White Sands National Monument

After spending a day in Roswell, we had a spare day before heading to Carlsbad. We decided to drive two hours to the White Sands National Monument, and I'm so, so glad we did. White Sands is like nothing else I've ever seen, or will ever see again. Located in the Tularosa Basin in between Las Cruces and Alamogordo, New Mexico, White Sands is 275 square miles of gypsum sand dunes, the largest such dunefield in the world.

WSNM is controlled by the National Park Service and you drive through the park in a big loop. You can stop along the way and explore the dunes, and I was surprised at how much freedom we had. We stopped at a few different points in the park, but all of the dunes start to look the same after a while. There are bathrooms at every stop, and cute little picnic shelters that somehow manage to look both vintage and futuristic.

I had read that you're allowed to sled on the dunes, and they conveniently sell sleds (and buy back used ones) at the gift shop. I bought two, and we all took turns on the dunes. The funniest thing about the sledding is that as you're hovering over the edge of a massive dune, it looks terrifying—I kept imagining this scene from Christmas Vacation. But once you start going, the sand turns out to be a less-than-ideal sledding surface and you descend relatively slowly. I even bought wax and applied it liberally but it was a bit anti-climactic—although that didn't stop me from wiping out in slow motion, as I do in most athletic situations.

We arrived at White Sands at about noon, which is probably the very worst time to be there—it was hot. Luckily for a family of tourist-hating tourists, this also meant that the park felt almost empty, which was worth the dehydration and potential sun-stroke. Speaking of which, White Sands is very much a desert—the first one I've ever experienced—and the signs reminding you to make sure you have water are not to be taken lightly. During our visit we noticed no less than four ambulances tending to people who presumably became overheated, and I can't imagine what it's like in July or August.

The sand feels like beach sand, but finer, and cool to the touch. The whole area also had a vaguely chemical smell that I imagine comes from the gypsum, used to make plaster of Paris and fertilizers. It's so strange to be surrounded by so much sand but not an ocean, and the mountains in the background only added to the surreal moonscape. I imagine that White Sands is as close as I'll ever come to feeling as if I've landed on another planet, without leaving the US.

World's Largest Pistachio

If I had one dream job, it would be for someone to pay me to travel to each and every one of the World's Largest Things. I love strange, roadside attractions pretty much more than anything else. Maybe it was all those early years I spent watching Pee-Wee's Playhouse, but I love anything novelty-sized—bigger, or smaller than it should be. I've seen the third World's Largest Garden Gnome, the World's Largest Longaberger Basket, the World's Tallest Uncle Sam and the World's Longest Go-Kart Track, but I'm always eager to add more to that list.

As we were driving to White Sands alongside highway 54/70 in Alamogordo, New Mexico, we came upon McGinn's Pistachio Tree Ranch , home of the World's Largest Pistachio. My sister and I both immediately recognized it from Roadside America and yelled "AHHH IT'S THE WORLD'S LARGEST PISTACHIO PULLLLL OVERRRR," to my startled brother-in-law behind the wheel.

McGinn's is an 111-acre pistachio farm and vineyard, and of course there's a large shop to explore after the huge pistachio lures you in. They sell pistachio-emblazoned everything, and an old miner (not unlike the ones we saw at Howe Caverns and the Niagra Wax Museum) greets you at the door. But of course I was most excited to discover that McGinn's has their very own pressed penny machine, featuring the pistachio with the words "Alamogordo, Pistachioland."

The World's Largest Pistachio is not a real pistachio (this should be obvious by now), but it's big enough and ridiculous enough to be a true roadside gem. The plaque beside it reads: "This monument is dedicated to the lasting memory of Thomas Michael McGinn (1929-2007). The founder of the pistachio tree ranch, this little slice of New Mexico desert was Tom's canvas to create his tireless legacy his tireless dedication to his dream made his farm the success it is today. Tom dreamed big, expected big, and accomplished big things. He would have said this monument is not big enough. His legacy lives on."

