Abandoned School

Last weekend David and I—somewhat spontaneously—decided to rent a Zipcar and drive to New Jersey to explore an abandoned school. We didn't have a lot of information about the school except for an address and with abandoned buildings you never know what—if anything—you're going to find. That's part of the appeal, but also part of what makes this hobby nerve-wracking for an anxious person like me, and I was super nervous about this one, in part because I knew it had the potential to be great.

This school was definitely the most difficult place we've explored, only because the building was relatively secure. But after a bit of physical maneuvering we were inside and immediately struck at how much stuff was piled in the lower floors. Built in the 1850s, this school was added to repeatedly through the years and it's a grand building—five floors of classrooms, including a basement and roof access.

The crown jewel of this school is its auditorium. added in 1909. Casement windows open off of a corridor circling the upper portion of the auditorium, adding additional viewpoints—reminiscent of the balconies at a grand opera house. Most of the nearly 800 seats are still intact, and I wish I could say the same for the incredible stained glass ceiling, which is unfortunately mostly shattered, seemingly beyond repair. 

In an newspaper announcement that I found online about the opening of this auditorium, it says that "The city will be compensated many times over for the outlay that this auditorium will entail through the refining and elevating influences that will proceed from it, disseminated among a people who are hungry for the educational advantages which for centuries have been denied their race in the old world."

This school broke my heart in a lot of ways, in the normal ways that all abandoned places do, and in some new ones as well. This building was so grand and beautiful and—at the risk of sounding a thousand years old—they just don't build things like this anymore, especially schools. Buildings like this say something important about the activities contained within—that they matter. As my friend Jim, an architect, said: it's the difference between wearing sweatpants or a suit. 

I'm not exactly sure what forced this school to close, but judging by the declining student population I would speculate that the upkeep was just too expensive for the struggling school district. The remaining students were moved to another school, and the school closed in 2007. There's no way of knowing if the city was ever "compensated many times over" for its investment in this beautiful building, but it breaks my heart to see it slowly crumbling.

Muffler Man: Cowtown Cowboy

It's Muffler Man Monday—at least for a little while since we saw so many on our recent road trip. They're all so wonderful and unique, so each deserves to be profiled separately. Up next: this lovely cowboy gentleman was our second stop in New Jersey, about 40 min from the Pink Pants-wearing Muffler Man. 

This cowboy variety is 22-feet tall, and wears a Stetson hat, holster and pistol. Bought at an auction in the '70s, he has been standing outside of the Cowtown Rodeo and Farmers' Market ever since. In the early 2000's, the cowboy's top half blew off during a windstorm, leaving just the pants standing. He was repaired, and is now reinforced at the waist and looks freshly painted.

One of the first things I noticed about this Muffler Man is that he isn't holding anything in his outstretched hands. A lot of the others I've met are similarly unadorned, but this one seemed to actively be missing something. Turns out I was right—he used to hold a lariat rope, but it was removed after people kept swinging on it (people ruin everything). 

Bonus fiberglass attraction! Every cowboy needs a cow, and this red bull (with an udder??) stands nearby the Muffler Man, right in front of the (likely hyperbolic) sign that proclaims that Cowtown is "often imitated, never equaled."

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Cowtown Rodeo and Farmers' Market
780 Harding Hwy
Pilesgrove, NJ 08098
Easily Accessible

Muffler Man: Pink Pants

My mom and I just got back from an epic road trip through nine states over four days. When I started planning the road trip, I knew that our main destination was roadside mecca South of the Border, but I also knew that the point of the trip was the journey. I planned nearly 30 stops along the way there and back and we hit almost all of them. 

If you were following along on my Instagram stories, it may have seemed like we were on a Muffler Man scavenger hunt—we saw five official Muffler Men, in addition to three UniRoyal Gals and numerous other fiberglass sculptures. My mom saw her first Muffler Man (and first UniRoyal Gal) on our trip to Atlantic City last year and she's now just as obsessed as I am. 

Our very first stop after picking up our rental car at Newark Airport was this Muffler Man in pink pants and suspenders at Royal Tire and Auto in Magnolia, New Jersey. I love his coloring and that he's holding a tire—it's a regular size tire but it looks tiny in his huge hands. My mom pointed out his veiny forearms arms, and I'm always wowed by the detail and care that go into making and maintaining these roadside giants. 

