Wikipages Blog

I first stumbled on the Steinway Mansion while taking a Sunday stroll through my neighborhood, Astoria. Ben and I wandered into Astoria’s industrial section, among factories, broken glass, and deserted streets. We walked on past a foundry and up a hill, into an almost forested spot.

Then we saw an unkempt, gated yard filled with several old cars of the same model in varying states of decay. We heard a dog barking and peered through the gate. There loomed an immense and beautiful old structure: The Steinway Mansion.

We did some research after this initial encounter. It turns out The Steinway Mansion was built in 1858. The Steinways occupied it for many years and then in the 30’s, presumably when they lost some of their fortune, they sold it to Jack Halberian. He raised his family in the house and his son inherited it after him. We read that tours can be arranged with the owner.

I imagined the owner to be a hermit, someone who hoarded dogs and cars. Someone who wanted solitude in his old, beautiful estate. Someone who buried bodies in his basement.

We came back with some friends, John and Katherine. This time, a man came out of the house. He was an older man and, oddly enough, he looked normal. He greeted us and introduced himself as Michael Halberian, and when we inquired about the mansion, he began to give us some history. How he had grown up there and moved back after his father died. After talking to us through the closed gate for a while, he invited us into the yard.

We walked through the yard to the mansion’s magnificent front. It was beautiful! 28 rooms he said. An Indian statue stands in the yard. He told us that the yard used to front the water until the land had been filled in for industrial uses. After we chatted and played with the dogs a bit, he invited us in for a tour!

We happily followed him inside, gasping at the lavish interior. The whole place was filled with antiques, art, sculptures, a telescope that he said came from JP Morgan. The high entryway showed a magnificent chandelier which could be lowered with a switch. He had a library filled with books on NY, more lovely antiques, and book shelves carved with beautiful angels. The gentlemen’s and ladies’ drawing rooms were equally amazing, with intricate carving on the fireplaces (which occupy every room). He told us how the men would smoke cigars while the women gossiped and then the doors would open to join the two rooms .

He then invited us into his finished basement. The basement included a huge jacuzzi with Greek carved statues alongside it. Adjacent was a beautiful bar room and another room filled with booths, resembling an Italian restaurant. There were also two rooms with billiards tables and books lining the walls. Lastly, was a room with comfortable-looking sofas and a giant movie screen. Contrary to my original image, it appeared that Michael was quite the host, entertaining guests, maybe having wild parties in the past, and now happy to show some nice young folks around.

In the end, we thanked him for his kindness. He informed us that he had recently sold the mansion to a woman who planned to restore it to perfect condition. Hopefully, she will be as gracious a host. I was glad to find out that the mansion constitutes a historic landmark and cannot be destroyed.

When I was little, I always ate peanut butter sandwiches. Not peanut butter and jelly, just peanut butter. It tastes better that way. Many may disagree, but you can eat peanut butter any way you like at Peanut Butter & Co.

Peanut Butter & Co is located in the West Village steps away from Washington Square Park. Its menu contains a variety of peanut butter based dishes, including the Fluffer Nutter (peanut butter and marshmallow) and the Elvis (peanut butter and banana with bacon optional). They also offer a selection of beverages (milk being ideal for accompanying peanut butter) and some non-peanut butter options (grilled cheese and tuna fish, um, separately). All sandwiches are served with potato chips and carrot sticks, to complete that nostalgic after school snack feeling.

We attended a talk given by Lee Zalben, founder of Peanut Butter & Co. A personable guy, Lee told us the story of how he came up with this idea. A long-time peanut butter lover, he ate all sorts of peanut butter combinations during late night study sessions in college. These late night snacks spawned the idea for a shop that served variations of peanut butter. Only a few years out of college, Lee noticed a store front for sale in the West Village and thought it would be the perfect location for this venture. He quit his job, rented the property, and went for it! Their opening was a huge success! A truly inspiring tale of a successful entrepreneur.

Now they’re selling jarred peanut butter of all different yummy flavors in stores all over the country. I personally recommend the Dark Chocolate variety spread over waffles. But no jelly. Peanut butter always tastes best without the jelly.

Yesterday marked one of New York’s most famous annual events, an event of which I will never be a part: the New York City Marathon.

The route goes through each borough, from Staten Island, through Williamsburg, Brooklyn, into Long Island City, Queens, into Harlem, touching the Bronx, and finally finishing in Central Park. A good way to tour the city, I suppose. Though watching the faces of those running, I’m not sure they were really able to take in the sights.

