Hartsdale Pet Cemetery: Part One

Two weekends ago I travelled by Metro North for the first time a little ways upstate to visit America's first pet cemetery, in Hartsdale, NY. None of my friends are as interested in cemeteries as I am (unbelievable), so it was a solo adventure but I didn't mind at all. In fact, as much as I adore all of my friends and explorer companions, there are a few adventures that are better done as solo endeavors and cemeteries just happen to be at the very top of that list. Cemeteries are so peaceful and contemplative, and I don't ever expect anyone to be as fascinated or as willing to spend hours poring over old tombstones as I am.

Harstdale Canine Cemetery and Crematorium was established in 1896, when a New York City veterinarian offered to let a friend bury his dog in his apple orchard. There are more than 80,000 pets buried at Hartsdale, and not just dogs — I also saw headstones for cats, horses, rabbits, birds, and monkeys. I somehow missed the lion cub, who lived at the Plaza Hotel before coming to rest at Hartsdale, and I'm sure there are other species that aren't easily identified by their headstones.

It is the oldest operating pet cemetery in the world, and the only pet cemetery listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It's also the weirdest, saddest, funniest and most surreal place I've ever been. It was somehow exactly what I expected, yet so much more — it's kind of difficult to find words to describe how walking the grounds packed with stone after stone bearing names like "Jingles" or "Mr. Whiskers" made me feel, so it's probably just best to let the photos speak for themselves. Speaking of photos, I took so many (of course) that I will be splitting them into a few posts.

The first thing that hits you upon entering Hartsdale (besides how well-manicured the grounds are) are the names. If you missed the iron gate spelling out "Canine Cemetery," you will know as soon as you read the first tombstone that you're not in a regular "human" cemetery, but instead in a place where "Muffins" and "Buttons" are the norm. I didn't see any Mozarts (thankfully) but I did see a few "Sweet Peas," which is what I call Mozart most days, so those immediately caused me to tear up.

I noticed a lot of the classics — Fluffy, Rags, Spot, Sport, Rusty, Lucky, Sparky, Jingles, Princess and Pal, as well as a Grumpy, Lumpy, Souffle, Mignon, Fajita, Fudge, Winkie Barrymore, Mr. Thomas and (my favorite) Freckles Rutherford.

There was at least one Whiskers and one Mr. Whiskers, along with Snoopy, Woodstock, Lassie, Scooby, Petey, Morris, Bambi, Charlie (and Charlotte) Brown, Tweety, Toto, Lady AND the Tramp.

Gilmore Girls fans might understand my sadness at the Cinnamons and the Chin-Chin (no Paw Paw), and there were more than a few sequels including Muggsy I and II and Little Tinker and Tinker Too. I also paid my respects to Sam the Siamese, Jellicle Cat, Skimbleshanks, Buttons, Bows, Patches, Tinky, Toodles, Spuds, Sprouts and Fat Willie.

I even came across a simple stone with "Allie, My Love, Our Girl," which was the first time I'd ever seen my name carved into a tombstone before, so that was weird for me. I say Harstdale was a weird place because I've never been somewhere before that made me feel such conflicting emotions, and the names were a big part of that. I would be on the verge of tears, reading a super sweet epitaph and then immediately start laughing because how can you not when you pass by anything that bears the name Freckles Rutherford? It was completely disorienting in a way, but I was also grateful for the comic relief.

I have been to probably hundreds of "human" cemeteries and not once has any of them made me sad. I'm always fascinated by the history, the typography, the stories and the decay but I've never been the least bit sad or depressed being surrounded by the dead. Hartsdale was different though, in nearly every way, from any place I've ever been and it really hit me hard to be bombarded with row after row of departed animals.

Maybe it's because animals are so helpless and unconditionally lovable, or because I love Mozart like the kid I don't (or may never) have, but Hartsdale wins the distinction of being the first cemetery to actually make me cry. And then, of course, laugh because I am a human who will never not laugh at a name like Winkie Barrymore — may he rest in peace.

NYBG: Rose Garden

On Sunday, after I went to America's first pet cemetery (more on that later), I decided to stop at the New York Botanical Gardens to check on their rose garden. I had read that the roses were in peak bloom and I hadn't been back to the garden since the orchid show in March. I'm a member, so I get in for free, and there is a Metro North stop right outside of the entrance. I was coming back on the Metro North from Hartsdale, NY, and a walk through the roses seemed like a perfect end to a already-wonderful day.

It was a very sunny day and to my delight the roses were all in bloom and completely incredible. I've been to the rose garden before during its peak, so I knew what to expect, but it's still a thrill to see so many different kinds of roses in all shapes, sizes and colors in such a beautifully landscaped space. I always love the really dark purple flowers because they feel special, but I found myself really admiring the peachy orange ones on this trip.

Roses seem sort of cliché and old lady-like as a general rule, but that's really a stupid reason to discount them — there's definitely a reason they're so popular and classic at this point. Of course they all smelled amazing, and some of them have color gradations or petal patterns that are so intricate they almost seem fake.

I didn't spend much time in any other part of the NYBG on this visit, but the roses were so spectacular that I didn't really need to, and I love that I can go whenever the mood strikes me and not have to worry about seeing the whole place in one visit. I thought that with the end of spring would come the end of the beautiful blooms, but it's nice to know that although my beloved cherry blossoms and lilacs may be long gone, I can still get my flower fix without ever leaving the city.

