The Jim Henson Exhibition

I frequently say that I don't like movies that involve real live humans interacting with cartoons or puppets. There's something about the suspension of reality that is demanded from the audience and the implied ignorance of the actor that is just off-putting to me (I know this is a crazy thing to think/care about).

So when I told David that I wanted to go see the Jim Henson exhibit at the Museum of the Moving Image, he was understandably surprised. But just because I don't love humans interacting with puppets, doesn't mean I don't like the puppets themselves or appreciate the artistry and creativity that goes into making and animating them (I do very much!). 

The Museum of the Moving Image is located in Astoria, Queens. They have a modest permanent collection of movie memorabilia—it's worth the price of admission to me just to see Meryl's wig from Sophie's Choice and Robin William's Mrs. Doubtfire face—but their special exhibitions are always top-notch. I went and saw their excellent Mad Men exhibit before I'd even seen a single episode of the show, so I knew that Jim Henson's extraordinary life would be in good hands. 

Jim Henson is of course famous for his Muppets, but he packed so much more into his tragically short life (he died after a short illness in 1990, when he was just 53). He began experimenting with puppetry while he was still in high school, and in 1969 he started work on Sesame Street. I was somehow unaware that Henson had anything to do with Sesame Street, but in hindsight I don't know how I didn't know that.

The exhibition features nearly 300 objects and 47 puppets, donated by Henson's family—including Kermit the Frog, Miss Piggy, Big Bird, Elmo, Cookie Monster, Rowlf, The Swedish Chef, my spirit animals Statler and Waldorf, Emmett Otter and others—and it's easy to see how they are all related and evolved through the years.  

At the end of the exhibition is a theater playing an episode of The Muppet Show and a short documentary about Henson's work. It's mesmerizing to see the puppets in person and then brought to life on the screen, but what I loved most was the behind-the-scenes footage—what's happening below the camera is often more interesting than the finished product.

I find that seeing things in person—paintings, set pieces, actors—versus seeing them on screen or in a photograph can be a jarring experience. Without the gloss of the big (or the small) screen, the Muppets look a little dingy, a little shabby and very much like puppets. It made me appreciate the work of puppeteers more than I ever thought to, especially Henson and his alter ego, Kermit. In a display case, he's just a simple, frog-like patchwork of felt and wires—but imbued with Henson's spirit (and hand and voice), he became Kermit The Frog (and blessed the world with a gif for every scenario).

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The Museum of the Moving Image
36-01 35 Avenue
Astoria, NY 11106
$15 adults (18+) 
Admission is free every Friday, 4:00 to 8:00 p.m. 
The Jim Henson Exhibition is ongoing

Museum of Interesting Things

In the words of Denny Daniel, the founder and curator of the Museum of Interesting Things, the museum "is a traveling interactive demonstration/exhibition of antiques and inventions inspiring innovation and creativity—learning from the past to create a better future." My mom and I recently took a "tour" of the museum via the New York Adventure Club.

I use the word tour loosely, however, since when it's not traveling, the museum is located in Daniel's East Village apartment. My mom and I have always loved interesting things (who doesn't?) and we spent a great many weekends perusing thrift stores and flea markets while I was growing up in Ohio. I think living in New York is preferable to Ohio in almost every way, with one exception being that the thrifting/flea situation here is dismal. It's not that there aren't treasures, but they're almost all laughably expensive. I used to run an online shop while I still lived in Ohio for second-hand gems, and part of my motivation to start selling my interesting finds was the fear that I'd end up like Daniel—with piles and piles and piles of stuff.

I shut down my shop when I moved to New York and sold all of my inventory before I left, but I still miss spending hours sorting through trash to find treasure. I will always identify with people like Daniel, and his enthusiasm for all of the objects he showed us was infectious. I love joyful, genuine people and Daniel was knowledgeable, talkative and infinitely curious. He has phonographs, cameras, stereoscopes, magic lanterns, camera obscuras, 8-tracks, record players, stacks of tvs, film reels and countless other collections, not all of which are currently housed in his apartment.

