Williamsburg Bridge

On Black Friday, I wanted to check out my favorite record store in Bushwick, Human Head, because they were having a great sale. I arranged to meet David at the Kellogg's Diner in Williamsburg, and decided that it would also be a great day to walk the Williamsburg Bridge. I've only walked it once—on a scorching day back in 2013—and it was always something on my list to do again.

The Williamsburg bridge connects the Lower East Side in Manhattan with Williamsburg in Brooklyn, and spans the East River. The 7,308-foot suspension bridge was the second to be built over the river (after the Brooklyn Bridge and before the Manhattan), and when it opened in 1903 it held the record for the longest suspension bridge on Earth (a record it held until 1924).

In the 80s, the bridge fell into disrepair and by the end of the decade more than 200 of its suspension cables had snapped, and it was closed completely for a few months in 1988 after it was judged to be structurally unsafe. In the '90s and 2000s, it was mostly rebuilt, and now it is the most heavily bicycled span in North America (the separate pedestrian walkway was added in 1999).

Along with the Manhattan Bridge, the Williamsburg is the only other suspension bridge in New York City to carry both car and subway traffic, and several M and J trains went by during my walk. It's a longer walk than the Brooklyn or Manhattan bridges, but the Williamsburg bridge has a feel all its own. The city views aren't as spectacular (there are better views to be had on the bike path) as the other bridges' and it might not be as iconic as the Brooklyn Bridge, but like an often-overlooked middle child, its unique charms are worthy of a second look.

Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade: Balloon Inflation 2017

I'm not going to the Thanksgiving Day Parade this year, but I did want to go see the balloon inflation again. I went for the first time last year and it was so much better than I had expected. There were a lot of repeats from last year, but it was still fun and although it's a very popular event, we got through the line and saw every balloon in just over an hour.

We got off work early, so we got to the start of the line around 4pm and you can see in my photos as the sky gets progressively darker. The time of the event shifted two hours earlier (beginning at 1pm instead of 3pm), so they were almost all entirely inflated by the time we arrived. The crowd can seem overwhelming when you first enter the line, but once you get to the actual balloons, you have plenty of room to move around. 

There are always a few balloons that make me feel old and out of touch with children's entertainment, but I can mostly identify them even if I'm not very familiar with their shows or movies. New balloons this year include: Super Wings' Jett, Paw Patrol's Chase, The Grinch and Frozen's Olaf. There is also a new Harold balloon, a black-and-white baseball player that was featured in the Miracle on 34th Street. The classics are my favorite—the elves and Macy's stars especially—and I am sad to be missing Tom the Turkey (and his eyelashes!) this year.  

I've heard that the balloon inflation used to be a super chill event—almost a neighborhood secret—and I wonder why that's changed so much over the years (the Internet? Instagram?). It's still a very good alternative to the madness of the parade—no offense to all of the marching bands and clowns, but everyone knows the balloons are the best part. 

🦃Happy Thanksgiving! 🦃

Canstruction 2017

This is the fourth year that my mom and I have gone to see the Canstruction exhibit in downtown Manhattan (see how this year compares to: 2014 / 2015 / 2016). It’s a quick and technically free—although a food donation is appreciated— thing to do on a chilly weekend afternoon, and by now it's definitely a tradition. We get diner breakfast—the best one within walking distance is the Square Diner—and wander through Brookfield Place, judging all of the sculptures and reminiscing on years past. Every year we agree that the first year was the best, but perhaps what we’re fondly remembering is the novelty or the emptiness of Brookfield Place.

Brookfield Place is essentially a large mall, and the changes over the years have been dramatic. It was nearly empty the first year but is now full of high-end retail, food and offices. This year was the 25th anniversary of Canstruction, NYC, a part of the (now) international non-profit that was founded in 1992.

Competitors come from the design and construction industries, and there are competitions held in 150 cities across the world. The sculptures are created entirely from canned goods, which are then donated to local food banks and relief organizations—more than 50 million pounds of food has been collected since Canstruction began.

My mom and I have realized over the years that a lot of the sculptures are more quickly identifiable when viewed through a camera lens or a phone screen—like a pointillism painting they can be hard to decipher from close-up. I love seeing what teams come up with each year, and some sculptures are topical, some are classics, and some are a bit of a snooze. I always appreciate the way people manage to work food or can puns into their titles, and while some are more successful than others, I’m still waiting for a team to top my all-time favorite, The Sta”tuna” of Liberty (although "Beauty and the Feast" came close this year).

