Harry Houdini's Grave

At the beginning of July, my friend Jess took me on a Sunday adventure to see Harry Houdini's grave. She had been there once, many years ago, and currently lives close to the cemetery belt, a two-and-a-half-mile stretch of cemeteries between Ridgewood and Glendale in Queens. Houdini is buried in Machpelah, a Jewish cemetery that apparently used to be in much rougher shape than it is today. When we went, however, it looked tidy and well-cared for, and Houdini's grave is relatively easy to find.

It's a large, family plot containing Houdini's mother, father, grandfather and siblings along with the famous magician himself. Following years of vandalism (and frequent unsanctioned séances) the site was restored in 1996 with the help of donations from fellow magicians. It's a lovely space with a wide curving bench, a gorgeous mosaic featuring the crest of the Society of American Magicians and a beautiful stone mourner—all watched over by a recently restored bust of Houdini.

I've read that people have been known to leave playing cards or other magic props, but the only things we found were a dime, a rosary (I wonder if they knew Houdini—née Erik Weisz—was Jewish) and a handwritten note. The dime was odd to me because I seem to find them everywhere I go and I'd love to know what the Houdini connection is, if there is one. There were also a lot of stones on Houdini's ground marker, which is a Jewish tradition—flowers are thought to be a pagan custom and you will rarely see them in predominately Jewish cemeteries.

I'm always intrigued to see the gravesites of historical or famous figures—more times than not I find them to be kind of humble in scale and decoration. Houdini's is one of the more elaborate sites I've seen, but it still could be easily overlooked if you're not specifically on the hunt for it.

Fun fact: Houdini actually died on Halloween and every November the Society of American Magicians performs a broken wand ceremony at his gravesite. It just might be time to return to Machpelah and pay my respects once more to the entire Weisz clan.

TWA Flight Center

As part of the annual Open House New York weekend, Jim and I spent Saturday afternoon touring the TWA Flight Center at JFK International Airport. I had never been to JFK before, but through Jim I knew about the Flight Center and was eager to get a peek inside of such an iconic building.

The Flight Center opened in 1962 and ceased operations in 2001. The interior and exterior are designated landmarks and over the years both have undergone renovations—some of which restored portions of the original design that had at one time or another been changed. The building is not currently in use but there are plans to turn it into a hotel lobby, so this may have been the last time to see it in its current state.

You might recognize parts of the building from Catch Me if You Can—Frank(Leonardo DiCaprio) first reports for duty as a pilot inside of the Flight Center and then at the end of the movie Carl (Tom Hanks) chases Frank down one of the entrance tunnels (although with gray carpeting).

Immediately upon stepping into one of the two concrete, red-carpet-lined tunnels connecting the Flight Center to the rest of Terminal 5, you feel completely transported back to an era when flying somewhere was an actual event. Instead of the horrible, sweatpants-and-flip-flops-and-Auntie-Anne's-Pretzels nightmare that airports are today, the Flight Center had the Paris Cafe, the Lisbon Lounge, a Noguchi fountain, a shoe-shine station and the coolest red-on-red seating pit that you never knew you were missing.

The entire floor is covered in the most adorable penny tiles, some of which continue upwards on the sweeping surfaces and curving walls. Speaking of the swoops and curves—the entire building is a gleaming white endorsement of the beauty of flight and it seems impossible that anyone would be able to envision such a space, let alone actually construct it out of concrete. Everything about it feels vintage yet futuristic, and it is certainly leaps and bounds above any public space I've ever been inside of before.

Like any great historical building, the TWA Flight Center made us yearn for the ability to experience it in its heyday—to watch flights taking off and landing while we sipped martinis—a full year before Idlewild Airport would be renamed JFK in honor of the fallen President. Of course, we also left saddened by the fact that not only is time travel not possible (yet!) but that current-day air travel is so dreadfully mundane and ugly—unnecessary evils that Eero Saarinen so beautifully ignored more than 50 years ago.

NYBG: Haunted Pumpkin Garden

I didn't have to work yesterday (or today)—thank you obscure Jewish holidays!—so yesterday I spent the day at the New York Botanical Garden. I became a member last winter and I've been trying to go and see the garden in every season since. The Kiku: The Art of the Japanese Garden show just started, but I was most excited about seeing the Haunted Pumpkin Garden.

The HPG is technically for children, and when I went on a weekend last year it was full of them (not my favorite thing). On a Thursday afternoon, however, I mostly had the garden to myself and it was much better than I remember from last year. Most (if not all) of the carved pumpkins are fake, but like the Great Jack'O'Lantern Blaze, it doesn't really diminish the overall effect.

The weather was perfectly fall-like yesterday and seeing so many pumpkins in all different shapes and sizes really thrust me headfirst into the Halloween mood. At every turn there were more and more pumpkins—grey-green ones, white ones, ones with bumps and spots and even some of the biggest pumpkins I've ever seen (600+, 700+, 900+ lbs.).

The carvings were all different and appropriately spooky and I especially love the way that they incorporate the pumpkins into their environments—bats in trees, mushrooms in the forest—everywhere you looked there was a glimpse of orange peeking out from somewhere. A few of the creations were painted bright colors, but pumpkins come in so many different and beautiful colors that I'm glad most were left as nature intended.

I'm sure children would love the interactive events but definitely don't discount the HPG just because it's in the Children's Adventure Garden. I saw more adults walking through than children (thankfully) and I hope I never grow out of my love of all things Halloween. Although, if there's any "children's" activity that I can get behind it's certainly one that involves creepy carvings, a few bones and at least one vulture.

House of Frankenstein Wax Museum

While we were in Lake George, after (devastatingly) discovering the Magic Forest had already closed for the season, I opened my Roadside America app and started searching for something else to see. I settled on the House of Frankenstein Wax Museum because it was close to where we were, looked sufficiently weird enough and, most importantly, was open. It was pretty cheap as far as attractions go (under $10/person) and promised 52 exhibits of strange and macabre delights.

It's hard to explain the feeling we had as we walked out of the wax museum, and photos don't really do it justice since the lighting was almost nonexistent, but it was definitely strange, absolutely macabre and totally worth the visit.

There were exhibits that followed well-known stories—Edgar Allan Poe, Freddy Krueger, The Curse of the Mummy, etc.—as well as more general themes such as the Fortune Teller, Room of Rats or the Mad Scientist. I'm not sure how long the museum has been in operation, but from the looks of the beautiful hand-painted plaques at each exhibit, it's been open for a while. The whole place had a vintage, old-timey feel to it, which fit in perfectly with the rest of Lake George.

The most unnerving scenes in the museum were the ones that depicted scenarios that were a little too close to real life, even for me. There were a few like the Starving Prisoner that were just kind of sad, and then there was the Electric Chair. I'm not even sure if I can accurately describe the Electric Chair tableau except to say that you're responsible for "pulling" the switch and the results are nothing short of terrifying.

While it's called a wax museum, a majority of the exhibits at the House of Frankenstein move in someway or another—a blade swings back and forth, a sarcophagus opens and closes—but the Electric Chair exhibit featured such violent and realistic shocks, combined with a chilling soundtrack that actually made me a bit uneasy. Not so uneasy that we didn't watch it a few more times, but still it was weird and it's not often that I see something that catches me off-guard and truly creeps me out. I suppose that is the highest compliment that I can pay to the House of Frankenstein—don't say I didn't warn you.

Venice: Signage

If I was forced to pick a favorite of the five cities we visited in Italy this summer, I would have to say it was Venice. Of course Venice is a totally cliché answer to that question, but everything you've heard or thought about it is true—it's completely magical. My first thought when we arrived was "it's exactly as beautiful as everyone says."

One thing that I hadn't really expected, but was pleased to discover, was the amazing signage that I came across at nearly every turn. Venice doesn't have street signs (or any real standardized way of navigating) so most of the directional signage is painted on the sides of buildings or built into the streets themselves in the form of beautiful mosaics.

Of course, not really knowing the language makes any sign feel even more romantic and special—signs for restaurants, camera stores and gelaterias were all beautiful and unique. The Foto Blitz turned out to be a teeny tiny souvenir store that sold postcards and stamps—not exactly the time warp that I had in mind when I started following all of the vintage signage. I imagine that most of the photo developing signs are leftover from a time when everyone was traveling with film and didn't want to wait to return home before seeing their snapshots.

Even the hand-painted signs above the prison cells in the bottom of the Doge's Palace were incredible, proving that the most unforgiving places can benefit from expert signage. On our last day in Venice, I found myself photographing a sign only to have my uncle point out that it was for a funeral home, which of course made me appreciate it even more.

Green-Wood Cemetery Open House

Last Saturday Jim and I had tickets to the annual Open House at Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn. We had been looking for a ghost or cemetery tour to take during October, and when I read that they would be opening the doors to some of the mausoleums and the catacombs I knew that we had found our tour.

The day ended up being so awesome, and Green-Wood is just so magical and beautiful that I went back for Sunday's tour as well. By the end of the weekend I had seen inside 15 mausoleums in addition to every room contained within the catacombs and I couldn't have been happier.

Most of the mausoleums were more ornate on the outside than on the inside, but it was so exciting to actually get to step inside of the iron gates and granite doors that are always closed so tightly. There was a volunteer or two stationed at each mausoleum in period costume, ready to recite the story of the family contained within. We learned about John Anderson, the tobacco shop owner who employed (and was later suspected of murdering) the "beautiful cigar girl," Mary Rogers; John LaFarge, a stained glass maker and Tiffany rival; Valentine Mott the ambidextrous surgeon; Henry Steinway, the original piano man; and Albert Ross Parsons, pianist and Egyptologist (guess which mausoleum is his).

The stories were all so fascinating and uniquely New York, featuring famous families such as the Schermerhorns, Whitneys, Durants and Niblos. There was even one mausoleum designed by Stanford White himself and built using steps from the original New York Public Library (Stewart's, at the beginning of this post).

One of the coolest things about each of the mausoleums was the keys. Most of the ones we saw had their original keys dangling from the door—huge, heavy and incredibly beautiful old keys that are kept in the front office and available to families any time they wish to have access to their respective mausoleums.

I've spent countless hours wandering around cemeteries, standing on my tip toes, trying to peek inside the gates of mausoleums just hoping to catch a glimpse inside. I never imagined that I would one day be welcomed and even encouraged to snoop around such iconic tombs. Some of the interiors were in less-than ideal condition, which was kind of sad—a majority of them had water damage, some contained broken bits of statues and headstones and there was even one with a cardboard box sitting in the corner filled with broken pieces of what was once its stained glass window.

The creepiest thing I saw, however, was the marker on a wall inside of the catacombs that had tiny little handprints all over it. While I realize that they are probably raccoon pawprints, it was still super weird to see them and made me wonder how the critter(s) managed to get inside the sealed doors (maybe they were on the tour?) and why they were only on Henry C. Hadley's marker and not anywhere else within the catacombs?

It was a wonderful kick-off to October and all of its impending fall delights. This is my favorite month and time of year (if that wasn't already obvious) and I'm so excited that, at least for a little while, it will be perfectly acceptable to take cemetery tours, talk about dead things and wear my skull-and-crossbones socks.

Governor's Island

Governor's Island is one of those summer activities that you promise yourself that you're going to do when the weather starts getting warm and then suddenly it's snowing and you wonder if summer even really happened at all.

Last year I went a few times and loved it so I vowed to go back. This year an entirely new portion of the island opened to visitors—including a magical land called Hammock Grove—so of course I had to go check it out.

Jim and I were finally able to make it by the end of August, and this weekend is the last chance to see Governor's Island before it closes again until May. We were lucky enough to grab two (out of the fifty) hammocks when we first arrived, and they're just as relaxing and fun as you think they'll be. The only problem with Hammock Grove is that there is absolutely zero shade—you are surrounded by trees, but they're tiny and new—in a hundred years it will be amazing. Although we roasted and got awkwardly sunburnt, we were still laying in hammocks in the middle of New York City.

The rest of the time we spent just walking around the island (it was Jim's first time there) and I always manage to see something new. A lot of the old military buildings are abandoned and I almost got up the nerve to slip into the open window of one, but I chickened out like usual. I settled for sticking my camera through the window to creep on the incredible layers of peeling paint while scolding Jim for being such an upstanding, law-abiding citizen (the nerve).

The only bad part about Governor's Island is the excess of children, especially around the part of the island that houses a huge bell (oh god,that bell), but maybe that's just the spinstery, get-off-my-lawn old lady in me. There are a ton of food trucks to pick from, and we had delicious Philly cheesesteaks before hitting up the iconic Mister Softee (the first time for both of us!) because rainbow sprinkles always make an already-wonderful day even better.

We also both tried coconut water for the first time because they were handing them out for free. Turns out we weren't missing much, because no one told us that coconut water is terrible. But we did drink it while sitting in rocking chairs on the porch of an old dormitory overlooking men in Civil-War-era costumes, so I can't really complain.

Downtow Newpot

Last weekend Jim, Katie and I went to Newport, RI for two days of mansion tours, delicious food, cemeteries and general New England-y delights. I'd been to Newport once before, but I never turn down a chance to explore and there's definitely a reason why Newport was the summer destination for anyone who was anyone in the Gilded Age.

We bought a five-house mansion tour ticket and chose the Breakers, Rosecliff, Kingscote, Chateau-Su-Mer and the Isaac Bell house. The Isaac Bell house was my favorite on my first trip, and it still manages to hold onto that title 7 years later. It's a shingle-style lovers dream, with a wraparound, two-story porch that I would probably never leave.

We also walked a portion of the Cliff Walk, which overlooks the ocean on one side and the backyards of gorgeous mansions on the other, and features some of the best warning signs I've ever seen (totally to scale). We had breakfast at Ma's Donuts and More, where I had one of the best sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches I've ever had (bold claim) and I took an apple cider donut to go, which I did not regret.

Saturday we saw the Newport Casino (now the International Tennis Hall of Fame), designed by Charles McKim of the famous architecture firm McKim, Mead and White, and ate lunch at the La Forge restaurant that overlooks the tennis court. Sunday we ate lunch at White Horse Tavern which was founded in 1673 and claims to be America's Oldest Tavern (definitely haunted).

We drove along Ocean Drive, stopped for a Del's Frozen Lemonade—always delicious, despite Jim's having a bee in the bottom—and of course I made sure there was time for a stop at the Common Burying Ground and Island Cemetery, which is on Farewell Road (!). I couldn't find the colonial-era slave grave portion of the cemetery, but there were a lot of very old tombstones, which I can't get enough of—the winged skulls are my absolute favorite and this cemetery had quite a few in relatively good shape, especially considering they were from the early 1700s.

Newport was the perfect weekend trip and getaway from the city, which I definitely appreciate, despite my love of all things New York. Every time I go to New England, I fall in love with its charms a bit more and I take comfort in knowing that when I eventually tire of city life, I can start the next chapter of my life in New England—where I will buy a rambling haunted house, fill it with cats, tie cornstalks to the porch, pretend like it's always Halloween and live happily ever after.

Magic Forest in Lake George, NY

At the beginning of September we went on a weekend road trip to Vermont to see a play on a Saturday night and I knew I wanted to find something weird and roadside-attractiony to see on the way back to New York. A bit of scouring on the Roadside America app led me to the discovery of the Magic Forest amusement park, in the resort town of Lake George, New York.

Opened in 1963, Magic Forest doesn't seem to have changed much—if at all—since the '60s and I was super excited to spend the day there taking photos of all of the Muffler Men, rickety rides and fairytale-themed buildings nestled amongst the pine trees.

Well, thanks to Google horribly misrepresenting their hours, we drove two hours only to find out that the Magic Forest was closed for the season. I spent a good deal of time walking around the fences, trying to decide if I could overcome my annoying law-abiding nature and break in, but I eventually decided against it. From what I could see through the fences, the Magic Forest looked even more spectacular than I had imagined—creepy and kitschy and just the right amount of run down to make me devastated that I have to wait almost an entire year before the park opens again.

They're open from Memorial Day to Labor Day, and I've already vowed to return for opening weekend. They have the World's Largest Uncle Sam, a train, a tram, a mile-long safari, a magic show and the only remaining diving horse attraction in the country, not to mention all of the statues and fairytale cottages—Magic Forest might be my favorite place and I haven't even stepped inside of the gates yet.

Photos of People Taking Photos

Yikes. It's been a while.

I spent more than half of August seeing (nearly) every single famous piece of artwork, extravagant church and ruin that Italy has to offer, courtesy of my amazing Uncle Steve who was my travel companion, guide and historian—all of which he does with ease and expertise. Five days after I returned to the States—incredibly cultured, fancy and exhausted—I moved out of my first New York apartment and into a much bigger, better and (inexplicably) cheaper apartment 15 blocks north.

I was also insanely busy at work, designing (among other things) a double-page spread in the New York Times, which was a crazy dream come true to open up the paper of record and see something I more-or-less created staring right back at me. BUT none of that is really important because this is a blog about adventures, and I have so many of them to recount that even if I stayed locked in my apartment (with my two fireplaces—!) for the rest of this year I would still have things to blog about. So, although I have barely had time to unpack let alone make any significant dent in the more than two thousand photos I took in Italy, I came across a group of photos I took in Florence that I just had to share immediately.

Florence was the second city on our itinerary and after the grand scale and ruin of Rome, it was a welcome change of pace. Florence was beautiful and significantly more compact than Rome, so we had more of an opportunity to focus our time.

One of our stops was the Galleria dell'Accademia to see Michelangelo's masterpiece, the David. Arguably one of the most, if not the most, famous statues in the entire world, the David is the Accademia's main attraction. There isn't much more in the museum, although my uncle and I both found Michelangelo's unfinished slave sculptures to be equally as intriguing and worthy as the more polished and idealistic David.

Once I got over the initial, surreal feeling of seeing such a crazy-iconic piece in real life, I shifted my focus to the crowd's behavior in the presence of such a famous work. There were a lot of selfies which are always incredibly awkward to witness—I feel the same way watching people take selfies as I do when I accidentally make eye contact with a dog that is mid-poop. Both activities seem intensely intimate and out-of-place in a public setting. But just because I'm uncomfortable does not mean that I'm not also fascinated—with how/if people smile, how they arrange themselves in front of the backdrop of choice and what they do following a successful capture (presumably Instagram it?).

Most people, however, immediately took out their phone and quickly snapped a photo of the David, because we all know if you don't photograph/Instagram it, it didn't really happen (I'm completely guilty of this, by the way). I spent the rest of our time in the Accademia basically stalking people—with the kind of zero-fucks-given attitude that can only come with being a tourist very, very far from anyone that could possibly recognize you—and trying to capture the David through their phone screen, or if I was really lucky, their iPad.

There was just something so removed and automatic about most of the people's photos—many didn't even take a moment to consider the statue without a screen between their eyeballs and the marble masterpiece. I wonder what Michelangelo would think if he suddenly walked into the future and saw girls posing with their best duck-face or people trying to figure out how to best fit his nearly 17 feet-tall statue within the Instagram frame?

Brooklyn Botanic Garden

Last Saturday I met friends for breakfast at Tom's Restaurant in Brooklyn (Danish pancakes alldayeveryday) and afterward I headed over to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. It's really close to Tom's, making it the perfect place to walk off the pancakes (and sausage) I stuff into my face every chance I get, and admission is free every Saturday until noon.

The garden is completely lovely in every season, and I always enjoy checking in on the adorable bonsai collection. It was cloudy, but still a beautiful morning and after wandering around I settled under a tree in the cherry esplanade and took a glorious, carb-induced nap.

Aside from cherry blossom season, the BBG never feels overwhelmingly crowded and it's compact enough that I feel as if I can really spend time exploring every corner. Somehow I'm still discovering new-to-me areas and gardens—this time I wandered into the rock garden which was completely deserted and beautiful.

I had ample opportunities to photograph huge, adorable bumble bees, which always turns me into a giddy five-year-old and I'm completely obsessed with the subtle gradations and all the beautiful pale colors. At one point during my stroll, I even happened upon some kale—lest I forget for a moment that even though I'm surrounded by nature, I'm still in the middle of Brooklyn.

City Island: Part One

Last Sunday Trent, Alisha and I spent the day on City Island in the Bronx. None of us had been there before, so we didn't have much planned except to explore and eventually end the evening stuffing our faces with fried seafood at Johnny's Reef. Johnny's is at the southern tip of the 1.5 mile island, so we started at the northern end and slowly made our way south.

City Island is on the western edge of Long Island Sound and is described as having "the look and feel of a New England fishing village," which is a pretty accurate description. Although, I would add that you never forget for long that you're actually in the Bronx—from the New York City trash cans and public transportation to the barbed wire, chain link fences that prevent you from actually getting anywhere near the shoreline, City Island is a city island through and through.

The thing I noticed first, and loved most, about the island was the abundance of hand-painted and vintage signage on store fronts and restaurants. The one thing I was looking forward to was the City Island Lobster House sign, and I was really disappointed when Alisha mentioned that she thought it had been damaged during hurricane Sandy. Sadly, she was right—the huge neon lobster and "By Land or Sea" portions of the sign are no longer there, but if you never knew they were missing it's still a pretty great sign in its current iteration.

Right next to Johnny's is a stretch of Sammy's restaurants, including the Shrimp Box and Fish Box (ew), both with great neon fish signs that looked even better lit up at night (but I may have been a little too drunk tired to photograph them after dark).

Despite my fear of water and seafood, I have always loved the New England nautical aesthetic and there is no shortage of items to fit that description on City Island. It's hard to decide what I loved more—the weathered wooden signs like the Black Whale's, the kitschy neon signs like the Crab Shanty's, or the hand-painted signs for Johnny's.

Although, if it's patriotism you want, I dare you to find a more American mural than this one we found on the side of a building that featured the Twin Towers, an American Flag, Uncle Sam, a bald eagle (in flight, of course), the Statue of Liberty, a firefighter, a policeman and a scroll of parchment that is probably supposed to be either the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution.

My Twelfth Month as a New Yorker

I began my twelfth month as a New Yorker taking a ferry to the Statue of Liberty with three of my best friends on the most gorgeous summer day—and it only got better from there. We had amazing weather in June, with a lot of rain during the week but every single weekend was picture-perfect. By the end of the month I think I can definitively say I was "paraded out" after attending both the Mermaid and the pride parades. I visited cemeteries, saw amazing shows, ate wonderful food, drank delicious iced coffees, went on adventures, read creepy books and had some of the best weekends I've ever had.

A few more highlights from my twelfth month:

We climbed to the top of the Statue of Liberty and peeked through her crown  /  We ate ice cream on Ellis Island and took in the spectacular view  /  I waited in Central Park for Shakespeare in the Park tickets (Much Ado About Nothing) and then won the online ticket lottery the same day  / I went to Gravesend, Brooklyn and continued to see black cats in the creepiest places  /  Trent and I went treasure-and horse bone-hunting at Dead Horse Bay and then explored Floyd Bennett Field.

After a long adventure day, Trent and I rewarded ourselves with a DiFara pizza, made by the man himself and it was totally worth the three-hour wait  /  I went to the New York City Marble Cemetery, which is only open a few days a year (not to be confused with the New York Marble Cemetery across the street), and had my first tiny meat pie at Tuck Shop  /  I visited the Poe Cottage in the Bronx and then walked around Fordham University to hear the bells that inspired Poe to write The Bells /  My wonderful coworker, Francesca, gave Mozart an inflatable unicorn horn to thank me for watering her plant while she was away—spoiler alert: Mozart didn't love it  /  I rode Metro North for the first time to Hartsdale, NY to visit America's first pet cemetery where I laughed at the names and cried at the sentiments.

I caught the rose garden at the New York Botanical Garden in full, spectacular bloom /  I finally saw the Coney Island Mermaid Parade—and Dante deBlasio's afro!—both of which were amazing  /  I considered riding Coney Island's newest rollercoaster, the Thunderbolt, but chickened out  /  I saw a very long and strange Russian film (Solaris) at the Museum of the Moving Image and explored their collection of movie memorabilia (including Meryl's Auschwitz wig from Sophie's Choice!)  /  I became mildly obsessed with spotting the Mister Softee knockoffs, Master Softee, and saw three (possibly four) of them in one day  /  I visited the Morbid Anatomy Museum and Library in Gowanus on opening day and immediately became a member.

I crossed another historical home off my list and visited the Old Stone House in Brooklyn  /  I had an amazing slice of rhubarb crumble pie at Four and Twenty Blackbirds in Gowanus  /  I walked through Brooklyn and stumbled on a street with amazing ghost signage  /  I spent a few blissful hours wandering around the stunningly beautiful Green-wood Cemetery  /  I bought a Cleopatra wig and put on my favorite cat-face skirt for a Prince of ShEgypt rooftop pride party  /  I ate breakfast at the adorable Donut Pub (Patti Smith used to write there) and teared up at all the love and support on display in the pride parade.

What really stands out most about my eleventh month, however, isn't a specific place or a thing, but the people I spent it with—I currently have the pleasure of calling some of the best people I've ever met my 'friends' and they continue to amaze me with their generosity, sense of adventure, humor, kindness and all-around awesomeness. I know my blog posts (and photos) are mostly devoid of a human presence, but that actually isn't at all representative of my life here. New York is a wonderful place, but without my incredible friends it would just be a city—with them, however, it's my home.

More Recaps:

First Month  | Second Month |  Third Month |  Fourth Month |  Fifth Month |  Sixth Month  |  Seventh Month |  Eighth Month |  Ninth Month |  Tenth Month |  Eleventh Month

Hartsdale Pet Cemetery: Part Two

Aside from all of the ridiculous names (I'm still laughing at Freckles Rutherford) to be found at the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery, what really got to me were all of the heartfelt epitaphs from grief-striken owners to their dearly departed pets. Every "human" cemetery I've been to includes the usual sentiments, from "Rest in Peace," and "Dear Mother," to more heartfelt declarations such as "Friend to All," or "Never Forgotten."

But at Hartsdale it seemed as if almost every single stone had an achingly sad and personal inscription, from "My One and Only," or "The Love of My Life," to thoughtful eulogies such as "They Gave Nothing But Love and Affection," and "Dillon loved biscuits, sticks, snow, fetch, burgers, walks, sitting outside, and his family as much as we love him" (Dillon and I have a lot in common).

These deeply personal and heartwrenching words really tugged at my pet-loving soul and caused me to tear up almost immediately. I've never been surrounded by so many loving words and the affection that each owner felt toward their pet was incredibly moving.

I walked by the graves of at least two cats dueling it out for all of eternity for the title of "Best Cat Ever" — Tara and Bentley — Hodge the "Good Gray Cat," Fudge who was "A Most Remarkable Cat," Sport, who "Was Born a Dog and Died a Gentleman," and Rusty, who was a "Perfect Little Gentleman." I wonder if Sandy, who was apparently the "Best Dog in America," knew that it was actually Spot who was "Best Dog in the World."

"Our Little Sweetpea" choked me up because that's what I call Mozart on the days where I'm not annoyed with her for screaming in my face, and I totally think I would have loved Woodstock, who by definition was "one hell of a cat" and, inexplicably, "often mistaken for a meatloaf."

The countless "I Love Yous" and "Thank Yous" were undeniably sweet, but it was Yahtzee's stone with its "My Guiding Angel" inscription and photo of him with his blind master that finally broke me and caused me to shed actual tears after trying my best to hold back all day.

Hartsdale Pet Cemetery:

Part One

2014 Fireworks

Last year was my first time seeing New York City's (aka Macy's) fireworks on the 4th of July, which Trent and I watched from the New Jersey waterfront. This year, they brought the fireworks back to the East River after a five-year detour on the Hudson.

We were at a friend's apartment in Brooklyn Heights, so we walked out to try and get on the Promenade about a half hour before the fireworks started, but there were so many people that they had actually declared the Promenade "at capacity." We expected crowds, but it was kind of insane so we didn't have a great spot and didn't end up staying too long.

Despite all that, we were able to see more of the fireworks than I initially thought we were going to be able to, and while we were walking back to the apartment we got to see them from a few different vantage points. I will never not love fireworks, and New York's are definitely the biggest and best I've ever seen. This year they shot some off from the Brooklyn Bridge as well as the usual river barges, and from where were standing we could see the World Trade Tower (and its patriotic spire) through a break in the trees.

As much as the selfish New Yorker in me thinks the fireworks should always be on the East River, we found ourselves wishing that we could somehow replicate our New Jersey viewing experience because it had been so much less crowded and much more enjoyable. I'm pretty sure they'll stay on the East River for a while, though, so I have one year to make friends with someone who will invite me onto their DUMBO/Brooklyn Heights rooftop for next year's show.

The Morbid Anatomy Museum + Library

Last Friday I was browsing the New York Times site like I always do when I first settle into work, when I came across an event listing for the opening of the Morbid Anatomy Museum. I knew immediately that I needed to go, before even doing a second more of research based on the name alone. But of course I soon got lost in a rabbit hole of articles, blog posts and finally the Morbid Anatomy site itself — so much so that I actually had to take a break because I was overwhelming myself with excitement (this is not a rare occurrence in my life, but a serious one nonetheless).

The museum and library appeared to be tailor-made for me and people like me who can't get enough of all things weird, creepy and dead. Even the opening exhibition —The Art of Mourning— aligned perfectly with the books I've been reading recently about mourning practices and funeral rituals.

I went on Saturday, which was opening day, and I immediately paid the $50 to become a member. Membership includes free admission to the museum and use of the library, as well as discounts on the gift shop and lectures, but supporting the museum was really just as important to me. I don't have much money to throw around, but when I find something as super amazing and perfect for me as a museum devoted entirely to curiosities, I can stand to trade in a few potential Starbucks drinks to lend my support.

The three-floor space is industrial and welcoming, with a ground floor cafe and gift shop, an upstairs exhibition gallery and the adjoining library. You can't take photographs of the current exhibition, but it's definitely worth seeing in person. There is a wonderful collection of really creepy death photographs, an exhibit on hair art (ew), a few death masks and various pieces of memorial art.

You can, however, take photographs in the library, which is filled with fascinating and hard-to-find books (obviously) as well as some great taxidermy, specimen jars, bones, models, paintings, more photographs and tons of other weird and wonderful odds and ends.

Aside from the fact that I'm a member, I have a feeling that I'll be spending a lot of time at the museum and library, and even the cafe — I ordered a latte for the sole reason that they had a really disgusting, vintage pull-down chart on bacteria hanging behind the counter. I don't know about you, but nothing makes me hungrier than looking at illustrations of the bacteria that causes typhoid or boils. As soon as I saw that chart I knew that I had found a place where I would never feel strange — a place where I can read my books about the plague, or cemeteries, or poisons, or medical experiments without judgement or sideways glances — and with free access to the library, I'll never be at a loss for creepy reading material ever again.

Edgar Allan Poe Cottage

A few weekends ago, after eating at a diner in the Bronx, I decided to explore the northernmost borough, and ended up at the Edgar Allan Poe Cottage. Built in 1812, the cottage is the last home that Poe ever lived in — he died while on a trip in Baltimore — where his wife Virginia died after a battle with tuberculosis, and where he wrote Annabel Lee and The Bells.

It's a small and humble home, with only a few rooms, low ceilings and tiny windows. Poe was very poor during his life, and moved here with Virginia and her mother in hopes that the country air (yes, the Bronx was once considered the country) would be good for Virginia's failing health. Unfortunately that was not the case, and she died in first floor bedroom in January, 1847. There is a bed in that room today that they claim is possibly one of three beds in which Virginia may have died. Besides the bed, there is a gold mirror and a rocking chair that actually belonged to Poe, and the rest of the furnishings are period-correct, but not original to the cottage.

It's only $3 for students to visit, and there's an interesting, short movie to watch on the second floor that goes into detail about Poe's life in the city and the cottage's journey to its present-day state. A small park, Poe Park, surrounds the cottage and includes a visitors' center that was designed to pay homage to a raven in flight, with slate shingles reminiscent of feathers.

There isn't a ton to look at inside of the cottage, but it was still pretty incredible to stand in the space where Poe wrote so many of his famous works, especially Annabel Lee, which is one of my very favorite pieces ever written:

"But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee"

It should be no surprise that I love Poe because his writing is dark, mysterious and at times macabre — or that I delighted in finding two super creepy black handprints streaked down the side of the cottage. There's also a small merchandise counter at the entrance to the cottage, with postcards, prints, black cat keychains and bone-shaped pens.

Surprisingly I don't have any bone-shaped writing utensils in my possession, but in hindsight, I probably should have bought one because I'm definitely the kind of person to pull out a plastic bone to take notes during a creative meeting. I wasn't able to resist buying a postcard, though, if only so I could one day send it off and refer to it as a Poestcard, because the opportunity to pass along a groan-worthy pun is totally more than worth the price of admission.

Coney Island: Mermaid Parade

On Saturday I met some friends at Coney Island for the Mermaid Parade, which is held every year on the first Saturday of summer. The weather was seriously perfection, and I have been wanting to attend the parade for years but I never had the chance until now. The Mermaid Parade claims to be the largest art parade in the nation and has taken place every summer since 1983. My friend Alisha told me to expect "lots of boobs and body paint" and that's pretty much all you need to know about the Mermaid Parade.

Dante and Chiara deBlasio (and his famous fro) were King Neptune and Queen Mermaid, and I later saw photos of the mayor himself dressed as a pirate, who we somehow missed. It's sort of telling that the 6'5" mayor of New York was able to dress up like a pirate and completely blend in with the crowd, but that's the gist of the Mermaid Parade, and to a certain extent, Coney Island on a normal day.

I was expecting more men in the parade (dressed as women), but the majority of mermaids appeared to be actual women. It is totally legal for women to be topless in New York, and I had no idea that there were so many different varieties of pasties available — sparkly cupcakes, tassels, starfish, seashells, sequins and of course, tons and tons of body paint and glitter.

There were the odd costumes that didn't seem to fit, like a Richard Nixon or a Popeye that you inevitably get with any parade, but the more nautical-themed, the better. I loved anyone with tentacles or a seashell bra and I said out loud that I wouldn't be happy unless I saw at least one King Triton and lo and behold he soon appeared (with Asian Ariel by his side). The parade was just incredibly fun, welcoming and celebratory— even if it was ridiculously long — and I have definitely added it to my growing list of annual New York traditions.