He has the Moviola film-editing machine that Tim Burton used to edit dailies of Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, a Nickelodeon on which we watched A Trip to the Moon, a collection of World's Fair memorabilia, a piece of the Enigma code-breaker machine and is a self-proclaimed expert on carrier pigeons and organ grinder monkeys.

But the most interesting of all the interesting things was something he called "Bones and Ribs," a bootleg gramophone recording from Soviet-era Russia that was pressed onto x-ray film, in this case a skull x-ray. I pride myself on knowing a little about a lot of weird things, but this was something I might never knew existed if it hadn't been for Denny Daniel and his collection.

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

Treasures in the Trash Collection

This past weekend was Open House New York Weekend. Every year for one weekend, places of architectural or historical significance around the city open their doors for tours. Some are ticketed, and some are open hours, and since I've moved here I've had a love/hate relationship with the whole event. I love it because I love touring things—I'll pretty much go anywhere, especially if it's free. I hate it, because tickets are notoriously difficult to get—the last two years we were able to get exactly zero tickets, despite being trigger-ready right at the 11am drop time. Despite our disappointment, we still saw some pretty wonderful things, including the TWA Flight Center at JFK and the (now-shuttered) Four Seasons restaurant.

This year there was one ticketed event that I wanted above all else: a tour of the Treasures in the Trash collection. Third time must be a charm, because this year I got my tickets, and on Saturday afternoon we met at a sanitation garage in East Harlem for the tour. The collection, which occupies an entire floor of a building mostly used to house garbage trucks, is made up entirely out of stuff New Yorkers have thrown in the trash. Nelson Molina, a retired sanitation worker, has been working on the collection for more than 30 years, and it's all meticulously organized by themes. They don't hold regular hours or tours unfortunately, so getting tickets was a huge coup.

There's really everything you can think of in the collection—skeletons, political memorabilia, paintings, silver sets, action figures, swizzle sticks, troll dolls, Beanie Babies, globes, glassware, typewriters, trophies, cell phones, door knobs, Pez dispensers, Tamagotchis, taxidermy, cameras, eight-track tapes, books, skis, bikes, watches, shoes, jewelry, family photos, chairs, lamps and so many other things that I would never even dream of just throwing away. It's hard to pick a favorite thing that we saw, but top two would definitely be the three (!) women's bodybuilding trophies and the unfinished painting of OJ Simpson trying on his glove in court.

To say the collection is fascinating is a definite understatement. I consider myself a collector—not a hoarder, although some might disagree—and to see everything organized so neatly and thoughtfully really appealed to my sensibilities. I can't give Molina enough credit for having such vision, and seeing how many true treasures he's collected just makes me wonder how many more wonderful things make it all the way to the dump every single day.

Troll Museum

When I heard that performance artist Reverend Jen Miller was being evicted from her LES apartment—home to what she claimed to be "the world's only" Troll Museum since 2000—I immediately regretted that I had never made it there. But luckily for me (and Rev Jen), an art gallery in Chinatown donated its gallery space to exhibit (most of) the Troll Museum for the next few weeks in an effort to raise donations for Rev Jen. The suggested donation is $3,000, but the Troll Museum Board of Directors is also The Backstreet Boys, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

I didn't want to miss out on this temporary second chance, so my mom—the apple doesn't fall too far from the lover-of-all-things-weird tree—and I went to Chinatown Soup recently to check it out. The gallery space is one small room, but there are a deceptively large number of trolls crammed onto shelves, tacked on walls and propped in corners. 

The Troll Museum is obviously not a museum in the traditional sense—you don't come here to learn about trolls, or see pristine examples of their evolution from 60s fad to resurgences in the 70s, 80s and 90s. You go to the Troll Museum for the same reason you go to an art exhibit or watch an episode of Hoarders. The Troll Museum has what might be called more "traditional" art—paintings and drawings of trolls, of course, but the best piece is of Jesus knocking on the door to the Troll Museum. And then there's the collection of objects itself—greater than the sum of its (dirty and broken) parts and wonderful in its scope and fragmented vision.

I'm so glad that I got a second chance to see the Troll Museum, and its initial demise taught me the important New York lesson that nothing is forever, and that I should go immediately to all of the places that I say I'll get to "someday." It was the perfect rainy Sunday activity for my mom and me—she collected trolls during their original run, and I collected them when they made their 90s comeback. It's mildly depressing to realize that I've reached the point in my life where my childhood toys are now collector's items, but I'm glad there are people around like Reverend Jen to look after them.