From the top: pretzel, Pixar lamp, Pac CAN, jellyfish, subway train emerging from a tunnel, jack-o-lantern, Pokemon character (I forget which one), Popeye the Sailor CAN, "coexist" rainbow, triangle, Giving Tree, Fearless in the Face of Hunger, Beauty and the Feast, Duck Hunt, On Track to End Hunger, lotus flower, and Pining to End Hunger.

Korean Chrysanthemums

I've seen (and photographed) the incredibly lovely Korean Chrysanthemums at the Conservatory Garden in Central Park for the last few years (2014 // 2016), and this year I just caught them in time. When I went to check on them over lunch, they were beginning to be removed and they were definitely past their peak. The first year I posted about them, I thought they were daisies because I know absolutely nothing about plants. Someone who obviously knows much more about these things than I do was kind enough to correct me, and now I feel superior in my (still woefully limited) plant knowledge every time I spot another Korean Chrysanthemum. 

I've never been really disappointed to find that the flowers I've gone to visit are already half-dead, and I even sometimes prefer the crispy versions to their lively counterparts. Maybe it's all the time I spend reading about death and decay (and pining after senior rescue dogs), but I try my best to appreciate living beings at every stage of their beautiful lives. 

We went to see Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri this weekend—it's great, go see it!—and I fell in love with Frances McDormand's wrinkly, malleable, age-appropriate, fascinating face. It's refreshing to see a woman in Hollywood unapologetically exhibiting beauty and bravery on an unaltered face, and her performance was riveting not in spite of, but because of it. 

I've been struggling with how to wrap my head around this onslaught of sexual assault news, and what it says about a woman's place in our world. I certainly have my share of #metoo stories—mostly small, but they add up—and I'm trying to harness all of this hurt, bewilderment and rage into something useful. I've certainly been complicit in the degradation of others in my past—in the service of powerful men, and of my own volition—but it always felt wrong and I'm sorry. I'm trying to focus on the positive, on the healing power of sharing stories, on the beauty in the decay, and on the fact that women are incredibly powerful when we work with, and not against, each other.

This is Halloween

It should come as no surprise to anyone that I love Halloween. I've always appreciated the creativity and craftiness of making my own costumes, and my everyday aesthetic could be best described as macabre. I wear ghost socks and decorate with skulls year-round, so October is the one month of the year where it all syncs up. 

I'm disappointed that this is the first year since 2013 that I'm not throwing a BooZy brunch. I moved into a studio and have literally no space for visitors. As much as I love living alone (seriously, it's the best), I felt a little lost this year not having party prep on the agenda. I did the next best thing, however, and channeled all of my Halloween energy into making a very complicated and unwieldy costume, which I will debut tonight at the Village Halloween parade (and hopefully it won't hobble me for days afterward). 

I did take all of my decorations with me in the move—they constitute an embarrassing percentage of my overall belongings—but they'll stay packed away until my next party (whenever that may be). Luckily, New Yorkers have been good about getting into the spirit(s) this year, and my walk from the bus stop to work every morning has been filled with ghoulish delights. 

I'm not sure what it's like in other parts of the city (decorations are sparse in my Harlem neighborhood), but residents of the Upper East Side take Halloween very seriously. It's also interesting to me to see literal multi-million dollar mansions covered in spiderwebs and severed plastic limbs, but that's exactly the kind of rich person I would be.

I have no concrete evidence of this, but they probably pay someone to decorate for them—like some of the Dyker Heights lights displays—and if so, how do I get this job?? Regardless of how they get there, I love all of the spooky kitsch—skeletons, tiny bats, elaborate mannequins—and will always appreciate the humor and effort behind it all.

Happy Halloween!

Sleepy Hollow, 2017

Before I ever moved to New York, I knew I wanted to visit Sleepy Hollow during October. I even put it on my silly list of things to do before I turn 30, and I crushed that goal. I'm now 32 and Sunday was my fourth (mostly) annual trip upstate to the village formerly known as North Tarrytown. 

I'm embarrassed to say that it took me far too long to read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow short story by Washington Irving. I don't know why I waited so long to pick it up—and the story is less than a hundred pages, so it only took me a day to read—but it definitely added to my enjoyment and appreciation of the area.

