city and think, “Who needs galleries and catwalks and glossy magazines when you have a vibrant-and-glorious living museum buzzing about you day-in and day-out?”

Fact is, if you open your eyes and allow all your senses to tune in to your surroundings, the scenery of your diurnal journey—you don’t! need others to curate, exhibit or otherwise display what is "beautiful" for you. Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder, and thus, sometimes all you need to do is simply stop, if only for a moment, and behold.

Problem is, most of us, me included, are stuck behind a desk for most of the day. Most of us must grind and grunt and bend over, over and over again, all day long, so that ultimately, we don’t get to see or experience much beyond three grey carpeted cubicle walls. And most of us, are too frazzled and preoccupied otherwise when we leave to take notice of anything as we horse-blind our way home.

Regardless, on my short excursions to and from work, I still find myself invigorated by the little I do get to behold on the streets of my beloved city.

Much of the time what I feel about this town is equivalent to what one feels when you first fall in love with someone, and you want to tell them how and why and that you dolove them—over and over again.

And that’s exactly how I feel about New York City.

Thus, with this set I’m sharing a few sneak preview shots of four different sets of new photos that I am working on, which convey my exuberance and passion for NYC.

The subway shots here were taken this morning at 7 AM on the 1 and R trains, the other two were taken last Thursday night, during and after a photo shoot with my dear friend Gillian Crosson for a prospective upcoming advertising campaign.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Rauschenberg Runts

Rauschenberg Runts
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

January 10, 2008, New York City:

Ten of the photos in this set were taken of the crowd at the new Robert Rauschenberg Runts exhibition on opening night at Pace Wildenstein.

I kept hearing everyone asking, “Are these paintings?” Amazingly, they really do look like photographs.

“The paintings Runts on exhibit each measure approximately 5' x 6' and are the smallest works the artist has produced in many years. These channel surfing montages are assembled from Rauschenberg’s archive of photographs, which he then transfers onto polylaminate synthetic material mounted on aluminum panels. Runts represents a decades-long involvement in transfer images that began over 50 years ago transferring the medium of photography into painting.”

And yes, Jessie, he was there; he’s still alive, in a wheelchair, but after 60 years of shows and hundreds of solo exhibits, he's still quite alive…

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

The Exuberance of Enervation

The Exuberance of Enervation
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

“Youth is a gift of nature, Age is a work of art.”
Scott Allen, Senior Citizen, World Class Ironman Triathlete

The alarm went off at 6:15 this morning, blaring like a feline-bitch in heat.

I wanted to throw a rock at it, but there were no rocks around and I was in the middle of turning 15 again.

I tried to pretend the high-pitch mewl was melodic, a euphonic complement to our phrenetic rhythm. Alas, pretending didn’t work.

Then I tried to simply focus on the slippery—and—the somatic, the brushing-touching-feeling, the almost-there, the novelty of never-before, the challenge of overcoming all obstacles, and the sheer pleasure of feeling like an utter brute within the soothing grasp of ineffable beauty.

At last, the release and the relief were immeasurable. I had to hit the top of the clock a number of times before I could get it to shut the fuck up.

Catching our breaths, we both acknowledged the aching desire to just go back to sleep.

Alas, there were ailing patients to attend to and piles of paper to push. The warm stimulus of the shower offered some consolation, and the promise of a good-sized cup of coffee also helped allay the consequence of our all-night revelry.

Once again, we had marked the passing of time with an exuberant embrace of one of life’s simplest, yet greatest, pleasures.

Once again, youthful vigor usurped age and reason.

Once again, I am elated to suffer utter exhaustion—for it is a small price to pay for the exhilarating experience of feeling 25 years younger.

“Youth is when you're allowed to stay up late on New Year's Eve. Middle age is when you're forced to.”
Bill Vaughn

Monday, January 7, 2008

The Price of Happiness

The Price of Happiness
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

The sun had set at 5:30 and I was on the 6 o’clock bus rolling through the Meadowlands.

My eyes grew heavier as the rush hour slowly came to a halt, eventually proceeding as a puttering surge forward.

Worn down by another day of biding time, biting my tongue and nothingness, I was suddenly piqued; energized, my eyes popped open and a stream of dopamine careened downward through my shoulders and onto my toes.

Thoughts of wet spots and exhausting passages into the unknown made my valves open and close faster.

A touch of lingering laughter and remembering your smile released a deluge of soothing Serotonin—and I felt serene, once again.

Sometimes, I wonder who will pass out or die of bliss first; sometimes I yearn for more.

Yet, I often end up reminding myself to be careful of what we ask for.

For albeit perfect moments can be priceless, I’ve learned along the way the price we pay when we futilely attempt to extend them is not—it costs plenty.

Alas, only experience teaches us this. And even then, it is easy to forget—love has ways of erasing everything, especially if everything stands in the way of happiness… as short-lived as that may often be.

Thursday, January 3, 2008

The (Dis)Advantages of Not Having Anything to Wear

The (Dis)Advantages of Not Having Anything to Wear
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Occasionally, I will complain that men have little choice when it comes to what we wear. Or at least, we have a lot less choices than women do.

On New Year’s Eve, I went out with Chelsea and the night before she told me she wasn’t sure what dress she should wear. I rebutted that I wasn’t sure what I should wear at all, since I had very few choices to begin with.

I didn’t want to wear a suit, because I wear one everyday, and that’s no fun. New Year’s Eve is meant to be fun! and so how could it be fun if I dressed as if it were any other day?

I didn’t want to go casual, i.e. khakis or jeans or even black dress pants with a v-neck sweater, because once again, it’s New Year’s Eve! and dressing casually on New Year’s Eve just didn’t seem festive enough for me.