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Royal Tire and Auto of Magnolia
301 N White Horse Pike
Magnolia, NJ 08049
Easily accessible

Historic Jersey City & Harsimus Cemetery

After my first visit to the Historic Jersey City & Harsimus Cemetery, I'd been looking for a chance to go back. Not that I ever need a specific reason to visit a cemetery, but this particular one holds events quite frequently. Most recently they hosted the JC Oddities Flea Market and an oddities flea market in a historic, once-abandoned cemetery is pretty much my dream event so I was looking forward to it for weeks.

I was hoping that the oddities selection would be good, but most importantly cheaper than the over-priced Brooklyn events I've attended. Unfortunately that wasn't really the case—there were some interesting vendors with taxidermy, bones and vintage finds but I only ended up buying one thing (a milk glass bottle from the 1939 World's Fair).

The main attraction ended up being the cemetery itself, and I was happy for the chance to explore its overgrown grounds again. The cemetery was established in 1829, but even before that it was the site of Revolutionary War skirmishes and a War of 1812 ammunition bunker. It was abandoned in 2008 but is now cared for by a group of volunteers, with proceeds from events going to the care and upkeep of the grounds.

In addition to human volunteers, the cemetery is also home to several goats. When I first went they were roaming around, doing their part to keep the grass in check, but for events they're fenced in an area where you can pet and feed them (the dream life, if you ask me).

We had also been lured to this event with the promise of crypt tours, but unfortunately they were cancelled because it had rained heavily the night before and the crypt had flooded. Even still, for just $5 it was the perfect way to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon and support a worthy cause in the process.

Hoboken

After a recent Sunday adventure to Jersey City to (awkwardly) eat at the White Mana Diner, I took the PATH train to Hoboken. I was feeling bummed that I had let my anxieties rule at the diner and I was kicking myself for not getting many photos. I felt like giving myself a second chance at exploring, and I'd been wanting to check out Hoboken for years.

Despite being so close, I don't find myself in New Jersey very often but I've never had anything but enjoyable days west of the Hudson. Hoboken is famous as the birthplace of Frank Sinatra, and there are parks and streets named for him. It also has incredible views of the Manhattan skyline, and it always amuses me that the best way to really see New York is to leave it.

In September of last year a commuter train crashed in the Hoboken Terminal, killing one woman and injuring 100 people. The terminal was opened in 1907 and is the only remaining active terminal out of five operated by competing railroad companies that once lined the Hudson Waterfront. Before there were tunnels under the Hudson River, passengers had to transfer to a ferry if they wanted to continue onto Manhattan. When I went inside of the terminal on a Sunday afternoon it felt more like a homeless shelter than a grand travel space, but it's a really beautiful building.

The quiet streets, brownstones and shops made me feel as if I was in New Jersey's version of Brooklyn Heights, and Hoboken has a more historic vibe than Jersey City (which I'm assuming translates to more expensive). I'd like to go back and spend more time poking around—and I'd love to see Sybil's Cave — but even in the few short hours that I spent there, Hoboken managed to charm me.

Jersey City + White Mana Diner

This past weekend I decided that I would finally make the trek to Jersey City to see the White Mana Diner. The diner is a relic from the 1939 World's Fair, and I've known about it ever since I moved to New York and became obsessed with all things related to the two New York fairs. Add in the fact that it's a diner, and I have no excuse why it's taken me so long to pay it a visit.

This was my second time in Jersey City—both times I took the PATH train to Journal Square, which takes almost no time at all from the World Trade Center transit hub. Away from the waterfront, Jersey City is a little rundown, a little suburban and filled with interesting things. I guess I hadn't really realized that the diner was so close to the PATH train, but it was only about a twenty minute walk (I kept passing things tagged with "Noodles" which is officially my favorite tag).

The White Mana Diner is a tiny, circular diner that was marketed as the "Diner of the Future" during the World's Fair. This is usually the part of the post where I tell you the history and post loads of photos, but although I did go inside of the diner, I don't have many photos—in fact, I took zero photos inside even though the diner was theentire pointof my day. Here's why: I actually struggle a lot with taking photos in front of people, as silly as that might sound. I was so pumped to see (and eat at) the diner, and I even tried to strengthen my resolve on my walk, telling myself that I wouldn't be shy and that I'd get my photos.