It might seem silly or pointless to revisit the same tiny town year, after year, but I'm always seeing something new. There is also a comfort to holiday rituals, and as soon as the leaves start to turn and I feel a chill in the air (something woefully missing this year—it was nearly 80 degrees on Sunday), I start looking forward to the fall pilgrimage. This year's group of adventurers included some newcomers, and it's nice to be able to introduce people to Sleepy Hollow and share the places that I've come to love so much. 

This year we spent the bulk of our time visiting two historic houses in the area—Washington Irving's Sunnyside and the Rockefeller estate, Kykuit—so we didn't have a lot of time to wander. We briefly peeked into the cemetery but unfortunately it had already closed for the day, and we ended the night screaming (and laughing) our way through the outdoor haunted maze, Horseman's Hollow. 

I love that the village of Sleepy Hollow has come to embrace their famous legend—the headless horseman is everywhere, showing up on their street signs, police uniforms, fire trucks and school mascots—and I would imagine that locals either absolutely love Halloween, or grow to hate the influx of visitors. Every year I find myself discovering a lovely house with a mansard roof, cornstalks tied to columns or pumpkins on a porch and thinking that it must be the most wonderful place in the world to call home—but living just an hour train ride away isn't too bad either. 

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Places to see: Kykuit // Sunnyside  // Lyndhurst // Union Church // Sleepy Hollow Cemetery

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Thing to do: Horseman's Hollow // The Great Jack-o-Lantern Blaze

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Places to eat: Horsefeathers

Little Red Lighthouse

Jeffrey's Hook Lighthouse, unofficially known as the Little Red Lighthouse, is located in Fort Washington Park right under the George Washington Bridge in Washington Heights. The small piece of land that it stands on is known as Jeffrey's Hook, named after the man that owned the land before it was acquired by the city in 1896.

The lighthouse was originally built for Sandy Hook, NJ, and it stood there as the North Hook Beacon until becoming obsolete in 1917 (it was replaced by a much larger light). It was moved in pieces and reconstructed at its current spot in northern Manhattan, to help reduce accidents at one of the narrowest sections of the Hudson River. But the construction of the George Washington Bridge (and its 24-hour, bright lights) once again made the lighthouse obsolete, and it was decommissioned in 1948.

There were plans to auction off (and melt down) the lighthouse, but it was saved by a public campaign led mostly by school children, who were familiar with the lighthouse thanks to Hildegarde Swift's 1942 children's book,The Little Red Lighthouse and the Great Gray Bridge. Control of the lighthouse passed from the Coast Guard to the City Department of Parks and Recreation in 1951 and it became a New York City landmark in 1991.

This past weekend was Open House NY weekend, that magical two days where places in all five boroughs open their doors, providing tours and exclusive access to spots not normally (or sporadically) open to the public. There wasn't much on the list this year that I absolutely had to check out (past favorites have been the TWA Flight Center, Marine Air Terminal, Treasures in the Trash Collection, Brooklyn Army Terminal and The Four Seasons) but I was excited about getting inside of the lighthouse. I'd been to Fort Washington Park a few times, and spied on it from above while walking across the George Washington Bridge, but I'd never been inside.

The lighthouse is small—constructed of 48 pieces of cast iron—and doesn't have space for a live-in keeper. It was relighted by the city in 2002, and the red light now turns on and off every day by a timer. There's not much room inside for anything but a spiral staircase to the top, but it's always thrilling to get behind-the-scenes access.

New York State Pavilion

I've been obsessed with all things related to the two New York World's Fairs ever since I first laid eyes on the Unisphere four years ago. At first glance it may seem as if there is very little left from either fair—most buildings were designed to be temporary—but there are still quite a few remnants if you know where to look. Of course you don't have to look to hard to find the Unisphere—you may have even seen it as you flew into or out of LaGuardia—or its neighbor, the New York State Pavilion.

Designed by Philip Johnson in 1962, the NY State Pavilion comprises three separate parts: the Tent of Tomorrow, Theaterama and three observation towers. The Tent of Tomorrow and observation towers are technically in ruin (the Theaterama is home to the Queens Theatre) , but their fate isn't too dire (yet). Thanks to the New York State Pavilion Paint Project, it has received a new coat of paint, and I recently took an Untapped Cities tour of the usually-off-limits inside, led by Mitch Silverstein, co-founder of the Project. I'd been inside once before, during a World's Fair anniversary festival, but this tour was much more comprehensive.