Floyd Bennett Field

After we scavenged for treasures on the beaches of Dead Horse Bay, Trent and I weren't ready to call it a day yet, so we headed over to Floyd Bennett Field, which is basically across the street from the bay. FBF was New York City's first municipal airport. It opened in 1931 and was host to many record-breaking flights, including ones by Amelia Earhart and Howard Hughes.

Post-WWII until the 70s it was mostly used as a support base for the Navy and since 1972 it has been part of the Gateway National Recreation Area and managed by the National Park Service. The area is used for a variety of things today, including many campsites, athletic complexes and the NYPD.

There are many original buildings and hangars still standing, including the original Administration building which is used as a visitors center. It was open when we were there, and we were very thankful for their large, immaculate bathrooms and helpful park rangers. It's almost impossible to imagine that Floyd Bennett was the LaGuardia or JFK of its time, especially when you're used to the hell that is current-day airports.

The Administration building is beautiful, inside and out, and I love all of the golden-age-of-flight details that are totally just for fancy but really make all the difference. We were told by a park ranger that Hangar B — home to the Historic Aircraft Restoration Project — was open until 3pm, so we headed down an old runway about a quarter of a mile. We were literally the only people we ever saw walking down the runway — there were a lot of people that sped past us in cars, apparently delighting in a straight stretch of un-policed road and we thought were going to get to witness at least one drag race, but for the most part it was a nice walk.

You can even see the Empire State Building and the World Trade Tower off in the distance, peeking out over the protected wildlife refuge — so protected, in fact, that we saw an enormous snake laying by the side of the runway which was less than ideal for two city kids that had just spent the morning spraying themselves with tick spray because they read one Yelp review that mentioned ticks on the (not-at-all-wild) trail to Dead Horse Bay.

Hangar B looks like all the other abandoned hangars on the outside, but once you get inside you are surrounded by dozens of vintage aircrafts in various stages of restoration. It was an incredible space and we were welcomed by a super nice man who informed us that he was about to close up, but that we were free to wander around, take photos and stay as long as we liked.

I'm not very knowledgable about airplanes, but I've always loved vintage graphics, propeller stripes and military symbols. The painted on sharp teeth are my absolute favorite, followed closely by the beautiful pin-up girls and hand painted typography.

We pretty much saw all that Floyd Bennett Field had to offer in a few hours, minus the camp grounds which I really don't have much interest in since I didn't move to New York City to go camping, but I'd imagine it's super convenient if you're into that. Once again, I find myself marveling at the fact that I can have such varied adventures all within city limits and if I ever do find the urge to camp, I can do so without ever leaving Brooklyn.

Gravesend Cemetery

I had two days off a few weeks ago for Shavuot (I love my job) and after spending most of the first day securing tickets for Shakespeare in the Park, I wanted to squeeze in an adventure before the normal workweek resumed. Like most things I stumble upon, I'm not sure how I even found out about Gravesend Cemetery, but once I did I knew I needed to see it as soon as possible.

Gravesend was one of the six original towns in Kings County in colonial New York, and is located in south-central Brooklyn, just north of Coney Island. It's a bit of a trek by subway, but a majority of the ride is on an elevated track which is always more interesting than staying underground. At one point we passed by another enormous cemetery that I hadn't known about (Washington Cemetery), so I added that to my list — I actually tried to visit it on the way back, but it was already closed for the day.

The good thing about living somewhere that has always been as densely populated as New York City has is that all of those people eventually die and have to go somewhere, which means an abundance of cemeteries for me to explore. I'm still stumbling upon graveyards in Manhattan that I didn't know about, and it's a tiny, 13-mile long island. Add in the four other (much) larger boroughs and I doubt I'll ever see them all, no matter how long I live here.

Dating back to 1643, Gravesend Cemetery has been labeled the "oldest cemetery owned by New York City," by some but I can't find substantial evidence to entirely back that claim. Either way, it's a very old cemetery by US standards and certainly one of the best-named that I've ever seen.

The cemetery is tiny, and open "by appointment only," but I was pleased to discover that the surrounding fence has openings large enough to easily stick a camera through or your head, if you're into that. The arching, iron gate spelling out "Gravesend Cemetery" is worth the trip alone, and an adjoining cemetery maintained by the Van Sicklen family also has a beautiful arched entryway.

There is nothing too remarkable in the tombstone department, as far as I could see, and it's not nearly as densely packed or as crumbling as some city cemeteries I've been to. One of the creepier/better moments of my trip was spotting a (partially) black cat weaving in and out of the headstones — at one point he/she noticed me, stopped and stared for an uncomfortable amount of time, and then went on his/her way. I seem to have a knack lately for seeing black cats in especially creepy and abandoned places, which would probably worry some people — but I'm the girl that delights in using her days off to explore centuries-old graveyards, so my creep-barometer might just be skewed a bit differently than most.

Dead Horse Bay: Part Two

I finally had some time this weekend to clean and sort through the treasures that I brought home from Dead Horse Bay, one of my very favorite New York adventures to date. I tried not to go crazy grabbing bottles and trinkets to take back with me, both because I didn't want to carry a ton with me all day, and because living in a teeny tiny city apartment has made me super picky about any new non-essential acquisitions.

