I never asked for a pony for Christmas. And you call yourself a cliché?
Why didn’t I? Is it because I had a greater sense of reality than many of my peers? My three person family lived in a one bedroom apartment. No backyard and certainly no room (let alone money) for a pony. Or is it because I never went through the cliché childhood “horse phase”?
This morning I saw Nick Cave’s instillation art piece “Heard NY” in Grand Central Terminal. A blend of performance art, costume, and sculpture, it was fantastic to watch. It was so inspiring and positively joyful to watch, it may just be the start of my long-delayed horse obsession. Cave creates a heard of horses. These are costume-sculpture pieces colorful, fashioned out of “raffia” which moves in a straw-like way, picking up subtle movements. Students from the Ailey School brought the pieces to life. The colors and the movement were mesmerizing. It was the perfect activity for 11AM on a snowy, gray spring morning.
The Horse stand on display like this all day, but at 11AM and 2PM Ailey dancers bring them to life. The dancers are in black lining the walls!
A closer view of some of five of the full heard of 30. Fifteen on the west side of Vanderbilt Hall at fifteen on the east. I was on the east side, I have no idea if the other side is a mirror or entirely individual!
Each sculpture/costure has a beautiful and ornately decorated head. Accompanying the dance was a harpist and drummer. It was cool just watching the dancers transform into horses. Also, lots of kids in the huge crowd watching. Once transformed we were treated to a 20 minute performance. There was a perfect balance of horse movement, I really felt like I was watching creatures frolic about, and more abstract dance. Butts and heads separated, movement got lively and even more colorful! You can see the performer inside the horse! I sometimes forgot they were in there. The little four year old girl next to me was adorably confused by it all.
Everyone was taking photographs and there was uproarious applause at the end. The dancers all looked exhausted and elated. I got to see the first public performance! If you are in NYC I highly recommend going out of your way to see this. The times of performance are inconvenient- 11am and 2pm daily- but I think it’s worth it. It’s only today though March 31st! My photos don’t do it justice, this is the first time I’ve ever seriously bemoaned my lack of a quality camera. It really is an experience!
Wednesday was a brilliant day for a myriad of reasons:
1. It was the first day of spring!
2. The sky was clear and so blue and sunny, the 40º weather didn’t matter.
3. My roommates and I all had the day off. The 3 of us all have unconventional schedules; this never happens
4. MACARON DAY! http://macarondaynyc.com/
Let me just start by saying Macaron Day was everything I wanted it to be and more. With my roommates Rose and April at my side, a red beret perched upon my head, the Macaron Adventure just past 11AM. I charted our course, an ambitious plan to visit six bakeries. I was somewhat nervous. I had hyped up Macaron Day so much to my roommates, in my own mind, and to the world on this blog. Free Macarons! Delicious French cookies! So many participating bakeries! You have to go! As we approached our first bakery I fretted, What if we’re too late and all the macarons are gone? It’s almost noon! There might be horrible long lines! What if we are uncomfortably pressured to buy things? I crossed my fingers and prayed this wouldn’t be a let down.
Epicerie Boulud at Broadway and 64th was first stop on our macaron tour.
That’s my “Oh la la” face.
Lovely displays of fresh bread and Easter sweets greeted us as we stepped inside. With only slight hesitation, I approached the counter. “Hi,” I said to the cute/French-looking/slightly effeminate/young man behind the counter, “We’re here for Macaron Day!” “Great,” he replied, and pointed to a bowl of macarons, “Please take one. We have Chocolate, Pistachio, Raspberry, and Hazelnut-Passion Fruit.” And it was just that easy. We each selected a different flavor- Rose took Pistachio, April grabbed a Chocolate one, and I tried the Hazelnut-Passion Fruit.
We bit into the sweet little morsels and grinned. The light airy consistency complemented by a crisp shell and a slightly chewy texture: that is the trés bien combination of a good macaron. Rose and I both agreed that these were good, though not the best we’d ever had. “I can’t wait to compare them all!” I cried.
Then April shared a shocking confession: “Guys, now that I’ve eaten one, I can say this: that was my first macaron.”
Rose and I gasped at this revelation, “Seriously? Sacre bleu! What did you think??”
