Cherry Blossoms

Every year spring feels as if it might never come, and then suddenly everything is in bloom and I know it won't be too long until the subway feels like a dog's mouth. Maybe it's because it comes and goes so quickly, but cherry blossom season always feels like magic to me. I spent Easter weekend in Ohio, and although I was only gone for four days, it felt as if the entire city bloomed while I was away. We've had some gloomy, chilly days mixed in, but it's hard not to feel a burst of energy as the city comes back to life. 

On Saturday my mom and I took advantage of the free hours at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden (every Saturday from 10am-Noon) to check in on the cherry esplanade. Because it's 2017, the BBG has a handy "bloom map" which is updated frequently with the trees' progress, so I knew that most of the trees had at least started to bloom. The weeping cherries around the Japanese garden are already past their peak, but the esplanade is always a bit behind. 

They have an actual cherry blossom festival every year—which is this coming Saturday—but I've always shied away from the crowds and the $$$ admission price. The garden is always a popular place in the spring, and as much as I try to avoid photographing people, I do love watching them interacting with the blossoms. Selfie sticks and professional portrait sessions are quite common, and the garden becomes a destination for the people-watching as much as for the blossoms.

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Brooklyn Botanic Garden
Summer Hours: March–October
Closed Mondays
Tuesday–Friday: 8 am–6 pm
Saturday and Sunday: 10 am–6 pm (FREE 10am-noon on non-festival Saturdays)

Entrances at Eastern Parkway (2/3 trains), Flatbush Avenue (B/Q/S trains) and Washington Avenue (4/5 trains).

Mount Moriah Cemetery

I finally made it to Mount Moriah Cemetery recently, an "abandoned" cemetery located in southwest Philadelphia. I put abandoned in quotes, because like Eastern Cemetery in Kentucky and the Historic Jersey City Cemetery, Mount Moriah was once abandoned but is slowly being cleaned up and maintained by a group of volunteers. 

Mount Moriah was established in 1855 and encompasses 380 acres, making it the largest cemetery in Pennsylvania. The cemetery is separated into two sections by Cobbs Creek, and sits in two different counties. It was privately owned until the last known member of the Mount Moriah Cemetery Association died, and there has been confusion about who actually owns the cemetery since—it officially closed its gates in 2011.

At first glance, Mount Moriah doesn't even appear abandoned. A large portion of it has been cleared and mowed, and it looks like any other sprawling cemetery. But bordering the cleared sections are pockets of overgrown brush and weeds, studded with headstones—I'm guessing the whole cemetery looked like this before the volunteers stepped in. 

I have been trying to get to Mount Moriah ever since my soul-sister-in-creep, Kaylah of The Dainty Squid, posted about it, but I could never get someone to go with me. I had heard that it was in a not-so-great neighborhood (not uncommon for an abandoned place), and I wasn't thrilled to have to go alone. But I recently had a weekday off for Passover and the weather was beautiful, so I hopped on a train (and then another train) headed for Philadelphia. This is where I apologize to my dad, for assuring him recently that I never go into sketchy, abandoned places by myself—I amend that statement to almost never. 

I opted to take regional trains (Penn Staion > Trenton, Trenton > Philly) instead of a more direct (and more expensive) Amtrak train. Mount Moriah is located about four miles from the 30th Street train station, and because I didn't have a car I had to figure out how to actually get to Mount Moriah after I arrived in Philly. 

I generally have no problems taking solo adventures—and sometimes I actually prefer to be alone—but my anxieties and indecisive tendencies seem to flourish when left unchecked by another person. My first instinct was to take Uber to the cemetery, but then I began to worry about where to get dropped off and even the judgement of my driver when he/she realized that my destination was an abandoned cemetery (which feels so dumb to admit). Then I decided to take the light rail, but couldn't find the station. Then I thought I'd take the streetcar—which is sort of an underground bus?—but I couldn't figure out how to pay, and I knew I didn't have exact change. So, after way too much time sort of wandering in circles, arguing with myself and wondering why I was so strange, I ended up taking Uber. 

I do want to mention that as we were driving, the neighborhood kept getting sketchier and sketchier, to the point where I considered asking my driver to take me back to Philly proper. As we approached the cemetery, I noticed that the front gates were unlocked and open, and asked my driver to drop me out front. I basically ran into the cemetery, and instantly felt better—I'm so glad that I didn't prematurely bail. 

There are a few military sections that have been meticulously maintained, and seeing row after row of identical stones (including several just marked "Unknown") like a mini-Arlington is really sobering. Mount Moriah was unlike any other cemetery I've visited, but there were still a few things that stood out: a full-sized tree growing out of the base of a broken monument, the marker that just said "orphanage," and a path that was made entirely out of broken headstones. 

Friends of Mount Moriah Cemetery is a "nonprofit organization dedicated to the preservation and promotion of Mount Moriah Cemetery by honoring the memory of those interred here through community engagement, education, historic research, and restoration." I'm definitely appreciative of these volunteer groups that have stepped in to care for their neglected neighborhood cemeteries—a largely thankless and monumental task—but I'm also glad that I got see Mount Moriah before it was entirely restored to its former glory.

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Mount Moriah Cemetery
The main gate is at Kingsessing Ave and S 62nd Street.
No regular hours posted, but I visited at noon on a Tuesday and the gates were open.

Cathedral Buffet

When I booked my recent trip back to Ohio, I initially didn't know that it was for Easter weekend. I was bummed to miss the Fifth Avenue Easter "parade," which has become one of my favorite events to photograph, and my family doesn't really have any solid Easter traditions beyond getting together to eat. However, when my Uncle mentioned recently that my grandma approves of eating at just two restaurants—Chinese Buffet and Cathedral Buffet—a light bulb went off. We could go to Cathedral Buffet for Easter brunch—a place that could not only feed us physically, but spiritually.

We aren't by any means a religious family, but I do worship at the altar of weird and Cathedral Buffet (and its parent organization, Ernest Angley Ministries) has fascinated me for years. Angley's interdenominational ministry was originally based southeast of Akron, but moved to Cuyahoga Falls in 1994, after purchasing a large complex formerly owned by televangelist Rex Humbard. The complex includes a large cathedral, television studios and banquet hall, which is home to the Cathedral Buffet.

When I was confirming that the buffet was open on Easter, I came across an entry on Roadside America specifically for the Cathedral Buffet and its Life of Christ displays. Formerly unbenownst to me, the basement of the buffet is home to thirteen miniature dioramas, described as "a three-dimensional experience for the whole family." Sculpted by Paul Cunningham, a self-taught artist from Nebraska, the dioramas depict "detailed scenes from the earthly life of our Lord."

The figures in the dioramas were sculpted from clay and then molded from plastic and carved by hand. The scenes feature realistic nature and material elements including rice paper flowers, linen clothing, and etched brass leaves. But the main reason why I was so excited to see the dioramas was the fact that "human fingernails were used on many of the figures to give the display a 'living' quality."

It turns out that only three out of probably a hundred figures actually have real human fingernails—as their toenails—as far as we could tell. I went for the fingernails, of course, but I have to admit that the displays are definitely something. They're not necessarily masterpieces, per se, but they're incredibly detailed and were obviously crafted with passion. Some of the figures are more skillfully rendered than others, and the style is a bit uneven but the overall effect is definitely worth the dollar we donated for admission.

I can't believe I lived in the town neighboring Cuyahoga Falls for 23 years of my life without ever hearing about the dioramas, but I'm so glad that I finally got the entire Cathedral Buffet experience. And it turns out that we couldn't have picked a better time to go—two days after Easter the Cathedral Buffet closed, presumably for good.

Ernest Angley Ministries has been involved in a number of scandals over the years, including allegations of sex abuse and even a murder involving two Cathedral Buffet workers. But it was a recent lawsuit and eventual judgement against the church for not paying its workers that was the buffet's ultimate downfall—Angley was ordered to pay nearly $400,000 in back wages and damages to former employees.

Officials from the church claim that "the restaurant always kept its prices low for families; it never made a profit; and the restaurant can’t run without volunteers." While the buffet's fate seems grim, I wonder what will become of the dioramas—and I still can't figure out exactly where they got all of those fingernails.

Project 365: Days 104-110

104/365: I bought this planter knowing that it would be small, but it still seemed comically tiny when it arrived.

105/365: I landed in Ohio and JMP and I hit the road and explored an abandoned amusement park, motel and school. For dinner, we treated ourselves to much-deserved tacos and margs at Barrio.

106/365: I had Easter brunch with my family at the (now closed!) Cathedral Buffet.

107/365: I finally met Kaylah aka The Dainty Squid in real life and she graciously traversed Ohio with us—we had some bad luck with abandoned spots but ended the day on a high note exploring an abandoned trailer park (thank you for being so cool, Kaylah!). 

108/365: My friend Shannon treated me to a Skyway cheeseburg and milkshake and we ended the night bowling, where I was surprisingly good at bowling for a minute.

109/365: A souvenir that I just couldn't pass up from the abandoned trailer park.

110/365: Trying very hard to not kill my air plants.

Abandoned Amusement Park

I recently took advantage of a four-day weekend (thank you, Passover!) to fly back to Ohio to see my family and friends.Two of the four days were set aside for friends and exploration, and as soon as I landed my friend JMP and I hit the road in search of an abandoned amusement park. The park was open for 100 years—from 1878 through 1978—and currently sits abandoned and overgrown, surrounded by small houses. Apparently the rides remained salvageable well into the 90s, but the 2000s weren't kind to the park and several of the buildings and rides have since been demolished or have burned down. 

Despite its current state of ruin, I was actually pleasantly surprised by how many rides are still there—I had done some research and was only really expecting to see the Ferris wheel, so everything else felt like a bonus. The park originally had nearly 20 rides, in addition to bathrooms, snack bars, a ballroom, a hotel, ticket booths, souvenir shops and an outdoor theater. 

One of the first piles we came across was what remains of the old ballroom. We spent some time wondering what the twisted metal could have once been—it looks an awful lot like a roller coaster track—but the bathroom remnants, chairs and appliances below the beams were puzzling. The ballroom is one of the buildings that was destroyed by a fire—one that must have been quite intense judging by the warped and undulating beams. 

The Ferris wheel was a definite highlight, and just as spooky-looking in person as I imagined it would be. Even without its cars it's still such an instantly recognizable shape that just screams "amusement park." It was a bit smaller than I expected and we thought at first we might not even find it, but seeing it rise out from the weeds was a major thrill.

Next to the wheel is a collection of three Tumble Bug cars, and we saw another one nearby in a neighboring yard. Only two Tumble Bug rides remain in operation today, both of which are in Pennsylvania. The buildings that remain, if you can even really call them buildings anymore, are all collapsing in on themselves, and others have long been reduced to piles. One building was recognizable as bathrooms, and one was probably a snack stand but they were all in pretty bad shape.

The other iconic amusement park silhouette is the coaster track, and I was so happy to find two. The first one had the most wonderful, colorful peeling layers of paint and its curves rising through overgrown vines reminded me of a dinosaur (specifically the Sinclair Oil Apatosaurus).

I loved the trees that were growing right through the coaster tracks—in some places trunks and branches even seemed to be slowly consuming the rusty rails. I'm glad we went before the trees really start getting their leaves. Many of the rides are so overgrown that they're easy to miss, and I can imagine that they disappear almost completely in the dense summer foliage.

Recent Reads

The Art of Dying

I picked out this book somewhat randomly at the library—I say "somewhat" because I had never heard of it, but I immediately gravitate towards anything that addresses death, dying or funeral practices. This book was a bit different from others I've read in the "death" genre, but it was a fascinating look at what happens right before and as someone is dying.

The book comprises mostly first-hand accounts by family members, caretakers and people who have had near-death or actual death experiences (people who have experienced clinical death, usually during a heart attack). I'm not at all a religious person, but I don't rule out some sort of afterlife mostly because I try to keep an open mind about things that can't really be proven. Despite reading many books on the subject, I haven't yet really experienced death very closely, and I had no idea that so many people have similar end-of-life experiences, including visions of loved ones, sudden clarity and an overwhelming sense of peace and purpose. I definitely don't want to die, but after reading this book I am slightly more comforted that when the time comes—for me, as well as for the people I love—that it won't necessarily be the end, but just the next step in a larger journey.

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Dreamland: The True Tale of America's Opiate Epidemic

This was another somewhat impulsive library pick, but I was immediately engrossed in this true story of America's opiate epidemic (and corresponding heroin boom). I grew up in Ohio, where a large portion of this story takes place, so it hit close to home—but even if you've been oblivious to the rise in opiate and heroin addiction (and resulting overdose deaths) this is an essential read.

Quinones switches quickly between telling the stories of addicts, doctors, heroin dealers and the pharmaceutical industry and weaves all of the pieces together seamlessly. It's an extremely complicated problem with no obvious solution, but it's a riveting story that is crucial to understanding the current state of our country.

Misery: A Novel

This was my first time really getting into a Stephen King novel—if you don't count abandoned attempts at both It and Pet Semetary when I was younger—and it didn't take me long to realize why he's so popular. I'd seen Misery the movie a long time ago, so I knew the basic plot points, but that didn't prevent me from feeling all of the suspense, stress—and misery—that accompanies Paul Sheldon's imprisonment by his "number one fan," Annie Wilkes. It was impossible for me to not have Kathy Bates and James Caan in mind while I read the book, and it's a testament to casting that they fit so seamlessly with how King describes them. It's a gripping novel that is gruesome, clever and suspenseful—probably the perfect introduction to King as a writer, and I won't wait years again before reading another of his books.

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The Circus Fire: A True Story of an American Tragedy

I picked up this book in the gift shop of The Ringling in Sarasota, right after we saw The World's Largest Miniature Circus. I have always been interested in all things circus-related, but I especially love reading about a place or subject after seeing it—kind of like reading the reviews after I've seen the movie. The Circus Fire is the true account of a horrific fire that tore through the Big Top during the July 6th, 1944 matinee performance in Hartford Connecticut, killing 167 people and injuring hundreds more. There were thousands of people in attendance—mostly women and children—and people died in all sorts of horrific ways. Some reviews I read criticized this book for being too graphic in describing their injuries, but I mostly found it to be a fascinating and well-researched account of a truly tragic event. The canvas Big Top had been waterproofed with a mixture of paraffin and gasoline, and ultimately Ringling Bros. / Barnum and Bailey were found liable, although the source of the fire (and the identity of some of its victims) remains a mystery.

Interesting fact: The first place that the circus played after the fire was The Rubber Bowl in Akron!

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Between the World and Me

There's a quote on the cover of Between the World and Me by Toni Morrison, declaring this book to be "required reading," and I don't think that's an overstatement. Ta-Nehisi Coates framed this book as a letter to his teenage son, and it's a short read but a devastating one. Much like I think that Being Mortal should be read by everyone who ever plans to grow old and die (or knows someone who will), Between the World and Me should be read by anyone and everyone who ever plans to have contact with another human being outside of themselves.

It wasn't an uplifting read, but the world is not a perfect place (and some people are forced to learn this faster than others). This isn't the book to read if you'd like to feel great about the world, but perhaps those that struggle the least need to start listening to someone like Coates the most. As James Baldwin famously said, "Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced."

Washington Cemetery

Washington Cemetery, located in South Brooklyn, was founded in 1850 and became a Jewish burial ground around 1857. It comprises five, gated cemeteries and it's huge—I spent hours there recently and only covered part of #1. Jewish cemeteries have been in the news lately after they've seen an uptick in vandalism. Washington Cemetery recently denied that vandals had tipped 42 fallen headstones, saying instead that the stones were just old and had fallen naturally. 

Washington Cemetery first came onto my radar as I was riding the F train to see another cemetery—Gravesend—years ago. The elevated train track runs right through the middle of the cemetery, and it's hard not to miss the tightly-packed rows of stones stretching far into the distance on either side. This bird's eye view is not something you get with every cemetery, and it's humbling to view thousands of headstones from above—like a miniature city of the dead.

I did notice some fallen stones—and one headstone with graffiti—but nothing else out of the ordinary for a cemetery this old and crowded. Washington is clearly well-maintained, and I saw several people visiting and tending to graves while I was there. It took me years to finally make it to Washington due to F train changes, its early gate closures and the fact that it's closed entirely on Saturdays (for Shabbat).

The thing I've noticed most about Jewish cemeteries here in New York is that they tend to be very tightly packed—in some sections there's barely room to squeeze past each stone. The headstones vary greatly in their design—some are very tall and ornate, some are squat and plain and the very oldest are indistinguishable from others of their time period. Some contain uniquely Jewish symbols, and others are written entirely in Hebrew or contain some combination of it and other languages.

Something else you'll notice is the absence of planted or even freshly-cut flowers, which is not a Jewish custom for a few reasons. What you will notice instead are stones or fake flowers, which serve a similar purpose—to commemorate the deceased and show that they have been visited and have not been forgotten. I have always liked this approach because it feels more permanent to me than flowers that will wilt and die—the last thing you need in a cemetery is yet another reminder of our fleeting time on Earth.

Project 365: Days 90-103

90/365: New library books—I've started them both and so far, so good.

91/365: We finally saw Get Out (loved it) and I walked through Carroll Gardens to meet my friend Jim for dinner.

92/365: I explored Washington Cemetery and Avenue U in Brooklyn.

93/365: Still life with cat.

94/365: Foggy Flatbush.

95/365: I had a doctor's appointment in Midtown and took a half day off work.

96/365: I finally made it to the Alamo Drafthouse in downtown Brooklyn, where we saw Beauty and the Beast (loved it)—I want this Overlook Hotel carpet in my apartment.

97/365: Spooky morning light.

98/365: Jim cleaned out his storage unit and we finally got to play 13 Dead End Drive—it was just as fun and as complicated as we remembered.

99/365: Jim and I saw a live taping of the Bowery Boys podcast at the Bell House and finished the afternoon with pie at Four and Twenty Blackbirds.

100/365: I had dinner with my mom, so I walked to my old Harlem apartment through the park.

101/365: I celebrated having the day off for Passover by taking the train(s) to Philadelphia, where I finally explored the abandoned Mount Moriah Cemetery and ate a cheesesteak with whiz.

102/365: My dude and I drove up to Beacon, NY where we ate at a cute diner, explored an abandoned cemetery (with exposed human remains!), met a Muffler Man, took a hike and explored an abandoned factory. We tried to creep on this abandoned church/school, but the floor was caving in :(

103/365: Leftover pizza for dinner and the world's nosiest cat.

The World's Largest Miniature Circus

On our recent trip to Florida, we took a day trip to Sarasota to visit The Ringling. John Ringling was one of five "Ringling Brothers." He wisely invested his profits from The Greatest Show on Earth, making him one of the richest men in America in the 1920s. The Ringling comprises several different properties and museums, including John's house, Ca’ d’Zan, a huge art museum, gardens, and the circus museum, which houses The World's Largest Miniature Circus.

The 3,800 square foot Howard Bros. Circus model is "a 44,000-piece re-creation of the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus combined shows from 1919-1938." The model is the life's work of Howard Tibbals and is crafted to an exact 3/4-inch-to-the-foot scale.

Tibbals has been working on the model for more than 50 years, and it includes everything you'd expect to see at a circus and probably much, much more. There are billboards and trains; trapeze artists and barbers; general stores and ice cream stands; elephants and zebras and tigers; clowns and ticket booths—and of course a big top.

I have always loved miniatures—I even bought a book on how to make them when I was younger so I could make my own for a dollhouse that never materialized. My only complaint about this marvel is that you can't possibly see it all, and I'm sure so much of the fine detail goes unnoticed. The overall effect is incredible—there's even a viewing platform so you can get the bird's eye view. I'm so grateful the world includes people like Howard Tibbals, who really understand that the biggest joys can be found in even the smallest of things.

Avenue U

I can't remember when or where I first saw a photo of this donut shop on Avenue U, but I knew that I needed to see the storefront for myself, and take my own photo before it was too late. It was the perfect spark for a sunny Sunday adventure, one that took me into a few different streets and neighborhoods in South Brooklyn.

Avenue U is a main thoroughfare in Brooklyn, stretching west to east from Gravesend to Bergen Beach, through Sheepshead Bay, Marine Park and Mill Basin. In addition to the Donut Shoppe, which more than lived up to my expectations, the street is populated with hundreds of shops and restaurants with interesting storefronts and wonderful signage. 

Neighborhoods that seem untouched by time are getting harder and harder to find in New York, but I try to get excited about what's left instead of dwelling on what is already gone. G & S Pork Store has a nearly-perfect sign with beautiful hand-painted lettering and pigs holding a length of sausage links, which is just the right amount of whimsical and macabre if you think about it too deeply.   

These type of neighborhood walks are my favorite way to really experience New York, without any real itinerary, agenda or destination. I walked until I was tired and a little sunburnt, fortified by a 90-cent donut and a renewed love of this city and its infinite delights.

Linger Lodge

The Linger Lodge, a restaurant and campground located in Bradenton, Florida, claims to be "Old Florida at its Best." On our recent trip to Florida, I was intent on having dinner at the Lodge, and knew it was either going to be strange or very strange. Started in 1945 as a campground, the Lodge is full of taxidermy—mostly roadkill—some pieces are good, some pieces are bad and some pieces are so bad that they're great.

It's worth visiting the Linger Lodge for the menu alone. There's an entire page devoted to the roadkill offerings, and it should tell you something about the Lodge that it took us a while to realize that it was a joke (I think??). Offerings include Tummy Teasers such as "Chunk of Skunk" and "Swirl of Squirrel," entrees such as "Center Line Bovine" and "The Chicken (that didn't cross the road),"—but my favorite was definitely "Poodles 'n Noodles."

The Lodge is very proud of their "rare and unusual "Florida Animals"' collection, including a Jackalope, Alaskan Fur Fish and the Walking Catfish. I like taxidermy and I love bad taxidermy, but I'm obsessed with made-up taxidermy. The Linger Lodge was exactly as strange as I wanted it to be and I'm so glad that this Old Florida gem is still around.

Linger Lodge: 7205 85th St Ct E, Bradenton, FL 34202

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Oh, hi!

Welcome to the new Only Living Girl in New York! I hope you enjoy the new site as much as I do! I've reorganized things, making it easier to sort by categories to find what you're interested in—they're listed at the top of each post and in the sidebar—and you can find even more specific tags listed at the bottom of each post, along with related posts. I've also added about and contact pages, if you're into that.

Some of the links are still acting up and not every post has a thumbnail image yet, but I'm really excited about the new look—stay a while, poke around and enjoy your virtual road trip!

Never miss an adventure! Follow along with Bloglovin'

UniRoyal Gal: Tootsie 2017 + Muffler Man: Wrench

My dude's parents recently purchased a house in Bradenton, Florida and one of the first things I did when I learned of its location was to consult Roadside America. I spend hours combing through their maps and archives, planning trips that I may or may not take, and it's the first resource I turn to when I'm traveling somewhere new. I was thrilled to discover that their house was a 15 minute drive from Tootsie the Uniroyal Gal.

Roadside America lists ten known Uniroyal Gals, although American Giants says that they've heard of 17, 12 of which are still visible today. Whichever number is correct, the fact is that there weren't many produced and they are far less common than their male counterpart, the Muffler Man. I saw my first one back in October and I was beyond excited to see another one so soon.

Tootsie, as her current owner calls her, could definitely use a paint touch-up—in fact she's so sun-bleached that she nearly blends in with the beige building behind her. The default was for the gal to sport a bikini, but International Fiberglass also made a removable shirt and skirt (Nitro Girl sports this more modest outfit). Upon closer inspection, Tootsie is actually wearing a polka-dotted bikini, and I love her high-heels and the side-tie detail on the bikini bottom.

Speaking of Muffler Men, there are several around the Tampa area and I made sure that our paths crossed with one on our way to Kissimmee. We were having the worst luck with light—everything that we stopped to photograph was back-lit, but I was still happy to meet my twelfth Muffler Man.

This Muffler Man, which stands outside of an automotive repair shop, has the distinction of being the only one I've seen so far holding a tool. I've seen them saluting, waving, pointing and holding axes, food, signs, a gem stone and a roll of carpet—but I've yet to see one actually holding a muffler.

NYBG: Orchid Show 2017

This was my fifth year in a row attending the Orchid Show at the New York Botanical Garden. Even though the design of the show changes from year to year—this year's theme is "Thailand"—the flowers are pretty similar, and yet I'm still nowhere near over the thrill of seeing so many beautiful orchids in one place.

As far as I'm concerned, orchids are basically aliens—or maybe we're the aliens that invaded Planet Orchid. I feel that way about a lot of nature (have you ever really looked at deep sea creatures??), but orchids are so intricate and varied that it's hard not to be in complete awe of their beauty. I think it's their variation that amazes me the most—there are orchids that look like slippers, people, animals and mimic other types of flowers. There are orchids with blooms as big as your hand and as tiny as the tip of your finger. There are green ones and purple ones and orchids with stripes, spots and blotches. Some orchids smell like chocolate, and others have no scent at all.

For the second year in a row, the slipper orchid managed to be the most memorable for me. The single blooms are easy to miss at the show—this year they're low to the ground around the centerpiece—but they're so incredibly intricate and just downright strange-looking. The veiny, kiwi-colored one simultaneously grossed me out and intrigued me, and no matter how long I look at them they're hard for my brain to process.

Despite my best intentions, I still seem to have trouble keeping my own plants alive so it's nice to be able to surround myself with such top-notch specimens just for the price of admission. After some false starts, spring has been dragging its feet coming to the city, but I've come to regard the Orchid Show as an essential ritual to welcome the season.

Past orchid shows: 2016 // 2015 // 2014 // 2013

Mold-A-Rama

I was vaguely familiar with the concept of the Mold-A-Rama machine, but I never encountered one in person until our recent trip to Florida. We stopped by the Tampa Electric Manatee Viewing Center hoping to see loads of manatees and we basically saw one—from above and far away. But they did have a gift shop, a squished penny machine and two Mold-A-Rama machines.

Mold-A-Rama is the brand name of a souvenir vending machine that makes blow-molded plastic figurines. They debuted in 1962 at the Seattle World's Fair and were found en masse at the 1964/65 New York World's Fair. Mold-A-Rama machines were basically the 3D printers of their day, and the inventor licensed the technology to Chicago’s Automatic Retailers of America (ARA). By 1971, ARA had sold the machines to independent operators and two remain today: Mold-A-Rama near Chicago and Mold-A-Matic near Tampa. According to Wikipedia, there were still 124 machines in operation across eight states as of November 2015.

The manatee machine was out of order, but a sign said that pre-made figures were available to purchase in the gift shop. The dolphin machine, however, was working and I put in two dollars and an instant obsession was born. I bought the last Mold-A-Rama manatee that the gift shop had in stock, and it's lumpy and has a hole in its face, but I was thrilled to instantly double my collection.

Fast-forward a few hours and we arrive at Gatorland in Kissimmee to find that they also have two Mold-A-Rama machines: a white alligator and a green double figure of a man wrestling an alligator (found outside of the ring where you can watch its real-life inspiration). Of course I got both, again doubling my collection which rests (for now) at four figures for a grand total of $9 (they're $2 cash, or $2.50 if you pay with a credit card).

I've been collecting floaty pens and squished pennies ever since I can remember, but the Mold-A-Rama fits seamlessly into my souvenir aesthetic—cheap, vintage and whimsical. The figurines are printed with their locations, which is a nice touch, and even though you do zero work—there isn't even a button to push—they still feel somehow personal and unique. It was fun to watch them emerge from the molds, smell their waxy scent and pluck them from the machine. Vintage marvels like the Mold-A-Rama are totally my speed—I don't need fancy graphics or technology to get a thrill—and the chance that I might get a third-degree burn from some leftover molten plastic as I impatiently grab my souvenir is more than enough excitement for me.

Project 365: Days 83-89

83/365: My uncle and I had breakfast at Tom's and browsed the Egypt galleries at the Brooklyn Museum.

84/365: This little monster "helped" me pack for Florida.

85/365: We went to The Ringling in Sarasota and toured Ca' d'Zan, the art museum and the circus museum (which houses the World's Largest Miniature Circus!).

86/365: Beach day! I managed to stay mostly un-sunburnt, which is a remarkable feat when you're made of tissue paper, as I am.

87/365: We took a mini-road trip to the Orlando area, including Gatorland and a mandatory stop at Orange World.

88/365:  Souvenirs from our short, but lovely trip.

89/365: This building on 86th Street is currently empty and I worry that new tenants will eventually remove this beautiful lettering.