When I read about the abundance of horse bone pieces leftover from the bay's history playing host to horse-rendering plants, I half-joked that I wouldn't be happy if my backpack wasn't overflowing with skeletal remains by the end of the trip. I say half-joked because that's basically what ended up happening, minus the "overflowing" part.

When we arrived at the beach and started poking around, I was initially worried that I wouldn't be able to find any horse bones at all, but once I found the first one they became much easier to spot. I was actually so excited when I plucked that first bone out of the water that I yelled to Trent, who had gotten ahead of me, and did a crazy dance as I waved the bone over my head — which I assume is a totally normal reaction to have when finding 19th-century equine remains. I set the bone on a rock with the intention of coming back for it before we left, but I failed to account for the rising tides, which eventually swept the bone back into the ocean before I could grab it. Luckily we found more and more bones the further down the beach we got — so many, in fact, that I was able to sort out the better ones to keep, and leave the rest behind.

While Dead Horse Bay is most known for its bottles and bones, there were plenty of other interesting tidbits to keep us fascinated — irons, tires, basketballs, floor tiles, chairs and heaps of unidentifiable rusty parts, including what looked like it may have been a safe at some point. I lost count of how many different items I spotted and Trent and I had fun trying to identify some of the more puzzling pieces. Spark plugs, enamelware pots, railroad spikes, old metal signs, lawn chairs, bottle caps — there's probably no end to the different types of things you'd be able to find, depending on the day.

Horses weren't the only animals to meet their end at DHB either — we found plenty of carcasses in varying states of decay, including totally creepy/prehistoric horseshoe crabs, a seagull and a few very pungent fish. Horseshoe crabs don't just look prehistoric, they actually are prehistoric — they originated 450 million years ago and are thus considered to be 'living fossils.' None of the ones we saw were currently living (unless the one above was just sleeping off a Doritos binge), which was probably a good thing because look at that thing.

Even though the trash on the beach comes from an actual landfill, I was annoyed that people seem to think this gives them a free pass to leave their current-day trash behind. Maybe it's just a matter of perspective, but I feel bad for the people of the future if all they get to scavenge for is our left behind Doritos bags and plastic Gatorade bottles, while we get intricate glass soda bottles and beautifully patterned bits of china. Aside from the bones, my favorite beach discovery of the day was definitely the baby doll leg that I photographed, but didn't disturb, in hopes that it will continue to creep out visitors to Dead Horse Bay for many more years to come.

Dead Horse Bay: Part One

Friday Food: Di Fara Pizza

On Saturday, after an entire day of scavenging for bottles and bones at Dead Horse Bay and exploring the abandoned hangars at Floyd Bennett Field, Trent and I ended our day crossing yet another New York classic off of our lists: Di Fara pizza in Midwood, Brooklyn.

Owned and operated by Domenico DeMarco since 1965, Di Fara has been named the best pizza in New York by a number of publications and critics, including the Zagat Guide and Anthony Bourdain. I had somehow never heard of it before, but Trent mentioned that it was near the train we needed to take home, and might be a good stopping point after our day of adventuring. He had never been either, so we didn't exactly know what to expect except a really delicious pizza, and that ended up being an understatement.

All of the pizzas are (and have always been) made by Domenico himself —every single one. If he's not available, the restaurant is closed. He makes 100-150 pies a day, imports all of the ingredients and takes one, one-hour break every day. We got there during the break, so we waited in line to be certain we would get a table when they reopened for dinner. It's kind of a confusing system, but we ended up putting in our pizza order at their window about a half hour before they opened the doors. When they finally reopened, we were able to get a table, where we waited about a half hour more before our pizza was finally ready.

The inside of the restaurant is very tiny and with zero frills — I doubt that it has changed much at all since it opened in the 60s. Being able to watch the man himself make the pizza right in front of you is all part of the appeal — he even cuts fresh basil over each pie with a pair of scissors right before it goes out.

We kept it simple with a pepperoni pie, and when it finally arrived we immediately declared it worth the wait after the very first bite. I was determined not to let the hype cloud my judgment of the actual pizza, but I can honestly say that it was one of the best pizzas I've ever had.

The pepperoni was thick and crispy, the crust was thin thin thin, and the addition of the olive oil is a total game changer. From start to finish, we were there about three hours, which is a long time to wait for a pizza that only cooks for a few minutes, but the wait was all part of the experience. It was really nice to slow down for a few hours, and to actually see the person who made our food — for a pizza that good I'd do it all over again soon.

East Hampton: Part 3 - Main Beach

After we drooled over the outrageous mansions and creeped on creepy tombstones in the town of East Hampton on Memorial Day, we eventually ended up at the reason why most people escape to the Hamptons: the beach. It was really warm when we were walking through town, but it was at least ten degrees cooler once we reached the coast. I finally understood why so many New Yorkers flee the humid squalor of the city in the summer months for the breezy shores of the Hamptons, and I'm not even a beach person.

We were starving and I began to get worried that there wouldn't be any restaurants — especially because I promised Jim that there would be — but luckily the Chowder Bowl appeared and saved our friendship with burgers that were better than beach shack burgers should ever be. I also got a half lemonade / half cherry slush that was pretty much perfect, and fries that came in a cup that declared that it was "snack 'n time."

