apple picking

One of my dearest friends Mara loves to plan an outing. We first met a few years ago when we were performing together in a show in Shanghai, China post-graduation.  While we were there, there were basically two options each day: you could get out and explore a different part of the city before the show, or you could stay in the hotel and binge-watch an entire television series you bought from one of the many Chinese fake markets and never see the light of day through the city's smog. We chose to explore, and it's so much better when you have an eager partner-in-crime to do it with. (We even snuck to Beijing, Tokyo, Bangkok, and more when we had more than one day off from the show at a time.) Mara loves to research new finds, make plans, and add to her to-do list. i mean, we alllll have those friends with their to-do lists. And one of the things I love most about her is that she lovessss to have something to look forward to. In the monotony of our city life, the ups and downs of auditioning, and the seemingly depressing dating scene in NYC, she finds something new, something positive to focus on. I'll hop on that plan!!

The last few falls she's planned an apple picking adventure out of the city to enjoy some fall foliage, the occasional small town apple festival, a nice little roadtrip, and more apples than you can stomach. Yes, we've had our fair share of orchard photo shoots. We're performers! Sue us! This year, I not only asked if Meg could hop on the train but if my sister and my roommates Christina + and Kristina (aka DJ White Chocolate) could come too. She said yes, of course, the more the merrier- and I love her all the more for that. She added them into the plans as well as newlyweds Michael and John, who we went with last year when they were dating! Third year of our apple picking trip, third orchard, third group... we were ready. Well...until Mara found out that many orchards were OUT OF APPLES. I think she may have had a massive panic attack, but she went straight back to the drawing board, did more research, and rest assured, there were apples where we all ended up that Sunday. She wanted to make sure it was the perfect experience for us all and just as good as the past two years. And it was. Even if the apples were gone, I don't think any of us would have really noticed- we enjoyed the day and the company the most. I guess I've become one to not get too attached to plans, as I know they might change, and heck I might change! But I have some special appreciation for those planners out there. Part of the fun is the excitement building up to it, right?

 Check out our little adventure below. Have you started any Fall traditions with your friends?

governor's island, ny

I got sunburned on Saturday, September 27th, in the middle of New York City. I'll take it, since our most recent motto has been #summerpleasedontgo.

I spent the night at Meg's cozy Brooklyn abode on Friday night; we welcomed the sunset on the roof, continued our obsession with THIS SONG, strolled the neighborhood at dusk catching up on our weeks, and ate some really, really good pizza. Only slightly different from Meg's previous Friday evening. We've got some exciting individual adventures coming up in October, so we made some time this particular weekend to be together on our own turf.

I woke up slowly without an alarm on Saturday morning, which is a glorious feeling. I don't know why sometimes I feel so refreshed when I'm not sleeping in my own place. Perhaps it's because I don't have to deal with my mess, my obligations, or the long list of to-do's I should be conquering around my tornado of an apartment shared with three other people. We walked out onto sunny Atlantic Ave and headed for the pier to catch the free ferry to Governor's Island just in time with the rest of the stroller brigade! Since the ferry was full of a lot of families, we found a comfy spot away from the children under the age of 5 on the back staircase, hovering over the flock of bicycles people were bringing along for their day in the 82 degree sun. We watched the wake give into both Manhattan and Brooklyn...and all of 2 minutes later, we arrived on Governor's Island. (the last weekend it was open for the season, nonetheless.)

We made our way immediately to get some snacks, of course, and they were pretty much right off the main path. Praise hands for one more cup of watermelon juice!  I then wanted to b-line it for the hammock grove, anxious that there wouldn't be a vacancy. There was plenty of room, and we cozied into our books while basking in the September sun. From the point of view of my hammock with my bare feet perched up surrounded by greenery and canopied by blue skies, it felt pretty perfect. The city felt a bizillion miles away. (Probably remembering sunscreen would have made it slightly more perfect.) The only disruption to the quiet breeze would be the occasional helicopter overhead, which reminded you how close you were to the financial district, and then you'd glance up and see the Freedom Tower standing tall in all its glory. Meg wandered to find some shade, and when I was ready to join I followed her text: "Walk across the field towards lady liberty" and there she was. I mean, I guess you don't really text like that in other circumstances. 