There's really no point to the huge pistachio—other than a mandatory photo-op—but I bet most of the people that stopped at McGinn's did so because of it. We certainly did, and ended up buying souvenirs and pistachios before getting on the road again. The world needs more people like Thomas McGinn and his big dreams—and more novelty-sized roadside attractions to honor them.

(It's Always Sunny in) Philadelphia

I briefly mentioned how much I loved Philly in this post of reflections photos, and I've since professed my love for Pat's Steaks and Reading Terminal Market. I've only been to Philly twice, but I'm already sold. A lot of the city reminds me of what I love most about New York—historical markers on every block, adorable streets lined with charming row houses, walkable streets and enough people and building density to feel as if you're really in a city. But Philly also seems to lack a few things that are not so desirable in New York—the maddening rents and crushing crowds. I'm sure Philly has its downsides, as all places do, but my two experiences there have been so delightful that I'm eager to discover what else the city has to offer.

One of the first things that greeted us as we walked from the train station was a bridge flanked by four of the large stone eagles from the original Penn Station. I'm a bit obsessed with finding remnants of old New York, and I was delighted to find that at least some parts of Penn Station's former glory have not been lost. Philly also has its share of famous public artwork, including a huge, steel clothespin by Claes Oldenburg, and the iconic LOVE sculpture.

One thing I wanted to make sure we did was to ride Philly's subway. I am so intrigued by public transit in other cities, particularly subway systems, and we only rode a few stops but I was charmed. The Philly subway feels like a mix of New York's and the DC Metro, and it was clean, easy to navigate and you can still pay with a token (!).

While attempting to walk off some of our cheesesteak calories, we stopped at Professor Ouch's Odditorium, which is basically my dream store. In addition to having a legitimate curiosity show in the back room, they have so many wonderful things for sale, including a large selection of sideshow memorabilia and medical oddities (I bought a particularly wonderful '60s eyeball model).

We mostly wandered around somewhat aimlessly, in awe of the adorable historical streets and ivy-covered homes. We had a drink at the oldest bar in Philly—McGillins Old Ale House—breakfast at the very cute diner, Little Pete's, and wondered out loud what our lives would be like if we defected to a place filled with cheesesteaks, tree-lined streets, wonderful art and excellent cemeteries. I'm not done with New York just yet, but it's nice to know that if I'm ever in need of a change—or when I'm priced out entirely—that Philadelphia exists just a short train ride away.

More Philly posts: Reflections | Pat's Steaks | Magic Gardens | Reading Terminal Market

Smokey Bear Historical Park

On our way back from a day spent sledding the dunes at White Sands National Monument during a recent New Mexico road trip, we weren't quite ready to call it quits for the day. My sister had mentioned that we were nearby Smokey Bear's grave, and even though we knew we weren't going to make it before the museum closed for the day, we still thought it was a worthwhile stop.

Smokey Bear was a real bear cub, originally called "Hotfoot," who was found by firefighters in 1950, badly injured after a fire in Lincoln National Forest. He was renamed Smokey, and came to represent the character that had been created during WWII to help educate campers on the dangers and destructive force of forest fires. Although he lived in the National Zoo in DC (alongside Ham the Astrochimp!), he was brought back to, and buried in Capitan, NM when he died in 1976. 

Of course I'd heard of Smokey Bear, but I'd never realized that he'd been modeled after a real bear. Ever since I visited my first pet cemetery, I've been eager to see as many not-exactly-traditional cemeteries and graves as I can—I was delighted to be able to add Smokey to that list. His grave is marked by a carved wooden bear cub and plaque, along a wooded path that includes statues, handpainted signs, beautiful flowers and at least one praying mantis (although I can't guarantee that last one will stick around). 

The park is such a good kitschy roadside stop—including a squished penny machine and fully-stocked gift shop that was maddeningly closed. The entire (very small) town of Capitan is very proud of its hometown hero—there's a Smokey motel, restaurant and even grocery store. Even if I'm forever disappointed to not be able to add a Smokey squished penny to my collection, I am glad we got to pay our respects to such an iconic figure.

