Muffler Man: Super Freeze

After visiting a Frank Lloyd Wright house in Derby, New York (about 20 miles southwest of Buffalo), I consulted my roadtrip map and realized that we were right by the Super Freeze. I knew the Super Freeze was home to one Muffler Man, but I was surprised to discover that it was an all-around delightful place, bursting with roadside kitsch.

Speaking of the Muffler Man, his name is George and he's 14-feet tall. I somehow wasn't prepared for the fact that he was holding both a cheeseburger and an ice cream cone—look at that face!—and he is perfect in every way. George is the sixth Muffler Man I've seen in person (including two Paul Bunyans, a clown, a half-wit and Pecos Bill), and I'd love nothing more than to visit every single one of them across the country.

Everywhere I looked I encountered another fiberglass figure—Mighty Mouse, Big Boy and the crème de la crème of self-garnishing hot dogs—or wonderful signage. The multi-colored plastic sign letters are so great, and I love how generic the name "Super Freeze" sounds. If I had to come up with a name for an American roadside ice cream/burger joint, I could never come up with something better.

The inside was great, even if some of it was a bit too faux retro. They hit all the classic diner decor notes with black-and-white tile, counter stools, vinyl booths, a jukebox, a Coke machine, Friday Fish Fry tartar sauce on every table and vintage milkshake machines. We got enormous soft serve cones, played Theatre of Magic pinball and thanked the roadtrip gods for leading us to such a wonderful place.

Transitional Object (PsychoBarn)

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

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

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

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

Secret Caverns

After stopping at Howe Caverns and before checking out the Tepee, we had to stop at Secret Caverns. I say "had to" because Secret Caverns is definitely the most well- and cleverly-advertised roadside attraction I've ever seen. The cave, including a 100-foot waterfall, was discovered in 1928, developed in 1929 and is just down the road from Howe Caverns, in upstate NY.

Once you start seeing the billboards for Secret Caverns, you don't stop seeing them until you're in the parking lot. They've been famous for their handpainted signs pretty much from the start, and they've been lovingly maintained and replaced/repainted over the years. The billboards—with lines like "4 out of 5 dentists prefer our cavity"—are the main attraction, in my opinion. Everything that comes after them is just a bonus. 

We didn't take the tour because we were all caved out from our 90-minute Howe tour, but the gift shop was worth a stop. The artwork is not limited to the billboards and covers nearly every surface, including the bathrooms—which we were instructed to check out by the guy behind the counter. I felt bad telling him we didn't have time to take a tour, but he was very generous allowing us to poke around and even gave me two floaty pens for the price of one (totally worth the detour).

They have what they claim to be the "world's only mummified wishing well," centered around a mustachioed mummy identified as their first tour guide, and an ice cave that you can visit without taking the main tour. Secret Caverns feels like the weird, outsider cousin to the more polished and famous Howe Caverns and I feel so lucky to live in a world where I can still see both.

Lake Effect Diner

On our way out of Buffalo, we made one last stop—breakfast at the Lake Effect Diner. The Lake Effect is a Mountain View Diner (#446) from 1952 and was moved from Wayne, PA to Buffalo in 2001. The Mountain View Diner company was founded near Mountain View, NJ and manufactured more than 400 prefabricated dining cars from 1938 to 1957. The diners made their way all over the country, and you can still find them in operation today.

I lament daily the rapid loss of diners I love, and unfortunately a lot of Mountain View Diners are gone or abandoned. Best case scenario is that they are moved and rehabilitated, like the Lake Effect. The West Taghkanic Diner in upstate NY is also from the Mountain View company (#399), as is the Airline Diner (#441) in Queens, Cafe de La Esquina (formerly the Relish Diner) in Williamsburg and the closed Blue Sky Diner in Long Island City.

The Lake Effect was featured on Guy Fieri's "Diners, Drive-ins and Dives," but don't hold that against it. Although I'm sure it wasn't called the Lake Effect during its life in PA, the neon sign (complete with blinking sparkles / snowflakes?) is a perfect example of how to do something new that remains true to the aesthetic of the classic diner (although the waitress's skirt length—or lack thereof—is mildly concerning).