The Main Beach is a public beach, so there was no admission fee, and it was one of the prettiest, cleanest and most peaceful beaches I've ever been to. There were more ridiculously large, beautiful houses overlooking the ocean to gawk at, and the beach itself was suspiciously devoid of trash. Jim and I sat and watched the waves, trying to name all of the "rich people" trash that we might find instead of the band-aids, condoms and packets of ramen seasoning that you find on commoner beaches like Coney Island. Unfortunately, we came up short in the gold bar department, but we did find some slightly less lucrative treasures.

I found a handful of sea glass, some beautiful shells and — jackpot alert — three intact vertebrae (!). Surprisingly, it was my first time ever finding and keeping bones, although now that I think about it I don't know why it took me so long to begin a bone collection. I have no idea what animal the bones are originally from, and if anyone can tell me I'd very much appreciate your guesses. I think I may have stuck out a bit, dressed in all black as I photographed my vertebrae stash, but I couldn't have been happier.

Dead Horse Bay: Part One

On Saturday Trent and I made the trek to Dead Horse Bay in Brooklyn, a place we both just recently found out about but were very excited to check out. Dead Horse Bay is so named for the horse-rendering plants that lined the coastline from the 1850s to the 1930s. Around the turn of the century, the marsh was used for a landfill, and the beach flooded with trash when a cap on the landfill burst in the 1950s.

From everything we read about the beach, it sounded like a treasure-hunter's paradise and it definitely is — there are glass bottles, rusty car parts, chairs, irons, shoe soles, dead animals, horse bones, broken pieces of patterned china and endlessly fascinating bits of most anything else you can imagine. As usual, I took so many photos that I'm breaking them up into a few different posts.

The majority of the treasure is old glass bottles in every shape, size and state of intactness. I was fascinated by all of the different varieties, some I was familiar with — Coke, Pepsi, 7up — and some I had never heard of before. The pieces were sometimes even cooler than the intact bottles and I saved a few of the ones that had graphics or type that caught my eye. We even discovered a full wine bottle that still had its cork — it's probably still there if you want to take your chances. As the waves washed over the glass on the shore the bottles tinkled in a way that sounded like wind chimes. It was peaceful and wonderful in a strange, almost post-apocalyptic way, and I loved every minute of it.

Dead Horse Bay: Part Two

Statue of Liberty Crown

On the first day of June, three friends and I had Crown tickets for the Statue of Liberty. I had been to Liberty Island twice before, and rode by the Lady many times on the Staten Island Ferry but I had never been inside of the statue or the pedestal.

It was actually back in February, on one of those Staten Island Ferry trips, that Jim mentioned that he'd never been to Liberty Island. I told him that I'd go with him, but that I'd like to see if we could get inside. I did some research when I got home and discovered that access to the crown was kind of hard to get — there is a very limited number of tickets available each day, and they sell out months in advance. You can only order four tickets per household, and can place one order every six months. I went out on a limb and asked my friends what they were doing in June, picked a date, marked my calendar and kind of forgot about it. Then, suddenly it's June 1st and four of us are on a boat headed over to Liberty Island.

We totally lucked out weather-wise, especially considering we booked our tickets more than three months in advance — it was brilliantly sunny with hardly a cloud in the sky and warm but not the least bit humid with a nice breeze off the water. Once we got to the island, we had to go through a separate screening process to actually get into the statue and because we were going all the way up into the crown we were only allowed to take one camera per person and everything else went into a locker.

Immediately inside the statue is the original torch that was removed and replaced with the current one in 1984 due to deterioration. There is also a museum in the base but we headed straight to the stairs to start our climb: 377 steps, to be exact, from the main lobby to the crown platform. You're free to walk around the pedestal observation deck as well, which we did to break up the climb.

Even if you can't get crown tickets, I highly recommend at least getting inside the pedestal. It was pretty crowded, but the views are great and definitely a better way to see the statue than from ground level alone.

The climb from the pedestal to the crown is the scary part — you are forced into this tiny, cramped, claustrophobic-nightmare of a spiral staircase that begins to feel like it will never end (there are a few resting points on the climb up) but then, suddenly it does and you find yourself standing inside the head of one of the most famous statues in the world.

I feel dumb even admitting this, but for some reason I thought that the crown would be an open-air platform, although if I really think about it I have no clue why that idea was in my head. It is definitely an enclosed space — there are windows, a few of which were open, but they're teeny tiny. The entire space is tiny, in fact, and with the four of us, two park rangers and a few other people who came up after us, it got cramped real fast.

It's kind of hard to see much of anything out of the tiny windows, but if you crouch down and look hard enough for good angles, you can see the tablet, some crown spikes and her hand holding the bottom of the torch. It is pretty awesome to see the inside of such an iconic statue — the squiggly lines on the ceiling are her hair, and as you walk back down you can see the indentations of her eyes and nose.

It's incredibly fascinating to see how much complicated infrastructure is hiding inside all of those folds and I took my time coming back down, trying to take it all in. I definitely recommend trying to get crown tickets, if you can — when we were there I overheard that they were already booked up until September, but I can't imagine it's very pleasant on the super hot summer days anyway.