Roswell: UFO McDonald's

My sister, brother-in-law and niece recently hit the road from Dallas, with our destination set at Roswell, New Mexico. We all knew that there wasn't that much to see in Roswell, but we had our hearts set on a kitschy, old fashioned, family vacation and Roswell turned out to be the perfect destination. Sure, downtown Roswell is basically one step up from a one-stoplight town, but there were plenty of alien-themed things to satisfy our need for kitsch.

One of our first stops was the UFO-themed McDonald's in the center of town. Along Roswell's main street (appropriately called Main Street) I counted no fewer than three McDonald's within a very short distance (in addition to three Subways and three Sonics), but only one is shaped like a UFO. Actually only a portion of the restaurant is UFO-shaped, but in a town that is begging for novelty, alien-themed architecture, we were grateful that someone had stepped up to the plate.

The inside is shiny and industrial, like any good UFO should be, but it's the space-themed McDonald's characters that really turn it up a notch. Maybe it was the formative years I spent working at a McDonald's as a teen, but I've always liked the strange cast, from Grimace (what is he!) to Birdie, to the Hamburglar, the Fry Kids and even Ronald. I don't recall the chicken nugget character, but I defy you to find anything cuter than an anthropomorphic nugget floating in a space bubble.

There's a great mural next to the drive-thru that we almost missed, featuring even more cute space nuggets, and a ufo painted in the parking lot in case you needed a spot to land yours. As great as it shines in the daylight, it's even better at night when it lights up, looking as if it's ready to take-off at any moment.

St. Michael's Cemetery: Headless

I have passed St. Michael's cemetery many times on the way to LaGuardia airport (and eaten at a diner across the street), but I finally made it inside of the grounds recently. It was established in 1852, is open to all faiths and is one of the oldest religious, nonprofit cemeteries in the city. The cemetery is boxed in by the Grand Central Parkway and the Brookln-Queens expressway, in an area of Queens that seems pretty car-centric. Walking there via Astoria Blvd was not the most relaxing of walks, but once you're inside, the grounds are surprisingly peaceful.

It's not the oldest, or largest, or smallest or most interesting cemetery that I've visited and at first glance I was underwhelmed. It's large, but the majority of the graves are fairly new and I saw several people tending to graves and at least one funeral-in-progress. No offense to the recently deceased, but new graves and headstones just don't interest me much. In fact, I try to avoid them because I cherish my alone time when I'm exploring cemeteries, and running into grieving families is just not my scene.

I'm always wary of appearing disrepectful—especially as I snap a million photos—so the older the gravesite, the better. Cemeteries interest me for their history, typography, tombstone design and symbolism, all of which I find to be lackluster with newer (1960s-now) burials. 

Somewhere in between being underwhelmed and trying not to get heatstroke, I started to realize that St. Michael's has a lot of statues—more than I usually see—and I got even more interested when I noticed that a large portion of them had lost their heads. I love anything out of the ordinary and macabre, and a headless statue will always pique my interest. St. Michael's appeared to be in very good condition and well-tended otherwise, so I'm not sure what's to blame for the headless epidemic, but I kept finding new ones wherever I looked.

Some statues also had their wings or hands broken and some were laying on the ground, whole or in pieces. What was even more surprising to me was that multiple headless statues still had their heads—resting on top of the stone or on the ground, presumably undisturbed since they first left their bodies. I"m not proud to admit that I was overcome with the urge to pocket a cemetery souvenir, but ultimately decided that stealing from anyone's eternal resting place was too horrible to justify—no matter how at home one of those heads would be in my new curiosity cabinet.

Philly: Reading Terminal Market

On my first visit to Philly, we briefly stopped in Reading Terminal Market to buy a pie (which turned out to be one of the best pies I've ever eaten). We didn't have much time to spend browsing and it was very crowded, but I'd seen enough to know that I should make an effort to come back the next time I was in town.

We managed to squeeze in a visit on our recent trip before we had to catch our train, and this time it was not crowded at all because it was a Sunday. I didn't realize that a lot of the vendors are Amish, and therefore closed on Sundays. This means I didn't get to buy another life-changing pie, but I was just as enamored by the neon signage and various offerings as I was on my first visit.