New Orleans: Historic Voodoo Museum

One of the first places we wandered into on a recent trip to New Orleans was the Historic Voodoo Museum, located on Dumaine Street in the French Quarter. The museum is small, but packed and stacked with artifacts (some of questionable authenticity) relating to Louisiana voodoo, a blend of Afro-American religions brought to New Orleans by the enslaved West Africans, French, Spanish and Creole inhabitants.

I'm not a Voodoo expert by any means, but I'm fascinated by beliefs of any kind. I wasn't raised religious, so almost every type of spiritualism seems equal parts believable and far-fetched to me. There has always been something appealing to me about relics—I think it's the hoarder in me that appreciates the value and sentiment that can be attributed to stuff—so I especially loved all of the altars inside of the museum. You can't have a voodoo museum without paying homage to the Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau, and in addition to her own altar the museum also claims to have her kneeling bench.

Of course what I loved even more than the haphazard and dusty altars were the bones. There were pelvic bones, entire skeletons, crosses made from bones and numerous human skulls (allegedly collected from medical schools). I also really love the voodoo practice of leaving an offering—believed to expedite the prayer fulfillment process—and I couldn't resist leaving a dime inside one of the skulls (the fact that someone left a $15 Bath & Body Works gift card on one of the altars is still making me laugh). For years I've been finding dimes seemingly everywhere, and it seemed like the right time to start giving them back.

New Orleans: Pharmacy Museum

As an add-on to a tour we took on our recent trip to New Orleans, we received free admission to the Pharmacy Museum. The museum is located in the Vieux Carre Historic District of the French Quater, on Chartres Street. Louis J. Dufilho, Jr. became America's first licensed pharmacist in 1804 when Louisiana became the first state to require a licensing examination for pharmacists. Dufilho’s 1823 apothecary shop is now the Pharmacy Museum and it's an antique-medical-lover's dream.

The museum is filled with historical medical artifacts that range from the mundane to the truly bizarre. Everything is housed in beautiful wooden and glass cabinets and the physical space itself is worth the price of admission (normally $5). Immediately upon walking into the shop you feel as if you've stepped back in time.

The best part of the museum is their extensive collection of vintage medicines in bottles, boxes and tins. We could have spent days just reading the ridiculous (and beautifully designed) labels on treatments for every ailment you can imagine, from Mexican bowel pills for stomach troubles to lung balm for bronchitis to whatever it is that you use "chocolated worm syrup" to cure.

Transitional Object (PsychoBarn)

When I heard that the new rooftop exhibition at the Met was inspired by one of my favorite Edward Hopper paintings, classic red barns and the house from Psycho, I knew I had see it. I had been to the Met many times but I'd never made it to the rooftop garden, so Psychobarn was the perfect excuse to go check it out.

Cornelia Parker's Transitional Object (Psychobarn) is built from a deconstructed red barn and scaled in such a way that feels both realistic and slightly unnerving. Edward Hopper's "House By the Railroad" has always been one of my very favorite paintings and I dream of living in my very own rambling, haunted house one day. Even if it's an odd scale, I would move into Psychobarn in a second—coupled with the city views, it's pretty much my dream house.

Of course no one can actually go into Psychobarn, because the back of the house reveals that the facades are propped up by scaffolding. It's an interesting touch, and very fitting in the ripe-for-Instagram setting. It was nearly impossible to take a photo of the entire house without getting a person in the shot, and I lost count of the number of selfies I witnessed. I love Instagram as much as anyone, but it kills me to see people walk up to a piece of art, snap a photo and walk away without taking any time to view the art with their actual eyeballs—or worse yet, stand obliviously in the way of someone else who came to the museum to do just that.

Even if Psychobarn isn't your jam (but really, it's pretty awesome), go for the picture-perfect skyline and Central Park views. It seems silly that I've waited so long to see the rooftop, but it's thrilling to still find places that make me feel as if I'm seeing this city for the very first time. It's such a privilege to be able to pay a dollar (my go-to "suggested donation") and spend my lunch break in awe of this city and its endless delights.