The inside is beautifully restored and seems mostly original. I'm obsessed with the pale pink and blue color scheme, and it's a lovely change from the red/silver I usually see in these diners. The boomerang-print table tops are probably new, but they fit in perfectly with the curved pink ceiling, decorative metal walls and ribbed trim—everything I dream about in a diner.

The padded booths were a really interesting shape, with cushions extending into the curved corners which I loved. They make their own bread and cure their own meats—the food was definitely notches above standard diner fare and the portions were huge. I'm so glad the Lake Effect's days didn't end sadly in PA, but that it was able to live on—I can only hope other Mountain View diners are so lucky.

Green-Wood Cemetery: Azaleas

I've walked through Green-Wood Cemetery more times than I can count—I think it's safe to say it's my most frequented cemetery by a long shot. I've even been a member of Green-Wood for almost a year, which may seem weird but they put on some very excellent programs and I can't think of any membership that suits me more than one to a cemetery.

I've so far explored Green-Wood in summer, fall and winter but I hadn't fully experienced spring in the cemetery until recently. The cherries and other flowering trees are currently past their peak, but the azaleas are out-of-this-world beautiful. The pinks, purples, reds and oranges are so blindingly bright and colorful, it's hard to even believe that they're real.

I'm pretty hopeless when it comes to identifying plants, so I never would have imagined that there were so many azalea shrubs on the grounds. It's hard to believe that in a short time these thousands of incredible flowers will all be gone, replaced by inconspicuous green leaves. Spring blooms are so fleeting, but they make such a huge impact in such a short time and I'm trying not to take them for granted during their brief appearance.

Being able to see Green-Wood (and other places I love) in all seasons is really such a treat. It's fascinating to me how different the exact same place can look whether it's covered in snow, falling leaves, lush greenery or bright blooms. The crazy saturated colors of the azaleas perfectly contrast with the somber gray and black headstones in the best way. Now that I've officially explored Green-Wood in all seasons it's impossible to pick a favorite one—and luckily I live so close that I don't have to choose.

Twist o' the Mist

As part of our recent Buffalo trip, we decided to spend a day exploring Niagara Falls. Niagara, NY is very close to Buffalo—I'd been to the Canadian side many times as a kid, but never saw much of the American side. There were a few kitschy things on the American side that I wanted to check out so I was content to not cross the border this time (we'll be back!). 

Top of my list was the Twist o' the Mist, an ice-cream-shaped ice cream stand. I've been obsessed with novelty architecture as long as I can remember. Buildings that are shaped like what they contain/sell make me so very happy. I used to live within a few minutes of three of these ice cream-shaped buildings, officially called Twistee Treats. I visited two of them on a return trip to Ohio last year, and I've been eager to find more since.

I love puns and clever names almost as much as novelty architecture, so of course I love the Twist o' the Mist play on the "Maid of the Mist." We weren't quite at the dessert portion of our day yet, so we sadly didn't patronize the Twist, but the proclamation that they have 56 Flavors really intrigues me. It seems excessive, but so does an entire building shaped like an ice cream cone, so I guess it's just perfect.

Howe Caverns

Our main roadside destination on our way to Buffalo recently was Howe Caverns, located near Albany and Schenectady in upstate NY. Howe Caverns is the second most visited natural attraction in the state, with Niagara Falls being the first.

Before we went on the tour, we had our fortunes told by Ol' Abner and squished some pennies, so my roadside attraction dreams were already coming true. The didn't have floaty pens in the gift shop, which was unfortunate, but Ol' Abner was a style of fortune-telling machine that I hadn't seen before so I was very happy.

The 90-minute tour takes you 156 feet below ground into a six-million-year old cave system. It's mainly a walking tour, although it does include a short boat ride that felt like a nice bonus. The cave comprises mainly two types of limestone and water in the form of streams, rivers and lakes. Unlike Mammoth Cave, which is basically just a big, gray hole in the ground, there is a huge variety in the type of formations to be found. Howe Caverns looks like what I envision when I think of a cave—stalactites, stalagmites, huge boulders, water deposits that look like glass and even a rock formation called the "Two Witches" (last photo above—can you see them?).

I'm continually in awe at the bizzare things that nature comes up with on its own, and Howe Caverns is filled with them. Formations that take thousands of years to form and couldn't possibly be made any other way but over time are so fascinating to me. Although it might seem cheesy, I loved the rainbow-colored lighting and kitschy "destinations" along the tour (the Chinese Pagoda, the River Styx, the Lake of Venus, Titan’s Temple, the Bridal Altar and the Winding Way).

Speaking of the Bridal Altar, more than 650 weddings have been performed at the cave alongside the glowing calcite heart, and I can't help but love anyone who loves a classic roadside attraction enough to make it a wedding destination.

Happy Birthday Mozart!

For my 24th birthday, in August of 2009, I picked out an insane, strange, incredibly cute gray kitten. We had been looking for a kitten for a while, but I knew I would know in my gut when I found the right one. We walked into PetSmart (I was living in Ohio at the time) and I saw her. She was there with a local pet adoption group. She was solid gray, tiny but long, with huge, bat-like ears and beautiful green eyes. The minute I saw her, I said "that's my kitten!"

We were told that she had been found on the side of the road with her brothers and sisters, all of whom had already been adopted. She was the last one left, and she came home with us the next day. She was my first-ever kitten and even though she didn't sit still, I loved her immediately. She had an ear infection and had probably been spayed too early; she compulsively chewed her foot; she howled in the middle of the night for no reason; she was neurotic and annoying and rude, but she was mine. 

Today is her seventh birthday, and I can't really believe she's been with me for almost that entire time (minus her first three months and two months while I tried out New York living). She follows me around, literally eats her toys, sometimes throws up tubes of unchewed food, screams in my face almost every morning at 5:30am, sticks her butthole on everything and once woke me up by stepping in my mouth. She plays fetch like a dog and when we replaced our refrigerator we found 48 cat toys underneath (plus a few bottle caps, twist ties and a jingle bell). 

She's always been chatty, but since moving to an apartment where she's now the sole cat, she's become much more vocal. I took her to the vet to make sure she was ok, and paid a hundred dollars to be given a diagnosis of "probable anxiety," with a prescription of cat pheromones, calming treats and puzzle toys. She's the best and the worst cat, but I can't help but love her to pieces. She means so well. It breaks my heart to see her struggle—she's been there for me through break-ups, cross-state moves, three different New York apartments, questionable hair style choices, late nights, early mornings and everything else I've gone through in the last seven years. 

Sometimes her ears are so soft and warm I can hardly handle it. Once, I made up a jingle for her: "Who's cute and pretty and gray and smart? It's Mozart! It's Mozart!" We named her Mozart after a long list of options that included Sam Handwich, Pluto and Pamcakes. Mostly I call her my Sweet Pea. Some days I pick her up and tell her she's ruining my life, but that's just me being sleep-deprived and dramatic. I'm pretty sure she stares at me while I sleep, and when she licks me I think she's tasting my face. If I died alone with her, I'm 99% sure she'd start eating me before I was cold.

I bought a door stop just because it looked like her foot. All of my bedding (and a lot of my clothing) is gray because of her. Sometimes her poo smells terrible, even though I'm feeding her the exact same food. She loves sticking her face in my food, and once she licked my hot sauce bottle and immediately regretted it. She steals change, dollar bills, bottle caps, rubber bands, pieces of string and chewed holes in my sweaters when she was a kitten. She has no idea what to do with real live mice. She refuses to wear costumes, but I once bought her an Egyptian Pharaoh headdress just in case. She's beautiful and regal and velvety and her fur smells really good. She's a fan of the hard pet, still compulsively chews her foot on me every chance I let her and greets me at the door with a chorus of screams. 

Of course I can imagine a life without her where I blissfully sleep until my alarm goes off and where everything I own is not covered in cat hair, but then she rolls on her back and flashes me her bedroom eyes—which I know is totally manipulative but I fall for it anyway—and I'm so glad we adopted each other.

Conservatory Garden: Spring 2016

The weather in New York lately has been absolute garbage—rainy and chilly and too much like the gray days I thought I had left behind forever when I left Ohio. We didn't have much in the way of winter either, but I'm hoping that this damp mid-50s cloud lifts sooner rather than later. Despite the gloom, spring is indeed happening and I'll be forever sad that my daily commute no longer takes me through Central Park. I did go on my lunchbreak recently to check out the Conservatory Garden, my favorite portion in the northern section of the park, and see how my old tulip friends were faring.

This is my fourth time in five years gawking at the tulips, and they're always such a treat. I think 2012 is still my favorite year, but it could just be that it was my first year seeing them and you never forget your first. This year the timing was a bit off, with certain sections and colors blooming way before the others, so the effect was somewhat uneven. It's still a wonderful sight to see so many tulips so beautifully organized in a spectacular, circular space and I can't blame them for being confused with this crazypants weather.

The cherry blossoms were also in bloom along Park Avenue, Fifth Avenue and in the garden. I never made it

back to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden

to check on the cherry esplanade before this weekend's rain washed away most of the blossoms, but thankfully the Upper East Side is no slouch when it comes to cherries.

The tulips elsewhere in the garden were also starting to bloom, and the daffodils were still hanging on. I know I say this every year, but the large variety of flowers always thrills me, especially when they're all hanging out next to each other creating a wonderful mix of textures and colors. I suppose I should be grateful that at least it looks like spring in the city, even if the weather hasn't yet received the memo.

Buffalo: Forest Lawn Cemetery

Forest Lawn Cemetery in Buffalo, NY was founded in 1849, 11 years after Brooklyn's Green-Wood Cemetery. The two are very similar—designed during the rural cemetery movement—which is why it was suggested that I should definitely see Forest Lawn during our recent trip to Buffalo.

One of the first monuments you encounter upon entering through the main gates is dedicated to the only child of Mr. and Mrs. John Blocher, who died after a year's illness. The elaborate, glass-enclosed memorial features the Blochers dressed in their Victorian best, standing watch over their son, who looks as if he's just fallen asleep while reading. An angel hovers above, and although it's all rendered in beautifully white stone and everyone looks serene, the cumulative effect is still unnerving.

Like Green-Wood, Forest Lawn is very large—269 acres—and I feel like I could go back several times and barely scratch the surface of all there is to see. It's still an active cemetery, and a lot of what we saw looked like newer burials, with ample space to continue accepting new residents for years to come.

Forest Lawn has it's share of famous (and "famous") inhabitants, including 13th president (and Buffalo resident) Millard Fillmore; Louise Blanchard Bethune, the first female architect; Aretha Franklin's mother; Irving Berlin's wife; many former Buffalo mayors; Civil War generals, and Rick James (

bitch

).

But the best find of all is definitely this tombstone, belonging to Timothy Switala, who died in 2002. It's the only one I've found so far in all of my cemetery exploration that is a modern stone, carved in the style of the 1700s stones that I love so much. I can forgive the modern depiction of the atom because that winged skull is so very wonderful. I've long wondered why designs like this went out of favor and wished that they would make a comeback. I'm sorry for the Switala's family loss, but I'm so grateful to have found his incredible stone and to know it's entirely possible to render the classic designs with modern materials—here's hoping I see more of these in my future cemetery travels.

The Tepee

I was in roadside attraction Nirvana recently when my dude and I hit the road to go visit his parents in Buffalo, NY. We decided to make a proper road trip of it, and gave ourselves one whole day to make the 6.5/hour journey. When I realized that our proposed route would take us right by The Tepee, I immediately added it to our must-see list.

The Tepee is located halfway between Cherry Valley and Sharon Springs, NY, right off of Route 20 (also halfway between Boston and Niagara Falls). It was built in 1950 and is currently owned by the Latella sisters, the third family to own to Tepee. It's always been a souvenir shop, filled with Native American-themed gifts—which I suppose is exactly what you should expect to find inside of a huge, metal tepee.

The site offers a panoramic view of Cherry Valley, which you can enhance via a (somewhat cloudy) "telescope for public use" by the American Lens and Photo Company. There are also snacks available at Tepee Pete's Chow Wagon, including what their website hails as his "nearly famous chili."

I'm thrilled that there are still wonderful people out there like the Latella sisters, who see the value in a weird little roadside attraction like the Tepee. I hope that people continue to slow down and pull over to check out the view, buy a pennant or pair of moccasins or just to say hello.

The GoodFellas Diner

On Saturday my friends and I walked to what is now my very favorite diner in the city, the GoodFellas Diner. I don't make that distinction lightly, and there are still a lot of diners on my to-do list, but it was nearly perfect. The diner wasn't named GoodFellas when the movie filmed scenes there (it's also called the Clinton Diner), but now it's pretty obvious they've decided to align themselves fully with their namesake film. Despite none of us having seen the movie, we graciously accepted when we were greeted upon entry and asked if we wanted to sit at the "Robert DeNiro table."

The outside of the diner looks like it came from the same makers of the wonderful Market Diner—which is now (quite depressingly) completely demolished. The zig-zag shaped roof is nearly identical to the Market's, although the GoodFellas Diner is quite large with a front room, main diner area, counter and a back bar room.

We arrived at the diner at about 1pm, and it was nearly empty. By the time we had finished our meals we were the only people in the diner, in addition to our waitress and two cooks. I was both thrilled and saddened to have the entire place to ourselves. We had free reign to take photos and explore, which I love, but also I worry about the longevity of places like this—diners are dropping like flies and I want them to not only survive, but to thrive.

Not everything in the diner feels 100% authentic, but the overall effect is still dazzling. The red and silver glitter vinyl booths, stools, chairs and amber-colored lamps are beautiful, but my favorite is the counter with its scalloped edge and basket weave printed top. It's also one of the longest diner counters I've seen, sitting at least 15 people.

The signs inside of the diner are really exquisite, advertising wonderful-sounding menu items such as Beefburger Steak, Fried Filet of Sole, Romanian Steak, London Broil, Beef Goulash, American Fries and Liver with Onions. I love the proclamations "Our Pies Are So Good," "The Best 1/2 Lb Burger in Town" and even the simple and to-the-point "We Serve Grits."

Our hostess/waitress/(probably) owner was so incredible—and straight out of Central Casting. She was generous with the coffee refills, let us linger as long as we liked and was eager to show us around. We didn't have the heart to tell her that none of us had seen the movie, and it seemed easier to pretend rather than to explain that we all just really love diners.

The recent loss of the Market Diner (and seeing a huge hole in the ground where it used to be) really hit me hard. I've lived in New York long enough to begin to see places I love and frequent disappear—and be replaced by luxury condos or something equally soulless. It's sad and unfair but also just a reality of life, especially here where change is a constant and money talks. I can only hope that for every diner I lose, I find another special gem like the GoodFellas Diner to help soften the blow.

Carvel Ice Cream Shop

On Saturday my friends and I wanted to check out a diner in Maspeth, Queens. It was located in a bit of a transit desert—at least subway-wise—so we decided to walk. Our 3.5 mile walk took us through a few neighborhoods that I had never really been to, starting in Brooklyn and then into Queens.

Some people might think it's pointless to take an already long journey and make it even longer, but I'm a huge fan of taking the long way, especially here in the city. So often I stumble upon places or see wonderful things that I would never have known about if I hadn't allowed myself the time and luxury of simply wandering. As we turned the corner from Forest Ave onto Metropolitan Ave, we hit the found-place jackpot when the most wonderful, old timey Carvel ice cream shop appeared before us.

The stand-alone shop (with ample parking) is not something I'm used to seeing much in New York, although they do stand a slightly better chance of surviving in the outer boroughs. The lettering on the front and sides of the building is perfect in every way, and I'm eternally grateful that they didn't just cover it up with a printed banner bearing the newer Carvel logo (I can forgive them for putting those on top). The two huge ice cream cones have sadly seen better days—most of their ice cream was damaged in Hurricane Sandy (according to Forgotten NY)— but props to the owner for not trashing them completely.

I got a Fudgie the Whale cake for my dude's birthday this year, which was my first (very positive) Carvel experience, so I was extra-thrilled to see their Fudgie neon "Open" sign. When paired with the purple ice cream cone neon, the hand-painted signs, the faded pink everything—this Carvel is everything my vintage-kitsch-loving heart needs.

Rock Creek Cemetery: Part Two

In addition to all of the wonderful bronze sculptures at Rock Creek Cemetery, there were many wonderful old headstones, mausoleums and other treasures. I love that no matter how famous or unknown a cemetery may be, I can always find interesting, historical or strange things to delight in.

I'm always surprised when I come across mausoleums that only have gates, instead of heavy stone doors. Rock Creek is close to Washington DC, but not right in the city—I think I'm so used to places like Green-Wood, which are very well-kept and buttoned-up, that it throws me to be able to freely see inside of any mausoleum.

We found a lot of wonderful stone sculptures to complement the bronzes, including a few men and a lot of really unique representations of specific people. The creepy nun was definitely a favorite of ours, and we ended up circling back to her a few times.

We visited Rock Creek in November, and luckily there were still a few leaves in their full fall glory. Of course I love cemeteries in all seasons, but nothing really beats the fall. The late afternoon light was just perfect, and I've never met an ivy-covered headstone that I didn't love.

In every cemetery I visit, I usually find a few things that really stand out and stick with me long after I've gone. I hope we're forgiven, but we cannot be the first people to visit Rock Creek and laugh upon seeing Richard Butt's headstone. I very much identified with the bookshelf stone, and I loved the scythe-and-hourglass-carrying angel that managed to be both ominous and beautiful at the same time.

But in between all of the wonderful sculptures and symbolism we found in Rock Creek, nothing will stay with me quite as long as the blue-eyed, plastic doll entombed atop a crudely carved stone, and forever in my nightmares.

The High Bridge

Sunday was definitely a day to spend outside, so Jim and I planned to go to the High Bridge in northern Manhattan. The High Bridge is the oldest bridge in the city, and originally opened in 1848 as an aqueduct. It was closed for more than 40 years before it reopened as a pedestrian bridge in June of 2015.

I wouldn't really describe the High Bridge as a destination, but if you're history or bridge nerds like Jim and me, then it's definitely worth a visit. It's a pretty short span over the Harlem River, and there's not much to do on either side of the bridge, however High Bridge park on the Manhattan side is a beautiful walk. Even if this winter was pretty mild, it was just nice to be outside and feel genuinely warm for the first time in a while.

The original part of the bridge is a series of stone arches, the Harlem River span of which was replaced in 1928 with a steel arch to allow for the passage of large ships. It really does look like two halves of completely different bridges were just pasted together—even the brick of the walkway changes from one half to the other.

The High Bridge water tower lords over the High Bridge, next to a public pool in the spot that once held the city's reservoir. One of the High Bridge's architects was James Renwick, Jr., who also designed St. Patrick's Cathedral, the Roosevelt Island Lighthouse and the Smallpox Hospital (now my favorite ruin), and you can definitely see the similarities, especially with the lighthouse.

The bridge completionist in me is grateful to have added another bridge to my "walked" list, the history buff in me loves anything that can claim an "-est" distinction and the old lady in me is just grateful when anything old survives in this "replace all history with a luxury condo" city.

Red Hook

This weekend we were finally blessed with glorious, spring-appropriate weather: sunny, cloudless skies and downright warm temperatures. An outdoor adventure was definitely in order, so my dude and I headed to Red Hook, Brooklyn. We had no actual agenda—other than to eat a mini key lime pie—but some of my favorite days have begun this way, and Saturday was no exception.

I've explored Red Hook a few times, mostly before or after a trip to IKEA. Once, I went to IKEA for nothing more than a $1 cinnamon roll, which is really as good a reason to do anything, in my opinion. Despite being very close to Lower Manhattan, Red Hook is pretty isolated in terms of public transit. The closest subway lines are the F/G, which we took to the Carroll Street stop and walked the rest of the way. There are buses, and of course the IKEA ferry from downtown, but the walk was lovely.

We headed straight to the waterfront, where we creeped on a old trolley car outside of Fairway, and I finally got to the Waterfront Barge Museum. The museum has very limited hours and isn't necessarily a destination on its own, but definitely worth a stop if you're already in the neighborhood. There are a few interesting pieces in their nautical collection, but it's really the barge itself that's the main attraction. The Lehigh Valley No. 79 "represents the only surviving all-wooden example of the Hudson River Railroad Barge from the Lighterage Age (1860-1960) that remains afloat and accessible to the general public."

There are no shortage of food / drink options in Red Hook, and I'm excited to come back and try some of the things that we didn't have time for, like a drink at Sunny's Bar (RIP Sunny). I had heard good things about Brooklyn Crab, but it was

SO

crowded (like college-spring-break-bro-crowded) that we only paused briefly to admire some vintage cars parked outside before moving on to Hometown BBQ, which was fantastic and totally worth the wait.

We eventually did make it to Steve's Key Lime Pies, our one pre-determined destination, and the chocolate-covered individual key lime tart, aka "Swingle," was every bit as delicious as I had remembered.

We walked back to the subway a different way than we had come, down the charming Coffey Street, past a chocolate factory and whiskey distillery and along Van Brunt Street, which is basically the Main Street of Red Hook. I love the mix of Civil War-era brick buildings, cobblestone streets and adorable little row houses—all with a view of the Statue of Liberty and lower Manhattan, but just out of reach enough to feel like a bonafide adventure.

Rock Creek Cemetery: Part One, Bronzes

Back in November, I met my uncle in Washington DC for a long weekend of historical and operatic delights. He had a car, so he suggested a few things that lay outside of city limits, like Rock Creek Cemetery. I had never heard of Rock Creek before but it was first established in 1719 and has been listed on the National Register of Historic Places since 1977.

My uncle had printed out a list of notable sculptures at Rock Creek, of which there are many. We managed to find almost every one on his list, along with a few more along the way. I was surprised at how many large bronzes there were in the relatively small cemetery, including a few men which I don't see nearly as often as the mourning woman.

The Thomas Trueman Gaff monument was sculpted by Jules Dechin and caught our eye immediately. The figure's raised hand and haunting upward gaze is really unnerving. Like most of the sculptures we saw, rain had streaked the face so he looked as if he'd been crying.

At first glance I assumed the Rabboni sculpture was a man, when it's actually a depiction of Mary Magdelene. It was sculpted in 1909 by Gutzon Borglum in tribute to a prominent Washington banker and tapestry collector.

The Kauffmann Memorial is probably my favorite in the cemetery and features a "classically-draped" woman in the process of making a wreath. She is surrounded by bronze panels featuring scenes from Shakespeare's "Seven Ages of Men," from As You Like It. She has such a wonderful, rain-stained face and manages to be incredibly beautiful and haunting-yet-serene all at the same time.

But the most famous of all of the Rock Creek sculptures is undoubtedly the Adams Memorial featuring a seated bronze by Augustus Saint-Gaudens anchoring a plot designed by notorious architect Stanford White. It was erected in 1891 by Henry Adams as a tribute to his wife, who had committed suicide. The plot is encircled by shrubs, keeping the sculpture hidden from view. There is a bench where you can sit, face the figure and contemplate Grief—which has been the title commonly given to the sculpture, apparently much to Henry's chagrin. He wrote to Saint-Gaudens's son, saying:

"Do not allow the world to tag my figure with a name! Every magazine writer wants to label it as some American patent medicine for popular consumption—Grief, Despair, Pear's Soap, or Macy's Mens' Suits Made to Measure. Your father meant it to ask a question, not to give an answer; and the man who answers will be damned to eternity like the men who answered the Sphinx."

Lower East Side

I was in desperate need of a city adventure on Saturday. It was threatening to be a wash out, so I headed out early hoping to get my fix before the rain started. My very favorite thing to do (maybe ever) is to get diner breakfast, so I started by picking a new-to-me diner.

I had photographed the Cup & Saucer way back for my Need Supply Co. ode-to-diners post, but it hadn't been open when I went. It's very small and narrow inside—just a counter and a few window seats—but it hit all of the classic diner buttons. The staff was friendly, the food was good and cheap and they even have the Greek/Anthora-style "It's Our Pleasure to Serve You" to-go coffee cups.

After breakfast and fueled by diner coffee, I wandered around Chinatown and the Lower East Side. Every time I find myself in the LES, I wonder why I don't make a point to be there more often. Sure it's become impossibly trendy like most of New York, but there are still wonderful old storefronts and beautiful signage around almost every corner.

I walked along the river for a bit, discovering a lot of streets I had never heard of before—Madison (Street, not Avenue), Rutgers, Cherry, Catherine, Oliver—along with wonderful views of the Manhattan Bridge and DUMBO waterfront.

The weather has been pretty terrible this month and I haven't been away from the city since Christmas—lately it seems as if that combination has taken a toll on my overall mood and left me feeling a little blah. But I'll never underestimate the power of a good diner breakfast and city stroll to clear out the cobwebs and make me fall completely in love with this city all over again.