Mermaid Parade 2018

This was my fourth Coney Island Mermaid parade in five years of living in New York. It's something I look forward to every year and I put it on my calendar as soon as the date is announced. I can't remember why I missed 2015—maybe the weather wasn't great—but this year the weather way perfect and the boardwalk was packed. 

This was definitely the most crowded Mermaid Parade in recent memory, although we were able to get a front row spot on the boardwalk without getting there too early. Since this is a parade, there was inevitably a point where someone tried to squeeze their toddler (and themselves) next to us and I've been to enough parades to give this advice to anyone thinking of doing the same: don't. I understand kids are small and can't see over adults but having a toddler is not a free pass to be an inconsiderate asshole.

I've been attending events like this in New York long enough to start recognizing people (and animals). There are people who change it up every year, people who wear the same costumes and there are also those people that you see at every New York event in the same costume, regardless of theme—the MetroCard man, the wizard, etc.

I'm blown away by the joy and creativity that the Mermaid Parade attracts every year. Most parades are overrun with corporations or politicians pushing their agenda—the only agenda on display in Coney Island is fun. Ok, maybe that's not entirely true—current events-inspired costumes like Ruth Wader Finsburg fighting for "seaquality for all" and "reel justice" have been increasing in frequency the last couple years.

The grand marshals of the parade this year were the writer Neil Gaiman and his wife, The Dresden Dolls' Amanda Palmer (along with their young son). I will say that I'm still surprised each year at how long the parade is—I don't normally stay to see the end. The pacing of the parade also seemed to be off this year with huge gaps in between marchers. It was so bad that the crowd kept thinning as people mistakenly thought the parade had ended in between breaks.

Every year I say that the next might be the year in which I am no longer just a spectator, but an active participant in the parade, but I think next year really might be my year. I'm planning on taking my Coney Island-themed Halloween costume from last year and modifying it slightly to fit with the sea theme—stay tuned!

Green-Wood Cemetery: Spring

Spring has been taking its sweet time arriving this year. April showers are supposed to bring May flowers, but I'm not entirely sure what April snow showers will bring. I try really hard not to get too grumpy about weather because I can't control it and I do love seasons—but at this point in the year, I'm definitely ready to shed some layers and start seeing some signs of life. 

A cemetery might not seem like a great place to search for signs of life, but we took a chilly walk at Green-Wood this weekend and spotted telltale signs that spring is indeed happening, however slowly. The flowering trees are about a month behind schedule, but they're trying their best despite the frigid temperatures and March nor'easters. 

I've spent the last five years photographing spring blooms around the city and I'm still no closer to being able to identify anything I see. I can tell a cherry blossom from a magnolia tree and thanks to David I know that forsythia is yellow, but my plant knowledge pretty much ends there. Most of the trees are still completely bare, but there are a few over-achievers scattered around Green-Wood (nothing compares to azalea season though). 

I know that spring will come, however late, followed by summer and pretty soon I'll forget what it was like to feel really cold. Some years it feels as if everything blooms overnight, blink and you might miss an entire season. Part of me is enjoying this slow rollout to spring—I just need to learn how to savor this transition time and not be impatient for the next phase.

Dyker Heights Lights 2017

This was my fifth year in a row seeing the over-the-top Christmas lights displays in the Dyker Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn. When I was new to the city, my first boss suggested that I go see the lights, and also recommended that we eat at the classic '60s-era Italian restaurant, Tommaso. A group of friends and I did both, and I loved it so much it became an annual tradition (some years with pizza slices and cannoli when we had less time).

This year was a little bittersweet since my friend Jim moved away, but I was honored to serve as a seasoned guide for three of my friends who had never seen the lights, or this specific part of Brooklyn before. We met on a Saturday so we had time for a leisurely dinner at Tommaso (seriously, our dinner lasted nearly three hours), where the food is delicious and affordable, and they serenade you with opera and Christmas carols while you eat.

The neighborhood first became famous for its elaborate Christmas lights displays about 30 years ago and has only grown since then—the displays now attract 100,000 people a year. If you go on a weekend night close to Christmas, it can feel like all 100,000 people are there in one night, but some of the streets are closed to car traffic, which helps a little with the crowding.