Van Cortlandt Park

Jim and I finally made it up to Van Cortlandt Park recently and it was a pretty perfect Sunday adventure. Van Cortlandt Park is in the Bronx, and is the third largest park in the city. In 1888 the Van Cortlandt family sold their land and house to the city, with the speculation that the land become a park and the house a museum.

The first thing we did upon arrival was take a tour of the Van Cortlandt house, the oldest building in the Bronx. The Georgian-style house was built in 1748 and was kept in the family until it was turned over to the city. According to our (very thorough) tour guide, George Washington visited on at least four occasions and the house was used by high-ranking officials on both sides during the Revolutionary War.

If you're at all interested in history or antiques (the "museum" part of the house is a collection of very valuable pieces donated from various sources), I highly recommend a visit to the house. We lucked out on catching a guide, who basically gave us a private tour of the property from top to bottom, but there is always a self-guided option.

After the house tour, we ventured onto a park trail that follows a former rail line. There were a few things I was hoping to check out along the path, and to my delight they were all very close to one another. In fact, only a few steps into the trail, we came across these stone pillars. I actually squealed with delight ("That may be the most excited I've ever seen you," said Jim) which was definitely over dramatic, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

These 13 stones were placed here in the 1910s to test out possible stones with which to build Grand Central Terminal. The idea was to test the durability of different types of stone, although in the end the New York Central Railroad chose Indiana Limestone, which would be the cheapest to transport via their own rail lines.

The trail that we were following is the Putnam Trail which runs along tracks formerly for the Putnam Division of the Central Railroad. There are still some remnants of the trail's previous life, including iron bridges and a really wonderful, rusty skeleton of an old train platform. I love when historical structures are restored and lovingly maintained, but I equally love a good ruin—and any day that includes excellent examples of both is a perfect day.

Morbid Anatomy Museum: House of Wax

The current exhibition at the always-fantastic Morbid Anatomy Museum is probably my favorite one yet. I'm sure I said that about their last exhibit—The Collector's Cabinet (those dioramas!)—but House of Wax is just so, so good. I'm always annoyed by the collective outcry about spoiler alerts and warnings, but I think it's necessary to mention that some of my photos might be a tad NSFW, which isn't a bad thing in my opinion, unless of course you're reading this at work and you sit in the very center of the room like I do.

House of Wax is a collection of late 19th century-early 20th century waxworks once a part of a Berlin-based Panopticum. According to Morbid Anatomy, Panoptica were "like the dime museums and popular anatomical museums of the US, these largely forgotten spaces fall somewhere between aristocratic cabinets of curiosity and today’s ideas of museums." In other words, totally my scene.

As always, Morbid Anatomy packs a powerful punch in just one small exhibition room with 34 exhibits—the exception being German serial killer Friedrich Heinrich Karl "Butcher of Hanover" Haarmann, who gets his own spot under a curtain by the bathrooms. They have death masks of Napoleon, Henrik Ibsen, Mary Stuart (Queen of Scots) and Kaiser Wilhelm I. There are examples of a corseted torso, syphilis, leprosy, lupus, tuberculosis, diphtheria, circumcision, psoriasis and a variety of other deformities and maladies.

What made the most lasting impact on me, however, are numerous waxworks depicting the unique Hell (I assume) that is childbirth. Although it admittedly takes a lot to make me squirm, seeing a cross-section of a fetus inside (or on its way out of) a uterus is definitely more terrifying to me than all of the skin diseases and genital deformities in the world combined.

Whitney Museum

On Monday I finally made it to the new Whitney Museum of American Art. I had been to the old Whitney once, to see its final show on Jeff Koons, and I had been wanting to see the new space ever since it opened. I was wary of the crowds, but I had Monday off (happy Sukkot!) and some friends were already planning to go.

The building is shiny and new, although we immediately had some gripes about the flow of traffic—we tried to take the stairs but were forced to take the elevator—and only two of the galleries were open. The other galleries will reopen in October with new exhibitions, but there were some great things to see in the permanent collection. There were also some pieces of abstract art that make me groan—metal poles leaning in corners, entirely black canvas squares—but the pop art collection was entertaining.