We weren't hungry at the time, which was a shame because the market is filled with so many delicious-looking (and smelling) things including cheesesteaks, ice cream, donuts, Chinese food, pretzels and a really cute diner counter. Almost every single booth has a neon sign better than the last, with swishing lobster tails, beautiful scripts and illustrations of various foods. I'm a huge fan of judging a book by its cover—or a store or restaurant by its signage—and Reading Terminal Market passes this test with flying (neon) colors.

ALL CAPS EPIC ROAD TRIP OF DELIGHTS

I can't believe it's been two months since I flew back to Ohio to go on an ALL CAPS EPIC ROAD TRIP OF DELIGHTS. It felt as if JMP and I were planning the trip for ages and when the weekend finally came, it was over much too quickly. I even joked—before we left—that I almost didn't want to go on the trip, because then it would be over. I'm forever planning road trips, some of which I've taken, some of which will happen eventually, and some of which will probably never actually materialize, and that's ok. Planning a trip is one third of the fun for me, actually going on the trip is another third, and looking back on what I've done is the final third in the total enjoyment pie.

Even though I planned it and experienced it, it's still hard for me to believe that we crammed SO MANY DELIGHTS into 2.5 days. While I've devoted entire posts to a lot of the larger delights, it's really the sum of all of the parts—big and small—that made it so epically delightful.

As any proper road trip should, we started off Saturday morning by filling up on an insanely large—and cheap!—breakfast at a Waffle House. I love nothing more than a local, independent diner BUT a Waffle House just screams road trip to me (maybe it's the fact that they're at every single rest stop in the Midwest). After finishing our scattered and smothered breakfasts, we visited Willy the Whale and drove an hour to the Ohio State Reformatory. 

Along the way we spotted the Dalton Dari-ette, with a sign that I've always admired—and decided since it was ourroad trip and we made the rules that we'd stop and take photos. After the Reformatory we stopped for lunch at the Buckeye Diner, which is located in an old train car on the top of a hill, and despite being Ohio Buckeye-themed, was still charming.

After the field of giant corn cobs, and before we discovered Traders World, we pulled off the highway exclusively to visit what Roadside America described as a "Giant, Strange Ronald McDonald," which was definitely worth a visit. The address provided led us to the wrong place, until we realized that it was probably close to an actual McDonald's, which was correct.

After ice cream at The Cone we stayed overnight in Louisville. The next morning we fortified ourselves once again at a diner—the cute Twig and Leaf—that we chose based on signage alone. After taking an accidental but very awesome detour into Eastern Cemetery, we visited its neighbor Cave Hill Cemetery and paid our respects to Colonel Harland Sanders and the recently-interred Muhammed Ali.

Before leaving Louisville, we hunted down a Triceratops that had once been in the Sinclair Dinoland exhibit at the 1964/1965 World's Fair. I'd seen the T-Rex and the Apatosaurus in Texas and now I'm obsessed with hunting down all of the dinosaurs that remain. My heart sank when we realized that the Triceratops was in a parking lot that was closed on Sunday, but we made an impulse decision to (very quickly) sneak through the fence to get a closer look. I don't advocate breaking into private property, but it also seems shameful to keep such a wonderful piece of history hidden from view.

As we were eating chili dogs and ice cream served to us from a Barrel, we realized we had some time before we needed to check in at the Wigwam. I did a little poking around and discovered Kart Kountry, home of the World's Largest Go-Kart track and we knew it was a perfect addition to our itinerary. It was my first time riding go-karts and we had so much fun—we also played mini-golf and skee-ball and won enough tickets to get a crazy ball (which I promptly bounced into a fountain) and a trick foam ice cream cone.

After sleeping in a Wigwam—and before exploring abandoned Funtown Mountain—we drove through Cave City on our way to Dinosaur World and admired all of the beautiful motel signage. We ate breakfast at a restaurant that still had a smoking section—one that was full—and our waitress was not happy when we sat as far away from the cloud as we could.