Hence, I was left with but one choice. One choice, which I knew surely put me at odds with most other men in the crowd—black tie.

You see, I love wearing black tie, and I wish I had an opportunity to wear it more often. Especially since I take some pride in the fact that I can tie a bow tie and don’t rely on a clip on.

Thus, although I knew the party we were going to wasn’t a black tie event per se and inevitably I would get a smattering of “Waiter, more Champaign please!” jokes from the sorely underdressed, I didn’t care. I wanted to dress up for the occasion, and so I was willing to tolerate the jibes in order to befit what I felt should be a time for extraordinary revelry.


Besides, dressing in black tie in the past has brought me good luck.

On New Year’s Eve, 1995-96, my girlfriend—eventually to-be wife—eventually not-to-be wife—and I, decided to attend First Night in New York City. We decided to dress the part and got all fancied up, long black dress for her, black tie for me.

Our first stop was dancing at Grand Central Station, where two photographers from The New York Times, took our photos while dancing. Subsequently, we made the front page of The Times, “Dancing (and Kissing)” on New Year’s Day, 1996.


However, all that said, after seeing some ghastly outfit on some random girl this morning, I realized that our wardrobe disadvantage can also be a distinct advantage. Because a dearth of dress choices also means it is a lot more difficult for men to make bad dress decisions and fashion faux-pas (paws).

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Looking In

Looking In
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

It is the first day back at work of the New Year
and all day long I’ve been looking out the window.

I can’t help but notice that the sky is the limit out there.
Whereas, here inside there’s a pretty short ceiling;
If I get on my ergonomic chair and stretch, I can touch it.

These chairs are designed to keep us comfortable,
they say—to prevent debilitating back and wrist injuries;
I say, they’re so we stay in our chairs longer.

I know I can’t complain, and I’m not, but I am realizing
that, if I’m lucky I have another 40 years of life to live,
and I’m just not sure I want to spend the next 25 of them stuck
under a short ceiling. Actually, I'm sure I don’t.

Yes, I understand a ceiling means shelter, it means safety
and it means security. But it also means less fervor, less fresh air,
and less freedom to do and roam where I want, whenever I want to.

I think I’ve just realized my first New Year’s resolution—
to make a change, so that for the next 25 years I don’t spend my days
simply looking out windows.

I want to look in a little more often.


Excerpted from Courage, the Joy of living dangerously by Osho:

But would you like to remain always in your mother's womb? It is very protective. If it was given to you to choose, would you choose always to be in the mother's womb? It is very comfortable, what more comfort is possible? Scientists say that we have no yet been able to make a situation more comfortable than the womb. The womb seems to be the last, the ultimate in comfort. So comfortable—no anxiety, no problem, no need to work. Sheer existence. And everything is supplied automatically—the need arises and immediately is supplied. There is not even the trouble of breathing—the mother breathes for the child. There is no bother about food—the mother eats for the child.

But would you like to remain in the mother's womb? It is comfortable but it is not life. Life is always in the wild. Life is there—outside.

The English word “ecstasy” is very, very significant. It means to stand out. Ecstasy means to get out—out of all shells and all protections and all egos and all comforts, all deathlike walls. To be ecstatic means to get out, to be free, to be moving, to be a process, to be vulnerable, so that winds can come and pass through you.

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

We Had Fun...

They Had Fun...
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

New Year's Day 2008, New York City:

...And of course, how could we end the year without a party to celebrate all the wonderful and beautiful and often perfect moments of 2007.

Last night, New Year’s Eve, Chelsea and I started out the evening by going to one of our favorite restaurants, The Queen of Sheeba, a great Ethiopian restaurant at the corner of 47th and 10th Avenue. We shared the vegetarian platter, which is an incredibly delitable of traditional dishes, complemented by lots of tasty Enjera, a spongy and moist, sourdhoughy flatbread of sorts that one uses to eat the meal with.

Afterward, we caught a cab and went to a friend’s shindig at her boyfriend’s newly purchased $12 million dollar apartment. He kept telling everyone, “I have the apartment across the way and half the floor above us, Oprah Winfrey rents the other half.”

The party was being held in the part of his abode with rooms that functioned as a gymnasium and an art gallery. In the corner of the living room with the view of the fireworks in Central Park, he had a signed almost life-sized book of Helmut Newton’s photography; and all over the place were smorgasbords of catered food. In one of the two bathrooms, he had a Jacuzzi with a view, with a chandelier hanging over it.

As many of us know, how you enjoy and appreciate life is not determined by money.

That’s one of the many reasons why Chelsea and I ended up having such a great time last night despite how boring the party might have been for others. It is also one of the many reasons why I like her so much.

Despite being a doctor, she bares no arrogance or pretension whatsoever, she’s full of life and incredibly compassionate about the patients she cares for and nurtures back to health or, unfortunately, as often is incumbent of the job of a first-year resident, the ailing people she needs to console into death. Yet, despite dealing daily with the depressing troubles and pain of others, she knows how to smile at the end of some very long days.

I sincerely admire that about her and I am often inspired by this extraordinary display of calm and courage.

Hence, I happily end the year, and began another, in her company. As the photos will attest, we had fun, to say the least. Thanks Chelsea…


So, there you have it…my take on 2007, and now you know how I feel…

Much Love, Peace and Happiness,

Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Breeze driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

Fish in the sea
You know how I feel
River running free
You know how I feel
Blossom on a tree
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don't you know
Butterflies all havin' fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when day is done
That's what I mean
And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me

Stars when you shine
You know how I feel
Scent of the pine
You know how I feel
Oh freedom is mine
And I know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me

And I'm feeling good

Feeling Good, Michael Bublé