But then, I walked into the diner and it's tiny and filled with locals. A man immediately turns to me, pats the stool next to him, and invites me to sit down, which I do. He starts talking to me—about astrology, World War II,  my nationality, Trump, Melania—and didn't stop the entire time I was there. I've definitely grown leaps and bounds in the past few years to the point where I can actually talk to strangers without wanting to die, but I still can't bring myself to whip out my camera and start shooting while all eyes are on me.

I beat myself up about it the entire walk back, feeling so dumb that I let my insecurities rule, but I have to remember that a few years ago just the idea of going to the diner alone would have been too much for me to handle. I have to constantly remind myself that the only photos I regret are the ones I don't take, that virtually no one really cares if I'm taking photos or thinks I look dumb doing so (except me), and that ordering one cheeseburger at a place famous for their sliders is a total amateur move.

Atlantic City, New Jersey

For the last three years since we moved to New York, I've been promising my mom I would take her to Atlantic City for her birthday. We moved to New York at the same(ish) time and were roommates for two years before I decamped to Brooklyn and she stayed in Harlem. This year I finally made good on my promise, and thanks to some well-timed Jewish Holidays (I work at a Jewish organization, much the chagrin of my friends that don't) we were able to go to Atlantic City on a Monday/Tuesday in early October.

The last time we were both in Atlantic Shitty was 2008—my parents weren't yet divorced, and we took what would be our last family vacation to the land of hermit crabs and boob mugs. We stayed at Trump Plaza, which has since been abandoned (much like Trump's Presidential ambitions by the end of tonight, hopefully), and our most recent trip included a whirl around the now-shuttered Taj Mahal during its last week in business.

I'd been warned before we went that Atlantic City was in dire straits, but that was part of the appeal. My mom likes to gamble and I love kitsch and ruin, so it was the perfect mother-daughter getaway. The state of the city and the boardwalk in general wasn't actually as bad as I had expected, and even on an off-season weekday the casinos that are still open (particularly Resorts World and Bally's) were bustling. We actually preferred the post-apocalyptic calm of the Taj Mahal—until a machine malfunctioned and ate my $30 credit slip.

 In between visiting Lucy the Elephant and the Clara Glen Pet Cemetery, we ate burgers at Johnny Rockets, won and lost at machines I picked exclusively for their names/animal mascots (Corgi Cash, Kitty Glitter), shopped for souvenirs, snacked on peanut chews and salt water taffy, and strolled the boardwalk. My mom parked herself at a hot machine as I explored more of the boardwalk, including Ripley's Believe it or Not—it's not as impressive when you're now an adult who seeks out real oddities (like at the Mütter Museum), but it was still a worthwhile stop.

After the closing of the Taj Mahal, the north end of the boardwalk is now completely abandoned—with Taj neighbors Showboat and Revel also sitting empty. Revel opened in 2012 only to close two years later, although it's scheduled to reopen again in 2017 under a new name. I don't think more casinos are the best way to save Atlantic City, especially with gambling far more widespread than it used to be, but I'm not sure what it will take to bring AC back to its glory days.

Muffler Man: Mr. Bill's, Uniroyal Gal: Nitro Girl

After exploring the Clara Glen Pet Cemetery on our way back from Atlantic City, we stopped at Mr. Bill's for dinner. I had taken my mom to AC for her birthday, and because she's the coolest, she was totally ok with eating her birthday dinner at a roadside diner which I picked only because they have a Muffler Man.

This was the tenth Muffler Man I've seen, and my second of the "happy half-wit" variety. I met my first half-wit at the Magic Forest, but aside from sharing the same basic mold, they are both styled quite differently. Mr. Bill's Muffler Man has been newly painted, although I do think some of the coloring is a bit off—the face is a bit too white and the lip color a touch too harsh but the wide variety of customizations is what makes all the Muffler Men so fun to find.

Mr. Bill's had been closed for a while, but recently reopened under new ownership. I'm so glad that the new owners are taking care of their half-wit, and even without the Muffler Man, it would be a worthy stop. I had a fried chili dog which was delicious, and if anyone ever asks if you'd like your hot dog "fried or raw" just trust me and know that fried is the correct answer.