A lot of the houses are actually decorated by companies, and they display signs out front advertising their services. I haven't noticed much change in the displays from year to year, but there's something comforting in seeking out my favorite houses and finding them unchanged. Speaking of the houses, even without the help of decorations it's worth the long subway ride just to marvel at the bizarre, grandiose architecture. Each house is more elaborate and ostentatious than the next, with grand entrances, water features and menageries of stone animals. 

I have very specific ideas when it comes to how Christmas decorations should look, and even if nearly all of the Dyker Heights houses break my arbitrary rules, I still love and appreciate the spectacle and joy of it all. If I had my way I'd have a yard full of vintage, weathered, illuminated blow molds, but luckily there are still plenty of those on display each year for me to envy.

Not all of the houses participate—one of my favorites was a ramshackle, completely dark house that just had a few faded and weathered red bows scattered haphazardly around—but the main displays fall between 11th and 13th Avenues from 83rd to 86th streets. Trash cans overflow with coffee and hot chocolate cups, a Mister Softee truck is there no matter how low the temperature drops and if you don't end the night full of Christmas spirit, you weren't in the right place.

Church Avenue

A few weeks ago, I walked home from David's with the intention of checking out a cemetery on Flatbush Avenue that had been on my radar for a while. My Brooklyn apartment was on Flatbush, but the avenue is long and I had only ever seen the cemetery from the bus. The cemetery is in the churchyard of the Flatbush Reformed Church, which was founded in 1654, however the earliest legible marker in the cemetery is from a hundred years later and the whole church complex was designated a New York City landmark in 1966. 

I walked to Flatbush via Church Avenue, which runs west to east through the neighborhoods of Kensington, Prospect Park South and East Flatbush. I've seen a lot of Church Avenue in the more than two years that David and I have been together, but I hope I never tire of taking long walks through different New York neighborhoods. 

Living in New York, you can't escape talk of gentrification and near-constant change, but there are places like Church Avenue that still manage to feel authentically New York. Of course every single person has a different idea of what that means, but I love the storefronts, signage and people—in every different shape, color, size, ethnicity, language and age imaginable. 

When I finally arrived at the cemetery I found that all of the gates were locked. I didn't see any signs or information about when or even if the cemetery is ever open to the public, but I did circle the block to make the most of my trip. As I was coming up E 21st Street, I came upon two culs-de-sac that looked completely out of place and time—Kenmore and Abermarle Terraces—a tiny historic district comprising 32 houses built in the Colonial Revival and English Arts and Crafts styles. 

The parsonage of the Flatbush Reformed Church is also located on Kenmore and the two and one-half-story wood-frame house was built in 1853 and moved to this location in 1916. The beautiful, slightly crumbling house with a wrap-around porch was an odd sight—even in the far reaches of Brooklyn—but it instantly became my dream house when I realized that its backyard was the cemetery that I'll hopefully get to properly explore one day. 

Mosaic House

I first stumbled upon Susan Gardner's mosaic house in Boerum Hill sometime last year when I was walking from my apartment in Prospect Heights to Brooklyn Bridge Park. It stopped me dead in my tracks but I was too embarrassed to take any photos of it—I'm getting better at not caring what people think, but my confidence comes in waves.

Recently I spent a Sunday wandering somewhat aimlessly around Brooklyn, eager to soak in as much of the borough as I could before I moved. I remembered the mosaic house and how I had been meaning to come back and photograph it, so I made my way to 108 Wyckoff Street. Luckily it's easy to find and googling "mosaic house Brooklyn" gave me the exact location.

Gardner began gluing trinkets, beads and bits of tile to the front of her home as a form of art therapy after 9/11. It's not just Gardner that contributes to the display, and visitors are encouraged to "enjoy, look, touch, but don't take objects." There are so many tiny pieces that you could spend hours poring over her work—it's interesting both from far away as well as up close. Bits of mirrors and beads trace the architectural details of the house's facade, but it's the tiny plastic animals that I loved the most.

Her beautiful mosaic work reminds me a lot of Philly's Magic Gardens, and her house would fit right in on South Street. New York can be a crazy place—peacocks ride the subway and no one even pays attention—but I never want to be desensitized or get too cynical and miss how incredibly beautiful and unique this city can be. I'm so thankful I get to share it with people like Susan Gardner and the joy and whimsy they bring to the world around them.