We shopped for gifts at Tom's Tee-Pee, not quite as good as the TePee, but a worthy stop nonetheless. I think I was craving another road trip before this one even ended, and luckily my sister, brother-in-law, niece and I are all headed from Dallas to Roswell this weekend and I'm excited to get to explore an entirely new set of delights—even if I'm still basking in the glow of delights from the last trip.

Philly: Magic Gardens

I'm not sure how I heard about Philly's Magic Gardens, but all I knew was that it was an area of town filled with mosaics—and that's all I needed to know to want to check it out on our recent visit. We subsequently discovered that while Isaiah Zagar's mosaics are scattered around the city on walls and down alley ways, you need tickets to see the actual Magic Gardens site. It was already sold out for the day by the time we made it to South Street on Saturday (weighed down with cheesesteaks), but we came back early Sunday and got in right away.

Isaiah Zagar began doing mosaic work in the area when he moved to Philly in the 60s. In 1994 he started to work on the vacant lot next to his studio, but the lot was almost sold and the installation dismantled in 2002. Unwilling to lose Zagar's work, the community rallied and after a two-year legal battle the newly titled "Magic Gardens" was incorporated as a non-profit organization.

It's always nice to hear stories like this when they have a positive outcome and I'm so glad that the community recognized the value of Zagar's work and continues to support him—in addition to the Magic Gardens, his mosaics can be found on more than 200 public walls.

 In his creations, Zagar uses mostly found objects—bicycle wheels, glass bottles, doll pieces and mirrors—which he mixes with handpainted tiles and concrete (I have a feeling he'd LOVE Dead Horse Bay). The effect is so much more than just the sum of its parts. The mosaics are interesting to view up close and become another thing entirely when you step back to take in the whole. Curling lines of paint meet jagged mirror edges, meet a bicycle wheel window next to a bit of china and bottles that create a stained-glass effect when organized in a grid and viewed from the bottom up.

The Magic Gardens is pretty small, but there is so much packed into a relatively small space that you could spend hours investigating every corner. As much as I'm glad that we got to see the Magic Gardens, I think the real magic of Zagar's work is stumbling upon it in the wild. It's such a delight to turn a corner into what you expect to be another standard alleyway (Philly is FULL of alleys, by the way) only to encounter an otherwise-ordinary wall covered in a colorful, glittering mosaic.

Unisphere: Fountains

I've been captivated by all things World's Fair-related since I first visited Flushing Meadows-Corona park three years ago. There isn't much left from the fair, but the main sites—the NY State Pavilion, Queens Museum, Panorama of the City of New York and the Unisphere—are some of my favorite things in the city. I've visited them all many times since I moved here, and I've taken many friends on mini tours (very often their first time in the park or even in Queens).

For a few years my Worlds Fair "white whale" was seeing the Unisphere fountains. The fountains were a part of the original design—to create the illusion that the globe was floating—but are no longer turned on consistently. We briefly saw them on during a 50th anniversary World's Fair celebration, but were disappointed when they were switched off 20 minutes after we arrived. I vowed to catch them on again, and during the recent US Open, I knew I'd have a good chance.

The US Open takes place in a stadium right next door to the Queens Museum and the Unisphere. After confirming via Instagram that the fountains were indeed turned on, I headed there on Saturday hoping to spend some quality time partying like it was 1964 in the mist of the fountains. In the summer it's frustratingly difficult to get a preview of the fountains from the 7 train and with the trees in full bloom, you can barely see them at all until you emerge from the pathway into the open plaza. 

The suspense was intense, but luckily they were on, and stayed on for my entire visit. I don't know how effectively they obscure the base, but they sure are impressive to see in person. Even the Unisphere still manages to amaze me no matter how many times I see it (night and day, winter, spring or summer). The presence of the fountains does manage to somehow make me wish even more than I normally do that I could travel back in time to see the Fair in all of its glory. 

I slowly keep visiting pieces of both Queens World Fairs —now scattered in parking lots and parks across the country—but I can't help but wish I could know what it was like when it was whole, risen from the ashes of the former Corona Ash Dumps; a magical place that gave us the Mustang, It's a Small World and the Belgian Waffle; a place that couldn't exist in the Internet Age; a place with a 12-story steel globe at its center, whose fountains still manage to inspire awe in this still-relatively-new New Yorker, more than 50 years later.