A few minutes after we left Mr. Bills, my mom looked back and said "Hey that looks like a female Muffler Man." I immediately turned the car around and realized that she had spotted a Uniroyal Gal. According to Roadside America, there are only ten known Uniroyal Gals remaining, making them much more rare than their male counterparts. They were made by an International Fiberglass sculptor who apparently had a thing for Jackie Kennedy. "Nitro Girl" stands outside of a Uniroyal Tire dealership in Gloucester Township, New Jersey and I couldn't believe our luck that our Google directions took us right past her. Thankfully my mom was being vigilant, and it was an amazing find especially for someone who had just seen her very first Muffler Man minutes before.

Clara Glen Pet Cemetery

Ever since my trip to America's first pet cemetery in Hartsdale, I've been eager to track down more pet burial grounds. I've explored more human cemeteries than I can count, but Hartsdale is the only cemetery that had me tearing up multiple times. It's not that I'm cold and heartless when it comes to human death, but pets and animals are more relatable and helpless. The epitaphs for beloved pets were so much more heartfelt and personal than ones you usually see for humans. It's also easy to put myself into other pet-owner's shoes, thinking about my own cat and her eventual demise (when I'm not mad at her for screaming in my face, that is).

Clara Glen Pet Cemetery was founded in 1918 by Clara and Glen White, an animal-loving couple who had multiple dogs, cats and rabbits. They started the cemetery in their backyard in Linwood, NJ, and now Clara Glen is one of the oldest pet cemeteries in the country (Hartsdale was founded in 1896). Celebrities from nearby Atlantic City, like Irving Berlin and Billie Burke, have pets buried in the cemetery, alongside 3,800 other animals. Rex the Wonder Dog water-skied in Atlantic City's Steel Pier water show in the 1930s and 40s, and a diving horse (we saw at the last diving horse left in the country at the Magic Forest) is rumored to be buried here as well.

Pet cemeteries are disorienting because they're so serious on the one hand—losing a pet is devastating—and ridiculous on the other, with stones etched with names like Buttons Gifford, Fifi, Puddles Sawyer, Fluffruff, Mr. Bum, Rover and Pokey Palermo. While Clara Glen is tiny compared to Hartsdale, which contains more than 80,000 animals, I'm actually shocked that so many people opt to incur the expense of burying their pets in a public cemetery, instead of having them cremated or buried in their own backyards.

Clara Glen had fallen into disrepair over the years, and many stones have been broken or vandalized. It's now maintained by the Linwood Historical Society, and remains a bit overgrown but in fair shape. It's still basically located in someone's backyard, in a nice residential neighborhood near a cul-de-sac. We felt a little bit as if we were trespassing, but it's easy enough to slip in and out of for a quick visit.

I wish more of the stones hinted at what kind of animal lies beneath—in addition to mostly dogs and cats, we saw one confirmed bird named Polly Donnelly. Poodle statues were common, along with St. Francis, the patron saint of animals. I didn't tear up at Clara Glen as much as I did in Hartsdale—the epitaphs were sweet, but short—and it was a great little detour on our way back from Atlantic City.

I mentioned recently that owning a house with a backyard cemetery is my new life goal, and after visiting Clara Glen I'm thinking I should revise that to include pet cemeteries as well.

Lucy The Elephant

Built in 1881, Lucy the Elephant is the oldest surviving roadside attraction in the US. She was built by James Lafferty, in Margate City two miles south of Atlantic City, to help sell real estate and boost tourism. Two other elephant structures were built by Lafferty—in Coney Island and Cape May—but Lucy is the last (wo)man standing.

I'm very into novelty architecture, and along with The Big Duck (which I still need to get out to) Lucy might be the best example that exists. She is six-stories tall and covered in wood and tin sheeting. She fell badly into disrepair by the late 60s and was almost demolished. Thankfully, the Save Lucy Committee, founded in 1969, was able to raise the necessary funds to save her from the wrecking ball—in 1970 she was moved 100 yards inland and completely restored. When we visited, she looked as if she had just received a fresh coat of paint, and it's hard to imagine that she was ever in such dire straits.

Lucy is billed as the only elephant "you can walk through and come out alive!" Visiting the grounds and gift shop is free, but to go inside you need to pay for a tour ($8 for adults). Even though I'd been virtually traveling to Lucy for months before actually planning a trip, I was surprised at how large she is (65 feet high and 60 feet long). I still have the same experience whenever I see the Unisphere in person—just totally in awe of how small I feel.

You enter Lucy through a door in her back leg, and climb a narrow spiral staircase to get into the main room. Upstairs is a tiny museum containing photos and artifacts, and you can look out both of her eyes at the Atlantic Ocean. The tour continues all the way to the top, which opens up into the howdah carriage, offering 360 degree views (the Lucy water tower kills me).