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Susan Gardner's Mosaic House
108 Wycoff Street,
Brooklyn, NY 11201
Closest to the F/G to Bergen Street

Mermaid Parade 2017

The Coney Island Mermaid Parade is one of my very favorite New York events. I was bummed when I first moved here that it had already passed, and also in 2015 when bad weather kept me away. I was so happy that I was back from our trip in time to catch this year's parade, and I met my mom at Tom's on the boardwalk for pre-parade pancakes on Saturday.

When I left my apartment my Weather Channel app (which just lies) said there was little chance of rain, but during breakfast it started to pour. It seemed as if it would never let up but I was reluctant to leave since I just love the parade so much. As we were walking toward the subway, it started to clear and we turned around just in time to secure a spot on the boardwalk and catch the beginning of the parade.

This year's grand marshals were Blondie's Debbie Harry and Christ Stein, and except for a few bouts of sprinkles the rain mostly held off and the show went on. And what a spectacular show it always is—hands down the best parade in New York (or maybe anywhere). What makes the Mermaid Parade so special is that there are a few groups and corporations represented, but for the most part it's just people being their weird, creative, authentic selves. It's everything I love about Coney Island and New York in one afternoon. 

People mostly stick to the nautical theme, but any gathering in New York will attract at least a few people who are off-topic. This is the third time I've been to this parade (you can see my previous photos here and here) and while I did see a few repeats, it mostly feels brand new each year. The rain delay didn't seem to keep anyone away, and in fact my mom and I both thought that this year's seemed bigger and better than ever.

The Mermaid Parade is all about joy and inclusiveness, but it was no surprise to see several Donald Trump parodies (one had very accurate baby hands and one I recognized from the Intrepid protest). There were at least two groups that did a nautical take on the Handmaid's Tale, which I thought was so perfect, and at times the parade could have almost been mistaken for a protest march. 

Every year I think about actually participating in the Mermaid Parade, which goes against my strong aversion to "participating" in general, but that's the thing about the Mermaid Parade. It's just such an incredibly joyful experience populated by all the right kind of people. People of every shape, size, color and age are welcome and celebrated for their creativity and commitment to just being themselves. 

Dead Horse Bay

Sometimes I actively worry that I will or already have run out of things to see in New York. This is ridiculous for many reasons, and just as often I'm reminded that this city is infinite in its possibilities. Even if I did somehow run out of things to see, one of my greatest joys is revisiting places I've been—in different seasons, times of day or just to observe how time has passed. Recently we biked to one of my very favorite spots, Dead Horse Bay, which is located in Brooklyn near Floyd Bennett Field and Fort Tilden.

This was my third time at Dead Horse Bay and you can see photos from my first two visits here, here, here and here. I hadn't been since April of 2015, but I bet you could go back every day and find completely different things. Dead Horse Bay is basically a beach full of 19th-century trash and horse bones, formed when a cap on a landfill burst in the 50s. The name and the bones are from the horse-rendering plants that once lined the shore. 

The hardest part about each visit to Dead Horse Bay is not taking home every cool thing I find. This time we forgot to bring plastic bags with us, which I was initially upset about but we just had to be more thoughtful about our souvenirs. It's especially hard for me not to take all of the horse bones I find, but I already have two large jars full of bones in my curiosity cabinet, so I only took a few that were interesting shapes and in good condition. 

The biggest thing to remember when visiting Dead Horse Bay is to check the tide times—we didn't this time, but got lucky and arrived at low(ish) tide. We spent hours combing through everything and much of the stuff was submerged by the time we left.

I'm slightly concerned that Dead Horse Bay may becoming popular—not that I discovered it by any means—mostly because there was an art exhibit in Brooklyn recently featuring pieces made with DHB finds. This is probably a silly thought considering how much stuff is still left, but the seclusion and post-apocalyptic feel of the beach is what makes it such a fascinating place to visit. I've seen other people gathering treasures each time I've been there, but this time there was a film shoot happening. I understand that Dead Horse Bay is a great setting, but there are so many people in this city and sometimes I just want to feel like I have something special, and to myself—if even just for a moment.