When it was built, the elliptical Tent of Tomorrow had the largest cable suspension roof in the world, a ceiling made of colorful tiles, and the floor was covered in a terrazzo map of New York State. The tiles are long gone and the terrazzo map is in bad shape —it's been covered for some time to prevent further damage, but they have a few sections on display.

The Pavilion had another life in the 70s as a roller rink, but it closed when the structure started deteriorating. They filmed scenes for The Wiz inside of the Pavilion, and fairgoers were wowed by new technologies such as the microwave. I would give ANYthing to have been able to see the pavilion in all of its fair glory but it's pretty dreamy as a ruin—a state of being that apparently even Philip Johnson appreciated. He once wrote, "The New York State Pavilion at the 1964-65 World's Fair is now a ruin. In a way, the ruin is even more haunting than the original structure. There ought to be a university course in the pleasure of ruins."

Mushrooms

I don't claim to know much about nature—I live in New York City by choice, after all—but I love discovering all of the strange and interesting things that manage to grow unattended in the woods. David and I recently went camping in the Catskills and before settling in for the night took a hike around the North/South lake. I always notice mushrooms because they're usually so adorable, but for some reason they seemed to be everywhere on this particular hike. 

Sometimes I think people assume I know more about nature than I do, just because I grew up in Ohio. Sure, I had to do a leaf-identification project in school, but that doesn't mean I remember much beyond the difference between a maple and a ginko leaf. I do wish I knew more about properly identifying mushrooms—I love mushrooms so it would be pretty cool to be able to pluck part of my dinner right out of the woods. I knew people back in Ohio that swore by certain varieties but I've seen Into the Wild enough times that I'd probably never get to the point where I felt comfortable eating things I just found. 

I have, however, heard of puffballs and we spent a great deal of time poking all of the ones around our campsite. I'm sure this isn't the best way to properly respect the beauty of nature, but it's just too satisfying to resist. It's also impossible to stop once you start, and we joked that we'd return next year to find the campsite closed due to an explosion in the mushroom population.

High Line

On a particularly lazy recent Sunday, I reached the point of ultimate Netflix judgment, watching Gilmore Girls for so long I was asked "are you still there?" I knew I had to get off the couch eventually, but I was having a hard time coming up with a plan. I finally decided to walk the High Line—a new segment had opened since I had last walked its length and the park now runs from 34th Street between 11th and 12th Avenues to Gansevoort Street.

The High Line was opened as an elevated train track in 1934. The last train ran on the tracks in 1980, and it was abandoned until planning began for a park in the late 90s. The first section opened in 2009. The northernmost section looks over the train storage at Hudson Yards and catching a sneak peek at the inner workings of the city is always interesting to me. 

I absolutely love the concept and execution of the High Line. The wildflowers and slightly overgrown feel make it easy to imagine what the track felt like abandoned and the views of the city and surrounding buildings are always excellent. Every time I go it seems like a new, fancy building is springing up within feet of the park—but I was happy to see that one of the last stand alone diners left in Manhattan is still going strong. 

I really want to love the High Line and I do, as far as the concept, but every time I go I remember why I don't go very often—it's far too crowded. Sure, it was a sunny summer Sunday, so I'm not surprised it was packed, but walking in a single-file line behind a thousand tourists is not exactly my idea of a relaxing afternoon. It's a wonderful addition to the city and of course I understand its popularity, but I think I'll skip the sunny Sundays from now on and plan my visits for when park walks are a little less desirable. 

Unisphere Fountains

Seeing the Unisphere for the first time was love at first sight. It was bitterly cold and had recently snowed, but after getting over the initial honeymoon phase, I dreamed of seeing it with its fountains turned on. The first time I caught a glimpse of the fountains was indeed magic, but it was woefully brief—they turned them off because it was windy and people complained of the over spray. The second time I saw them, I really got to experience them in all of their World's Fair glory and it was just as impressive as I had imagined. Seeing the Unisphere lit up like a shiny Christmas ornament at night was next on my list, and after I crossed off that iteration there was only one left—the Unisphere, with fountains, at night.

The fountains—part of the original, 1964 design to create the illusion that the globe is floating—are not on a regular schedule. They have been on a few times when I've visited Flushing Meadows in the summer, but I've seen them off more times than on. Getting to Flushing Meadows is a bit of time commitment, but I knew that US Open time was a (mostly) sure bet. I went two days before the finals and lucked out with perfect weather and a nearly-deserted park. 

