When we last left our hero (me), she was attempting a move uptown but evil villain movers were thwarting her plan. After a battle with an armoire, a screaming match with the a-hole moving company owner, a perilous ride in the front seat of a truck smooshed between 3 grown men, and the aid of my darling friend Walter, I emerged victorious. More or less. Everything got moved and that’s all that matters. A week later, it feels like home. From where I stand, there was only one moving casualty. It always has to be something.
I woke up Tuesday, the day after Labor Day, refreshed and ready to get back to work. I was going to be a good little blogger, write about my weekend in the timeliest of fashions, including dozens of pictures, it was going to be great. And then I couldn’t find my camera USB connector.
Buzz buzz! I ripped my newly organized room apart in search of the thing. To no avail. I racked my brain, called friends whose apartments I had recently visited. To no avail. I ransacked my room again, double checking every nook and cranny. Nowhere. That’s how I spent my week in the greatest city on earth. Is there a worse feeling? When you have a plan and then forces beyond your control thwart it? Just like my movers. It’s always something. Yesterday I gave up and went to Best Buy and purchased a universal USB connector. Today I write this belated post. Without further ado:
Governor’s Island, swimming distance (if swimming were allowed/advisable) from the southern tip of Manhattan, is a fantastical place. A former military base, only accessible by a five-minute ferry ride from Manhattan, populated only with abandoned buildings and summer attractions. It is open only on weekends from May 26-September 30. “Governors Island offers a diverse array of arts, cultural and recreational activities for visitors of all ages to enjoy.” say’s their website. I have been meaning to go for years, but again, it was always something: I was away for the summer, it’s a whole ferry ride away, I work weekends, I’m a lazy excuse-spewing American cliché. Nothing motivates an American cliché like money, which is exactly what finally brought me to Governor’s Island. I booked a job for Labor Day weekend working an event called “Pig Island”. (more…)