I went to watch for the first time, having two good friends running the race. We watched from the Queensboro bridge and from mile 24 in Central Park. The runners ranged from fit 25-year-olds to 80-year-olds. Some people were on wheel-chairs, wheeling alongside the runners. I saw a couple running together, the woman nearly sobbing from exhaustion or pain, and her partner helping her, holding her hand, urging her on. The site of all these people, of all capabilities and types, taking this major challenge together really did bring tears to my eys.

Supporters crowded the sidelines, some family members, some just come to watch. Some folks joined friends or family in the race, running alongside them for several miles. Some runners stopped to give their spouses kisses, their child a squeeze, or their dog a pat.

My friend’s headphones had unfortunately gone missing that morning, unbeknownst to me. So when he ran by me, as I loudly cheered for him, he said, “Do you have headphones?” I, confused, said no. He responded, “You’re dead to me!” and continued running. I knew that if he was able to joke and deride others, he must be holding up well.

Many runners had their names written on their shirts and, knowing how much the cheering helps them, I screamed for everyone whose name I could pronounce. My voice was sore at the end of the race. And my feet were a bit tired from standing for so long. I felt a surge of pride for my friends, alongside a reaffirmation of the knowledge that I will never do what they did.

Despite having lived in New York for three years, I have never seen the Halloween Parade. Until last night.

I went with Ben and a couple of friends who dressed up as V (for Venedetta, not from the 80’s mini series about aliens, which was my first thought when he told me) and a wench. I had planned to dress up as Alice in Wonderland and dress Ben up as the Chesire Cat, but due to his lack of enthuasiam and my lack of costume elements, we didn’t really dress up. I wore cat ears and Ben wore a glittery bowa.

The parade always starts in the West Village and goes up to 23rd street. The crowds were every bit as dense as I imagined. Packed with people, mostly in costume, all come to see the parade. I decided next year, I will definitley wear a good costume and definitely walk in the parade. It would be a lot easier to get around! Plus, it just looks like fun.

The parade marchers ranged from people in typical, store-bought costumes to hand-made original costumes (my favorite being Beaker from the Muppets) to giant floats filled with costumed dancers, sponsored by bars or the Voice.

Definitely an interesting show. I’m going to start planning a real costume for next Halloween. Look out for me in next year’s parade!

I enjoy a bit of spookiness and the macabre. That’s probably why I like to explore graveyards.

I find them fascinating. I like to see how long ago people lived and how old they were when they died. If they’re buried with family, the lavishness of the gravestone. It just paints a story of one life that’s now… over.

I wandered around in St. Michael’s Cemetery in Astoria, with my boyfriend Ben. Quite a cool place. It’s right near a highway, but it’s huge. And has some very old graves.We went through a few winds of the path, where the graveyard borders on a forested area. And we heard an odd sound in the underbrush. I jumped! We edged nearer to the forest and heard it again. A faint, but distinct… clucking!

We peered into the woods and saw the creatures making the sound. A whole herd of chickens! Feral, it seemed. Hens, roosters. Dozens of them! We also saw a pheasant with them! Feeding peacefully among them like one of the herd.

There was some feed on the ground, as if someone regularly feeds them. A chicken-loving gravedigger, or the ghost of a farmer. It was just the oddest thing to see this big group of chickens, clucking away in the middle of a graveyard. Pretty spooky stuff!

I love this time of year. The leaves changing, the pumpkins glowing, all the scary movies on television. So I’ve decided to do a series of posts to commemorate the most holy of holidays: Halloween.

Trinity Church is located right at Wall Street and Broadway, in the heart of the Financial District. This beautiful, historic building stands out amidst all the looming skyscapers. Right next to the church is Trinity Cemetery, one of the oldest graveyards in the city. It boasts famous inhabitants, including Alexander Hamilton, William Bradford, Robert Fulton, and Albert Gallatin.

Despite the location, the cemetery is a peaceful place. Well-tended flowers line the pathways, with beautiful old trees throughout the yard. The graves are worn and appear to be sinking back into the earth. Some of the stones themselves are very interesting. Many are from the 1700’s. William Bradford’s states that “Life is pain”. A true notion, which I will always associate with The Princess Bride.

I’ll be adding more Halloween posts. If you know any ghost stories associated with Trinity Cemetery, please add your comments and let me know!

As previously mentioned, I work in the Financial District and am not a big fan of the area. But I do have a favorite lunch place: Battery Park.

