I'm officially amending my barista project to include the service staff of diners.  They're similar in a lot of ways, and, in this case, I was in a diner not a coffee shop.  So there.

If you're not familiar, I'm doing an ongoing project in the city of portraiting baristas (and now diner-ers).

This is a guy, who's name, I think could start with an S.  He works at the Clover Grill Cafe on the corner of Bourbon and Dumaine in the French Quarter.  Nice guy.  Brought us food.

The other night, my good friend Michelle and I had dinner at El Gato Negro.  If you know me, you know I rarely get in a tizzy over food.  Come to think of, I'm not sure I'd ever own up to be in a "tizzy" at all.  But nevertheless, if I did, it wouldn't be for El Gato Negro.  Nothing wrong with it--the food and service were both good (chips were a little weird), just didn't make the top five percent.After we left, we went to get coffee at enVie on the corner of Barracks and Decatur.  It was very nice.  I had tea.

While we were there, I ask Blossom, the barista, if she would be a part of my ongoing project about coffee baristas around the city, and she did.  Plus, she was really pretty.Blossom:

As promised, here's the rest of the shoot Katie and I did with Hannah this weekend.  Originally my plan was going to culminate with yesterday's post, and since I really only needed a light colored sliver of a wall to complete that task, we had the freedom to shoot just about anywhere.  But when I found out we were gonna shoot at her Dad's (my uncle's) place in the French Quarter, I got a little giddy and cleared my evening.

Okay, my evening was already clear, but whatever.

Anyway.

We had lots of fun because there is so many places to shoot there: on the roof, in the courtyard, down the alleyway, on the garbage cans... Right, the last part was visionary. But what most people tend not to recall is that visionaries always keep their day job. Don't hold me to any of this stuff.

Oh, and I almost forgot, about six months ago I posted a poem she wrote called Cacophony. It's awesome, and I love it--check it out!

Here's Hannah.

I think this was a 'super hero.'  Super Hannah.
graduation pose.I found my camera kept involuntarily honing in on the shoes. This was, hands down, my favorite shot!  It's actually now in my portfolio.This shot, like the one above, made me very happy. I smiled. Sometimes I feel so lucky to be pointing the camera in the right direction at the right time, because I'm pretty sure that is the determining factor in getting shots like these. All random chance, really. There. My secret. Oh, and a beautiful Hannah. Both of those.

Something I always enjoy about photography is its power to isolate a specific collection of details to show a perspective.  Here is a short series showing the the stuff after the people have gone.

This past weekend was the frenchquarter fest. Lots of people, lots of music. lots of square pictures.

Steve & Daniele who play gypsy jazz.  And in true gypsy jazz style Daniele plays the same guitar as Django Reinhardt and sites him as one of his main influences.These two mimes invited us to stay at their bunkhouse in the bywater.  They were very serious.  I give out my card to just about anybody and everybody.  But these I didn't.  They were kind of scary.

I took a trip down Royal Street the other day to take a picture of Keith, the barista of Royal Blend. I think I could spend all day taking pictures there.

It's off the street via the classic french quarter, brick tunnel entranceway which opens into a delightful openair courtyard complete with lots of greenery and black, cast iron tables and chairs.  Once inside the actual coffee shop, there is just enough room longways for you and the counter.  But it does open up a little on the far end; just enough to show off it's old, plastered-brick walls.  Cozy.

Here's Keith.

After I left, I met Jennifer sitting outside of an art gallery. I motioned to my camera and asked asked if she minded. She swore she wasn't photogenic but agreed. I laughed and took her picture.

As I was making my way back to my car, I had the great fortune to run into Johnny Ruffles. Yes. I saw him and couldn't resist. Here it was:

Hi, I'm Joe.

They call me...Johnny Ruffles.

Perfect.

And to be clear, I jest not!  The accomplished way he delivered his line coupled with the tuxedo jacket and black Ray Bans--I wish the whole world could have been there with me to experience it.  I gave Johnny Ruffles my card, and JR, if you're listening, I would love to do a whole shoot with you in the future!

The last time I photographed Matt (the guy with the Mad top-hat) breathing fire, it was on the side of the road in the bywater district.  I knew this time was going to be different because it was at Pravda, but I didn't expect much beyond the location.  I was pleasantly surprised to find a whole crew of fire people, a storyboard, and a three-part production awaiting me when I arrived.

How did they know.

And I got to meet Lea (the cool girl with the fire-whip), who, when I asked to take her portrait, promptly replied with what's-your-name-and-do-I-get-a-copy.

It was: Joe and yes.

...

Fire.

This was both comical and a little sad.

But with six people in a LeBaron, this much booze, and one man in drag, you had to see this coming.

All in all, this is just another part of Mardi Gras.  What cracks me up is that this guys was so drunk he made no attempt to hide!

Last week, I was on the set with Que Duong, a local fashion photographer in the process of transitioning to New York.  Que's great to work with and has a great vision.  To see more of his work, check out his work here.

Wardrobe by Veronica Schofield; makeup by Ashley Merritt; modeling by Jamyle McCelland; shirts sponsored by Ayo Scott; and house, courtesy of Arthur Rogers.

Here are a few behind the scene shots:

Last night I drove home dodging effervescent Drew Brees clad New Orleanians dancing in the streets as passerbyers slowed to honk in celebration.  Apparently, no car roofs were off limits.

Fireworks began echoing about 3 minutes before the Saints won and continued on well into the night, long after I had fallen asleep.

Earlier that day, Katie and I agreed it was necessary to document the celebrations going on in the French Quarter, which happend to include a few parades, as well.  At this point, the Saints hadn't won yet, but I don't think there was much doubt in anyone's mind that they would.  After all, with that much alcohol who had room left for doubt?

Good times:

And my favorite: