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Recent Reads
My Cousin Rachel, by Daphne du Maurier
I had to read Rebecca in my high school English class, and although I resented being forced to read anything, I immediately fell in love with du Maurier's gothic storytelling. I've since re-read Rebecca several times (and seen the movie), but I have no excuse why it's taken me so long to pick up another of her books. My Cousin Rachel has many similarities to Rebecca—in setting and character—and I was hooked from the very first line, "They used to hang men at Four Turnings in the old days." I sped through the book, racing to the conclusion and hoping to find a definitive answer to the question of "did she or didn't she??" but alas, du Maurier leaves it ambiguous— which was as frustrating an end to Rachel's story as it was, in hindsight, a fitting one.
The Mole People: Life in the Tunnels Beneath New York City, by Jennifer Toth
This book had been sitting on my shelf for years, but once I finally picked it up, I couldn't put it down. Published in 1995, The Mole People is a fascinating first-hand account of Toth's travels through the maze of tunnels underground the New York City streets, and the people she met along the way that call the tunnels home. I can't believe that Toth, a 20-something year-old reporter, was brave enough to explore underground in the early '90s, but I'm so glad she did.
Some reviewers have issues with Toth's first-hand account, but I thought she was very thoughtful and respectful of the people she met. I'm glad that through her, I was able to experience this fascinating slice of '90s New York, and I found that her experience added to, rather than detracted from the overall story. After I finished the book, I watched this documentary—it was shot in the '90s but not released until 2000 and serves as a great companion piece to the book— although I'm still hungry for an update on what the tunnels are like today.
Fat of the Land: Garbage of New York—The Last Two Hundred Years, by Benjamin Miller
David passed on a New Yorker article to me recently about Barren Island, an island in Brooklyn that once housed rendering plants and a landfill—it was eventually enlarged with refuse and joined to the mainland, forming the land that then became home to Floyd Bennet field. Fat of the Land was credited as a source in the article, and I immediately tried to find a copy. It’s no longer in print and the library didn’t have a lending copy but I was able to find it used on Amazon.
Maybe there isn’t a huge demand for a book with the subtitle “Garbage of New York—the Last Two Hundred Years,” but I’ve long been fascinated by the way cities work, especially sanitation infrastructure (I even attended a Brooklyn Brainery lecture about garbage). This book bounces around quite a bit and often strays far from the central topic of garbage, but I’m a New York history nerd so I appreciated the detours involving Robert Moses and Frederick Law Olmsted. It might be helpful to have some background knowledge of New York before you dive into such a niche subject—and I might not ever fully comprehend all of the intricacies of city politics and infrastructure—but Fat of the Land was a great place to start.
Franny and Zooey, by J.D. Salinger
Like, du Maurier, Salinger is an author that I was first exposed to high school, when I read (and subsequently re-read) The Catcher in the Rye. Franny and Zooey is a collection of two short stories about the fictional Glass family, both of which originally appeared in The New Yorker. I liked the shorter "Franny" more than I liked "Zooey," but they both take place within a few days of each other, and both parts fit together as one coherent story.
I'm a bit conflicted about Salinger—I am absolutely bowled over by some of his passages and his disillusioned, angsty views on society really strike a chord with me. But some parts of Franny and Zooey (like some parts of The Catcher in the Rye) are just a slog to get through and the language can feel a bit foreign or old-timey to me. I'm still intrigued by the Glass family, and although Salinger didn't publish much, there are a few more Glass stories out there that I look forward to reading with a mixture of adoration and frustration.
The Stowaway: A Young Man's Extraordinary Adventure to Antarctica, by Laurie Gwen Shapiro
I picked up this book while I was browsing at the library, thinking that it was about the stowaway on Shackleton's journey (detailed in one of my favorite books, Endurance). But The Stowaway is actually about a different stowaway on a different polar expedition with a different explorer at the helm.
Billy Gawronski was just shy of 18 years old when he jumped into the Hudson River and snuck aboard a boat destined for Antarctica as part of Richard Byrd's 1928 expedition. He was discovered and sent home, only to stowaway on a different ship—twice!—before Byrd decided to let him stay. Gawronski made it to Antarctica and although he wasn't picked to overwinter with Byrd (whose expedition was the first to reach the South Pole by air), his story is still an interesting one. Billy grew up on the Lower East side and in Bayside, Queens and I liked the descriptions of 1920s New York City just as much as the more exotic locales. The Stowaway may be scraping the bottom of the barrel of polar expedition stories, but it was an enjoyable, short read and it only solidified my dream of one day making it to Antarctica (on a warm, safe boat, preferably).
So far I've read 15/60 books for my 2018 reading challenge — follow along on Goodreads — and you can check out all of my book reviews by clicking on the books tag.
Abandoned School
Last weekend David and I—somewhat spontaneously—decided to rent a Zipcar and drive to New Jersey to explore an abandoned school. We didn't have a lot of information about the school except for an address and with abandoned buildings you never know what—if anything—you're going to find. That's part of the appeal, but also part of what makes this hobby nerve-wracking for an anxious person like me, and I was super nervous about this one, in part because I knew it had the potential to be great.
This school was definitely the most difficult place we've explored, only because the building was relatively secure. But after a bit of physical maneuvering we were inside and immediately struck at how much stuff was piled in the lower floors. Built in the 1850s, this school was added to repeatedly through the years and it's a grand building—five floors of classrooms, including a basement and roof access.
The crown jewel of this school is its auditorium. added in 1909. Casement windows open off of a corridor circling the upper portion of the auditorium, adding additional viewpoints—reminiscent of the balconies at a grand opera house. Most of the nearly 800 seats are still intact, and I wish I could say the same for the incredible stained glass ceiling, which is unfortunately mostly shattered, seemingly beyond repair.
In an newspaper announcement that I found online about the opening of this auditorium, it says that "The city will be compensated many times over for the outlay that this auditorium will entail through the refining and elevating influences that will proceed from it, disseminated among a people who are hungry for the educational advantages which for centuries have been denied their race in the old world."