The more we made our way around the island, the more the apparent juxtaposition of old and new was. There are old buildings and forts and rows of houses I could imagine being dressed up patriotically for a summer picnic in the 1950s. It was as though nothing bad could happen here, though I remembered no one really lives here anymore. They don't let the space go to waste, though, as there are a plethora of free activities for the public to enjoy during the season. They also allow artists to use space in these buildings to create: talk about an office with a view! 

The old buildings, the new contemporary art installations. It's like the two existed at the same time, but neither tried to meld with each other. It was strange, but it worked. As we crossed back toward the other side of the island wanting to frolic through the magic that was the KITE festival (Oh yes, did I mention there was a KITE FESTIVAL full of little ones frolicking in the fields with their kites floating like little dots in the sky? Magic.), we were allured into an interesting installation. We took the fork in the road on a sunny day, and it lead us into a dungeon, or what we later discovered is Fort Jay, a national monument, sorry to be dramatic. Someone asked us if we were here to see the documentary. "What documentary?" Well it was a 13 minute 3D film they were showing every 15 minutes ...why not? We stood in a dark chamber for six minutes with four other strangers and listened to the atmospheric music while our eyes adjusted to the dark and we all roamed around a bit wondering what we got ourselves into. When the music ended, we were told to go take a seat in one of the six small rooms in front of a white screen with our 3D glasses on. We proceeded and all had our backs turned toward the center as we filled the small chambers that probably held artillery back in the day. The film was a portrait of artist Marina Abramovic, and it ended with her standing nude in a large chamber filled with light while we stared deeply into her eyes. As it concluded, the door opened, and we exited the chamber and went back into our sunny blue-skied Saturday. Funny enough, we all shared how we were peeking over our shoulder during the film, waiting to see if something was going to pop out at us as though we were on the set of Sleep No More. 

The point was to sit alone and absorb the intimacy and admiration. Instead, we were all secretly wondering what they were plotting to do to us next, "they" being the artist or the host of this exhibit. I caught myself too worried about figuring out the big picture instead of being absorbed in the moment. I imagine I do this all too often in my over-analyzed life. As we wandered back across the sun-drenched and family-filled lawn, we let ourselves give into the final hours of the last hot Saturday we'd probably have for months. 

notes:

- when making the trip to governors island, check out http://www.govisland.com for a wide array of events, exhibits, ferry schedules, and hours of the week they offer free bike rentals. consider bringing your own bike on the ferry- there are nice paths on the island, though i think you'd make your way around rather quickly.

- gov island is quite family friendly. there's ample room for kids to run freely and many free activities set up to engage their creativity. while we were there, we strolled past composting workshops and kiddies being taught how to make kites out of recycled plastic bags. 

- more on the portrait of marina abramovic by matthu placek here and here. 

the medieval festival at fort tryon park

I love Renaissance Faires.  Wholeheartedly.  Without shame. 

When I was a kid, I would make the trek up to Tuxedo Park with my best friend Jackie and her family.  Jackie’s family has always been the cool family.  Her parents were active supporters of and participants in all of our creative endeavors.  As long as we could literally be hosed off and did not cause permanent damage it was game on.  I kid you not. Pastimes at Jackie’s house included but were not limited to: epic pudding fights, painting the walls with whatever our hearts desired, creating a giant mud pit complete with slide in the backyard, and an endless line up of plays, concerts, and dances that we of course subjected her family to play the part of captive audience.  Emphasis on captive. 

It was with this mindset that we approached the annual Renaissance Faire; costumes were donned, hair was braided, and faces were painted.  Jackie and I were transformed into what we deemed were townspeople and conducted ourselves as such - greeting the guests to our neck of the woods, attending activities of the utmost importance, and of course running all over the place like a pair of crazies because we were looped up on All The Sugar.  Until this past weekend, I don’t think I have stepped foot inside a Renaissance Faire for at least 15 years.  Despite my misgivings - I mean how could attending as an adult even remotely compare to the glory that was Ren Fest ’96 - I was pleasantly surprised.   Perhaps I shouldn’t have been.  This festival has been taking place for 30 years and folks in Washington Heights do not mess around.

