Honey – Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc.

Marc and Christy Finally Meet

By Mitchell Slepian

Marc was near Grand Central Station. He had just exited Metro-North and was heading towards Wollensky’s Grill. He needed a filet mignon. He passed by Midtown Comics and decided to stop in. He was happy he was not featured in any comic books. He, Alana, and Anat tried to keep it that way. Shocked they are that nothing has been printed. They figured they were strong with their versions of The Force that they were able to skate by.

Marc was reading an Incredible Hulk book and glanced at Wolverine. He walked up to the counter to purchase them. When a girl looking like the images sent by Anat of Christy was reading a book featuring Harley and Poison Ivy. Marc wasn’t sure if it was her. But sensed it was. He tapped his iPhone; his books were bagged, and he walked down the store’s steps and proceeded toward Forty-Ninth Street and Third Avenue. He was tasting the glass of Sauvignon Blanc they always poured him as he walked in.

He was a block away when he saw stale bread flying through the air. Remember, Christy killed the woman Marc hates. So, he still held her in somewhat high regard. But knew she was dangerous and needed to be stopped.

He saw her randomly hitting a family: mom, dad, and a girl about three years old. Marc fired pomegranates at Christy. He also backed them up with honey. Christy stopped for a second. Marc yelled out Why did you kill that woman?

Christy smiled and launched more bread. Marc shot back. The two volleyed back and forth for what seemed like an hour. It was about 15 minutes. Christy’s eyes started to stick from the honey in her eyelids.

Marc nailed her in the nose with a pomegranate. Christy fell. Marc got closer and checked her out. She was down for the count. Or was she? As he got slightly closer, her hands launched a huge piece of stale bread dripping with rancid butter. Marc deflected it, and it smacked Christy in the mouth. She bit into it and smiled.

Seeing Things Through a Different Lens

By Mitchell Slepian

Do you ever try to see things through a different lens? Are you so stuck in your usual way of thinking that you cannot? It might even scare you to try to look. The other day, I was at Grand Army Plaza and the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. I was thrilled to see that the plaza renovation is finally complete. It made the fact that I looked through a different lens even more special.

Normally, when I stroll through the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, I have my camera with my Nikkor105MM F2.8 macro lens. That’s the lens that lets you to closeups of the flowers. You can shoot shots of the bees flying around and landing on the pretty flowers. Perhaps they are fetching honey. That’s an old joke from a camp skit. The lens allows you to take close-ups of a nice ribeye with that glass of red behind it and hashbrowns on the side.

I love shooting macro. But it doesn’t allow you to go wide or zoom. You are at a fixed focal length. That’s cool. Most of the best portrait and street photos are shot that way. I have taken dozens of floral shots with my 105 mm lens. I have been contemplating going to the BBG with a different lens. I finally did. I brought a Nikkor 24-70MM F2.8. Some call this the everyday lens. It is amazing. It gives you the versatility to do nearly everything. It doesn’t go as wide as a standard wide-angle. Nor does it let you zoom like the 70-200MM. It goes from wide to short telephoto. It is light and won’t weigh you down. It is a great choice when you wanna go out with just one lens and not be weighed down by your camera bag.

As I walked by Prospect Park towards Grand Army Plaza, I was shocked to see that the renovation work was complete. It took about two years. For NYC, that’s super-fast. They’ve been doing track work on the R-subway line for several years with no end on the horizon.

I was so happy I took my 24-70 lens. The macro would have done a great job. But framing the shot would have taken much longer and been more difficult. The other lens allowed me the flexibility I needed. Yes, I tried to take a shot of the Brooklyn Museum. No dice. I need my wide-angle lens. If the museum were about a half-foot smaller, I could capture it.

As I entered the garden, I took my usual opening shot of the field and was able to capture it all. I was able to shoot the ponds and capture them perfectly. As for the close-ups of the flowers, it did okay. It captured them nicely. Does it capture the same detail as the macro? No. But that’s why they make that lens.

Bottom line: seeing things through a different lens opens your eyes to new things. Give it a try.

100 Years or Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

Does Music Make a Difference When Shooting and Editing Photos?

By Mitchell Slepian

Hello, readers. As my regulars are aware, ninety-nine percent of the time, the images in my stories have been shot and edited with my Nikon camera. As Paul Simon sings, I like to take photographs. My Kodachrome sits on a table next to an old Nikon that was a workhorse and is now out of commission.

Sheepshead Bay by Emmons Avenue – Edited to Sir Elton

When shooting and editing, I always have songs in my head. One of my all-time favorite songs is “100 Years,” the opening track on The Cure’s “Pornography” album. It might be the darkest, most goth album of all time. I listen to it nonstop. Here’s a taste of Robert Smith’s (The Cure’s founder, lead singer, and possibly the best songwriter ever) lyrics. “It doesn’t matter if we all die. Ambition in the back of a black car.” I listen to lots of other great artists. Some are happier than The Cure. Of course, some are just as dark. Here’s a partial mix: Bauhaus, David Bowie, Billy Joel, Depeche Mode, Erasure, Sir Elton John, Joy Division, John Lennon (probably the best musician of all time), Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley, The Psychedelic Furs, The Smiths, Siouxsie and the Banshees, U2 and The Who. And the list goes on.