I think I'm pretty much good on seeing the Statue of Liberty for now, although it did cross my mind that I would like to see her covered in snow (it's open every day of the year except Christmas). We were also lamenting the fact that we couldn't go up in the torch — until we found out that it's actually been closed to the public since 1916.

East Hampton: Part 2 - South End Cemetery

One of the first places that Jim and I visited while we were exploring East Hampton was the South End Cemetery. I guess I sort of lied when I said that we didn't have any plans for the day, because I did know that there was a cemetery in between the train station and the beach, so of course it was always part of the non-plan plan. It was also Memorial Day, making it an appropriate (but really, when is it ever not appropriate?) and even more necessary stop along the way.

South End is the oldest cemetery in East Hampton, with tombstones dating back to the 17th century. The entire town of East Hampton was peaceful, beautiful and picturesque, and the cemetery was no exception. At one point, Jim said "this is one of the nicest cemeteries I've ever been to," and I totally agree. It was well-manicured, but still had a decaying, crumbling quality that is essential to a good, old cemetery.

The stones were mostly in great condition, but a lot of them had a few different types of lichen (moss? algae? mold?) growing all over that I'd never really seen in a cemetery before — maybe it's their proximity to the ocean and the moist, salty air? This, of course, only makes them creepier and more amazing to look at, and I could have spent hours staring at and photographing each and every one.

Even the stones that had broken or crumbled looked like they had been replaced at some point, with the newer stone sitting directly in front of the older stone. It took me a while to realize that the two stones weren't meant to mark to separate graves, and I appreciate the fact that they at least tried to keep the old stones, instead of just swapping them out for the newer models.

The cemetery is sandwiched in between Town Pond and the historical center of town, and is located across the street from the old Hook Mill, Home Sweet Home and the Mulford Farm museum. As if the historical homes, windmills, picket fences and peaceful waters weren't enough, I looked up from my camera at one point to see actual white swans floating in the pond. There were even children nearby catching frogs in nets and squealing with delight — the whole scene felt straight out of central casting.

There is also a North End cemetery about a mile up the road, but we didn't make it there on this trip — I guess I'll just have to go back so as far as East Hampton cemeteries are concerned, I can say I "collected them all."

Kara Walker + Domino Sugar Refinery

Last weekend a few friends and I went to see the Kara Walker art installations at the old Domino Sugar Refinery in Williamsburg. The show has been highly publicized to the point where it felt like it was going to be another Rain Room-type event— long lines, endlessly instagrammable, etc. To my delight, it ended up not only being relatively easy to get into, but once inside the whole installation and space really exceeded all of my expectations.

I arrived around 11:30 on a sunny Saturday morning and there was already a line, but it was nowhere near Rain Room proportions. The show opened at noon, so we didn't have to wait too long, and after a quick "sign this waiver so if the factory falls down while you're in it its not our fault" detour, we were inside.

I was just as interested in seeing the refinery space (one of several buildings in the massive Domino complex) as I was the art, but the two worked perfectly together to create an entire scene. I'm certainly not an art critic, nor do I consider myself informed enough to really comment on Walker's deep and emotional works, but I definitely think they need to really be seen (in person) to begin to be understood.

The main event is, of course, the massive (so much bigger than I had expected) Marvelous Sugar Baby sphinx, but I thought the smaller statues scattered around the refinery are just as powerful, especially when taken in all together. The main statue is covered in refined, white sugar, and is laying on a bed of it.

The smaller boy statues are a mix between ceramic, resin and actual candy — most are covered in molasses and some are disintegrating rapidly in the non-temperature controlled environment. They are holding bunches of bananas or baskets filled with sugar and are life-sized and completely disarming.

Because this is New York, and especially Williamsburg, most of the Domino Sugar Refinery will be torn down after this exhibit ends to make way for luxury apartments (among other things). One of the buildings and the famous Domino sign are landmarked, so they get to stay, but after July 6th everything else will be gone.

The refinery space is completely amazing — rusty beams, old signs, sugar caked on everything — and I'm already mourning its inevitable demise. I'm grateful, however that someone had the foresight to at least organize this exhibition as a "last hurrah," even if we were slightly horrified by people taking completely inappropriate photos/selfies with every piece of enlarged anatomy they could find.

It makes me wonder if the parents forcing their children to pose in front of the young boy sculptures (smile!) or the sphinx's large nipples (Here's one for the Christmas Card!) even had the slightest clue what they were actually seeing. We also wondered if Mario Batali, who was walking amongst the sculptures in his signature orange Crocs, was actually a fan of Walker's work — or was just there for the 30 tons of sugar.

East Hampton: Part 1

On Memorial Day, Jim and I decided to go to the Hamptons for the day just for fancy. Neither of us had ever been, and it felt appropriate for the unofficial start of summer. We took the LIRR from Atlantic Terminal and arrived in East Hampton a little more than three hours later. It was my second time riding the LIRR, and I much prefer train travel (or the subway) to driving. There's always something neat to look at out the window, I can read, put my feet up, take a nap — the journey is all part of the adventure.

Despite being us, we didn't have the entire day planned and didn't really know what to expect when we arrived. We picked East Hampton kind of randomly, based on equal parts proximity to the train station and the fact that Martha Stewart has a house there. If it's good enough for Martha, it's good enough for me, and we definitely weren't disappointed. In fact, I loved it from the moment we got off the train, and the day just got better and better.