As we entered the Medieval Festival at Fort Tryon Park last Sunday afternoon, we were immediately enveloped into the throngs of festival goers.  Our welcome was from an array of all ages of townsfolk, from your standard damsels and knights to those who took a more fanciful approach (of fairies and dragons variety) to you know your cavemen (because without which what medieval festival would be complete).  We slowly meandered our way past swords fights, ladies with lyres, and numerous purveyors of fine foods, such as pickle-on-a-stick, until we reached our Mecca -- the Final Joust. 

Once we had situated ourselves in the stadium, we patiently waited through the Royal Court procession.  [Side note: Royalty looks good on NYC Parks Commissioner Mitchell J. Silver and he has a great radio voice.  You know something he might want to consider for a post public service career.]  After what seemed liked ages, we were finally introduced to the knights and our stadium section was matched with Sir Morgan.

I don’t know if Sir Morgan identifies as a woman or man but it doesn't matter.  What matters was Sir Morgan was accepted for who he was - a strong, engaging, and fearless knight.  Sir Morgan was loved for being himself.  No questions asked.  With each competition, we cheered on our valiant knight hoping that our support would influence a preordained ending.  Feet were stomped at the beginning of the matches, boos were hurled at the other competitors, and the crowd erupted into applause and whooping at each of his successes.  We all started cheering SIR MOR-GAN in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of RU-FI-O.  He was our knight and we fully embraced him. 

It was a fierce competition and even though he lost the battle, kids ran up to the fence to get Sir Morgan’s autograph, ask for a picture with him, or to say that he should have won because one of the knights cheated (he totally did -- we’ll get our revenge next year Sir Angus).  We were all a part of the story that Sunday afternoon, rooting for Sir Morgan without the issue of sex even coming in to play.  Cheers to Sir Morgan and to the people of Washington Heights.  You rock.

Sir Morgan Selfie courtesy of the one and only Drew King (@drewkingnyc).

notes:

- if you wish to attend next year, get to the joust at least 20 minutes early if you want a seat. 

- fort tryon is a great park even when the medieval festival is not in town.  be sure to check out the cloisters while you are there. 

the best laid plans

I have a tendency to be impulsive.  I get an idea in my head on Monday.  I ignore the steps I will need to take to make said idea happen on Tuesday and Wednesday.  On Thursday, I at least complete the pieces that require other people.  And by Friday, I am throwing things in a bag, running out the door, and hoping I won’t miss my train, plane, bus, ferry, etc - which is how I ended up on my way to the Fire Island National Seashore (FINS) this past weekend.  

Without a minute to spare, I caught the last ferry to Watch Hill and used the trip across the bay to repack my belongings and to take stock on what I had forgotten.  This included a flashlight, sunscreen, a Swiss army knife, and a charged phone.  Obviously the essentials like a 700+ page hardcover made it into my pack.  Upon arriving at FINS, I made the couple mile trek down the beach to a suitable spot for tucked next to the dune and high enough off the beach to not have to worry about that evening’s high tide.  I had never been backpacking alone before but it seemed like a fitting way to end a summer that I was reluctant to see go.  

Knowing that the sun would be setting in an hour or so, I quickly set up my camp, ate the first of my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and boiled up a cup of water for my evening tea.  I sat in silence breaking up the monotony between perusing my hardcover and attempting some good ole letter writing.  As the sun slipped behind the dune, I settled into my sleeping bag and continued to read until I could no longer make out the words.  

I awoke with the stars overhead, roused by light from a person wandering a hundred feet or so from my tent. I kept quiet telling myself that this was probably just someone going for an evening stroll and that there was no reason to be alarmed.  But as the stranger continued to mill about, I decided to go introduce myself – better to know one’s neighbor, right? Right.  After brief introductions, the rest of my 24 hour backpacking trip quickly shifted from solo to a crowd. 

As a general rule, if you are backpacking and happen to meet a lady traveling alone, do not show off your knife that you can open with one hand, mention that you dreamt she was murdered, or make references to her being nude – actually just don’t do that ever, to anyone - backpacking or not.  Trust me.  It’s not endearing.  It is also not ok to question whether I view myself as a bad girl or a good girl – because you bet I am a bad girl.  Or comment that I have the body of a high school girl – I must take care of myself. All of these words and many more were spoken to me by the neighbor.