I absolutely loved Women and Dog by Marisol, as can be expected from a work that includes, a "taxidermic dog head," heads with multiple faces and a random hand. I also liked the giant Claes Oldenburg ashtray and cigarette butts because larger-than-life soft sculptures of everyday objects are totally my jam.

The outdoor spaces at the Whitney are just as, if not more, impressive than the current art collection. There are multiple balconies featuring excellent views of the rooftops, Highline and buckets full of meat scraps below. It's an interesting statement on modern/abstract art that they had to erect signs warning patrons that the sculptures on the terraces are actually art and not, in fact, benches.

But in a museum that houses Warhol, de Kooning and O'Keefe, my favorite piece of American art was Leonardo DiCaprio, who I quite awkwardly noticed when I turned around and found myself inches away from his face. For a little over an hour, we then proceeded to watch him (and his model/actress girlfriend) look at the art—and what's more American than that?

New York Academy of Medicine Library

Three co-workers and I recently took a tour of the New York Academy of Medicine's rare book library, co-hosted by Atlas Obscura. The talk was focused on medical photography from the 18th and 19th centuries, and afterwards we were allowed to explore the library on our own.

The speaker was wonderfully knowledgeable and interesting, but the materials really spoke for themselves. The library has approximately 32,000 volumes in its collection, most of which date from the 15th to the 18th centuries. This also includes "85 to 90 percent of the medical books printed in what is now the United States between the late 17th and early 19th centuries." We only saw a few of the books, but they were incredible examples of medical photography from the collections of doctors as well as government agencies that documented injuries during the Civil War.

In addition to beautiful books, they also showed us their stereoscopic skin clinic, which was used as a teaching tool. We were able to peer into the stereoscopes and see 3D images of skin diseases—if there's a better way to spend a Thursday night on the Upper East Side, I don't know of it.

The library room itself is quite small, but everything you'd expect from a rare book room. There are wooden, rolling library ladders and antique card catalogs, tiny desk lamps and row after row of beautifully bound books with fascinating titles. This was my first time at the NYAM, as well as my first time taking an Atlas Obscura-led tour, and I highly recommend both. I have some peculiar interests, so its always great to spend an evening amongst like-minded people—getting to browse autopsy photos was just an added bonus.

Scarborough Renaissance Festival: Part Three

When my sister first mentioned that there was a Renaissance fair(e) near her, I looked it up online and immediately knew that we had to go. One of the first things that sold me was the Mythical Monster Museum: "This walk through attraction is filled with all manner of monsters, from tiny fairies to mighty dragons. See the equipment and weapons used to slay and capture monsters!"

The fact that admission was only $3/person further sealed the deal. It appealed to my sister's love of monsters and mythical creatures, in addition to my love of all things ridiculous and it didn't disappoint on either front.

It was surprisingly packed and thorough for how small of a space it occupied and we spent a good amount of time going from room to room. Each mythical creature had a description and illustration on parchment, accompanying a specimen of some sort—we saw a unicorn skull, a siren skeleton, the tentacle of a kraken, a house elf that looked very much like a certain Harry Potter elf, a few gnomes, a Gru ("Sometimes, they kill people"), a yeti, various trolls, some werewolves and one horned, bearded creature that looked unnervingly like John Travolta (John Troll-volta was one of my best jokes of the day).

We joked as we walked through the museum about how disappointed we were that none of the specimens were real—but I guess any museum lucky enough to secure a real troll or vampire specimen would charge a lot more than $3 and probably wouldn't be located in a Renaissance fair(e) in the middle of Waxahachie, Texas.

Morbid Anatomy Museum: Dioramas

I already wrote about the incredible Collector's Cabinet exhibit at the Morbid Anatomy Museum, and I mentioned that the centerpieces of the collection were two amazing dioramas. The taxidermy scenes were originally part of a collection belonging to Sam Sanfillippo, owner of the Cress Funeral Home in Wisconsin. When Sam died, his collection was auctioned off and I'll always regret not knowing about its existence sooner. I do feel lucky, however, that I got to revel in the two that I did, and I'm still having a hard time comprehending how wonderful they were, even a few weeks later.