The gift shop has floaty pens, a squished penny machine and every other piece of Lucy memorabilia you could want—t-shirts, lucky Lucy trinkets, postcards, erasers, stuffed Lucys, pins, patches and even "shell"ephant figurines. We stayed long enough for the weather to change from perfect blue skies to rain shower, but it was worth it when we realized we had Lucy to ourselves for a while. Like I'm prone to do, I researched this Atlantic City trip for months, looking at Lucy on Google and devouring any information I could about her, and yet there's still nothing quite as wonderful as seeing these things in person.

Trump Taj Mahal

The Trump Taj Mahal opened on the Atlantic City Boardwalk in 1990, and it closed at 5:59 am today. The casino and hotel was built at a cost of nearly a billion dollars, and had 120,000 sq feet of gaming space, 2,010 hotel rooms, and over the years housed multiple restaurants, gift shops, show rooms and the nation's first casino strip club.

It's hard for me to think of the Taj without thinking about the Sex and the City episode filmed there, during which Carrie refers to it as the "understated Taj Mahal." This if funny, of course, because the Taj (like most things associated with Donald Trump) is the very opposite of understated. 

I took my mom to Atlantic City last week for an overnight trip to celebrate her birthday, and one of the first places we went was the Taj. I'd heard that its closing was imminent, but didn't expect that we'd be among some of the last people to ever walk on on its gaudy carpeted casino floors. 

Outside of the Taj, workers have been striking since July, but the mood inside was much more subdued. If you've ever been inside of a casino, you know they're sensory overload in every way, but the Taj was almost eerily quiet. At first glance it might seem as if nothing was amiss, but then we noticed that there was only a handful of people—staff and patrons—and a lot of the machines were turned off, broken or roped off with caution tape. If we didn't already know that the end was near, it would've been pretty obvious after a few minutes.It was sad and weird to walk around the near-empty casino floor—the Sultan's Palace (for high rollers) was completely empty, all of the restaurants were closed, there was only one cashier and the huge hotel check-in counter was deserted. 

The outside looks as opulent as ever—there's still a parking lot devoted entirely to limos—but upon closer inspection, I spotted peeling paint, broken streetlights and dangling wires. Much has been said about Donald Trump the "businessman," and although he no longer owns a stake in the Taj it's hard not to consider his roll in making (and breaking) Atlantic City. It's strange to have grown up with DJT the casino magnate and reality star, and to watch as he tries to reinvent himself as DJT the presidential candidate. But like his casinos (Trump Plaza has been closed since 2014) Trump is all artifice—beneath the flashy exterior it's all dangling wires and peeling paint, and ultimately he too will fail.

Historic Jersey City & Harsimus Cemetery

After meeting my eighth Muffer Man, I headed back east toward downtown Jersey City and stopped at the Historic Jersey City & Harsimus Cemetery. The cemetery was incorporated in 1831, after a cholera epidemic forced the city to create a larger cemetery on the outskirts of town. The site of the cemetery had previously been host to several Revolutionary War skirmishes and to an active ammunition bunker during the War of 1812.

The cemetery was badly neglected and abandoned until a volunteer group took over in 2008 and began to clean up and restore the grounds. It was during these restoration efforts that a series of tunnels and chambers were discovered through an old door set into the hillside. The tunnels were filled with bones, unburied coffins and boxes of munitions leftover from the war. Unfortunately I didn't get inside of the tunnels, and in fact, I was lucky enough to get inside of the actual cemetery. 

When I finally found the entrance, I discovered that the gate was locked. As I started to walk away disappointed (George Michael-style—head down, Charlie Brown theme playing), I noticed a man approaching the gate from inside of the cemetery. I went back and asked if I could "just look around," and to my surprise he unlocked the gates and waved me in. He mumbled what sounded like "the ghost got out again" as he was re-locking the gate, and I laughed until he said it again and I realized he was actually saying "the goats got out again."

All summer long the cemetery is using goats to help clear the weeds, and they were apparently having a hard time keeping them inside of the cemetery. I'm very grateful to the man that let me in, and to the other man tending to the goats who allowed me to explore the grounds ("Get some shots of the goats," he said. "They won't bite!"). I'm assuming they were the two veterans who now live in the caretakers cottage in exchange for watching over the cemetery, which sounds a lot like my dream job that I never knew existed. 