“I loved it and I can’t wait for more!” And withe that pronouncement, we departed for …
Destination number deux: Bouchon Bakery in the Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle. Maybe it was the beginning of the lunch rush, maybe it was the fact we didn’t buy anything else, maybe it was something else, but Bouchon Bakery seemed over Macaron Day when we got there at noon. There was no indication that it was a day out of the ordinary. After a short wait in line, we were hastily told, “We only have Vanilla.” “Great!” was our reply, and we were quickly shoved three tiny vanilla macarons. Most macarons are 2, maybe 3 bites. These were one. They were great though! Perfect crispness on the outside, followed by fluffy chewiness. By the end of the day, I would have been happy for a mini-macaron, but as it was only macaron deux, I was left wanting more! It was lucky our next stop was only a block away!
The scene here was the most celebratory yet. Not surprising as Francois Payard is the man responsible for Macaron Day in New York. Inspired by Paris’ Jour du Macaron, he initiated the American version in 2010. With a display at the front and an area in the back devoted to passing out macarons, the festive feel of this shop was on par with that of my red beret. With beaucoup de(that’s french for “a lot of”) options- Raspberry, Hazelnut, Mint Chocolate, Chocolate, and Passion Fruit– April and I both went for Raspberry and Rose opted for Passion Fruit. The flavors were excellent, the ganache stellar, and the texture trés bien. We left the shop praising Francois Payard’s pastry skill and ingenuity for creating what was already a fantastic day. We couldn’t get enough of Monsieur Payard and we were in luck! The next stop on our itinerary was another of his establishments!
FP Patisserie at the Plaza Hotel on 59th and 5th Avenue for our quatre (4) macaron of the day. With sugar now coursing through our blood, we really hit our stride.
The Plaza Hotel is known for elegance and luxury. Even it’s food court, dubbed The Todd English Food Hall, lives up to this standard. FP Patisserie was quite similar to Mr. Payard’s other shop. But here the flavors were more sophisticated. April and I again chose the same flavor, the intriguing Honey-Violet. It was a surprising and fresh burst of flavor, new to both our taste buds. Rose sampled an exotic chocolate flavor with a tricky french name none of us could remember. You know the cliché about us ladies and our chocolate, and this particular macaron was pronounced, “Really good,” emphasis on really.
A New York fact: if three girls step foot in the Plaza Hotel, they have to talk about Eloise. We took a peak in the hotel’s elaborate gift shop, dedicated entirely to the iconic pint-sized Plaza inhabitant. Macarons and Eloise? Cuteness was pouring out our ears as we departed the hotel with still more macarons in store! Our adventure now brought us to my old favorite macaron place (highlighted in my last post), The Macaron Cafe.
Arriving around 1PM, we hit major lunch traffic. The little shop was full to bursting and by the time we left, the line to get in was out the door. This wasn’t simply because of Macaron Day, this cafe is a popular lunch place for the mid-town crowd. We persevered through the sea (la mer en francais) of people and upon our unison cry of “We’re here for Macaron Day!” were faced with overwhelming decision: we could pick any of their 28+ flavors. There was no time to look at all the options and so we all chose the same: Lemon. I had raved about my love of this flavor of macaron, and bemoaned it’s absense at all places we’d visited thus far. The consensus was unanimous: The Macaron Café had the best macarons thus far. Not just the incredible selection, but the initial crunch and texture was perfect. The macaron is not the namesake of this place for nothing!
The final stop of our tour: the Mad Mac pop-up shop at Bernardaud on Park Avenue and 59th.
“Pop-up Shops” are a NYC fenominon- a shop that appears for a short period of time- a day, a week- and then is gone. Sometimes they occupy empty locations, sometimes they are created in parks, and sometimes they occupy other stores. For Macaron Day, and that day only, Mad Mac macarons were being sold in Bernardaud- a store selling trés chic french decor.
Florian Bellanger, the chef and co-owner of Mad Mac, also the star of Food Networks Cupcake Wars, was there signing books and celebrating Macaron Day. As I took the picture of our sixth and final stop, I realized I needed two hands. My solution? Display my pumpkin (how creative) macaron in my mouth. Just as Rose snapped the photo, a woman emerged from the back room. “What a creative picture!” She exclaimed in a glorious french accent, “You have to take a photo with Florian!” She said, and called him over.
Monsieur Bellanger and all us Macaron Adventurers!
“Magnifique!” I said to Monsieur Bellanger and, “Merci beaucoup!” We left the shop with huge smiles on our faces. “I wish every day was Macaron Day!” said April, an excellent cupcake baker in her own right, who was star struck by the celebrity of Florian Bellanger. It was the perfect end to our Macaron Adventure. Au revoir! The door of Macaron Day closed, but another opened- spring! I’m so glad it’s finally here!