The two scenes were "The Woodland Fair," a collection of taxidermy chipmunks and an untitled bar scene full of squirrels in various stages of inebriation. In the Woodland Fair, the chipmunks are enjoying a carnival—riding a Ferris wheel, carrying balloons and handing out cotton candy. There is even a "topless girlie show," whose participants are actually wearing more clothing than any of the other fairgoers.

The fair scene also includes a corner bar and grill with a smoking patron (Louie?) and miniature cans of beer. Chipmunk attendees of all sizes hold hands, ride trains and sample treats—all for the low admission price of just 5 seeds.

The squirrel saloon scene is slightly less jovial but no less elaborate than the Woodland Fair. Squirrels in all sizes and colors enjoy a cold one, dance cheek-to-cheek, smoke pipes and comfort each other when they've imbibed a bit too much.

It's nearly impossible to pick a favorite, but I really love the slot machine-playing squirrel, and the balloon-holding chipmunk. The attention to detail in these scenes is really remarkable—from the marbled mirrors and miniature liquor bottles to the outfits and poses, everything is so perfect you sometimes forget that you're actually looking at real animals.

I'll always regret missing out on the entire Cress Funeral home collection and experience, but I'm so glad I got to see a tiny part of it in person—photos really just don't do things like this justice—and I didn't have to go all the way to Wisconsin to do so.

Bonus taxidermy: One more stand-out from the exhibition was this kitten with two faces (four eyes and two mouths) from another famous taxidermist, Walter Potter. The tiny creature only lived for seven days, but thanks to Potter and the Morbid Anatomy Museum, I was able to meet him (her?)—definitely a highlight in a collection filled with home runs.

Morbid Anatomy Museum: Collector's Cabinet

On Saturday JMP joined me for diner breakfast, a trip to the Morbid Anatomy Museum and post-museum pie at Four and Twenty Blackbirds, which is pretty much my ideal Saturday (or any day). The Collector's Cabinet exhibit at the museum was closing on Sunday and I hadn't seen it yet but I'm so glad we went because it far exceeded my expectations.

Like the museum's previous exhibition, The Art of Mourning, the Collector's Cabinet occupied a single room but it was expertly curated and every piece was fascinating. I lost track of how much time we spent looking at, and photographing all of the curiosities, but I definitely could have spent all day in just that one room.

The centerpieces of the exhibit were two life-changing taxidermy dioramas, which more than deserve their very own post as soon as I'm done fully digesting how extraordinarily awesome they both were. They also had a neck tattoo in a jar, a fully-articulated skeleton, a very organized brush collection, wooden prosthetic arms, a plaster death cast, a talking skull, a two-headed calf and so many other weird and wonderful trinkets on display.

We also checked out the adjoining library space, which itself is packed with enough stuff to make a visit to the museum more than worth your time. I am so glad that I became a member back when the museum opened in June—not only because I now get in for free, but because never has there been a place so deserving of my support.

The museum has only gotten better since it opened and I was pleased to see so many people there on Saturday. Every one that works there is always so kind and helpful and the gift shop is full of books and housewares and art that I definitely don't need but so desperately want. I never thought there would be a place like the Morbid Anatomy Museum where all of my creepy interests are celebrated and nurtured and I already can't wait to go back.

New Museum: Chris Ofili

Saturday was rainy and miserable outside, so I decided to check out the Chris Ofili exhibition at the New Museum. I had never been to the New Museum before, or heard of Ofili, but after a coworker mentioned that he had gone and said that Ofili was famous for his elephant dung pieces, I thought it was worth a visit.

His most controversial work, The Holy Virgin Mary, is on display once again (15 years after Giuliani was so appalled by it he threatened to shut down the Brooklyn Museum), along with similar mixed-media canvasses, paintings and a few sculptures. The exhibition is small, occupying three galleries in the museum, and my only complaint is that I wish there were even more pieces on display.

After I got over the initial novelty of the strategically placed dung, I found myself drawn to his sculptures more than his canvas work. There were only a few sculptures scattered throughout, but his take on the Annunciation—with its beautifully contrasting textures and materials—was wonderful.