Although I would have loved to explore the tunnels, the cemetery grounds are plenty fascinating on their own. If you just wandered into the Jersey City cemetery, you would have no idea that it was abandoned or was once in such bad condition. It's only when you take a closer look do you start to notice broken stones, sunken graves and areas still covered in weeds.

The Historic Jersey City & Harsimus Cemetery immediately reminded me of Eastern Cemetery in KY—both places were saved from years of neglect and abuse by a group of caring volunteers. Additionally, the cemetery regularly hosts fundraising events such as movies, plays and concerts, with all proceeds going toward their maintenance, upkeep and preservation efforts. 

Muffler Man: Wilson's Carpet

Ever since I saw my first  (and second and third and fourth and fifth and sixth and seventh) Muffler Man, I've been obsessed with meeting every one I can. Roadside America has an invaluable map of known Muffler Man locations and I consult it wherever I'm going to make sure I don't miss one. I've known about the one in Jersey City for a while, but I just recently made it across the Hudson to finally see it in person.

The carpet-clutching Muffler Man stands outside of the entrance to Wilson's Carpet and Furniture under the Pulaski Skyway in Jersey City. Owner Norm Wilson bought the 25-foot-tall Bunyan figure in 1974 for $5,000. In 1998, the Muffler Man became legitimately famous when it was included in the opening credits of the Sopranos—something I didn't know about it until after I got home. He's definitely changed over the past eight years, and is in desperate need of a touch-up, but he's still clutching his signature steel "carpet" roll.

The electronic sign board appeared to be broken when I went, and a HUGE SALE!! banner hung in tatters from one of his hands. He stands on a base declaring "America is #1! Love it or leave it!" which feels a little bit too "Make America Great Again" for my tastes, even though I know it predates any Trump-related craziness. Wilson's is located on a very busy road, near the New Jersey turnpike, Hackensack river and elevated PATH train tracks. It's really not a pedestrian-friendly area, but I wasn't going to let that stop me from checking out my eighth (!!) Muffler Man. 

This Muffler Man gets the sad distinction of being in the worst condition of the eight I've seen—the paint is peeling from his pants, his carpet roll is rusting and his faded facial features create a greying, salt-and-pepper look. It was definitely a harrowing journey—despite being only less than nine miles from my Brooklyn apartment—but it was so very worth it.

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Wilson's Carpet & Furniture
220 Broadway,
Jersey City, NJ 07306

Jersey City

I recently joked that I was running out of things to do in New York, so I needed to expand my radius. Of course this will never really be true because New York City is huge and constantly changing. However, as I become more comfortable living here and exploring different neighborhoods, it would make sense that my exploration area would be ever expanding. I had an entire sunny Sunday free recently, and decided to use it to venture over the Hudson into New Jersey.

Of course I've been to New Jersey before, but I'd never taken the PATH train. It was easy enough to figure out (you can use your MetroCard!) and I was surprised at how quickly I got from lower Manhattan to Jersey City. I had a loose itinerary for the day, which began with a stop at the VIP Diner. It had everything I look for in a diner—original furnishings, excellent signage, a friendly waitstaff and cheap, filling breakfast. From the diner I headed to check out a Muffler Man and a cemetery (more on those later), before making my way back east to downtown Jersey City and the waterfront.

The "Historic Downtown" area of Jersey City actually looked like a movie set to me—complete with generically named shops like "Hardware" and "Dry Cleaners." I stopped in a cute bookstore to browse, drank my weight in iced tea and marveled at the cute PATH entrances. It was very, very hot, but I was still surprised to find the streets so empty on a weekend afternoon, but it was a nice break from the sweaty, crowded sidewalks of the city.

I found out that New Jersey has a light rail when I almost got run over by it as I was crossing the street. I tried to ride to Liberty Park but I wasn't aware of the weekend service schedule so I had to get off after going just one stop, but it was worth it to experience yet another form of transportation (I have a seriously nerdy obsession with all of the varying forms of public transit).

It's funny to me that you have to go to New Jersey (or Brooklyn, or Queens) to really see Manhattan, and one of the best parts about Jersey City is the incredible skyline view. The neon view as you descend the escalator at the Exchange Place PATH station is pretty wonderful too, although it's still not quite enough to make me consider defecting west of the Hudson just yet.