It took me a full 4 days to finally feel angry about the whole situation.  My initial spin to the weekend adventure was along the lines of I went on a solo trip only to be stuck with someone who never stopped moving his mouth – isn’t life funny.  Because the thing is that other than the initial panic of someone entering what I had now deemed my space, I never felt afraid or threatened… although I did not feel good about it either.  It’s an incredibly disappointing moment when you realize that someone’s offensive and inappropriate behavior has become an expectation.  I hold men to such a low standard that I was not even remotely surprised by the words that came out of his mouth.  And furthermore these views are so entrenched in my being that while he made me uncomfortable it never occurred to me that I could tell him to stop or inform him of his misdeeds. 

When I started this post, I told Grace about how I wanted to treat him with respect and not be mean.   Which is absurd.  His behavior was misogynistic and vile.  I do not need to protect him from the consequences of his choices.  But it’s hard.  Standing up for yourself is hard.  Feminism is hard. 

The most common response I received to the sharing of my Friday night anecdote was along the lines of “see – you shouldn't do that.”  It’s not that he is at fault; it’s that I made the mistake by venturing out on my own.  And while I know that is not necessarily the intention behind the words – my friends and family prioritize my well-being and do not wish for me to be in situations like these - maybe the first reaction needs to just be a general acknowledgement that it is wrong.  That he needs to re-examine how he views women and what is acceptable behavior when engaging with the opposite sex.  Maybe the first step should be to hold each other accountable to a higher standard when we engage with one another.  That we stand up for ourselves in these situations as well as for each other.  I should have the right to travel alone without being harassed with remarks about my body.  We all deserve to be able to function in day to day life without our gender being a source of public commentary.

Since Friday night, my brain has been spinning about feminism, masculinity, societal norms, and what can be done to shift the current paradigms.  It would be a lie to state that I have anything figured out.  But I don’t think that matters.  We all – men and women - need to start asking questions so we can work together to change the status quo.  I had entered FINS with many expectations.  I planned on escaping from the city but I ended up with a neighbor from the Upper East Side.  I had hoped to refocus my thoughts to the present yet I left with my mind replaying the past.  I wanted to gain perspective with solitude but instead I gained self-awareness with constant commentary from unintended company.  

"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men/ Gang aft a-gley." -- Robert Burns

some thoughts and feelings:

we should all be feminists -- chimamanda ngozi adichie

i think it is right that socially i am afforded the same respect as men -- emma watson on the UN campaign he for she

my liberation as a man is tied to your liberation as a woman -- tony porter, a call to all men

because contrary to years of personal belief, feminism isn't about man-hate but woman-love.  it isn't about demanding a front row seat but a fair and just place in line. because when we stand up to those who push us down, we stand up for so much more than ourselves -- rebecca woolf

the list of rules for women -- jay smooth

rockaway, ny

As a final ode to summer, I must reflect on la playa. We wait all year long for it to be summer, because we're going to do ALL THE THINGS. We'll see all the free movies and concerts in the park, breath in every sunset on cool rooftops, and of course beach it as much as possible. And somehow, at the end of the summer, there's no time left to do ALL THE THINGS. "How did we only make it to the beach twice in the past 3 months?"

Well, I was a bit more intentional this year than summers past about beaching it more often. Why not? I decided to simplify my routine for a few months: work less and breath more. Create some space in my life for new things to blossom. Create some time in my life to actually dream about what I want those new blossoming things to look like and taste like. And eat a few tacos. (Best decision ever.) 

We frequented Rockaway Beach quite often. (the Ramones were onto something...) It's a hit for us 20-somethings in the city; I know i'm not unique in this find. But I love that I can get on the A train up in the heights, ride it down for an hour or so, collecting more folks along the way, pass JFK, and then hop out in a small local surf town. I didn't really need much notice on the decision-making end to beach or not to beach on any given day. It's a choose your own adventure. And it's free...so anyone could come along, no excuses. 

There are multiple beaches accessible to the city, and Meg and I made a list of all the ones to hit up this summer (and report back here of course), but I found myself liking the familiar. Don't get me wrong, I love new things, but I may be the type of person who goes to a restaurant and orders the same thing I got the last time. Because it's sooo good every time. Sure, the menu probably has a lot of other good options, but I just get my reminiscent heart set on things some times. I would rather have something I know I'll love than the risk of something mediocre. Do you know what I mean? Rockaway became my local beach of choice. 