Bonus World's Fair delights! The NY State Pavilion // Rocket Thrower Statue // Port Authority Heliport (now a wedding venue)

Green-Wood Cemetery: Statues

Before stumbling upon the mossy tombstone jackpot on a recent trip through Green-Wood Cemetery, I had been paying particular attention to the statues I came across. I mentioned that Green-Wood is so large that picking a specific theme makes a walk through the cemetery seem manageable and like I'm on a little scavenger hunt. I'm less likely to become overwhelmed, and more likely to see things I might not notice on a macro level.

Statues really humanize a cemetery experience, much more than words on a tombstone ever could. A lot of the statues are not of the deceased exactly—although I always come across I suspect are done in a specific likeness—but represent general themes such as mourning or are a nod to the afterlife or reproduce religious imagery. Angels or cherubs are very common, and although they usually follow a prescribed look—women with wings and draped gowns—it's remarkable how many variations you can find on a simple premise.

This time I noticed three separate statues of women with similar hairstyles, dresses and poses, and they appeared to be pregnant, which I've never seen before. Green-Wood also has its fair share of creepy children statues—which I assume are sculpted to actually look like the deceased—and although I have no use for living children in my life, their haunting stone counterparts are some of my favorite finds.

Mourning women are very common, including those that look as if they're weeping as well as those who could be mistaken for a visitor, holding flowers, wreaths or other offerings. Statues of men are less common—I once read that a high percentage of magazine covers feature women because women like to compare themselves to other women, and men like to look at women, and I wonder if the same idea applies to cemetery statues. The statues I did find of men tend to be mostly portraits, and the generic male sculptures I've seen have a very angelic, almost feminine look to them. I did also find one dog sculpture during this visit, and although I realize that each sculpture represents the loss of an actual human life, it's the thought of a faithful canine companion guarding his owner's final resting place that will always make me tear up.

Philly: Cheesesteaks

Number one on my list of things to do on our recent trip to Philly was to finally eat a Philly Cheesesteak in Philadelphia. The delicacy alluded me on my first visit, and I've been regretting not making more of an effort to procure one ever since. I've had cheesesteaks, of course, but I get a ridiculous thrill from trying a food in the town in which it was invented or became famous. I've tried chicken wings and beef on weck in Buffalo, deep dish in Chicago, drank a Hurricane in New Orleans and an egg cream in Brooklyn —I even have a dream of one day eating a Charleston Chew in Charleston while doing the Charleston and I have no idea if those were even invented there.

Pretty much as soon as we arrived in Philly we started making our way south to the land of the great cheesesteak wars. I had it on good authority to go to Pat's and to skip Geno's, and as soon as we saw both places it was clear why. Although I can't speak to the quality of Geno's cheesesteaks, their signage alone was way too aggressive for my tastes. It was funny to us how different the two were in ambience—when David so accurately suggested that Guy Fieri would feel right at home at Geno's, I added that Pat's felt more like an Anthony Bourdain pick (if you think in terms of celebrity chef comparisons, or maybe one's a Trump while the other's a Hillary).

Pat's has been serving steaks wit and wit-out since 1930, while Geno's came later in 1966. The ordering process is quite simple a very quick—both of which I love—and before we could even think about it we had our steaks in hand (both wit, one provolone, one American cheese). Cheesesteaks are kind of like pizza or hot dogs in my opinion, in that the best one you'll ever have is not that far away in quality and taste from the worst one you'll ever eat.

However, Pat's was definitely the best cheesesteak I've ever had and I think it comes down to the bread and the cheese. I was initially concerned that I should have ordered whiz, but the American cheese was melty and plentiful and I soon forgot that I ever regretted my choice. I definitely don't think we made a "misteak" choosing Pat's for their chrome siding, woodgrain-printed cups, handpainted signs or beautiful neon—but I do wish that the most delicious cheesesteak I've ever eaten wasn't an hour-and-a-half train ride away.