This school broke my heart in a lot of ways, in the normal ways that all abandoned places do, and in some new ones as well. This building was so grand and beautiful and—at the risk of sounding a thousand years old—they just don't build things like this anymore, especially schools. Buildings like this say something important about the activities contained within—that they matter. As my friend Jim, an architect, said: it's the difference between wearing sweatpants or a suit.
I'm not exactly sure what forced this school to close, but judging by the declining student population I would speculate that the upkeep was just too expensive for the struggling school district. The remaining students were moved to another school, and the school closed in 2007. There's no way of knowing if the city was ever "compensated many times over" for its investment in this beautiful building, but it breaks my heart to see it slowly crumbling.
Happy Friday!
Illustration by Lindsey Frances
Things that happened recently:
Have you noticed that the "gifs" option has disappeared from your Instagram stories? Here's why.
I wouldn't say that I have a sweet tooth, but I love sugar just as much as anyone—and know that I eat way too much of it (I love Easter candy so much that Francesca just bought me this pillow). Here's a good way to start cutting back, without missing out on sweet treats.
The legal battle for Charles Manson's body has been resolved, with rights awarded to his grandson (I swear I wasn't in the running, despite being obsessed with this book).
Things to do this weekend:
There are still tickets left for two "Spirit of the Irish" ghost tours tonight at one of New York's most haunted places, The Merchant's House and Museum. The Merchant's House is a gem, but it's currently being threatened by a proposal to build an eight-story hotel next door, the construction of which would potentially destroy the fragile 186-year-old landmark building—here's how you can help with the fight to save the house (or support the cause by taking a tour!).
Saturday is St. Patrick's Day, and while I'm not a huge fan of green eggs or drinking at 8am, I do love parades. I've never been to the city's St. Patrick's Day Parade, but maybe this is a good year for it since it falls on the weekend.
I'm devastated that I missed the registration for this free tour of Gravesend Cemetery—the oldest cemetery owned by the City of New York—on Sunday. I went there once, only to find that the cemetery is open by appointment only. I'm trying to reach the Parks Dept. to see if I can get on a waitlist, so wish me luck!
Things I discovered recently:
I texted my mom asking her to pick up this lamp while she was at Target (she goes once a week) and she replied "Why do you need that?" Despite her savage judgement of my decor choices, she did end up delivering, and I love it so much. Now every time I turn on the light I'm reminded of Mr. Rex and Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, both of which make me very happy.
I found this article about the "Santa's Workshop" of Brooklyn and discovered that Lou Nasti and his team are the masterminds behind some of the most memorable Dyker Height's Christmas decorations and other mechanical displays around the city. You can take a tour of his workshop via the New York Adventure Club (which I will definitely be doing someday soon).
After finishing this book I was hungry for more about life in the tunnels, so I watched this documentary (so good!). I'm forever fascinated by pre-gentrified New York but I also know that I wouldn't have lasted five minutes here in the '70s-'90s.
My mom and I have plans to go to yet another doomed diner this weekend, The Silver Spurs diner, which is closing at the end of the month after 40 years in business. I wish diners weren't dropping like flies, but I guess all we can do is say our goodbyes and try to patronize the ones we love as much as we can while they're still around. Other than that, I have no weekend plans—David and I explored an abandoned school last weekend and I'm excited to start going through my photos. I've been taking a Lightroom class at work, which has invigorated my interest in photo editing and I used my shiny new camera for the first time so we'll see how those turn out. I think I'm officially over this cold weather and more than ready for a real spring—I've seen some signs of life popping up around the city, but hopefully the temperatures rise a bit soon. Have a great weekend!
The Jim Henson Exhibition
I frequently say that I don't like movies that involve real live humans interacting with cartoons or puppets. There's something about the suspension of reality that is demanded from the audience and the implied ignorance of the actor that is just off-putting to me (I know this is a crazy thing to think/care about).
So when I told David that I wanted to go see the Jim Henson exhibit at the Museum of the Moving Image, he was understandably surprised. But just because I don't love humans interacting with puppets, doesn't mean I don't like the puppets themselves or appreciate the artistry and creativity that goes into making and animating them (I do very much!).
The Museum of the Moving Image is located in Astoria, Queens. They have a modest permanent collection of movie memorabilia—it's worth the price of admission to me just to see Meryl's wig from Sophie's Choice and Robin William's Mrs. Doubtfire face—but their special exhibitions are always top-notch. I went and saw their excellent Mad Men exhibit before I'd even seen a single episode of the show, so I knew that Jim Henson's extraordinary life would be in good hands.
Jim Henson is of course famous for his Muppets, but he packed so much more into his tragically short life (he died after a short illness in 1990, when he was just 53). He began experimenting with puppetry while he was still in high school, and in 1969 he started work on Sesame Street. I was somehow unaware that Henson had anything to do with Sesame Street, but in hindsight I don't know how I didn't know that.
The exhibition features nearly 300 objects and 47 puppets, donated by Henson's family—including Kermit the Frog, Miss Piggy, Big Bird, Elmo, Cookie Monster, Rowlf, The Swedish Chef, my spirit animals Statler and Waldorf, Emmett Otter and others—and it's easy to see how they are all related and evolved through the years.
At the end of the exhibition is a theater playing an episode of The Muppet Show and a short documentary about Henson's work. It's mesmerizing to see the puppets in person and then brought to life on the screen, but what I loved most was the behind-the-scenes footage—what's happening below the camera is often more interesting than the finished product.
I find that seeing things in person—paintings, set pieces, actors—versus seeing them on screen or in a photograph can be a jarring experience. Without the gloss of the big (or the small) screen, the Muppets look a little dingy, a little shabby and very much like puppets. It made me appreciate the work of puppeteers more than I ever thought to, especially Henson and his alter ego, Kermit. In a display case, he's just a simple, frog-like patchwork of felt and wires—but imbued with Henson's spirit (and hand and voice), he became Kermit The Frog (and blessed the world with a gif for every scenario).
The Museum of the Moving Image
36-01 35 Avenue
Astoria, NY 11106
$15 adults (18+)
Admission is free every Friday, 4:00 to 8:00 p.m.