Rockaway has an eclectic scene-- young families, thong-wearing Latino mothers, tatted Scandinavian hipsters, dreaded surfers, and everything in between. And I love that. I love the freedom of diversity, the accessibility to all, and the fact that we all made the pilgrimage to this small chunk of the sea because being by the ocean is good for the soul. It may not be the cleanest, but I prefer it to the homogeny of the hamptons. Did I mention THE FOOD? There's good food options (and usually friends to make while waiting in line and some live music). Gamechanger. 

The chill of Fall may have settled in, but consider running away to the Rockaways for a few hours. The town has come so far post-Sandy, so come breathe in the sea, do some people watching, eat a taco, and boost the local economy :) 

to note:

- head to the 97th St Pier for more of a crowd & diverse hipster-y food options. (i mean the stop on the subway is called: "Beach 98 Street- Playland")

- head further down to 116th for less of a crowd. on your way back to the train, check out the Wharf Bar & Grill on the bay-side of the beach. It's hidden behind a gas station, so it's not swarmed with people. You can sit on the deck, drink some Coronas, eat fish & chips, and watch the sun sink into the little tiny city skyline in the distance. It's not fancy, and I likey that way. 

- make sure you stop at Rockaway Taco. #tacos4lyfe warning: the line gets LONG

bear mountain, ny

I had written a post about embracing seasonality – both in nature and in life.  How each season gives me something to look forward to while savoring what the current one has to offer.  Yet as I sit here, attempting to read through it and simultaneously distracting myself with I Dream of Jeanie in the background, it all just feels inauthentic and disingenuous. 

The truth is I am very much over this season of my life.  I am tired of city living.  I am tired of working in a humongous hospital.  I am tired of spending my days in windowless rooms with my constant companion – the computer.  I am tired of being the independent, young woman.  All that I really want to do right now is be some place different, with spaces filled with more trees than concrete, less people but greater human interaction, and where the emphasis is on community rather than personal gain. 

It’s not that NYC doesn't contain the possibility for all of those things.  It does.  It’s just that I am ready to move on and as I stay here with the seemingly same day in and day out I feel stagnate.  A lost love will do that.  Hold you in place.  While life continues to move on, there is an alternate reality that contains all of the what would have beens and in many ways, that paralyzes me.  Because as much as I am ready for the next season, I don’t want to let this one go.  For if I do that means it is another notch of finality, another sign that time is moving on, another set of experiences to repeat alone.

When Grace and I were hiking at Bear Mountain the other weekend, we came upon an elderly gentleman waiting patiently on the side of the trail for us to pass.  I didn't notice him at first as he blended into the surroundings leaning against a sturdy sapling with a found walking stick in hand.  He was probably expecting a few days of mostly solitude in the woods.  He was probably not expecting yours truly to be crooning the woodland creatures with Ice Cube’s It Was a Good Day (it’s ahem explicit).  After exchanging pleasantries, he began to tell a story of backpacking in the Adirondacks.  Earlier this summer, he had hiked to a familiar spot to set up camp and after which he decided to go out and forge a new trail.  So armed only with his wallet, water, and a machete, he went into the forest along his own path.  Once satisfied with his exploring, he began to make his way back to camp only to realize he could no longer find it.  He was not lost.  He just couldn't seem to retrace his steps well enough to get back to where he started.  As evening began to set in, he gave up his search and hiked out of the woods but throughout the summer he returned to those same woods, each time searching for his camp.  Eventually, towards the end of August, he found his things set up just as he had left it minus whatever food he had stored.  With this he gave a chuckle, wished us luck, and continued on his way.

Perhaps all I need is time.  Perhaps all I need is to continue my pursuit for that feeling of contentment, of home.  And when I least expect it, when I have just about given up hope of ever finding it, there it will be.   

notes:

bear mountain and harriman state parks are contiguous.   they are about an hour north of NYC and easy to get to/from using public transportation.

check out these people - NYNJTC – for trail recommendations and maps.  they even have maps that for a small fee you can download on your phone (using this app: http://www.avenza.com/pdf-maps) in order to check your location with gps.  so fancy.

if you enjoy a fun little scramble, hike lemon squeezer.  this is not to be confused with its big sister - lemon squeeze - at mohonk preserve. if you confuse the two, you will be sorely disappointed.  appreciate lemon squeezer for itself.