I have almost no experience with night photography or long exposures (except these photos), so this was a great opportunity to play with my camera settings and really try to figure it out. There was a lot of trial and error, but somewhere in the process I accidentally discovered how to take "ghost" photographs. Someone wandered into my frame (my lifelong struggle), lingered for a minute and then walked out. I did a test with myself, and soon I was running in and out of the frame like a lunatic trying to get just the right shot. I couldn't resist taking my tripod around the park, trying to capture the New York State Pavilion, Queens theater and of course the Mister Softee Truck amidst the twinkling lights.

I was having so much fun that I completely lost track of time, and stayed long enough that the tennis match let out. I had to ride the 7 train back to Manhattan with the contents of an entire tennis stadium, but I was full of Mister Softee and high on that Unisphere magic, so I couldn't be too grumpy. 

Wave Hill

After filling up on meats at Liebman's Deli in the Bronx, Jess and I walked about 25 minutes west to Wave Hill. Wave Hill is a public garden and cultural center overlooking the Hudson River. Wave Hill house was built in 1843 as a country home and over the years Teddy Roosevelt and Mark Twain both spent time at the estate. In 1903, it was purchased by a partner at J.P. Morgan and he added greenhouses and shaped the surrounding grounds. In 1960, Wave Hill was deeded to the city and today it's one of 33 city-owned cultural institutions.  

I didn't know much about Wave Hill, but I thought it was harder to get to than it actually is—in fact, we were right by it back in January when we explored Fieldston and Riverdale. It's accessible by Metro North but it's only a 30-minute walk from the 1 train and they have a free shuttle that picks you up/drops you off by the 242nd Street stop. The Bronx sometimes gets a bad rap, but I've always loved the time I've spent there. Now that I live in Harlem again, it's just a few subway stops away and there are still so many places on my list to explore.

There wasn't much to see at Wave Hill besides the gardens, but it was the perfect place to spend a leisurely, warm and sunny Saturday. It wasn't very crowded, but we did see several couples taking wedding information tours, and Wave Hill seems like the kind of place built exclusively for weddings. 

The greenhouses were packed full of succulents, cacti and the biggest air plants I've ever seen—every blogger's Instagram dream—and it would be a lovely place to escape to on a snowy winter day (Wave Hill is open year-round). I always feel so restored by city adventures like this—exploring someplace new that feels worlds away but it only takes a few subway stops before I'm home again. 

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Wave Hill
Tuesday-Sunday, 9am-5:30pm
West 249th Street and Independence Avenue
Bronx, New York

Liebman's Delicatessen

Last night marked the beginning of Rosh Hashanah, or the Jewish New Year. It's the start of year 5778, and it's the first of the Jewish High Holy days. I am not Jewish, but for the past three years I've worked at the 92nd Street Y, a Jewish cultural organization on the Upper East Side. We're not associated with the YMCA, but we have similar programs—a gym, nursery school, talks, concerts and adult education classes. Because we are a YMHA/YWHA (Young Men + Women's Hebrew Association), in addition to our standard vacation and government holidays, we also get 10+ Jewish holidays off work per year.

David and I are going camping with his kids upstate today (New York City schools are also closed today and tomorrow), but last weekend my friend Jess and I spent the day in Riverdale in the Bronx. Our main destination was Wave Hill, but we decided to meet at Liebman's Delicatessen. Liebman's has been family-owned since it opened in 1953, and was once one of hundreds of Kosher delis in the neighborhood. Now it's one of the last ones standing, and it's definitely worth the trek (it's about a 10-minute walk from the 1 train).

I had a very homogenous upbringing near Akron, Ohio and we barely ever made the hour trip to Cleveland. One of the things I love most about New York is the ability to experience so many different cultures, and the Jewish deli feels quintessentially New York. Liebman's felt more authentic and significantly less touristy than Katz's—in fact, there was only one other person eating alongside us at 11am on a Saturday morning. Jess ordered the pastrami and I ordered a salami omelette—which were both delicious—but I'll be dreaming about that pickle plate for many years to come. 

Happy New Year to those of you who celebrate and happy free days off to those of you who don't, but work at Jewish organizations!

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Liebman's Delicatessen
Open every day 9am-10pm
552 W 235th Street
Bronx, NY 10463

You've Got Mail

"Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. On the other hand, this not knowing has its charms."