We made our way down Main Street (yes, it was actually called Main Street), drooling over the property listings in the windows (sample price: $59 million) and then over the actual properties themselves. I've never met a cedar-shingled house that I didn't love, and East Hampton has them in spades. The streets had fairytale names like Pleasant Lane and we walked past some of the most beautiful homes that I've ever seen.

We eventually even made our way to Lily Pond Lane — home of Ms. Stewart herself — where I got as close to her house as I felt I could without jeopardizing any future potential job opportunities at her company. We mostly just walked around and pretended like we actually belonged in East Hampton — maybe we were the rebel children of impossibly wealthy parents — and it was entirely delightful.

We spent some time at the beach and an amazing cemetery (more on those later), and tried to tour a few historical homes/museums but they were closed due to the holiday. We ate burgers on the beach, had ice cream from a shop called "Scoop du Jour," browsed a book store and wondered what it would be like to be rich and buy all of our books at full-price. It was the perfect outside of the city adventure — close enough to do in a day but far enough away to feel like another world.

My Eleventh Month as a New Yorker

After a slow start in April, the city really started to come alive again in May. It seemed as if the tulips, cherry blossoms and beautiful blooms would never get here, and then it started to seem as if they would never leave. Then suddenly they were gone, replaced by greenery that, thanks to a few substantial storms, has made summer feel as if it's here to stay for awhile.

I spent a lot of time in the outer boroughs, returning once again to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden (finally catching the cherry esplanade in bloom) and making frequent visits to Queens, home of so many World's Fair and diner delights. I was finally eligible for health insurance at work (boo waiting periods!), saw Sarah Jessica Parker speak, partied like it was 1994 with the Counting Crows, walked by Katie Couric during my morning commute, skipped an Ingrid Michaelson concert I really wanted to see because I just didn't feel like dealing with a crowd of people, saw Mario Batali and his Crocs at the Domino Sugar Factory and stalked Martha Stewart in East Hampton.

In short, May was nothing but delightful from beginning to end — a few more highlights from my eleventh month as a New Yorker:

I bought a taco change purse at a work rummage sale for 50 cents  /  My commute through Central Park every day was almost too beautiful too handle  /  The Conservatory Garden tulips were super late to the blooming party, but the Brooklyn Botanic Garden was a hit as always, with their tulips, desert collection and cherry blossoms (finally!).

I visited Astoria Park, with a beach made of glass and wonderful bridge views / I tried on some wigs and discovered a bizarro version of myself / I did (the chilly and windy) Walk MS and raised $1k for Multiple Sclerosis Research (a very big thank you to everyone who donated or walked with me!) / I continued to fall even harder in love with the crazy tulips popping up everywhere / I couldn't resist a petal-covered manhole cover.

My beloved cherry blossoms started to fall and still managed to look beautiful  /  I spent a rainy day at the movies (Neighbors was hilarious)  /  I got my mom the best Mother's Day card ever made  /  I continued my diner adventures at the Airline Diner in Queens /  I took what may be my very first "jumping" photos with the best of friends on a sunny rooftop, right before we watched the sunset over the Hudson.

The Conservatory Garden tulips finally bloomed, and they were beautiful (although not as good as two years ago)  /  The wisteria was unreal  /  Coworkers who bring donuts are the best coworkers  /  I got new glasses from Warby Parker and made use of the (free!) photo booth in their new Upper East Side location during my lunch break  /  I celebrated the fifth birthday of these crazy cute grey bunny feet (and their loud and annoying but wonderful owner, Mozart)  /  I spent a lazy Saturday wandering around the Brooklyn Flea and Fort Greene Park.

A group of us went to the World's Fair 50th Anniversary Festival, where I finally realized my dream of seeing the Unisphere fountains turned on, toured the amazing New York State Pavilion and saw the Batmobile (and BatPhone!)  /  My coworker, Francesca, introduced me to (the incredible) Molly's Cupcakes and I bought a few for her birthday  /  I sniffled my way through the newly-opened 9/11 Memorial Museum and had the best mail day ever (Mozart approved).

I spent a rainy Saturday at a surprise party for Francesca on the UES and walked home across the park just in time to catch a beautiful sunset over the Reservoir  /  I attended a rooftop BBQ in Brooklyn with amazing views and delicious treats  /  Jim and I spent Memorial Day pretending to be fancy in East Hampton, where we visited the most beautiful cemetery, hung out at the beach and I went home happy with a pocket full of vertebrae (and sea glass!).

I went to see Grey Reverend at Rockwood Music Hall and he was amazing — so was the stamp they used on my hand  /  We went to see the Kara Walker exhibit at the Domino Sugar Refinery, then over to Roosevelt Island (Jim's first time!) for some tram action, the always-amazing Smallpox Hospital ruin and Four Freedoms Park.

Growing up, summer was always my least favorite season, but I think New York is changing that. I can safely say that I now love all four seasons equally, even if there's really no use in hating any of them — they'll all happen eventually with my permission or not. I definitely don't feel as if I missed out on any spring activity or colorful bloom, so I feel fully ready for all that summer has to offer — free movie nights, park picnics, bench naps, beach days, outdoor dining, rooftop drinks and a few  very exciting trips outside of the city.