Green-Wood Cemetery: Spring

Last Saturday it rained all day here in New York. I'm not exaggerating when I say all day—it may have even rained continuously for more than 24 hours. I love seasons and I try not to get grumpy about the weather, but rain in the city is the absolute worst. I will take extreme dog-mouth heat and below-freezing blizzard conditions over a mild spring rain any day. Part of this disdain probably comes from my inability to find a proper rain shoe, but in a city where you're forced to walk outside, rain basically ruins everything. Since I did absolutely nothing on Saturday, I was up early on Sunday, eager to get outside and do something—anything—before the rain was supposed to start up again in the afternoon.

David lives two blocks from Green-Wood Cemetery, so we headed over there to check out the spring blooms. I became enamored with the bright, beautiful azaleas at Green-Wood last spring, and I was happy to be able to catch them again this year. A few of the bushes were already past their peak, but most were spectacularly full and the contrast of the bright flowers with the dark, heavy stones and statues was so fun to photograph.

In addition to all of the beautiful flowers, Green-Wood is quite literally so green right now. The previous day's rain made everything feel so lush—I don't think that a shade of green exists that isn't currently represented in the cemetery. Ok, so maybe I just convinced myself that rain does indeed have a purpose, BUT I still contend that the perfect rain shoe does not exist.

Being surprised at the passage of time is such a boring thing to talk about, but I was trying to think of the last time I was at Green-Wood and realized that it was back in February after a big snowfall—it barely looks as if it could be the same place. That variation is one of my favorite things about seasons. I understand how people could be intolerant of long winters or humid summers, but I think I'd die of boredom in a place with consistent weather and no seasons.

While we were walking around, we noticed that there were a lot more visitors than normal, and it took me a while to realize that it was because it was Mother's Day. I actually feel really strange when I run into other people in cemeteries, and it's not uncommon for me to be (or at least feel as if I'm) totally alone. Green-Wood is a popular place for tourists (although it feels weird calling cemetery visitors "tourists"), but with so many people actively visiting graves and mourning, I often felt as if I was intruding.

I visit cemeteries so frequently, focusing on the typography, design and history of the stones that it's easy to forget that each stone represents a person or persons. Someone who lived a life—however long, short, easy, hard, complicated, virtuous, painful or joyful—and it seems unfair that they don't get to enjoy the beautiful landscape beneath which they're interred. 

Cherry Blossoms

Every year spring feels as if it might never come, and then suddenly everything is in bloom and I know it won't be too long until the subway feels like a dog's mouth. Maybe it's because it comes and goes so quickly, but cherry blossom season always feels like magic to me. I spent Easter weekend in Ohio, and although I was only gone for four days, it felt as if the entire city bloomed while I was away. We've had some gloomy, chilly days mixed in, but it's hard not to feel a burst of energy as the city comes back to life. 

On Saturday my mom and I took advantage of the free hours at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden (every Saturday from 10am-Noon) to check in on the cherry esplanade. Because it's 2017, the BBG has a handy "bloom map" which is updated frequently with the trees' progress, so I knew that most of the trees had at least started to bloom. The weeping cherries around the Japanese garden are already past their peak, but the esplanade is always a bit behind. 

They have an actual cherry blossom festival every year—which is this coming Saturday—but I've always shied away from the crowds and the $$$ admission price. The garden is always a popular place in the spring, and as much as I try to avoid photographing people, I do love watching them interacting with the blossoms. Selfie sticks and professional portrait sessions are quite common, and the garden becomes a destination for the people-watching as much as for the blossoms.

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Brooklyn Botanic Garden
Summer Hours: March–October
Closed Mondays
Tuesday–Friday: 8 am–6 pm
Saturday and Sunday: 10 am–6 pm (FREE 10am-noon on non-festival Saturdays)

Entrances at Eastern Parkway (2/3 trains), Flatbush Avenue (B/Q/S trains) and Washington Avenue (4/5 trains).

Washington Cemetery

Washington Cemetery, located in South Brooklyn, was founded in 1850 and became a Jewish burial ground around 1857. It comprises five, gated cemeteries and it's huge—I spent hours there recently and only covered part of #1. Jewish cemeteries have been in the news lately after they've seen an uptick in vandalism. Washington Cemetery recently denied that vandals had tipped 42 fallen headstones, saying instead that the stones were just old and had fallen naturally. 