You've Got Mail came out nearly 20 years ago and I still remember seeing it at the theater with my grandparents. I've since seen it countless times—and forced David to watch it for the first time a few weeks ago. It's my go-to comfort movie whenever I'm sick or on a plane (or both). Sure the AOL-centric premise feels dated now, but I'm a sucker for Nora Ephron's words and the magic of New York (especially in the fall). Luckily, most of the movie was shot on location on the Upper West Side, and despite the fact that this city is constantly changing, you can still party like it's 1998—even if you can no longer get an H&H bagel or grab a children's book at the Shop Around the Corner.

Kathleen Kelly's Apartment, 328 West 89th Street and Riverside Drive

Verdi Square, W 72nd and Broadway

Starbucks, 2252 Broadway at W 81st Street

Shop Around the Corner (never a book shop, but now a cleaners) 106 W 69th Street (just around the corner from Columbus Avenue).

Zabar's, 2245 Broadway at W 80th Street

Gray's Papaya, 2090 Broadway at W 72nd Street

Cafe Lalo, 201 W 83rd St (closest to Amsterdam Ave)

Barney Greengrass, 541 Amsterdam Ave between W 86th and 87th Streets

91st Street Garden, Riverside Park at 91st Street

"But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many... somethings."

Bubba Gump Shrimp Co.

Despite our less-than-ideal dining experience at Guy's American Kitchen, the four of us had fun and decided to continue to eat our way through Times Square chain restaurants (because why not?). Next on the list was Bubba Gump Shrimp Company, one of forty locations around the world. As the name suggests, Bubba Gump is a restaurant based entirely on a few scenes from the 1994 Tom Hanks movie, Forrest Gump. Is this a tenuous connection for an international restaurant chain? Definitely. Is it just strange enough that I was actually excited for my first Bubba Gump experience? You bet.

I'm happy to report that overall, our experience was leaps and bounds above Guy's, which in retrospect, was a very low bar. We did have to briefly wait on line on a Tuesday night despite several visibly empty tables, but Bubba Gump doesn't take reservations (Guy's does, but it's unnecessary). Our waiter seemed confused and took us on a mini tour of the restaurant before settling us in a booth, but it was smooth sailing after that. 

Two of the four of us don't eat seafood (myself included), but there were a few non-shrimp options on the menu. But first, we ordered drinks (all in souvenir cups) and were pleased that they all tasted 1. like something at all and 2. like they had alcohol in them. We ordered the popcorn shrimp appetizer, and while it was bit smaller than we expected it was actually hot and crispy and I will bend my no seafood rules for anything deep fried and slathered in enough dipping sauce. 

I ordered a cheeseburger and fries, and while it wasn't life-changing it tasted exactly as a burger should (and didn't arrive with a cryptically-burned top bun). For dessert, we went with the chocolate chip cookie sundae, reasoning that every chain restaurant we try should have some version of this and of course we're doing this all for Science and understand completely how control groups work. The cookie was hot and gooey and crunchy and the ice cream didn't taste like freezer burn but of actual vanilla. The only scary part of the meal is the calorie count that businesses with 15 or more franchises are required to post here in New York, but I'm getting good at willfully ignoring those (anything for Science!).

The Times Square location of Bubba Gump is huge, but by the time we left there was line out the door. At one point our waitress asked us where were visiting from, and we said "oh, we live here." She mentioned that most of the Bubba Gump patrons are from other countries, and that was definitely true of the night we were there. In the gift shop (of course there's a gift shop) they have a squished penny machine and I mesmerized a group of people speaking a language I didn't recognize by squishing a penny with their signature fancy shrimp design. 

The fact that Bubba Gump still exists (or was ever conceived of in the first place) is fascinating to me, and it's such an odd thing on which to base an entire restaurant franchise but it somehow works. Forrest Gump was a huge movie, of course, but it's not an iconic world like Star Wars or Harry Potter—maybe I'm the only one who has ever thought so long and deeply about the Bubba Gump brand? 

The food was exactly what we expected, it was cheaper and had twice the flavor of anything we choked down in "Flavor Town," and the atmosphere was unabashedly joyful. It doesn't make sense that a restaurant based on a few minutes of a movie that premiered 23 years ago is serving better food than the flagship restaurant of a famous chef, but maybe you shouldn't try to make much sense out of a restaurant whose logo is a shrimp in a top hat.