It's hard to believe that I only have one more month left before I've officially been a New Yorker for an entire year and can stop counting my time here in months. Of course, that doesn't mean that I'm going to stop having adventures — believe it or not, I'm just getting started.

World's Fair Festival: Part 2 - NY State Pavilion

While we were at the 50th Anniversary World's Fair Festival in Queens, we got the extraordinary opportunity to tour the inside of the New York State Pavilion. The Philip Johnson-designed complex was built for the 1964 World's Fair and included the Tent of Tomorrow, the Theaterama, three observation towers and a large scale terrazzo Texaco highway map of New York State on the main floor.

Unfortunately the structures have basically become ruins over time and are currently closed to the public (the Theaterama has been restored and is home to the Queens Theatre). I have been admiring the inside of the pavilion (through very tiny fence openings) since I first went to the park last year, and never dreamed that I'd actually be able to step inside of it (legally).

I tried, unsuccessfully to get inside during tours back in April but the demand was insane and I was totally bummed that I had missed out. When we got to the festival, by chance we heard a woman explaining to a long line of people waiting to sign up for walking tours that they were not in line to tour the pavilion — if they wished, they would have to go stand in a different line right outside of the pavilion. We immediately hurried over to the entrance and found that there was almost no line at all — in fact I confirmed with a volunteer that they were even doing tours because the line was so inexplicably short. We totally just lucked out though, because very soon enough it started to grow, and by the time we got out of the pavilion the line was appropriately (i.e. very) long.

We all had to put on hard hats before we entered, but then we were allowed to wander as we pleased. We were once gently told to hurry up, but not before I had already taken about a million photos and squealed with delight more times than I can remember.

There isn't much left inside of the pavilion, but just being able to step inside was thrilling beyond words. There were pieces of the terrazzo map on display, with the rest of it (or what's left, anyway) covered in gravel to protect it from any further decay. There were a few objects on display, including a piece of the "Otis Escal-Aire," a streamlined escalator that debuted at the fair and later was used by Diana Ross in The Wiz — you can still see the entire thing, although you couldn't get very close, and the upper mezzanine was not open for exploration.

There has been a lot of talk recently about the pavilion finally getting a major restoration, which I'm totally supportive of — we all signed a petition to help save the structures — but the ruins are also so amazing in their current state. No matter what ends up happening with the pavilion, I'll always be glad that I saw how it looked during its 50th year, and sad I never got to experience it in its full '60s glory.

9/11 Memorial Museum

Wednesday was the first day that the 9/11 Memorial Museum was open to the public and my friend Alisha was able to get free tickets through work. I am adamantly against the regular admission price ($24) to begin with — I feel like it should be suggested donation, if anything at all — but I was curious to see the museum.

9/11 is the first huge, historical event that I was actually very much alive for — I was 16 and watched the horrible events unfold live during my high school Spanish class. I had first been to New York (and had fallen madly in love with the city) two years earlier, although we never visited the World Trade Towers. My love of New York has only grown in leaps and bounds with each passing year, and now that I can finally call myself a resident seeing the museum felt like something I needed to do.

I hesitate to describe the museum with any adjectives that would come across as disrespectful — I wasn't excited to go, but I was interested. I didn't have an awesome time, but it was, I thought, a very moving experience. It was also incredibly heartbreaking, terrifying, abstract, emotional and every other word that comes to mind when you think of a museum devoted entirely to remembering a great national tragedy.

I think the design of the museum is very well done, and beautiful in its openness, stark spaces and industrial feel. There are, of course, objects, both enormous (part of the antennae, a tangled firetruck, twisted steel beams) and tiny (shoes worn by evacuees, Metrocards that were used that day, Yankees tickets for a game that never happened that night) but it's the stories and the faces that hurt the most.

None of us left the memorial rooms filled with photos of the victims with dry eyes, and the recordings of voice messages from people within in the towers were the hardest to bear. There are tissue boxes placed in nearly every room, and for good reason — you won't question their necessity at all — in fact there were times we wondered why there weren't more of them around (maybe they ran out?).

The events of 9/11 are so crazy complicated and emotional that it's hard to know how I feel about any of it — sad, confused, angry, scared, detached or all of the above. I do know, however, how I feel about the museum gift shop selling 9/11-themed magnets, silk scarves and cheese boards — embarrassed, for those who buy those things as well as for those who profit from them.

I wish, of course, that 9/11 had never happened but unfortunately we can only go forward, not back. I can't say that I'll be returning to the museum anytime soon, and I'll likely be recovering from my first visit for a long time, but if the true goal of the memorial is that we "never forget," then, at least in my experience, the museum is a success.

World's Fair Festival: Part 1

On Sunday my friends and I went to Flushing-Meadows Corona Park for the 50th Anniversary World's Fair Festival. I had gone back in April for the actual anniversary of opening day, but this was an actual NY Parks-sanctioned festival so there was a lot more going on. The park was more crowded than I had ever seen it, and although I prefer my desolate January visits, it was nice to see so many people interested in the World's Fair sites.

Sunday was definitely one of those "I can't believe how wonderful my life is" magic New York days, beginning with the fact that the fountains around the Unisphere were turned on. I have been dreaming of the day that I would finally see them working, yet actually seeing them in person somehow managed to exceed my expectations. The Unisphere itself is always impressive, but the fountains take it to a whole different level. A few hours after we arrived, the fountains were actually turned off again— I read that they were blowing on people — and I'm sad that we didn't get to enjoy them for longer, but ecstatic that we saw them at all.