Orange World

We just got back from a quick trip to Florida, and the number one thing on my must-see list was Orange World. We were staying with my dude's parents in Bradenton (thank you Jo Ann and Ken!) which isn't exactly close to Orange World, but as I've said before, my love of novelty architecture knows no bounds.

Orange World, or "The Big Orange" as I've taken to calling it, is a gift shop and roadside citrus stand, and it's shaped like a huge orange. It's so big, in fact, that they say it's the World's Largest Orange—although technically it's only half of an orange. The man at the counter explained that the building was originally just circular with a flat top. Allegedly the owner was eating at the Waffle House next door and looking at the building when he had the idea to build the orange on top—after the addition was completed, business tripled overnight.

The area used to be surrounded by orange groves, but is now full of hotels and gift shops catering to the Disney overflow. Orange World is just one of several huge gift shops on Route 192 in Kissimmee, but it's definitely the most memorable.

Update: Look how cute it looks from Google Earth (who knew it had leaves and a stem!):

Kings Park Psychiatric Center: Patient Wards

The last building we explored at the abandoned Kings Park Psychiatric Center (after Building 93 and a doctor's cottage) was a large building that once housed patient wards. The door was wide open so we just walked right in—there wasn't much left inside but the peeling paint, humorous graffiti and eerie corridors made it a worthwhile place to creep for a bit.

There are so many buildings on KPPC's campus (more than 100 during its lifetime) that I can't be sure exactly which one this was—and we saw several others that had very similar layouts—but it had what appeared to be individual rooms as well as larger spaces and balconies on every floor. The peeling paint was particularly artful and I could do an entire post just waxing poetic about layer after layer of the curling, cracking, pastel flakes.

I generally think that most graffiti is terrible in abandoned places, and of course wish I could see these places in a more pristine condition, but occasionally I'll come across something that makes me laugh. "Call your mother, she worries" was one of my favorites, especially because my mother was actually with me exploring KPPC—after our New York City Farm Colony adventure she was hooked.

Although not nearly as full of stuff as Building 93, this building still had some of its bathroom fixtures, built-in cabinets, radiators, doors and shattered mirrors. I love the mystery that abandoned spaces have and I like to imagine how each room was used and who might have lived there—what was stored on those wooden shelves and most importantly, who last used that moldy toilet paper?

Museum of Interesting Things

In the words of Denny Daniel, the founder and curator of the Museum of Interesting Things, the museum "is a traveling interactive demonstration/exhibition of antiques and inventions inspiring innovation and creativity—learning from the past to create a better future." My mom and I recently took a "tour" of the museum via the New York Adventure Club.

I use the word tour loosely, however, since when it's not traveling, the museum is located in Daniel's East Village apartment. My mom and I have always loved interesting things (who doesn't?) and we spent a great many weekends perusing thrift stores and flea markets while I was growing up in Ohio. I think living in New York is preferable to Ohio in almost every way, with one exception being that the thrifting/flea situation here is dismal. It's not that there aren't treasures, but they're almost all laughably expensive. I used to run an online shop while I still lived in Ohio for second-hand gems, and part of my motivation to start selling my interesting finds was the fear that I'd end up like Daniel—with piles and piles and piles of stuff.

I shut down my shop when I moved to New York and sold all of my inventory before I left, but I still miss spending hours sorting through trash to find treasure. I will always identify with people like Daniel, and his enthusiasm for all of the objects he showed us was infectious. I love joyful, genuine people and Daniel was knowledgeable, talkative and infinitely curious. He has phonographs, cameras, stereoscopes, magic lanterns, camera obscuras, 8-tracks, record players, stacks of tvs, film reels and countless other collections, not all of which are currently housed in his apartment.

He has the Moviola film-editing machine that Tim Burton used to edit dailies of Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, a Nickelodeon on which we watched A Trip to the Moon, a collection of World's Fair memorabilia, a piece of the Enigma code-breaker machine and is a self-proclaimed expert on carrier pigeons and organ grinder monkeys.

But the most interesting of all the interesting things was something he called "Bones and Ribs," a bootleg gramophone recording from Soviet-era Russia that was pressed onto x-ray film, in this case a skull x-ray. I pride myself on knowing a little about a lot of weird things, but this was something I might never knew existed if it hadn't been for Denny Daniel and his collection.