I don’t know how much longer I can take it. The first day of spring is two days away, yet winter seems unending. It snowed all day Saturday. The current 10 Day forecast shows nothing close to 50º. Late March is always the beacon of light at the end of the winter tunnel. St. Patrick’s Day is a marked in my mind- the first sign of leaves usually appear around this notoriously “green” day. Still no sign this year. I keep thinking of March 22, 2012, a day bursting with color and temperatures in the 70s. I’ll never forget that day, one of my all time NYC favorites.
March 22, 2012. I know I shouldn’t be dreaming of the past…but this is all I want right now!
This California girl is craving color, I’m dying for it! Nature is giving me nothing, not even a blue sky, and so I look elsewhere. Fortunately, New York is on my side! March 20th is not just the first day of spring, it is also New York Macaron Day! Never heard of this, you say? Neither had I! It only began in New York in 2010, taken from Paris’ Jour du Macaron. I am so excited to participate this year!
It’s hard to find something as cute, classy, and colorful as a macaron!
Macarons are right next to flowers on my list of “Things I Would Buy Much More Often If I Had Money”. Delicate, airy, and sweet, they are the perfect two bites. I would eat them all the time if I had the $2.75 to spend on two bites. That is why I’m so jazzed about Macaron Day! Bursts of the sweetest colors and the sweetest tastes at a price that can’t be beat. Fifteen bakeries throughout Manhattan are participating and providing FREE macarons on Wednesday!
The Macaron Cafe, an adorable hole-in-the-wall on E 59th Street between Madison and Park, is one of the participating bakeries. That’s where all my pictures are from, it’s such a lovely shop! The ambience is cozy and colorful with original art displayed on the walls. They also make great salads and sandwiches. It is really busy at weekday lunch hour. But come on a weekend it’s the perfect spot to catch up with a friend, over coffee and macarons!
The seating area in the back is small, very New York, and perfect for singles or couples.
I plan to visit as many of the participants as I can, who wants to join me? View the full list here. If you don’t live in NYC, stop by a local bakery and see if you can convince them to give you a deal because it’s Jour du Macaron (I recommend saying it in a thick French accent)! Or make your own: Not So Humble Pie has detailed her experience and recipe here. Or just wait for my upcoming blog post detailing my Macaron Day adventure to live vicariously!
March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.
This cliché needs an update. I propose: March comes in like your uncle (the one who drinks too much and the rest of the family suspects he’s bipolar) and goes out like your aunt (the one who got you the best birthday presents and always bakes pies when you visit). Thursday night was a rough one for Uncle March. Cocktail hour had barely begun but he was already in a right state. Rants of icy cold slush spewing from his mouth, tirades against warmth brought to life with wind and vigor. He didn’t slow down all evening. As I walked home, the weepy state of inebriation commenced as rain drops splattered my coat. The next morning dirty piles of snow made us all want to get out of bed late. Sudden movements were difficult and loud noises forbidden.
Then Saturday it was glorious. Warm and sunny, beautiful on a level of inspiring grand works of art. Bipolar, Uncle March, that is the diagnosis. It was the first day in ages where I could stand the thought of being outside for any period of time. So I did what any New Yorker would do, I went for a walk. In Central Park. It was a struggle to take the subway. My sun-starved skin screamed, “No! Don’t take me underground!” Fortunately it was a short subway ride. When I emerged from the depths of the transit system I was greeted by this site: an ice cream truck, a pink one no less. I may have jumped up and down with glee. The whole city wanted to be outside. We are all so starved for spring, we get ecstatic about the first day the temperature tips over 50º. It’s a city in transition and with bipolar March, winter to spring is not a smooth one. Every outfit from t-shirt short sleeves to heavy down coats was present in the park. Which makes sense when you have green grass and intermittent snow bathed in sunshine. Not enough to make a snow man, but enough to clean my shoes when they got all muddy.
I’m hoping for the first leaf buds by Saint Patrick’s Day. If memory serves, this is well with in the realm of possibility. But I don’t want to get carried away. Some building on Park Avenue already planted spring flowers. The poor pansies looked miserable having endured the snow. The contrast of spring flowers and Christmas tree lights also made me smile. I cannot wait. For flowers and picnics and bare legs and sandals and sidewalk seating and color! and warmth! We are so close to Aunt March and all her goodness. But until then, who knows. That crazy uncle might have another episode.