It’s not unusual for me to have some of these lyrics floating through my brain when I’m shooting. “Confusion in her eyes that says it all. She’s lost control. And she’s clinging to the nearest passerby.” – “She’s out of Control,” Joy Division “Girl of sixteen, whole life ahead of her. Slashed her wrists, bored with life. Didn’t succeed, thank the Lord.” – “Blasphemous Rumors” – Depeche Mode “Back to the howling old owls. Hunting the horny back toad” – “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” – Sir Elton and “Before you cross the street. Take my hand. Life is what happens to you. While you’re busy making other plans” – “Beautiful Boy” – John Lennon. He always nailed it. They all do.

One can be sure the songs in my head while I am shooting affect how they are taken. I might adjust the ISO and F-stop based on how I am feeling. In case you were wondering, I do not listen to music on my iPhone. I hate headphones. I used to wear my Walkman’s headphones slightly above or below my ears. Sometimes I still do that with headphones when I am Zooming or watching things on YouTube. Songs always go through my head. It gets me through the days. Or as Robert Smith says, “In Between Days.” That’s on the “Head on the Door” album.

Bees Fetching Honey – Edited to the Cure

The other day, I was editing some images from Emmons Avenue, Sheepshead Bay and the New York Botanical Garden while listening to Sir Elton. Then I switched to a mix of The Cure, Echo and the Bunnymen, Erasure, and Psychedelic Furs, Siouxie and the Banshees. Erasure brings back memories of camp. The Cure, Erasure, and the Furs bring back old memories of dating and driving around in my old Caddy with the girls I liked. We usually listened to those bands. My first date was to see The Cure with Love & Rockets and the Pixies as the openers. We were too young to buy beer. We shared M&M’s. I still think about all of this when certain songs play.

Look at the images and see if you can tell the difference. This was written and edited to Led Zep’s “How the West Was Won.” With final touches while listening The latest from The Cure: “Songs of a Lost World.”

Diane Does Ok

Diane went out for a run. The last few months of her life have been better than ever. She hasn’t touched one drug or sipped one ounce of liquor. Her job was satisfactory. She reconnected with some old friends from high school. She went to a concert or Broadway show and bought tickets for a few Yankee games.

She missed Jerry. She always would. However, she knew she didn’t even know him when she was his. She certainly didn’t know him now. She only knew Jay’s abuse, drugs, and alcohol. Oh, and that blaring disgusting heavy metal he blasted. Her run wound up. She sipped some Poland Spring and stretched out on a bench. She heard yells. She figured it was kids and people arguing.

She looked into the distance and saw Jay slapping Kari across her face. She smiled and cried. She was happy for herself that she was done with him. She was upset someone else was suffering. Diane was powerless to stop him. She knew he’d shoot glass out of his fingers or eyes if she approached and tried. She hoped for the best.

Marc was running, too. He was a distance from Jay and Kari. But he was keeping a good speed and was rapidly approaching. He never ran with music cranking into his ears out of his iPhone. He detested headphones and all the iterations people now stuffed into their ears. He just sang songs in his head. He sang Joplin, Lennon, Joni Mitchell, Joy Division and the Bee Gees. It was quite the odd mix of tunes. But they kept him going.

Marc’s keen eyes saw what was going on. He was not in the mood. From a distance, he shot honey at Jay, who was blindsided. Of course, Jay knew who hit him. He got up and wildly started shooting glass. Kari ran. Diane just watched with a smile. Marc approached Jay, who started throwing punches. He missed. Marc didn’t. Pomegranates smacked Jay in the eyes and nostrils. He fell to the floor. Marc decided he didn’t want to fight any longer. He coated Jay in Honey and left.

Marc’s Origin Story

As you recall, our story started many years ago with Marc stopping a few Boston teens from harming an older man in a NYC subway station. But where did Marc get his powers from? Many have wondered. Well, it goes back to a strange day in camp in 1983.

It all started when Marc first met the Woodsman. He was about 12 and a newbie in camp. Marc was sitting in his leanto, and the Woodsman appeared and said, “I know your father.” Marc knew his dad was active in the programs this camp ran. He was excited. The Woodsman said he was leading a hike to an old, closed camp. It was the place where he spent his youth. He ran ceremonies, the waterfront, and other stuff.

At around 2 p.m., a merry band of youngsters began their hike. About a half hour later, they were at a picturesque window. Their guide told them where all the old latrines were; they went into a dilapidated dining hall and some other cabins.

The kids were learning so much. Some call it leeaaarnning. Regardless, all was well. Marc was sipping water from his canteen, he was chatting with some kids. Suddenly, a kid from some provisional group tried to push him. Marc didn’t get along with many except for one of the Provo groups. The group they did get along with was only because of its leader. They didn’t like the group. But the leader was always sedated, so all was well.

The kid pushed him again. Marc hit the ground. The kid tried to step on his head. Marc got up and squeezed his arms. His eyes shut. The kid kicked Marc. As Marc clutched his stomach from the kick, he opened his eyes and shot honey at the kid. Then, pomegranates shot out of his fingers. The kid was nailed. He fell onto the floor. He almost fell off the cliffs. Others were watching. Of course, in this group, strange things were the norm. No one thought anything of this. They were the weirdest group of campers in the world.

Eventually, the Woodsman gathered the group together, and they hiked back to their site. By the way, even though the Woodsman showed them the old latrines, he ensured the kids knew he never used them.

Pomegranate 23 — Marc is hospitalized

Marc went to Staten Island to visit mom. She barbequed hamburgers and hot dogs for lunch. She had all kinds of salads.

She had honey cookies for dessert. I love honey cookies. “Hey, how come you didn’t add any barley or pomegranates to the salad,” he asked.

“Oh stay away from the cookies. Forgot about you and honey.”

“What?”

“You won’t remember. But when you were about three on Rosh Hashanah your grandmother had honey, pomegranates, barley and other stuff. You started eating it all and nearly died.”

She went out to tell him the story. This had been kept from him. His grandmother came around with all of his is so called weapons. He started eating them and turned bright red. He began to shake and become short of breath. His mom flipped out. Everyone figured it was an allergic reaction. He was panting and shook even more. His mom raced him outside to the car and took him to the ER.

He was triaged. The doctors kept him for a few days. He suffered from anaphylaxis and infant botulism. His little arms and legs grew hives and were swollen. His face was beet red. He was put on an IV. He was discharged. The end result was that honey caused the problem. He suffered allergic reactions to the barley and pomegranates. Apparently, the mixture of all three items was nearly deadly.

His mom never let him have these items again. He was told to not to eat them because he might be allergic. He had no memory of trying them again. He was wondering if this is what sparked his powers.

He emailed a trusted rabbi in the Old City. He knew he’d call him back. He always did. While he waited he kept thinking about what happened to him. He wanted to pull the medical records. Of course, this incident happened over 40 years ago. But he sent an email to the hospital.

The rabbi called him back. He opened by blessing Marc. They made some small chit-chat. Marc gave him an abridged synopsis of what was happening. The rabbi was very interested in this. He thought of some of the prophets. He told him he would check some Talmudic scriptures and get back to him. He blessed him again.

As they hung up the hospital records arrived on his phone.

Pomegranate — 10

Alana stood in front of Clarke’s. Marc never wrote back. That was unlike him. Although they only had a brief romance many moons ago, she knew him too well. They were always good friends. And enemies. Alana decided to wear pink sneakers. She wanted to play with his head.

She stood there for about 30 minutes waiting. He was never late. Tears fell from her eyes as she gave up and walked toward the E-train. As she was walking she heard a faint yell calling her name. She turned around. Marc was standing there. She was happy. Yet annoyed. She was about to start a fight. She really wanted to. But decided to momentarily hold off.

They looked at each other. Jen was not far behind Marc. Alana couldn’t tell if they were together or if she came on her own. Of course, they all knew of each other. She wanted to be the mature one. She knows Jen is a bit goofy. She saw the two of them walking closer to her. And she held her ground.

Marc got closer. Jen still trailed him by about 10 feet. Alana was ready to fire away. But she held back. It was so hard for her. Jen was smiling. Marc went right up to her and said, “hi”.

“What is she doing here?” retorted Alana. Marc started to shake. Alana was getting ready to take both of them out.

“She followed me from my office.” Alana shook her head.

“You know we have this crazy relationship.”

“Marc you nut cake. Isn’t that your problem with all the girls you date? Have you ever dated someone normal? I’m probably the most normal you’ve been with. And that doesn’t say much for either one of us.”

“Please, Alana. She’s has problems. You know she’s listening to us right now. I know you could take her out. I don’t want to have to fight again. But please don’t attack her.”

“Jen, what’s your deal? We both love Marc. Neither of us is probably right for him. He’s probably not right for us. But I set this up. Get away.”

Jen started to cry. Alana wound her arm up. Her hand opened. She unleashed a bushel of apples right at Jen. She followed it with figs. But she threw everything in a way that’d they’d just graze her. She wanted to scare Jen. Scare her she did. Jen jumped away as the last apple flew by her head. She fell down and scraped her knees and hands.

Marc started shooting honey at Alana. But he was no match for her. She was on fire. He tried to hit her with pomegranates. He missed.