I had never actually visited Battery Park before. Now, everyday that the weather coorporates, my work friends and I grab a lunch at some local deli like Cafe Exchange or Bento Nouveau, and take it to the park. There’s an area with tables, overlooking the water with a view of the Statue of Liberty (and the Circle Line). It’s not
usually crowded, since most Wall Street types lunch at their desks.

Here flowers bloom, butterflies flutter, and the waves lap. It’s a very peaceful way to spend the midday. There’s also a huge, walk-in fountain which goes off seemingly randomly. My friend recently ran across the spurts of water in front of cheering crowd of tourists and a few fellow unconventional, young professionals, also there to escape for a peaceful lunch.

I just horrified a couple of baseball fans by telling them that I had no idea what “Game 7″ is today. Well, I never pretended to be a sports expert. But I do know a few good sports bars.

I recently went to Central Bar in the East Village for my friend Phil’s birthday. Phil is a baseball fan, a Mets fan, to be exact, and chose the place based on the ample number of big tv screens. I personally find TV screens in bars very distracting. They draw you away from socializing.

We snagged a bunch of seats around a table. (I sat facing away from the TV). The decor is a bit interesting, since it’s almost dark and gothicky. Then it has these big tv screens for watching sports, which don’t exactly seem to go together. The kitchen menu is decent (though a bit pricey), with all the usual suspects (mozzarrella sticks, buffalo wings, etc.). We got some appetizers and I got a vodka tonic. Tasty.

Phil enjoyed his birthday outing. The bar proved a fun place for sports fans and non-fans alike. Though I really don’t even know if the Mets won. Oh, well. I know they’re in Game 7 tonight. Go, Mets!

I wasn’t so sure whether or not I wanted to share this home away from home with the world at large – or the world via Wikipages – but I have decided it’s good for business to share, and more business means more nights at Fresh Salt.

Fresh Salt is my all time favorite place to hang out in Manhattan. Just one block away from the maddening crowds on the South Street Seaport’s main drag, this bar and restaurant has yet to be discovered by tourists. The décor is sparse but includes several large comfy booths and outside seating is available in nice weather.

Happy Hour specials here include $3 beers on tap and the food menu is short but delicious. Sandwiches, soups, salads, and hummus platters are the mainstay and I’ve seen many a tear shed over the most perfect of perfect eggplant sandwiches.

As far as the crowd goes, on Thursdays and Fridays before 7PM you might have to battle your way through some suits from the AIG and Goldman locations down the block but the majority of the time you’ll run into locals and sailors from the Seaport Museum.

The music is never too loud, the bar staff are your friends, and you might learn a few knots or pick up knitting if you’re there at the right time of day. In short – show up, pull up a seat at the bar – get yourself a dark and stormy and settle down for a long quiet night full of good conversation. Just remember the corner bar stool doesn’t belong to you, it belongs to a sea captain, a first mate or Carter.

My friend Rose and I wanted to go dancing. But not the kind of dancing that involves a loud, vibrating beat or a disco ball. Swingdancing! I never technically learned how to swing dance. But having done musical theatre and attended college during the swing trend, I can fake it pretty well. Rose, on the other hand, has won swingdancing contests.

We chose Swing 46, a favorite of my old theatre crowd. It’s an upscale place in Midtown with expensive food and even more expensive drinks, but the music and the vibe always pay off. After paying the $10 cover, we sat down with a couple martinis (probably about $12 each). The band playing was Double Down, a fun band that combines Frank Sinatra and Big Bad Voodoo Daddies.

We decided more alcohol was necessary. The most cost-effective way to drink more was to get a bottle. We decided to get the cheapest bottle on the menu, whatever it was. It turned out to be a bottle of, not wine, but champagne! Though, to be accurate, it must have been sparkling wine since I am sure it did not come from the Champagne Province. Whatever! We ordered it and they brought it over, silver standing tray with ice and all! It attracted some attention and some middle-aged Bulgarian men came over, asking us to dance!

So there we were, drinking champagne, and dancing with slightly sketchy, middle-aged Bulgarians. They were decent dancers, actually. (Both Rose and I are in very happy relationships, so we weren’t looking for hotties to dance with, anyway).Then Double Down changed gears and performed a swing version of Thriller. The whole band even jumped off the stage and did the classic dance!

We stumbled out of the club well after 2 am, throwing out the business cards from the Bulgarians on our way down the block, and singing Double Down’s version of “Luck be a Lady”. All in all, a good night out.