It's also hard not to love Shithead, a ball of his signature dung with a crude mouth containing real human teeth and topped with pieces of Ofili's own dreadlocks. Sometimes I become annoyed at the simplicity or shock-without-substance nature of some contemporary art shows or I just don't "get" them at all, but Ofili's work is intricate, powerful and definitely different than anything I've seen before.

Panorama of the City of New York

One of my reasons for taking my friend JMP to Flushing Meadows-Corona Park was to show her the Panorama of the City of New York, a remnant of the 1964-65 World's Fair. "Conceived as a celebration of the City’s municipal infrastructure by urban mastermind and World’s Fair President Robert Moses for the 1964 Fair, the Panorama was built by a team of more than 100 people working for the great architectural model makers Raymond Lester & Associates over the course of three years," according to the Queens Museum (where the Panorama is currently on permanent display).

It has been updated a few times since its debut, with the most recent complete overhaul taking place in 1992. Since then buildings have been updated or added sporadically and you can actually "adopt" a building for as little as $50 (who wants to buy me the Chrysler Building?).

Like the Unisphere, the Panorama still astounds me every time I see it. The Queens Museum just underwent an extensive renovation and it's a beautiful space but the exhibits are sparse—that being said, the Panorama is more than reason enough to make the trip out to Queens.

The first time I ever saw it, most of the museum was still closed for construction—in fact the only thing we saw during that visit was the Panorama and I definitely didn't leave disappointed.

There are walkways around the entire perimeter of the Panorama, tracing the route that the original indoor helicopter ride took during the World's Fair. The model is built to a scale of 1:1200 where one inch equals 100 feet—the Empire State Building is just 15 inches tall.

It is endlessly entertaining to stare at each borough, picking out landmarks like Yankee Stadium, the Flatiron Building, the original World Trade Towers and all of the museums, parks and bridges that I love so much—there are even little mini planes "taking off" and "landing" in a continuous loop at LaGuardia airport. It's also fun to try and find your own address—especially easy in Manhattan where you can count the street grid using major buildings as a guide.

Everything looks better in miniature and the city is no exception. The thing I like most about the Panorama, however, is that it really serves no discernible purpose. Although it was originally meant to be repurposed after the Fair as an urban planning tool, today the Panorama really serves no function past being incredibly awesome to behold. To use a phrase from one of my favorite tour guides ever, the Panorama of the City of New York is truly "just for fancy," making it one of my favorite attractions in all of New York.

Death Becomes Her

On Friday my friend, Francesca, and I did what all young women dream of doing on a Friday night— we went to the Death Becomes Her exhibit of mourning attire at the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Costume Institute (No? That's just us? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ).

The opening day of the exhibit (in October) had been marked on my calendar for months—an exhibit dedicated to mourning, named after one of my very favorite Meryl movies—obviously. Fortunately, it lived up to my high expectations and even more fortunately, photographs (no flash, of course) are allowed.

The exhibit features about thirty examples of nineteenth- and early twentieth-century mourning ensembles, mostly for women, although there were two men's outfits and one child's. I've read everything I can get my hands on about mourning practices and I've seen a few examples of mourning attire in some of the house tours I've taken, but this was certainly the biggest (and best) collection I've ever seen. Of course, since it's housed in the Anna Wintour Costume Institute, the explanation placards skew a bit more toward the fashion side of things, but that was to be expected.

The whole concept of mourning attire (and memorial art, hair jewelry, post-mortem photography, etc.) is so fascinating to me and seems so distant from how our society deals with its dead today. The exhibit was small, but I loved the simple white mannequins (with my dream white hair) and haunting music that played throughout. I could have done without the projected quotes, but this is 2014 so I know there had to be some sort of multimedia element. Speaking of 2014, there's also a hashtag (#DeathBecomesHer), which is currently filled with shots of this exhibit mixed with screencaps of Meryl Streep as Madeline Ashton, making it my very favorite hashtag of all time.

There's even a tiny gift shop in the corner, with items ranging from pretty (jewelry, notecards) to pretty gross (the illustrated book of diseases). I couldn't resist buying a postcard, because it's not every day that an exhibit likes this comes along—one that is so in line with all of my current interests that I can hardly believe my luck.