I was getting ready for the wedding. I had my dress on. But I knew I did not want to marry this person. I remember saying to myself in the dream, “Well, I can just go through with this today since all the guests are here. We can annul the marriage afterward.”
I gathered my bridesmaids and told them the news — I can’t marry him. I cried and cried. My friends were supportive. They were made up of several women I knew in middle school that I have not spoken to in a decade, and my husband-to-be, incidentally, was a 3rd-grade crush who I now keep tabs on through Instagram.
Next, I knew I had to tell my mother. This was the hardest because she helped me plan this entire wedding; my mother who in real life has always told me I don’t need any man or any children to live a full, happy life, in fact, maybe I’d be happier without them. I sobbed violently as I told her I just couldn’t go through with it…
I woke myself up with my own raspy, half-formed cries. I’m not one to dwell on dreams, but this one seemed to speak to some deeper truths in my life — that marriage can be a hostile institution, one that is disproportionately negative for women and gender stereotypes, and a tradition I’m not at all sure I can see myself taking part in. Though I, too, would like a partner. But I’m not sure what that means.
There’s a lot more private psychological mumbo-jumbo pertaining to my relationship with relationships that I’ll skip here but maybe write up in an essay someday. Until then, I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve had a dream that wasn’t a nightmare.
Every time something disappointing happens
“If the newest, last stretch of the High Line doesn’t make you fall in love with New York all over again, I really don’t know what to say. Phase 3 of the elevated park, which opens on Sunday, is a heartbreaker, swinging west on 30th Street from 10th Avenue toward the Hudson River, straight into drop-dead sunset views. It spills into a feral grove of big-tooth aspen trees on 34th Street.
It’s hard to believe now that some New Yorkers once thought renovating the decrepit elevated rail line was a lousy idea. Not since Central Park opened in 1857 has a park reshaped New Yorkers’ thinking about public space and the city more profoundly. Like Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim museum in Spain, it has spread a dream, albeit largely a pipe dream, around the world: how one exceptional design — in this case, a work of landscape architecture — might miraculously alter a whole neighborhood, even a whole city’s fortunes.
Yes, at roughly $35 million, Phase 3, like the rest of the High Line, cost more per acre than probably any park in human history. With most city parks struggling to make ends meet, that kind of money is an inevitable source of resentment, notwithstanding that the High Line was, in significant measure, constructed and is almost exclusively maintained with private funds.”
“But this third phase completes a kind of narrative, which the two earlier phases started, about 21st-century New York as a greener, sleeker metropolis, riven by wealth, with an anxious eye in the rearview mirror. It is a Rorschach test, signifying different things — about urban renewal, industry, gentrification, the environment — to different people. Occupying an in-between sort of space between buildings, neighborhoods, street and sky, the park makes a convenient receptacle for meaning. Neither an authentic ruin nor entirely built from scratch, a sign of runaway capital but also common ground, it is a modern landmark capitalizing on the romance of a bygone New York — the “real,” gritty city — a park born of the very forces that swept that city away.”
Thinking of the intimate Wednesday night show I was lucky enough to catch. The band is Bahamas and the venue was Le Poisson Rouge. The singer was much more handsome and funny than I expected, and also super Canadian.
Catching a show for a band you love with only a couple hundred other people in New York City is a rare treat.
That’s right: HallowMEME is going bicoastal this year.
IT’S THE HAPPIEST TIME OF THE YEAR!!!!
When Havemeyer Park opened up across the street from my building in south Williamsburg this spring, it changed the way I felt about my city. Suddenly I had this green space with an incredible view of the Williamsburg Bridge and boats passing by in the East River just 100 feet away. The park has a BMX track for kids, a vegetable garden, a giant grassy area, a dog park, and even a tipi. The park was flocked by families with toddlers, twenty-somethings playing frisbee and drinking beer, and married couples watching the brilliant sunsets. It is a neighborhood paradise, and I have never felt so thankful for a public space. I had a secret garden waiting for me, for free, where I could enjoy some of the best this city has to offer while reading The New Yorker and basking in the summer sun. Those sort of simple privileges are so often reserved for the rich, and here I was enjoying them in my backyard.
The park closes forever on September 30 to make way for luxury apartments. It was always planned to be a “pop-up park,” borrowed by the public from the all-consuming-apartment-building-gods-on-high (Two Trees, the same company wrecking Domino Sugar Factory right now) for one year.
Among grass, flora and skyline views, Tipi Project is delighted to call Havemeyer Park home, a gorgeous greenspace facing the South Williamsburg waterfront built by the hard work, devotion and passion of Bobby Redd, North Brooklyn Farms and Brooklyn Bike Park. Two Trees, the owner of the land, made a request for proposals to use the plot for community enrichment on an interim basis from July 2013 to September 30, 2014. Thereafter, the Domino Sugar Redevelopment will occur.
So, that’s it. I do realize the developers didn’t have to offer up the space to the public at all, but to have it taken away from the neighborhood now is heartbreaking. I spent 4th of July there surrounded by friends and hundreds of others, watching the fireworks sparkle far away past the Brooklyn Bridge. My roommates and I hosted an end of summer gathering where we carted out hot dogs and burgers from the apartment for everyone to enjoy in the sort of September weather that barely hints at autumn. I brought countless friends there to enjoy my favorite season in the city.
I went there tonight and watched the sun set, taking in my surroundings. “16 days until this park closes!” a blackboard reads. At the back of the park, chalk and glitter is out for everyone to leave a message of thanks and support for the park. “Save this park!” one reads. “Thank you for everything,” says another.
My apartment building, a sweet oasis as far as I’m concerned, will now be surrounded by construction for the next decade. I’m angry and wistful that this park, a true luxury I never appreciated enough, will be closing in just two weeks. I’m mourning it in a real way right now. Nothing ever stays the same, especially in New York, but that’s one of those sayings I’ll never be mature enough to accept.
The reliance on air power has all of the attraction of casual sex: It seems to offer gratification but with very little commitment.
Former NSA director Michael Hayden.