Washington Cemetery first came onto my radar as I was riding the F train to see another cemetery—Gravesend—years ago. The elevated train track runs right through the middle of the cemetery, and it's hard not to miss the tightly-packed rows of stones stretching far into the distance on either side. This bird's eye view is not something you get with every cemetery, and it's humbling to view thousands of headstones from above—like a miniature city of the dead.

I did notice some fallen stones—and one headstone with graffiti—but nothing else out of the ordinary for a cemetery this old and crowded. Washington is clearly well-maintained, and I saw several people visiting and tending to graves while I was there. It took me years to finally make it to Washington due to F train changes, its early gate closures and the fact that it's closed entirely on Saturdays (for Shabbat).

The thing I've noticed most about Jewish cemeteries here in New York is that they tend to be very tightly packed—in some sections there's barely room to squeeze past each stone. The headstones vary greatly in their design—some are very tall and ornate, some are squat and plain and the very oldest are indistinguishable from others of their time period. Some contain uniquely Jewish symbols, and others are written entirely in Hebrew or contain some combination of it and other languages.

Something else you'll notice is the absence of planted or even freshly-cut flowers, which is not a Jewish custom for a few reasons. What you will notice instead are stones or fake flowers, which serve a similar purpose—to commemorate the deceased and show that they have been visited and have not been forgotten. I have always liked this approach because it feels more permanent to me than flowers that will wilt and die—the last thing you need in a cemetery is yet another reminder of our fleeting time on Earth.

Avenue U

I can't remember when or where I first saw a photo of this donut shop on Avenue U, but I knew that I needed to see the storefront for myself, and take my own photo before it was too late. It was the perfect spark for a sunny Sunday adventure, one that took me into a few different streets and neighborhoods in South Brooklyn.

Avenue U is a main thoroughfare in Brooklyn, stretching west to east from Gravesend to Bergen Beach, through Sheepshead Bay, Marine Park and Mill Basin. In addition to the Donut Shoppe, which more than lived up to my expectations, the street is populated with hundreds of shops and restaurants with interesting storefronts and wonderful signage. 

Neighborhoods that seem untouched by time are getting harder and harder to find in New York, but I try to get excited about what's left instead of dwelling on what is already gone. G & S Pork Store has a nearly-perfect sign with beautiful hand-painted lettering and pigs holding a length of sausage links, which is just the right amount of whimsical and macabre if you think about it too deeply.   

These type of neighborhood walks are my favorite way to really experience New York, without any real itinerary, agenda or destination. I walked until I was tired and a little sunburnt, fortified by a 90-cent donut and a renewed love of this city and its infinite delights.

Park Slope / Sunset Park

I resisted moving to Brooklyn, at least mentally. When I moved to New York, I lived in Manhattan for two years, first on the upper, upper West Side and then in Harlem. I didn't want to become a millennial hipster cliche by settling in Brooklyn, although I realize now how dumb that sounds. But then a room opened up in a Prospect Heights apartment that I had coveted from the moment I saw it, and I haven't regretted the move east ever since.

On Saturday, I walked from my apartment down 7th Avenue to a diner I had been meaning to try, 7th Avenue Donuts and Diner. I sat at the counter and had a delicious breakfast (with grits!) and thought about how much I love my New York life. To be within walking-distance of so many wonderful things is a dream-come-true, and I feel silly for not exploring my own neighborhood more.

Public transportation is so convenient—and I love the particular kind of freedom that comes with not having to drive—that I sometimes forget that I should explore what's outside of my front door. After the diner I walked to Green-Wood Cemetery, which wouldn't be considered "my neighborhood," except for the fact that I probably spend more time there than almost anywhere else in the city. Despite being born and bred in Ohio I never felt comfortable there for any length of time. I'm not sure if I'll stay in New York forever, but it will always feel like my first real home.

Green-Wood: Snow

As much as I've visited Green-Wood Cemetery, I only just took my second snowy walk around the grounds on Saturday. My first snowy visit (here and here) was back in 2015, and I didn't have many chances during last year's virtually snow-less winter. When I realized that last week's snowfall would stick around for a few days, I knew that Green-Wood was my top priority.

