Living in New York is so expensive that sometimes the only trip you can afford to take is a ride on the subway.  So the BF and I stuck close to home and had ourselves a little staycation for the Labor Day weekend.  The perfect weather demanded that we turn off Firefly and Friday Night Lights and walk somewhere other than Bed, Bath and Beyond.  So we hit a couple of parks (Madison Square and Union Square, six blocks apart–we are efficient that way), checked out the Green Market, escaped without maiming anyone in the obnoxious crowd, and stopped at our favorite wine bar (Cavatappo) on the way home for refreshments.  Wine, prosecco, prosciutto, and mozzarella.  Then we spent some time on the roof deck.  The one we were so excited about when he moved in and yet have ignored for the past couple of weeks because an eight-floor elevator ride is exhausting when the wine and remote are already right there in front of you.  Our spirits were so high that we even discussed the merits of having to stay in New York for another year.  Merits like roof decks and views and green markets and amazing restaurants.  Merits that will be forgotten the second I leave my apartment tomorrow morning for work.  (This is why I have planned a preemptive strike on negativity by loading my iPod with Jesus songs.  Soon as I press play the ball is in your court, Lord.)

Here is a picture of what our Sunday, and nature in New York, look like.  We ventured carefully west (the BF gets a little nervous in Chelsea) toward the High Line Park, a former freight railroad that now houses deck chairs, concession stands, and cilantro from the smell of it.  One of the best things about the High Line is its proximity to Chelsea Market, home of several bakeries.  After stuffing our faces with brownies at one such bakery, we headed to The Park, a local open-air bar/restaurant, for a drink.  (Apparently we have gotten into the habit of rewarding ourselves with alcoholic beverages any time we walk to a city landmark.)  Then it was time for a vomit-inducing cab ride to church and dinner at Rare with A.C., who made a valiant effort to help us finish off the fry sampler basket.

Labor Day.  Coney Island.  Wow.  Just…WOW.  Let me put it this way: Coney Island is a place you should visit by looking at other people’s pictures.  It is…gross.  And slightly creepy.  And dirty.  It’s a place with a constant soundtrack of funhouse music similar to what you’ve heard in several horror movies, right before someone gets killed.  It’s a place where you pay a quarter to use the bathroom and leave wondering what you would have had to deal with for free.  It’s a place populated by people like Donny Vomit and Serpentina and albino boa constrictors slithering on the grass.  It’s a place where people bring folding tables from home and set them up on the beach for a cookout.   It’s a place with the Cyclone, a roller coaster that is so rickety you want to write a bucket list and start apologizing to people you’ve wronged as soon as you step off it.  But it’s also a place with corn dogs and cheese fries.  So you power through the grime and carnies, knowing that at the end you will be rewarded with meat on a stick and an Only in New York Activity to check off your list.  And an alcoholic beverage, if you’re that kind of person.

Summary:  much like it’s easy to be cool with God as long as life is going well, I think it’s easy to decry gentrification until you have to pee at Coney Island.

So that’s how summer ends…with a whimper of the N train, not the bang of a plane landing.  But Federer is in the finals, wine bars stay open all year, the new TV season is beginning, and I never have to go to Coney Island again.  Let’s do this, fall!