I ♥ NY

I was 16 on September 11th, 2001. It was a new 16, and a new school year—my junior year of high school. I was in Spanish class when the first plane hit the North tower of the World Trade Center, and we watched the news coverage live, unsure at first if it was accidental or a deliberate attack. I remember thinking only of myself—as most 16-year-olds can be forgiven for doing—and how my dream of moving to New York appeared to crumble on live TV.

Of course the attacks didn't prevent me from moving, and in fact the city had more than rebounded by the time I finally did move, 11 years later. But I remember what I wore that day—a stretchy green top made from a glittery fabric (I was 16! It was 2001!) and a rainbow ribbon belt. I remember coming home from school and dramatically exclaiming to my parents, "it's World War III!" I remember working that night in the McDonald's drive-thru and noting that everyone that came through the drive thru had special, evening editions of the newspaper (remember those!) laying on their front seats.

I remember visiting New York in February of 2002—my second visit—to see the Rosie O'Donnell show, and the overwhelming grief that was still on display all over the city—on fences and in churches and in the air. I didn't know anyone in the city at the time, and most of the people I know now moved here after, like me. But I remember meeting loved ones at the airport gate, and breezing through security without having to take off my shoes. I remember campaigning in college for John Kerry, sure that he would beat George W. Bush and feeling political defeat personally for the first time, when he did not.

I remember when people referred to the under-construction World Trade Tower as the Freedom Tower, and I remember when you had to have a ticket to visit the memorial reflecting pools. I remember finally moving to New York and seeing the Welcome to New York sign at La Guardia and knowing that I was finally home. I remember the glee I felt upon realizing that I could (barely) see the Statue of Liberty from my Brooklyn apartment. I remember weeping through the 9/11 museum on opening night, and again when my dad came to visit.

I didn't lose anyone on 9/11 but all of us are changed by it. I've always loved this city—even before I visited—and it will always be my first love. I love all that has come before me, the people and places and moments that make this city a living, breathing thing. This city was my spiritual home before it was my physical one, and I am profoundly sad for all of its misery and at the same time madly hopeful for all its unbridled joy.

Ice Cream Trucks

I am definitely not one of those people who get sad as the end of summer approaches. Those memes about seeing one leaf on the ground and suddenly dancing with a pumpkin on your head? That's me. Despite being excited about the imminent start of my very favorite season, there are some things I will miss about summer, one of them being New York City ice cream trucks. 

I didn't have my first Mister Softee cone until I had lived here more than a year, but now I have to resist the urge to get a chocolate milkshake every time I hear that iconic jingle. In fact, I love Mister Softee so much I was Mister Softee for Halloween two years ago. Every time I'm waiting for my milkshake lunch, I always chuckle to myself at the names of some of the cones—Baby Raddle, Nutty Chocolate Merlin—and my mind can't help but go to dark, strange places.

As much as I love Mister Softee—and recognize it as the New York ice cream truck, not to be confused with New York Ice Cream trucks which is what Master Softee trucks were forced to rebrand themselves as after a copyright infringement lawsuit—I love all of the knock-offs, one-offs and no-brand trucks as well. I love spotting a new one and they make my city walks just a little more whimsical and sweet. 

Southold

After exploring the colonial-era cemetery, and before sampling all of the Rosé recently, we walked to the vineyard through the town of Southold on the North Fork of Long Island. The town was settled in 1640 and feels like a more down-to-earth, slightly less fancy version of the Hamptons. 

The walk to the vineyard was idyllic—until we ran out of sidewalk completely—and every house we passed was cuter than the one before. I have a weakness for cedar shingles and anything remotely colonial or New England-y and Southold has an abundance of all of these styles.

At one point we stopped at a yard sale—one of the things I miss most since moving to New York—that was partially covered with an awning. Jen wondered out loud if it might be the kind used to cover gravesites during funerals—and we got our answer when we passed the matching funeral home not too far from the sale.

We passed a mailbox shaped like a barn and a few actual barns, homemade flower bouquets for sale, a farm selling goat cheese and eggs, a street actually named "Peanut Alley," and a welder that was advertising his services with a collection of rusty doctors' chairs (#yardgoals). I'm sure I can't actually afford to ever live in Southold but I can at least spend the day pretending I do for the cost of a roundtrip train ride.