Abandoned: Sandy Hook, NJ

Back in June, when I posted about my day spent exploring the abandoned parts of Fort Totten, Kate commented that I should check out Sandy Hook, NJ. She had lived near there and promised that the now-defunct US Army post at Fort Hancock was lousy with abandoned gems. We didn't wait too long before taking her advice—along with the ferry to Sandy Hook—a few Sundays ago.

Sandy Hook is technically a barrier split approximately 6 miles in length and is located at the north end of the Jersey Shore. Sandy Hook is owned by the government, mostly controlled by the National Parks Service and has three public beaches (including one of the largest "clothing optional" beaches on the East Coast). Fort Hancock is home to the Sandy Hook Light, the oldest working lighthouse in the country; Battery Potter, the first disappearing gun battery in the US; and Battery Peck, a 6-inch disappearing gun battery.

My dude and I took bikes and the area is filled with nice paths for both walking and biking. It still very much feels like a military base, with rows of identical buildings—distinguishable from one another only by their varying levels of decay. The Officers' Club, completed in 1879, is one of the best crumbling mansions I've ever had the pleasure of seeing in person. I was intent to find a way to get inside of it until I overheard someone describe it as a "raccoon hotel," and I decided it was better left unexplored (for now).

We took a free NPS tour of Battery Peck—private, technically since we were the only ones on it—ate our lunch with a view of the Manhattan skyline and strung a hammock up on the lawn of the Officers' Club. The Sandy Hook ferry is a bit pricey and infrequent, but the ride was nice and it was a perfect day trip away from the city.

Asbury Park

Last weekend we had access to a rental car for the day and I immediately started running through a list of potential adventures to take outside the reach of public transportation. The official forecast for Saturday was "as hot as the inside of a dog's mouth," so we decided the only sane thing would be to head to a beach. I suggested Asbury Park for its beach and kitschy boardwalk, a winning combination for us—one nature lover and one lover of all things strange and rundown (*raises hand*). It was my first visit to the Jersey Shore, and despite recent shark sightings and the insanely oppressive heat, it ended up being a nearly perfect summer day trip.

I recently bought a bathing suit for the first time since I was a kid, and although I ended up horribly sunburnt in patches that make it look as if I'm permanently wearing a white (skin) bathing suit, I loved wearing it and was thrilled (through my terror) to be able to cool off in the ocean. I have my various reasons for completely avoiding swimsuits and water activities for a long stretch of my life, but maybe it's the fact that I give less and less fucks the older I get, but here's my sage advice: no one cares what you look like in a swimsuit.

I bought a suit that I loved, felt better in it than I ever thought possible, laid on a crowded beach and frolicked in the ocean and not one person gasped or pointed or stared. Part of me feels silly for letting my anxieties rule so many summers past, but it's nice to now have a whole new world of beach activities open to me. Although perhaps not as wide open as I would like—since my elation at finally feeling comfortable on the beach was cut short once I realized that my invisible ghost body needs to be shielded during all waking hours, and that spray sunscreen is no match for my virgin, translucent skin.

We scored free street parking, grabbed hot dogs and lemonade, lounged on the beach, cooled off in the inexplicably-freezing Atlantic, strolled along the boardwalk and had a drink at the Wonder Bar. We walked by the (now-closed) Asbury Lanes and I grumbled about the missing neon sign, but fell in love with the handpainted, script lettering.

With its abandoned buildings (some repurposed, some just a shell like the Casino) and old-timey beach vibe, Asbury Park felt a lot like New Jersey's version of Coney Island (in fact they even have very similar "funny face" icons). I can imagine how grand it must have been in its heyday, and I admire its scrappiness and ability to survive economic ups and downs, shifting tastes and devastating hurricanes.

George Washington Bridge

Walking the George Washington Bridge has been on my to-do list since I first visited the Little Red Light House, which sits underneath the bridge in Fort Washington Park. I considered walking it one day in the winter, but decided against it because of the cold and wind. Walking bridges has become one of my favorite things to do and I'm always thrilled by a new view of the city.

Unlike the other city bridges I've walked (Brooklyn, Manhattan, Queensboro/59th Street, Williamsburg, Pulaski, Triborough/RFK), the GWB doesn't have any type of safety fence. I'm always grumbling about safety fences and how ugly they make structures so I was pleased to find my views unobstructed. Of course, I now realize why people are frequently throwing themselves off of the GWB, and there are numerous suicide helpline stations throughout the walk. The GWB also has the same gate-like structures on its approaches that the Brooklyn Bridge recently installed to prevent people from climbing the supports.