Shortly after arriving we also got to tour the New York State Pavilion and I took so many photos that it warrants its own post entirely. There were walking tours, memorabilia tents and a lot of food vendors — I was excited for the Belgian waffles, but they turned out to be from the Wafels and Dinges trucks, which are all over the city so it wasn't really worth standing in the insanely long line. Speaking of long lines, we did wait more than an hour for a completely average and ridiculously expensive pulled pork sandwich, which is probably as close to an authentic World's Fair experience as we'll ever get.

There were classic cars on display, including a Batmobile — complete with the very awesome BatPhone — a show with replica World's Fair structures made from Legos, and even a vintage Greyhound cart that was zipping around the grounds. We all agreed that they should make this a yearly event and I don't think I'll ever get sick of seeing the Unisphere fountains — I hope I get to catch them on periodically for at least another 50 years.

Friday Food: The Airline Diner

After finishing my (sadly short) list of stand-alone diners left in Manhattan, I knew I wanted to continue my search into the outer boroughs. Last Sunday I went to the Airline Diner in Queens, which was established in 1952 as the Airline but is now part of the Jackson Hole franchise. It's located on Astoria Blvd, close to LaGuardia (hence the airline theme) and accessible by taking the N/R or the M60 bus (I took the bus).

Thankfully they've kept the exterior pretty much intact, and the interior is classic diner décor through and through — shiny vinyl chairs, amoeba-patterned tabletops, jukeboxes, vintage signs — if you think a classic diner should have something, chances are the Airline does. I'm not sure how much of the interior is "original" but none of it feels forced or out of place and it all looked pretty authentic.

The building itself looks as if it has been added onto at some point, and is twice as big as I expected it to be. There is an additional seating area in the back that you access by walking behind the counter, so although there were a lot of people waiting we were seated fairly quickly. I had cinnamon raisin bread french toast, which was as delicious as it sounds, and their diner coffee was strong and the refills plentiful.

I really appreciate that, although they clearly rebranded the diner as the Jackson Hole, they did so in a way that remained faithful to the original signage. So many places would have just slapped a terrible modern logo onto the amazing neon signs or, worse yet, replaced them all together.

You might recognize the Airline from Goodfellas, a movie I definitely should see and I'm kind of embarrassed to say that I haven't yet. The only bad part about going in the morning is that we didn't get to see all of the beautiful neon lit up — I guess I'll just have to go back at nighttime and try one of their "famous" burgers.

I'm very excited about continuing my diner adventures and exploring new-to-me parts of this wonderful city. I'm going to try to go to one new diner each weekend whenever I can — I have no idea where the next one will be but that's all part of the adventure.

New York Rooftops

I was never a huge fan of backyards, even though I grew up with a fairly large one and had an even bigger yard with the last house I lived in in Ohio. The maintenance always far outweighed the enjoyment in my experience, so I never really felt like I was missing out by moving into an apartment.

Turns out that not only do I not miss my yard, but I have (somewhat recently) discovered the true delight that is the city rooftop. I went to my first official rooftop party back when I moved here in the summer, but a few weeks ago Jim introduced me to my first rooftop bar, 230 Fifth. He had a friend in town and I met them on one of the first warm Fridays of this spring for drinks after work.

230 Fifth is located in the Flatiron neighborhood and I was completely unprepared for the incredible views from the two-floor indoor/outdoor Penthouse space. We arrived just as the sun was setting — you can see Lower Manhattan and the World Trade Tower to the south, and the view of the Empire State Building is the best I've ever seen, with the possible exception of from Top of the Rock.

The best part about 230 Fifth is how accessible it is — for some reason I expected a rooftop bar to feel snooty or exclusive, but it was totally chill. You don't even technically have to order anything, although sipping on a fancy cocktail (no matter how overpriced they may be) while watching the sunset as the Chrysler Building lights up is kind of the complete package.

Last Sunday I found myself once again enjoying an adult beverage on a rooftop, this time at my friend Trent's apartment building in Hell's Kitchen. It was his birthday and the weather was incredible, so after brunch we grabbed some drinks and a few snacks and headed to the roof.

The view can't quite compete with the one from 230 Fifth, but it's kind of the quintessential New York rooftop — water tower, satellite dishes, random wires and a ledge so short that you feel like you could plummet to your death at any moment. I'm not generally afraid of heights — I much prefer bridges to tunnels — but keeping a safe distance from the edge is always a good idea.

We had a total American-Beauty-moment watching three balloons float by, weaving their way in between buildings and coming dangerously close to a particularly pointy spire — they eventually floated out of sight, but it was a pretty appropriate sighting for a birthday celebration. We also made friends with a hotel guest across the street, waving and raising our glasses in a silent toast to New York, rooftops and the fact that he was (almost) fully-clothed.

We didn't really do much more than sit around, talk and enjoy the amazing weather — although we did interrupt the relaxing for a few very necessary jumping photos when I remembered that I had brought along my camera. We stayed on the roof until the sun set over the Hudson, finishing our drinks, talking about how much we love this city, and —with views (and friends) like these — how could we not?