Snowy cemeteries are a combination of two of my very favorite things in life, although in the city it has sometimes been a challenge to get into them. I was denied entry to Woodlawn on not one, but two snowy days, and Green-Wood closes its gates during most storms. I did manage to explore Trinity Cemetery in northern Manhattan after one of my failed Woodlawn treks, and the photos I took that day are still some of my favorites.

I was very excited to see Green-Wood again in the snow, but I was concerned that after countless visits I wasn't going to see much that I hadn't already seen or photographed before. I'm fond of saying that I could explore places like Green-Wood forever and still manage to see something new, but I definitely think I'll eventually test the limits of that theory. Almost immediately, though, I veered into a part of the cemetery that I hadn't explored—and even if I hadn't, everything looks a little bit different in the snow.

I made some questionable decisions veering off of cleared paths to investigate interesting things—the snow drifts were almost knee-deep in places—but it was definitely worth a little slipping and sliding. I walked to Green-Wood from my apartment (stopping for diner breakfast halfway) and to me there is no more perfect way to spend a Saturday.

Prospect Park: Snow

There aren't many things in life I love more than snow, and the city during or after a snowstorm is just about perfect. We had our first major snowfall of 2017 (and of this winter season) this weekend and I had to get out and explore. I tried to go to Green-Wood Cemetery, but—in what has become sort of an unfortunate tradition involving me, snow and cemeteries—it was closed. I did the next best thing and walked home through Prospect Park, which is lovely anytime of year but is a total dream land in the snow.

The snow was coming down pretty heavily during my entire walk so the park was deserted—just another gift that the winter gods bestow on the city at this time of year. The park is fun when it's teeming with life—sledding in the winter, picnics in the summer—but there's nothing quite like watching the snow fall quietly while you're standing in the middle of Brooklyn, without another person in sight.

After about two hours of frolicking like a kid during their first-ever snowfall, I got impossibly cold and tired of the snow blowing into my face. I exited the park and took a bus about three blocks home—wet and cold but already looking forward to my next snowy city adventure.

Polar Bear Plunge

The Coney Island Polar Bear club was founded in 1903 by Bernarr MacFadden, a fitness buff who believed that "a dip in the ocean during the winter can be a boon to one's stamina, virility and immunity." The 114-year-old club is the oldest winter bathing organization in the US and they swim in the Atlantic every Sunday from November through April. Every year, on New Year's day, thousands of people join the club in taking the Polar Bear Plunge.

This year the weather was very cooperative—45 degrees and sunny—and more than 2,500 people took the plunge, including my dude. He'd done the plunge a few years ago, and this year I volunteered to hold his towel while silently hoping he didn't shock his body into premature cardiac arrest. I am normally freezing while fully-clothed snuggled under a pile of blankets and I finally got up the courage to swim in the ocean this summer for the first time in 20ish years (on one of the hottest days of the year), so I was more than happy to offer assistance from the sidelines.

The main plunge takes place at 1pm, but people were running in and out of the Atlantic the entire time we were there. Seeing so many people taking the plunge (even children) almost made me wish I had brought my swimsuit—until of course, people emerged seconds later, running for their towels and yelling obscenities (but laughing, mostly).

I'd been to the Polar Bear Plunge once before as a spectator, and even if you have no interest in taking the plunge, it's worth the trip. Like anything at Coney Island, the event feels a little scrappy and very New York. I never need to be asked twice to spend an afternoon at Coney Island, even in the off-season, and I couldn't have asked for a better way to start 2017.

Dyker Heights Lights 2016

This was the fourth year in a row that I've trekked to Dyker Heights to see the Christmas lights and displays for which the neighborhood is known. This year we went on the first weekend in December, which was great for the lack of crowds, but not-so-great when we noticed a few of our favorite houses weren't quite finished decking their porches.

Dyker Heights is located in between Bay Ridge and Bensonhurst in southwest Brooklyn. The majority of the Christmas displays are located equidistant from the D and R train stops, from 11th to 13th Avenues and 83rd to 86th Streets. I definitely recommend walking, if you can—the traffic always seems to be a bit of a nightmare as people slowly gawk at the lights.