Manhattan Bridge: Morning

On a recent weekend, I was meeting my mom in Chinatown for diner breakfast before we headed to the resurrected Troll Museum. It was a nice morning, so I took the Q to DeKalb and walked the rest of the way from Brooklyn to Lower Manhattan via the Manhattan Bridge. Riding over the bridge on the Q during my morning commute, I've often thought that morning is the time to walk the bridge—the light shining on Manhattan is perfect at that time of day. I also (wrongly) assumed that it would be desolate at an early hour, but discovered that seemingly every single running club in New York City runs over the bridge on Saturday morning (who knew?).

Despite nearly being trampled multiple times, the walk was still lovely. I've walked nearly all of the city bridges (this was my third time on the Manhattan), and can say with certainty that the views from the Manhattan are unparalleled. Sure you'll get similar views from the Brooklyn Bridge, but (running clubs aside) with far more foot traffic and selfie-stick wielding tourists. The safety fence does require some ingenuity to get a proper photograph, but I eventually stopped fighting it and learned to love the framing provided by the original fence that sits beneath the chain link.

Of course the skyline of Lower Manhattan—and the profile of the neighboring Brooklyn Bridge—is a classic, postcard view, but it's when the bridge reaches land and you can see into the streets of Chinatown that I think things really get interesting. The ever-changing graffiti mixed with clotheslines and inexplicable foliage is fascinating to me—an entire city of rooftops within a city and out of view. There's really nothing like having a fresh vantage point on a city I feel as if I know so well to reinvigorate my love of New York.

Lake George

It's been exactly a year since we went to Lake George, and I'm already feeling nostalgic. I've shared some photos from the mini diner tour we took on the drive up (here and here), the life-changing Magic Forest (including a Snow White exhibit of questionable provenance and many Muffler Men) and the excellent mini-golf scene, but Lake George is packed full of so many additional delights.

We stayed in the cutest little A-frame cottage at the Amber Lantern Motel, proving my theory that any hotel that uses classic plastic key tags (see also the Wiltshire Motel and the Wigwam Village) is an excellent choice. The first morning we ate breakfast at the Prospect Mountain Diner, and we liked it so much that we came back two more times. They had jukeboxes at each table and served a waffle topped with fresh apples that was so good I'm still dreaming about it a year later.

Lake George is located in the Adirondacks region of upstate NY, and our trip wouldn't have been complete without spotting at least one Adirondack chair—luckily they were all over town, including on the porch of our cottage, lined up across from the lake and we even found an oversized one, cementing Lake George as the kitschy summer destination of my dreams.

The area is bursting with vintage roadside charm, from cozy woodland cottages to 60s motels, the neon and signage is top-notch. We had soft-serve cones as big as our heads and cheesesteaks from Martha's Dandee Creme, saw Inside Out at the Glen Drive-In and somehow checked everything off my must-do list in just a few days.

We drove to the top of Mount Prospect, threw skeeballs and tried our luck at the shooting gallery, shopped for souvenirs at Gift World—still using decades-old cloth shopping baskets—visited the Mystery Spot and tried out its bizarre acoustics and drove by one of the last remaining Howard Johnson's restaurants (the horrible reviews scared us away from actually eating there). I said it when we first arrived, but I believe it even more a year later—Lake George is a magical place.

Philly: Reflections

We spent last weekend in Philadelphia, a city that is clean, quiet but vibrant, cultured and historical, very walkable and all-around delightful. I had some general ideas for things we could do, but a lot of the time we were just walking around, exploring neighborhoods and drooling over the reasonably-priced real estate.

After dinner on Saturday, neither of us was quite ready to head back to the hotel and it was a beautiful night so we walked a bit and ended up outside of City Hall in Dillworth Plaza. The fountains had been turned off for the night, leaving shallow pools of still water on the ground. I immediately became obsessed with the reflections that were being formed of the surrounding buildings, and could have stayed there forever taking pictures if our early wake-up time hadn't eventually caught up with me.