The Jim Henson Exhibition is ongoing
Weeki Wachee Springs
The one attraction that I was most excited to see on our recent Florida trip was Weeki Wachee Springs. Open since 1947, Weeki Wachee is home of the famous live mermaid show. The Weeki Wachee spring is the deepest naturally-formed spring in the U.S. and the surrounding land is a Florida State Park. Guests watch the mermaid shows from 16 feet below the surface, inside of a 400-seat theater embedded in the side of the spring.
The mermaid show was dreamed up by former Navy man Newton Perry, who also invented the free-flowing air hose breathing apparatus that the mermaids still use today (it resembles a hookah). The mermaids are trained to eat, drink and do underwater ballet routines—three times a day, 365 days a year.
The mermaid show was just as cheesy as I wanted it to be, and deceptively simple—tryouts for new mermaids include a 120-foot dive into the spring, a 300-yard timed swim and a 10-minute water-treading exercise. The show ended with a performance of "Proud to be an American," lest you forget that this is old Florida. According to the 2016 census, the town of Weeki Wachee has just 13 residents and the mayor is a former mermaid.
In the early days of the attraction, mermaids would stand by the side of the road in their bathing costumes and wave motorists into the park. In the '50s and '60s, the mermaids were visited by Elvis, Don Knotts and Esther Williams, and performed eight shows a day to sold out crowds. Weeki Wachee is definitely past its heyday, but $13 not only buys you admission to the mermaid shows, but also to a wildlife show (featuring a three-legged tortoise named Tripod) and a river boat cruise.
I almost died with delight when we entered the park and I spotted a Mold-a-Matic machine—and then I almost died of sadness when I noticed the "out of order" sign. Later, we came upon yet another Mold-a-Matic machine ... and it was also broken. I first discovered these vintage souvenir machines in Florida last year and they're quite rare—I was heartbroken to be so close, yet so far from adding two new figures to my collection. David encouraged me to inquire at the gift shop if they had any pre-made figures and as luck would have it they did, sort of. One was broken in half and the other was beheaded, but David and his dad glued one together and I decided to leave the head separated from the second—my weird Florida version of the Headless (sea)Horse(wo)man.
Weeki Wachee Springs State Park
6131 Commercial Way
Spring Hill, FL 34606, United States
Located just down the road from the Spring Hill dinosaurs.
Eclectic/Encore Props
We recently took a tour of Eclectic/Encore Props, one of the largest prop rental companies on the East Coast. Located in a 95,000 sq ft former Pepsi factory in Long Island City, Queens, Eclectic/Encore Props rents its nearly two million props to movies, television shows and Broadway productions all over the country.
Suri Bieler, a veteran stage designer, started Eclectic Props 40 years ago, supplying furnishings for Broadway shows. In 1989, she acquired Encore Studios and added movies and television shows to the operation. As the collection has grown, she has needed to find larger spaces to house everything, and I was constantly overwhelmed by just how much stuff is housed in this unassuming warehouse.
When we arrived for the tour, we received a map of the warehouse, which is impressively organized by theme. Every single object is barcoded and cataloged, which makes locating and returning specific pieces easy. There is a shipping department on the ground floor, where props are carefully wrapped and sent to their temporary homes.
Within the collection is every theme imaginable—Egyptian, holidays, religious, medieval, rugs, Victorian, Mid-Century, diner, rustic, sports and weapons, toys, school, garden, music and medical, etc. Bieler chooses new pieces from closing Broadway shows, private collections and estate sales. When asked if she ever sells pieces from the collection—a question she says she gets all the time—she replied with an emphatic "no."
My only complaint about our tour was that it was woefully short. I could've spent days inside of the warehouse marveling at each piece in the collection, and every room we encountered was better than the last. I practically had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the medical room and it took all of my willpower not to swipe something from the mannequin head shelf or the diner room. I've always been interested in production design for shows but now I think that Bieler might actually have my dream job—she found a way to turn hoarding and thrift store shopping into an organized and lucrative profession and I'm mostly jealous that I didn't think of it first.
Eclectic/Encore Props
47-51 33rd Street
Long Island City, New York 11101
We took our tour via the New York Adventure Club
Happy Friday!
Illustration by Lindsey Frances
Things that happened recently:
I've said it before, but it was another exhausting week to try and keep up with all of the chaos—I mean Energy!—in the Trump White House. After seeing Sam Nunberg's name pop up everywhere I groaned about having to learn about yet another off-the-rails Trump team member, but it turns out this was a story worth tracking.
Wednesday's nor’easter seemed like it was a dud until it finally arrived in the afternoon with blizzard-like conditions and ... thundersnow! Snowfall predictions varied wildly—prompting the New York Times to use an actual shrug emoticon in their headline—but in the end only 2.9" fell in Central Park. This is our second snowstorm in March so far, a somewhat fitting celebration of the 130th anniversary of the famous blizzard of 1888 (I just reserved this book at the library).
International Women's Day was on Thursday, and if you're a lady I hope you celebrated yourself. If you're a man, I hope you took a moment to recognize all of the wonderful women in the world—the New York Times did this great feature on fifteen women who were overlooked by their obituary writers. If you're still on the lookout for images of female empowerment, here are some photos from the 2017 Women's March in DC and the 2018 Women's March in NYC.
Things to do this weekend:
Thursday was the opening day of the new exhibition, Before the Fall: German and Austrian Art of the 1930s at the Neue Gallerie. The Neue Gallerie, with its focus on German and Austrian art, is my favorite niche museum in the city. The March First Friday has passed, but on the first Friday of every month admission to the museum is free from 6-9pm.
I just found out about the Jim Henson exhibit at the Museum of the Moving Image, and I'm hoping to go see it this weekend (it ends March 31st).
On Sunday the Urban Park Rangers are hosting a free walk along New York City's oldest bridge, the Highbridge, which connects the Bronx and Manhattan. It was built in 1848 and public access was restored just recently.
Things I've discovered recently:
I have always been obsessed with miniatures—I had this book as a kid and made all sorts of tiny thing for a dollhouse I never had—so I could watch these videos of tiny food being prepared all day long.
I started (and finished) this book this week. I borrowed it from a friend years ago and like most books I've randomly plucked from my shelves, I feel silly that I waited so long to pick it up. Although it's now 25 years old, it's still a fascinating look at homelessness in New York, and I'd love to read a "where are they now" about each person she met in the tunnels (although it would probably be bleak).
If you're not following Rosie O'Donnell on Twitter, I recommend that you do if only for her incredible portraits of the Trump administration like this one and this one. And this seems like a good time to remind you that 16-year-old me made a brief appearance on the Rosie O'Donnell show, and it was just as awkward as you might be imagining.
I feel as if I may be getting sick, so I plan on taking it easy this weekend while trying to convince myself out of getting a full-blown cold (fyi, this never works). I would like to get to the Georgia Diner in Queens before they close for good at the end of March, and maybe check out the Jim Henson exhibit afterwards on Saturday. I haven't done much exploring lately, but I'm still catching up on blog posts from my past road trips, and planning for future ones—Memphis in May and Arizona/New Mexico in June. March might actually be my least favorite month, but I have a few things on my calendar to keep me distracted from the dreary weather. I hope you have a lovely weekend and send immune system-boosting vibes my way!
Pioneertown
A few days before I left for my California trip in December, I decided that we should tack on an extra day to the mini road trip that we had planned. I wanted to see Noah Purifoy's art and spend some time in Joshua Tree, but it wasn't until I discovered the Pioneertown Motel that I knew that we were destined to stay an extra night in the desert.
Pioneertown was founded in 1946 by a group of Hollywood investors, including Roy Rogers and Gene Autry. Their goal was to create an Old West town that served both as a movie set and a functional town—with a motel, restaurants and even a bowling alley hiding behind the Old West facades. Throughout the '40s and '50s, more than 200 television shows and movies were filmed in Pioneertown.
Pioneertown is technically an unincorporated community located within the town of Yucca Valley, about 30 minutes north of Joshua Tree. The population was 350 in 2006, but in 2016 the New York Times reported that Pioneertown was in the midst of a renaissance fueled by its proximity to Los Angeles and music festivals, like Coachella. There are private residences (and at least one teepee) scattered beyond Mane Street, but we barely saw another person when we explored the "town" on a Tuesday morning.
The Pioneertown Post Office is said to be (according to a plaque out front) the most photographed post office in the US—a questionable fact that has been unintentionally backed up by this Google Maps street view capture. The Pioneer Bowl bowling alley was built in 1947 and Roy Rogers himself rolled out the first ball. At one time it was considered to be one of the oldest continuously operating bowling alleys in California but unfortunately it now appears to be closed.
The Pioneertown Motel can best be described as an Ace Hotel in the high desert, although after our less-than ideal stay at the Ace in Palm Springs, I should clarify that the Pioneertown Motel was even better than an Ace in every way. We did have the misfortune of being placed (yet again!) next to a room full of people that thought it was ok to throw a very loud party on a Monday night (complete with their own sound system because the rooms don't even come with a TV), but one call to the front desk shut that down immediately.
When we checked in, Jim asked if there was a place to grab dinner, and we were directed to Pappy + Harriet's. In the '70s, the facade for an Old West cantina was transformed into an outlaw biker burrito bar called "The Cantina." It closed after ten years and reopened in 1982 as Pappy + Harriet's, known for its barbecue and live music.
Pappy + Harriet's was crazy crowded, even on a Monday night and for good reason—famous musicians like Robert Plant, Vampire Weekend, Leon Russell, Sean Lennon and even Paul McCartney have been known to drop by. Mondays are open mic nights, and although no one famous dropped in during our 2+ hour wait for a table, it was still one of the most enjoyable evenings I've ever had.
Lancaster County
I never thought this day would come, but I *think* this is the last post I can squeeze out of the four-day road trip that my mom and I took back in October. We made 30+ stops through eight states over four days—and I made sure that we were kept busy right up until the end. After touring the Haines Shoe House, we drove 30 minutes east through southern Pennsylvania to Amish country. Lancaster County has the largest Amish population in the world, followed closely by Holmes County in Ohio.
By this point in the trip I had mostly forgotten why I had put certain destinations on the map, so our stop at Hershey Farm Restaurant and Inn was just as much of a surprise for me as it was for my mom. When we pulled into the parking lot and spotted Amos—the barefoot Amish giant—I immediately remembered that he was the reason that I had put the Hersey Inn on my list. Amos, a 15-foot-tall fiberglass figure—similar to a Muffler Man—stood outside of Zinn's Diner in Denver, PA from 1969 until the diner was sold in 2003.
Amos ended up at the The Heritage Center of Lancaster County, but he was too big for them to display, so he is currently "on loan" to the Hershey Farm Restaurant. Apparently the loan period was scheduled to end in 2009, but as of October 2017 Big Amos was still standing in the parking lot, near a pair of Amish buggies.
Less than half a mile from the Hershey Restaurant, we happened upon another statue outside of the former Freeze and Frizz—now Katie's Corner restaurant. This one features an Amish boy (also barefoot) and two pigs. The boy holds an enormous twist ice cream cone, one pig holds a hamburger, and the other has a banana split. The statue has obviously seen better days, with several layers of paint visible beneath the peeling top layer, but it's just strange enough (and surprisingly large) to warrant a quick stop.
Located two miles from Katie's Kitchen is Dutch Haven, the official last stop on our epic road trip. Originally this windmill-topped building housed a Pennsylvania-Dutch style luncheonette. In 1946 it became Dutch Haven, which bills itself as the "largest Amish souvenir store in Lancaster County." In addition to selling furniture, t-shirts, candy, glassware and other "Amish stuff," Dutch Haven is also famous for their shoo-fly pie—they offer in-store samples and ship their pies anywhere in the country for a flat rate. I'm not crazy about shoo-fly pie (it tastes like a soggy brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tart?) but it's my friend Jim's favorite, so I got my money's worth by shipping one to him in California.
Dutch Haven made my list because of its novelty building, but I didn't expect it to also be a treasure trove of hand-painted signage and lettering. When I was a kid, I used to go to Ohio's Amish country frequently with my mom to do a little antiquing and a whole lot of cheese sampling, so Lancaster County was a fitting end to our short but mighty road trip.
Hershey Farm Restaurant and Inn
240 Hartman Bridge Rd
Ronks, PA 17572
Katie's Kitchen
200 Hartman Bridge Rd
Ronks, PA 17572
Dutch Haven
2857 E Lincoln Hwy A
Ronks, PA 17572
Other stops on our road trip:
Muffler Man: Pink Pants // Muffler Man: Cowboy // Enchanted Forest // Hills of Snow // Muffler Man: Bunyan + Babe // Muffler Men: White's Tire // South of the Border: Night + Day // Dinosaur Land // Muffler Man: Homer // Divine // Chang and Eng // Main Street of Yesteryear // Shell Station // Haines Shoe House // World's Largest things // Grahamland // Aspin Hill Pet Cemetery
The Pines
If you're interested in abandoned places, chances are you've seen photos of the abandoned Borscht Belt resorts in the Poconos and the Catskills. David and I had the use of a car recently (not a Zipcar, which has mileage restrictions) and his first suggestion was that we go explore some of the abandoned resorts that I hadn't been able to stop thinking about since I first saw photos of them years ago.
Our first stop was the Summit Resort in the Poconos, but the area was very crowded and appears to be slated for redevelopment. I didn't feel comfortable creeping on a place where people had been known to get arrested, so we moved onto my backup plan, The Buck Hill Inn ... only to find that it has been completely demolished. It was getting late but I still had hopes that we could salvage our day by visiting my third choice, The Pines Resort.
The Pines Resort, located in South Fallsburg, NY, opened in 1933. It's about an hour and a half drive from New York City, in the Catskills region of Upstate New York. The once-popular resort had indoor and outdoor swimming pools, a golf course, ski slopes, an ice skating rink, a theater, a 400-room hotel, tennis courts and card rooms.
Due in part to changing tastes and access to cheaper airfares, the resort business suffered and The Pines closed in 1998. The current owner, The Fallsburg Estates LLC filed for bankruptcy in 2002 and has done little to maintain the property. A lot of the buildings have collapsed roofs or have been reduced to piles of debris. The indoor pool is now an outdoor pool, the staff building burned in 2003 and the day care and staff quarters suffered a similar fate in 2007.
The most distinctive attraction at The Pines (today, as well as in its heyday) is its kidney-shaped pool. It has a futuristic, swooping cement walkway over the middle and was filled with snow, ice and cattails when we visited. If you love before/afters, Pablo Maurer did a fantastic study of these abandoned resorts with side-by-side comparisons of postcards, matchbooks and archival photos.
Because The Pines is so easily accessible, there isn't much stuff left inside of the buildings to hint at its former glory days. But the one thing The Pines has in spades is chairs. Of course, #theresalwaysachair, but the former dining hall is still filled with tables and piles and piles of chairs—so many that people have turned them into a de facto art installation by poking them into the walls and ceilings.
The days of exploring these abandoned resorts seem to be coming to an end. Most of them are being actively redeveloped, and I would imagine that The Pines will one day crumble completely. I was surprised to discover that it had been built in the '30s—most of the buildings that we explored seemed stuck in the '70s. I have seen much older buildings in much better condition than the soggy, moldy piles that we found at The Pines, but if you look hard enough you can almost imagine a time when this was the place to be.
Happy Friday!
Illustration by Lindsey Frances
Things that happened recently:
On Thursday the Met ↑ began charging full admission to anyone who is not a New York resident or student from New York, New Jersey or Connecticut. The ticket is now good for three days, and includes admission to the Met, the Met Breuer and the Cloisters. A lot of people are unhappy with the new policy, including artist Ai Weiwei, who vowed never to go to the Met again because charging full price to non-New Yorkers is "like taking the jacket off a poor person."
David saved a recent issue of the New Yorker for me so I could read this article about modern day polar explorer Henry Worsley's incredible Antarctic journeys. I'd never heard of Worsley before, but I've been interested in polar exploration ever since I read Endurance, an excellent book about Shakleton's famous voyage.
I mentioned it at the end of this post, but I recently started a Society6 shop. There are tons of fun roadside attraction prints over there, and if you ever see a photo of mine that you'd like as a print, don't hesitate to ask!
Things to do this week:
Today is the opening of the David Bowie Is exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum and tomorrow is the first day of the annual Orchid Show at the New York Botanical Garden. I am going to try to get to both in the next few months, but here are some photos from the past five orchid shows if you're already dreaming of spring: 2017 // 2016 // 2015 // 2014 // 2013
Tonight, The Morgan Library and Museum is hosting a screening of the John Waters/Divine classic, Pink Flamingos. We paid our respects to Divine in Baltimore back in October, but I would love to do a re-watch of the entire Divine oeuvre.
After a movie marathon on Saturday, I'll have seen all of the Best Picture nominees, so you better bet I'll be watching the Oscars on Sunday. I don't have the space to throw a viewing party, but if I did, I would be making this piñata, printing these fun ballots and making cookies with this.
Things I've discovered recently:
In the '80s, the Public Art Fund commissioned "Wheatfield—A Confrontation" on the site of a landfill in Battery Park. The 2-acre wheat field was just two blocks from the World Trade Center and eventually yielded more than 1,000 pounds of consumable wheat. I often wish I had been able to see New York during the '70s and '80s (watching this is as close as I'll probably get) but in reality I probably would have been terrified and constantly mugged.
I love a lot of the art commissioned for subway posters but I never knew that you could buy prints until I looked up Ryan Peltier and found that his Edward Gorey-like illustration was available from the New York Transit Museum Store (I bought one, and now I just have to figure out where to put it).
I started reading this book after my friend Lindsey suggested it and I'm loving it so far. I read Rebecca when I was in high school and fell in love with Daphne du Maurier's gothic storytelling, but I have no excuse why it took me so long to read another of her novels. Lindsey also sent me this article, which made me love du Maurier even more: “What a pity I’m not a vagrant on the face of the earth,” du Maurier wrote in her diary at 21. “Wandering in strange cities, foreign lands, open spaces, fighting, drinking, loving physically. And here I am, only a silly sheltered girl in a dress, knowing nothing at all — but Nothing.”
Tomorrow I'm doing this five movie marathon to catch up on all of the Best Picture winners at the AMC in Times Square (thoughts and prayers that I don't get bedbugs). The day starts at 10:30 am with Dunkirk, followed by Darkest Hour, Call Me By Your Name, The Post and Get Out. This might be the first time in my life that I'll have seen all of the Best Picture nominees before Oscar night so I'm looking forward to watching on Sunday night. My prediction is that Three Billboards will win, but I'm rooting for The Shape of Water.
When I first moved to the city, I frequently did solo double features, so I'm no stranger to spending most of the day in a movie theater. The most movies I've ever watched back-to-back in a theater is three, but I've already seen The Post and Get Out, so I can leave early if I'm feeling over it. There are three of us participating, so we need to coordinate our snack plan—thankfully the art of snacking is something at which we all excel. I'm also hoping to fit in a diner breakfast before we get started, and I have TBD brunch plans on Sunday. I hope you have a great weekend, and enjoy the Oscars, if you'll be watching.
Joshua Tree
Back in December, after checking out Noah Purifoy’s incredible sculptures and popping into the World Famous Crochet Museum, my friend Jim and I headed into Joshua Tree National Park. Neither of us had been before but we didn’t have too much time, so we grabbed a map at the visitor center and asked a park ranger to highlight the shorter hikes.
Joshua Tree is located in southeastern California about three hours from Los Angeles. It was declared a National Park in 1994 and the eponymous trees are native to the western portion of the park, in the higher, cooler Mojave Desert. I grew up in Ohio and we have nothing remotely desert-like here on the East Coast. I’ve been to New Mexico, but I’ve never experienced the desert like I did on this trip, and I have to say that I totally fell in love. The lack of humidity, dazzling light and cool nights all felt otherworldly to my coastal bones, and I can definitely understand the appeal.
We took a short hike through Hidden Valley and it was a nice introduction to the alien world of Joshua Tree. Of course I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Joshua Trees, but I was surprised to see so many. They are everywhere. And then, as you drive further south and east into the park, they start to disappear and you feel like you’re on yet another planet entirely.
After our hike, we drove east into the lower, warmer Colorado desert and to the cholla cactus garden. One thing we both noticed about the park is that it is enormous—so much bigger than either of us expected. Points on the map that appeared close were actually quite far from one another, and if we had known how far we had to drive to reach the cactus garden, we may not have made the drive. I’m so glad we did though, because it was like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
The cholla cactus trail is a loop that goes through ten acres covered in teddybear cholla. It may seem obvious to state that a cactus is prickly, but the teddybear cactus is extra nefarious—it has tiny barbs on its needle-like spines and despite being extra careful (ok, full disclosure, I touched one gently) I still had to pick a few spines out of my shoe on our way out. The seeds from the cholla are usually infertile and new plants grow from fallen stem joints. Because of this, it’s possible that this entire garden originated with a single cholla cactus, which is mind-blowing because—like Joshua trees to the west—they are everywhere.
We didn’t go very far on our California trip without running into a site that has exploded on Instagram recently, and Joshua Tree is no exception. Many trails have been closed to the public because of an increase in graffiti that has been attributed to the park's surging popularity on social media. I recently visited the Temple of Dendur at the Met and for the first time noticed that even in the 1800s tourists were carving their names into antiquities—so vandalism is nothing new but also maybe don't be a jerk and ruin things for other people?
But like Palm Springs, the hype surrounding Joshua Tree is definitely justified, and as with most places there’s nothing that can compare to throwing your phone in your backpack and experiencing it in person.
Chinese Lunar New Year Parade 2018
Maybe because I post about a majority of the things that I do, but I often get asked, "how do you do so much?" I'm generally at a loss on how to answer this because I don't have any secrets besides doing what I like and often doing those things alone—but here's a fact that might not be too evident if you only know me through this blog or Instagram: sometimes I just don't want to do anything at all.
The most recent example of hermit mood came on Sunday, when I had planned to go to the Chinese Lunar New Year Parade. I had been hyped about this parade for literally years—the last time we went was in 2014, and every year since I've wanted to go but never made it for reasons I've since forgotten.
This year I was determined to go and put it on my calendar months in advance. I was closely monitoring the weather and knew Sunday looked rainy, but I hoped it would clear in time for the parade. After obsessively checking the radar every few minutes on Sunday morning, I texted my mom "it looks crappy out, we probably shouldn't go," but she didn't get my text and showed up at my door anyway (not a big deal, she lives upstairs). After a few more minutes of me listing reasons why we shouldn't go, I finally rallied and decided to put on my waterproof hiking shoes and hope for the best.
We missed the beginning of the parade, but we were able to catch most of it and the rain mostly held off. After the parade, we had soup dumplings at Joe's Shanghai, almond cookie ice cream at the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory and walked around Chinatown marveling at the parade aftermath, having mini-heart attacks every time someone pulled a party popper.
The Chinese Lunar New Year parade is such a joyful event, with tons of confetti, lion, fan and umbrella dances, music and colorful costumes. It's more chill than the Thanksgiving Day Parade, less corporate than the Pride Parade and just as joyous as the Mermaid Parade. My only complaint is that I didn't see nearly as many dogs as I would've thought appropriate to welcome the Year of the Dog.
"Don't tell me not to live
Just sit and putter
Life's candy and the sun's
A ball of butter
Don't bring around a cloud
To rain on my parade
Don't tell me not to fly
I've simply got to..."
Recent Reads
The Yiddish Policeman's Union, by Michael Chabon
If I had rated this book when I first started it, or even halfway through, I would have given it an enthusiastic five stars. I was immediately engrossed in the story, the characters and the rich world that Chabon created and I would stop every so often to re-read and savor a particularly delicious sentence. When details of the central mystery started to become more clear, however, the book lost me a bit. I don't want to spoil anything, but the story took a mystical, religious turn that in the end was anti-climactic for me.
Speaking of the religious element, Chabon liberally uses Yiddish words throughout the book, so much so that I frequently became confused. It wasn't until I was nearly finished that I realized that he included a glossary in the back, which I recommend consulting as you read. Despite its faults, I still loved this book, and would defy you to find another author who can write a description of literally anything the way Chabon can.
The Rape of the Nile: Tomb Robbers, Tourists, and Archaeologists in Egypt, by Brian Fagan
My uncle sent me this book to prepare me for our upcoming Egypt trip (nothing is booked yet, but we've both been crazy about Egypt our whole lives, so we're making it happen in 2018). I've been obsessed with Egypt since I can remember—probably thanks to my history-loving uncle—but I'd never really read much outside of museum placards and those mostly sensational History channel "documentaries" about the "curse" of the Pharaohs.
The Rape of the Nile is a classic, and rightfully so—this edition has been updated since its original publication, but most of the history still holds up. It's a bit dry at times, and like any scientific or historical account, there are a lot of names, dates and facts to juggle, but overall this history of excavations and antiquity dealing in Egypt is a fascinating story. My uncle also recommended the BBC series, Egypt (currently on Netflix), and I watched it as I read which was helpful in bringing some of the characters to life—like the Great Belzoni, a former circus strongman!—and helped me make sense of the complicated timelines.
The Leavers: A Novel, by Lisa Ko
I would have never picked this book up on my own, but at the suggestion of my friend Lindsey, I put it on hold at the library without having any idea what it was about. After I'd already started it, I read the cover blurb and honestly didn't expect to love it as much as I did. The Leavers is about a mother and her son and follows them throughout different periods of their (often separate) lives.
Polly Guo is an illegal Chinese immigrant, and for a while she works in a nail salon while living with her son Deming in the Bronx. One day Polly disappears, and shortly after Deming is adopted by a white couple upstate. The book weaves together both of their stories, and takes you from the Bronx, to Chinatown, to upstate New York, to China and back again. I won't spoil a few of the major plot twists, but I will say that I learned a lot about the immigrant experience in this country about which I was unforgivably ignorant before picking up this book. Like I said, I didn't expect to be so absorbed in these character's lives, but The Leavers snuck up on me and I'm glad I didn't trust my instincts on this one.
The Curse of the Blue Figurine (Johnny Dixon), by John Bellairs
This was a dollar Strand find that I bought based entirely on the nostalgia I often feel for books I read as a kid. I would have devoured this book—and others by Bellairs—when I was younger, and although I didn't feel the need to immediately seek out others in the series like I did after finishing The Mysterious Benedict Society, I did enjoy this brief journey into the world of 13-year-old Johnny Dixon.
I started reading The Curse of the Blue Figurine right after finishing The Rape of the Nile because the titular blue figurine is an ancient Egyptian ushabti, funerary figurines that were thought to accompany the deceased to the after-life (spoiler alert: the one Johnny finds in the basement of a church is cursed—or is it?). This book, the first of twelve in the Johnny Dixon series, was written in 1984 but takes place in 1948. Even if the writing and story feel a bit quaint and a touch outdated today, it's always nice to read a book that reminds me of the joy that reading brought me as a kid.
All Over the Place: Adventures in Travel, True Love and Petty Theft, by Geraldine DeRuiter
I just recently discovered The Everywhereist, aka Geraldine DeRuiter, when Lindsey alerted me to her viral (and hilarious) Mario Batali cinnamon roll post. I quickly became enamored with her writing and reserved her recent "travel" memoir at the library. It was a super quick, funny and insightful read and I was reminded how much I love smart, snappy books like this. I'll always be interested in medical nonfiction and books about death and dying, but taking a break from my regularly scheduled programming to read a book like this feels like a breath of fresh air. DeRuiter is not an expert on anything, really (and doesn't claim to be), but I love books like this that allow me to step inside of another person's life for a few days—especially when it's one that's as funny, interesting and thoughtful as DeRuiter's.
Happy Friday!
Happy Year of the Dog! Illustration by Lindsey Frances
Things that happened recently:
It's hard not to be consumed by the news of the Florida school shooting, and I'm continually tearing up reading about the victims. But I'm equally moved by the survivors and their activism—especially Emma Gonzáles, who I am fully endorsing for President. If you want to get involved but are overwhelmed with the options, everytown.org seems like a good place to start. Speaking of those badass teens, RIP Marco Rubio.
I loved Jennifer Wright's book on plagues, but she also consistently writes articles that have me doing the Meryl clap to my computer screen, like this one about the culture of toxic masculinity and how it (coupled with easy access to guns and assault weapons) should not be overlooked as a cause of the mass shooting crisis in the US.
Some happier news: this week I booked a night in my third and final Wigwam Motel for June. Kaylah and Jeff graciously invited me to their wedding in the desert, and lucky for me it's close to the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, AZ so I can complete the holy trinity of 'wams. Arizona has Wigwam Village No. 6, which is one of only three remaining Wigwam Villages—No. 2 is in Kentucky and No. 7 is in California.
Things to do this weekend:
The Brooklyn Flea is hosting a mini record fair Saturday and Sunday from 10am - 5pm in Industry City. I'm always on the lookout for new (to me) records, but right now this one is at the top of my list.
Sunday is the Chinese Lunar New Year Parade in Chinatown. I just bought a brand new camera, and I hope the rain holds out so I can try it out on the colorful floats and confetti-filled streets. I haven't been to the parade since 2014, but it's one of my favorite parades here in the city.
You only have a few more weeks to go see all of the Oscar-nominated movies. David and I just saw The Phantom Thread last week and it was ... weird? The Shape of Water and Get Out are still my personal favorites, but I'm most looking forward to seeing Call Me By Your Name, which I've already decided I'm going to love (and I plan to read the book too).
Things I've discovered recently:
My friend Jen tagged me in an Instagram photo of this incredibly gross and amazing chocolate heart from the Edible Museum and I immediately went to the website and wanted to buy everything they sell.
I recently bought this old-school alarm clock because I'm trying not to sleep with my phone close to my bed. If you're starting to feel like you're attached to your phone in an unhealthy way (like me and ... probably everyone else I know) here are a few ways you can start to (slowly) break up with your phone.
I had seen these cremated remains labels from the Post Office, but it never crossed my mind that you could just order them and have them shipped completely free until I saw this tweet. I immediately ordered a two-pack (the limit) and will be putting them on every package I send from now on.
My uncle is in town for some operas this weekend, so we're going to meet him for breakfast tomorrow at Cafe Luxembourg. He introduced me to their baked eggs and they're so good. I live only a few subway stops away, but it doesn't feel right to eat there without him, so every time he's in town is a double treat. As of right now, the weather looks dreary for the next few days, but last week I also predicted that we were done with snow for the year and the next day ... it snowed.
I'm really hoping the rain shifts away from Sunday so we can see the Lunar New Year Parade (here's a map of the route), but maybe I'll get lucky and just the threat of rain will keep away some of the crowds. We may not agree on much, but I think we can all agree that the Year of the Dog will be a cute one—I'm hoping this is my year to finally run into my favorite Instagram dog, Noodle (he lives in Harlem!). Have a great weekend!
UniRoyal Gal: Tootsie 2018
I was delighted when I first discovered that there was a UniRoyal Gal about fifteen minutes from David's parents house in Bradenton, Florida. Tootsie was one of our first stops on our trip to Florida last year, where we found her easily accessible but in desperate need of a new paint job. Through a bit of Instagram fate, I recently saw a photo of Tootsie, fresh from a patriotic makeover. Luckily, we had already planned a return trip to Florida, and of course couldn't resist revisiting the brand new Tootsie.
Tootsie, a 17-feet-tall, 300-pound fiberglass UniRoyal Gal was originally displayed in Illinois. She was brought to Florida upon her owner's retirement and Tom Edmunds, of Edmunds Metal Works bought her for $500. She's been standing outside of his shop in Bradenton since 2013. When we visited her last year, she wore a faded, yellow bikini with black polka dots still visible on her backside. She had matching yellow heels, a faded blonde bob and stood on a plain metal base.
As you can see from the photos, Tootsie's makeover was dramatic. She's been repainted head to toe—stars and stripes on her bikini, a new black dye job and black heels to match. She even has a new anklet, with charms representing the different branches of the military. In fact, the new Tootsie is very overtly patriotic, and while there's nothing wrong with loving America and supporting our troops, the "Patriotism Means Standing Up For Being an American" sign feels a little too "Make America Great Again" for my tastes.
Of course I'm happy that Tootsie is being maintained and loved, but I do miss her original yellow polka dot bikini. I'm so glad that we got to see Tootsie last year in her original state, and then again so soon looking totally different. UniRoyal Gals are very rare, and with Tootsie I feel like we got a two-for-one deal.
Want prints of Tootsie or any of my other photos? Check out my Society6 shop and if you ever want a specific print of a photo you see on this blog, just let me know!
Edmund's Metal Works
6111 15th St E,
Bradenton, FL 34203
Easily accessible
World Famous Crochet Museum
Before Jim and I headed into Joshua Tree, we stopped at the visitors center, located right off of Twentynine Palms Highway. After we had grabbed a map, I suggested that we try to locate the World Famous Crochet Museum before heading into the park, and luckily it was right across the street from the visitors center.
The (perhaps hyperbolically-named) World Famous Crochet Museum is owned by artist Shari Elf, and housed inside of tiny photo-processing booth. Elf has been collecting crocheted items since the early '90s and after purchasing the photo booth, she built shelves to display her collection, painted it green and moved it to Joshua Tree. The museum is free and the door was open when we arrived. It's a quick stop—it was really hot and stuffy inside of the booth, even with the door open—but one that I knew we couldn't pass up.
I can definitively say that Elf's collection is the largest collection of crocheted items I've ever seen in one place, although it may also be the only crochet collection I've ever seen. It's certainly deserving of its own exhibition space, and although you may be thinking that you don't need to go to the desert to see a bunch of crocheted poodles, I assure you that it's worth the detour.
If you can name it, chances are that Elf has a crocheted version in her museum—corn cobs, poodles, dolls, flowers, cats, a banana split, waffles, a toilet, a sink, alligators, fruit, eggs, gingerbread men, cupcakes and even a complete nativity set. Although Elf is responsible for creating the museum, the official curator is a crocheted alligator named Bunny, who would like to remind potential visitors that "we are always open, even though we may not be there."
World Famous Crochet Museum
61855 CA-62
Joshua Tree, CA 92252
NYC Ballet Art Series
It's nearly impossible to browse Instagram and not be aware of Jihan Zencirli, a Turkish-American artist who creates incredible, large-scale art installations under the name Geronimo. Her installations are made entirely of balloons—which are definitely having a moment, probably due at least in part to Zencirli. Starting in January, Zencirli installed thousands of compostable, biodegradable balloons inside of the New York City Ballet as part of their ongoing NYCB Art Series.
The exhibition opened in January, but the first free public viewing hours were on Saturday. I went to Lincoln Center right at 10am, hoping to view the installation with as few other people as possible (always my goal). Luckily, there weren't too many people, but I do wish there had been fewer toddlers running through the installations, smacking balloons to the ground without any guidance from their parents (PSA: please, don't be these parents).
Zencirli's signature style is loads of colorful, round balloons in varying sizes, undulating and cascading over various buildings and objects. But instead of the rainbow installation that I had seen all over Instagram, I was surprised to find an entirely new, silvery set of mylar balloons. When I asked a volunteer, "where are the other ones—the rainbow balloons?" she told me that they had deflated and Zencirli had decided to change up the exhibition entirely. While I was initially disappointed that I had missed out on seeing the first iteration, it was hard not to be dazzled by the new set.
In fact, the ephemeral nature of balloons is what Zencirli's work is all about—she explains, "Balloons are only for a moment. They disappear and vanish. So rooted in my work is this reminder that you will only have this experience at this particular time. You’re here, you’re seeing it, you’re alive."
New York City Ballet
Free public viewing hours now thru February 25th
Mon-Fri 10 AM – 6 PM
Sat-Sun 10 AM – 12 PM
The most fantastic thing about the New York Botanical Garden’s annual Orchid Show is the orchids themselves