The displays haven't changed much over the last four years, but that's part of the charm. We've come to look forward to specific houses—the good ones and the bad—even if we can't quite remember where any of them are actually located. Wandering around using the lights as a guide is a great method, and we've discovered new and wonderful things every year. It's also fun to look back on previous years and see how things change with time—plastic choir boys lose or gain an eyeball, baby Jesus's appear or disappear and every year inflatables (the laziest decorations, in my opinion) gain in popularity.

I will always appreciate how over-the-top the displays in Dyker Heights get, even if a lot of houses pay companies to decorate for them (how do I get this job?). I've never regretted moving to New York, but I do miss my Ohio (and Texas) family and our traditions most around the holidays—but it's comforting to know that new traditions can be just as wonderful.

Dyker Heights Lights2014 | 2015

Morbid Anatomy Museum: Taxidermy

A few months ago, I went to see the taxidermy exhibit at the Morbid Anatomy Museum. It was wonderful, but I was bummed that they didn't allow photos of the exhibition. Shortly after my visit, they started a Kickstarter project to help fund the acquisition and transport of The Kittens' Wedding, a diorama made by Victorian taxidermist Walter Potter. I had been dying to see Potter's work in person, so I supported the project. Luckily it was funded, and The Kittens' Wedding became the centerpiece of the taxidermy exhibit. Of course I had to go back, and to my delight photos were allowed this time around.

This was the last weekend for the show, so I texted my friend Carli, "I have to get to the Morbid Anatomy Museum before Kitten Wedding leaves," which is a totally normal text for me to send. I'm so glad we made it, because The Kittens' Wedding was incredible. It was larger, and more elaborate than I expected, and just totally strange and wonderful. This is the only of Potter's creations in which the animals are fully clothed (they even have undergarments!), and this is the first time it's been formally exhibited in the US.

The rest of the exhibition space is full of so many strange and wonderful creatures—they have a sloth, anteater, aardvark, porcupine, weasel, white wallaby, hyena, lion, zebra, ostrich, seal, walrus, penguin, black bear and cases of exotic birds. While I don't agree with hunting for sport, I do appreciate that most of these animals were made at a time when most people would never see these animals otherwise. Even today, having seen most of these animals in zoos or on TV, I'm still amazed at the crazy creatures nature produces.

The 'wall of dogs' was a highlight for me, featuring several cases with various breeds of dogs, sitting on velvet pillows. They have one cat—holding a taxidermy mouse in its mouth—that I might use as a model when the time comes to taxidermy Mozart (my cat).

There were a few other anthropomorphic scenes featuring squirrels having tea, playing cards and enjoying a hearty acorn meal. I love anything that incorporates the animals into a "real life" scene, and the Morbid Anatomy Museum never fails to deliver in the diorama department. But it's the terrible taxidermy that I not-so-secretly love more than anything—googly eyes, faces that aren't quite right and forms that make you question if the taxidermist ever even saw the animal in real life.

More Morbid Anatomy: House of Wax | Dioramas | Collector's Cabinet | Library

Brooklyn Army Terminal Building B

The Brooklyn Army Terminal complex was built in 1918 and was the largest military supply base in the United States through World War II. The US government sold the property to the city in 1981, and it has since been redeveloped for commercial use. The terminal was designed by Cass Gilbert—other famous Gilbert buildings include the Woolworth Building and the US Supreme Court—and building B was the largest individual building in the world when it was completed in 1919.

Building B was the last of the places I visited during Open House New York weekend (after the Marine Air Terminal and the Treasures in the Trash collection). The atrium in Building B is the showstopper—it was once used as a loading dock and train station, processing more than 37 million tons of military supplies in its lifetime. In addition to supplies, more than 3 million troops passed through the terminal, including Elvis Presley on his way to Germany in 1958.

The concrete, off-set loading docks are beautiful in their own utilitarian way, but the skylight (once paneled in glass but now open to the sky) makes the space feel really special. New York can feel overcrowded and squeezed for space, so it always amazes me to step into a place like the Brooklyn Army Terminal that feels completely different than any other place I've ever been. I love that a building built for a decidedly unglamorous purpose—as a working, military warehouse—can be fully functional as well as incredibly beautiful.