Of course I wish we lived in a world where people didn't throw themselves off of bridges—and especially one where idiots didn't climb support cables to take Instagram selfies. The first thing I noticed when I climbed to the top of the Duomo in Florence was the lack of a safety fence or supervision of any kind (I passed four cops on the GWB). They've been trusting people to act rationally for more than 700 years but in America we're coddled and caged and we still manage to throw ourselves off bridges when we want to. I'm not sure if I'm trying to make a point other than: the views from the GWB are very nice, and you should definitely not jump off of it so they can stay that way (and because being alive is pretty great).

The worst part about the GWB is that the walkway is shared between pedestrians and cyclists, and unlike the Brooklyn Bridge, there are no designated lanes. There are numerous signs urging cyclists to yield to pedestrians, but that was definitely not my experience. The path is quite narrow during both approaches and at a few points along the walk. The bridge was full of cyclists—I only passed a few other walkers/runners—and it was hard not to be a little on edge with bikes constantly whizzing past me.

The bridge was very busy, traffic-wise, and there were a few times when it shook pretty violently. The rusty fences and crumbling concrete weren't exactly comforting, and on the walk back I witnessed a minor three-car fender-bender. Judging by the amount of debris that litters the walkway—car mirrors, flattened traffic cones, broken glass—I'm assuming that's not such a rare occurrence.

I eventually did get somewhat used to all of the bikes and relaxed enough to really enjoy the walk. The views of the city and the Hudson River are wonderful. I walked right over the Little Red Lighthouse and the cliffs of the New Jersey Palisades are a nice contrast to the city views. The only real drawback to walking the GWB is that you end up in New Jersey—but unlike when my dad drove me back to Ohio more than two years ago, all I had to do was turn around and walk back to Manhattan.

Macy's Fireworks

I've only been a New Yorker for five days, but I've already managed to do a ton of things I've never done before. Yesterday I fit a few firsts into one day: my first time cutting my jeans into shorts (it was pretty hot, to say the least), my first time traveling to New Jersey (not on my way back to Ohio), and my first time seeing the Macy's fireworks in person.

After pretty much a lifetime of watching it on TV, I finally got to see the Thanksgiving parade in real life last November. It was much better to experience first hand, but I think even more is lost in translation when you watch the fireworks on TV. In person, they were spectacular. A major part of the entire fireworks experience is the noise, the crowds, being outside, smelling the smoke and really feeling the explosions as if they were happening inside of your own chest cavity. 

My friend Trent suggested that we take a ferry to New Jersey and watch them from Weehawken, and it turned out to be an amazing spot. For the last five years the fireworks have been over the Hudson, but I'm hoping they return to the East River eventually so I can watch them from the Brooklyn Heights Promenade — can you think of anything more romantic? 

The New Jersey waterfront was surprisingly nice and not anywhere near as hectic or as sweaty as standing in a pen with hundreds of other people in the middle of the 90-degree streets of Manhattan. We even had time to grab some appetizers at what appeared to be the only restaurant in Weehawken — P.F. Chang's (lettuce wraps!) — and walk along the water, stopping every five seconds to take yet another photo of the amazing view.

Although brutally hot and humid during the day, the weather was perfect as the sun went down, and the breeze off the water made it downright pleasant. 

When the fireworks finally started, we realized that there was a streetlamp blocking our view, but we were able to walk a few feet and had an amazing view of the show. I've always loved everything about fireworks, and I think they are the perfect way to celebrate America — they're ridiculous, extravagant and in-your-face, and the Macy's show was no exception. 

They did throw in the occasional shaped firework, which I'm never really a fan of — I feel like 90% of the time you're straining to guess what they're supposed to look like. I did catch a glimpse of a smiley face, but it's the huge, glittering, classic firework that I love. There was one particular group of enormous, gold, sparkling fireworks that pictures, of course, can never do justice, but that didn't stop me from trying to capture every moment. 

Trent and I have already discussed trying to view the fireworks from a different place each year, and maybe one day we'll be rich enough to take one of those fancy cruises and watch from the river with a drink or two in our hands. But until then, paying $9 for the Weehawken ferry isn't a bad alternative.