I was equally excited when we crossed the plaza again in the morning and discovered that the fountains were off again, making for a whole new round of necessary photos. The City Hall building itself is so incredibly beautiful (and huge!) that I could sit and stare at it for days, so having what seems like two identical City Halls will never be a bad thing. Don't tell New York, but Philly is quickly becoming one of my favorite cities.

31 on the 31st

Today I turn 31 on the 31st, which despite being what I've heard to referred to as my "golden" or "magical" birthday, feels somewhat anti-climactic. 30 felt weird, in good and bad ways, but I've always considered myself an old soul so I like to think that as I age, I'm not getting older, just simply catching up with myself. But 31? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

For a very large portion of my life, I never felt at home in my birth state of Ohio. I lived in the same house for 20+ years, went to college a few miles away and after graduation I got a job and moved in with a boyfriend—all within a 30 mile radius. I've always felt like a late bloomer, physically and emotionally, so in the grand scheme of things I suppose it makes sense that I didn't move to New York until I was almost 28 years old. In some ways it feels as if that is really when my life began, and in three sometimes short, sometimes long years, I've grown into a person I'm really comfortable being. I'm in a city where I feel at ease, I have a stable career at which I feel competent, if not slightly above average at times, and I'm finally in a relationship that is easy, fun and reciprocal.

I grew up in a constant state of unease. I was a prohibitively picky eater, I wasn't interested in dating anyone, I consistently felt as if I was in the wrong place, in the wrong time, broken and in need of something I had no way of finding. It wasn't all doom and gloom, of course, and by all accounts I've had a perfectly lovely life, but there are so many times that I think back on teenage me and wish I could go back with a magic Beauty-and-the-Beast-style mirror and show her, everything is going to be okay.

I feel as if I grew into myself, and while I'm still not perfect—and will likely never feel as such—I'm definitely at ease with who I am in a way I've never been before. Maybe it's the fabled "wisdom" that comes with old age, or maybe it's my experiences or my choices or just some wild mysterious mix of brain synapses, but whatever it is, I'm grateful every day that I found me.

Francesca and I went to Chinatown last week and had our auras photographed, and while I wont bore you with the analysis, I will say that there are way worse ways to spend $20 and a Friday night. We had one of those lovely New York nights where nothing is planned and everything works out way better than you expect. Where trains run on time and the soup dumplings don't fall apart and you share deep insights and silly stories with someone who just gets you.

My life has been filled with long stretches of average days that blur together into years—days with annoyances and boredom and frustrations and heartaches and general malaise—like anyone lucky enough to live a life. But it's the bright spots that stand out, the large moments—landing at LaGuardia without a return ticket, or the first nervous "I Love You"s—and the small—making a friend laugh or the time I realized that I finally liked guacamole—that keep me wanting more.

Previous birthday musings: 30 | 28 | 27 | 26

Governors Island: The Hills

Governors Island is one of my very favorite New York City summer destinations. It's cheap (or free), and fairly quick/easy to get to, but once you're there you feel miles away from the city. I first went in the summer of 2013, and returned later that summer for the French carnival Fête Paradiso, in September of 2014, and in July of last year.

Just in the three years since my first visit, the island has undergone some wonderful transformations. About a third of the island was still under construction in 2013, and in 2014 a new section of the island opened, including the too-sunny-but-fun Hammock Grove. This year the remaining portions opened to the public and I was thrilled to discover some wonderful, new-to-me abandoned buildings: a crumbling service station, old military housing and a strip mall of sorts containing a hair care center, dry cleaners and commissary.

The southwestern tip of the island has been transformed into a new landscape known as "The Hills," featuring four, man-made hills, picnic areas, lookout points, winding paths, slides and art installations. The line for the slides was insanely long—as most lines in New York usually are—so we just headed to the top of two of the hills. The views of lower Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty are wonderful, and Rachel Whiteread's permanent, site-specific art installation, Cabin, is worth checking out.

We also happened upon a Volkswagen car show, which was something unexpectedly charming on a usually car-free island. It's a funny thing to have finally lived in New York long enough to personally witness drastic changes, improvements, demolitions, sad closures and grand openings, and I look forward to checking in on Governors Island for many more summers to come.

Troll Museum

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

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

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

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