I moved to NYC at age 21. Think that’s young? So did the entire city. My first year I recall being called a baby easily more times than I had in infancy. “You’re 21!? Oh my God, you’re a baby!” Now 5 years later, a comment on my youth is rare. When I do get one, oh boy do I appreciate it! Recently I’ve been reliving my first year in the city through my roommate April*. She just celebrated 6 months here. She is 22. Guess who makes comments about her age all the time? Me. By “comments” I mean I tease her all the time. Perhaps it’s because I never had a little sister and I need an outlet. Perhaps it’s because she’s so damn talented and pretty and smart and has it more together than I do at 4 years her senior…. Perhaps if I didn’t tease her, I’d hate her.
No one wants to hate their roommate. So instead I constantly make fun of her! An easy thing because she’s such an open and endearing person; naive in the delightful way of people discovering the “real world” for the first time. (The nerve of me for saying such things! I think I’m wise at 26? Go ahead, roll your eyes at me. I deserve it! I imagine I’ll be re-reading this in the year 2017 and rolling mine!) Oh I’ve been there, and oh I can relate so much. But, like I said, she’s got it way more together than I did at 22.
A fantastic roommate, mature beyond her years, driven, determined; she’s working on 2 shows, several jobs, and still manages to see her friends more often than I do. She’s got poise. Who has poise at age 22? Some one who is comfortable in her own skin. Bitch. She’s the kind of girl all the boys have crushes on, because she’s genuine. Oh, now you hate her too? Sorry, but she’s also one of the most loyal and caring people you’ll ever meet. She’ll make you cupcakes if you’ve had a bad day. Yep, it’s basically impossible to hate her. So just love her and make fun of her like I do! April, the other night you shared amazing chocolate ravioli with me. Today, I share you with my blog! You’re this week’s featured Other New York cliché!
Name/prefered pseudonym: I think you’ve called me *April on here before. So, let’s go with that? Or 20-something know it all. Or Twitch (thank you, college friends.)
Borough and neighborhood: Harlem/Hamilton Heights
How are you a New York cliché? Well, I moved here right after college to be an actress. I also waitress to make ends meet. And do promo gigs. And nanny. And don’t know what to do with myself when I have more than 5 minutes of free time.
They say no one who lives in New York is actually from New York. Where are you from? Western Massachusetts. And while I am in love with NYC, you can’t beat the Berkshires in the fall.
Bloomberg is banishing you from NYC. You have 24 hours before you have to pack up and leave for ever. How do you spend them? I would start the day by having tea with my awesome roommates in our freaking fantastic apartment. Then I would grab my iPod and head out to walk through Riverside Park. I’d catch the train at 96th, and head to the planetarium section of the Museum of Natural History. It’s the coolest thing in the world. I’d meet anyone who wanted to hang out there, and we’d all go grab some lunch at any dollar slice place (Two Bros? They’re my favorite thus far). Then we’d go on a long walk thru Central Park (whether it be cold or warm, snowy or sunny). I would finally find the Balto statue, and revisit the Alice in Wonderland one. Dinner at any restaurant I haven’t tried, and then I’d have to catch a show. Finally, we’d all head back to my apartment for drinks, good music, and an epic farewell. Of course, I’d sneak out for a bit to check out the view across the water at Riverside Park (bookend the day, you know?) It’s stunning.
What restaurant/bar you keep going back to, even though you’ve been meaning to try a dozen others? Well, the restaurant I worked at when I first moved here is the place I’ve eaten at most often. I do go to S’Mac quite a bit, though. And also the bodega on my street. Best grilled cheese ever.
Hot dogs or pizza? Pizza. No contest. Cheese and pineapple. Seriously.
Perfect cliche Rockefeller Christmas Tree picture.
So you live in NYC, but what’s one super-touristy thing you secretly love? Christmas time in the city. I love everything about it. I always do a Christmas day with my friend, Rachel, or my sister. We go see the tree at Rockefeller Center, ice skate in Bryant Park, walk around and look at all of the big department store Christmas windows, and hit up Macy’s Santaland, where about 95% of my friends in the city work. It’s the best.
Ever had a run-in with a celebrity (A-D List)? I served Quentin Tarentino at my restaurant. And about a month later I met Shia LaBoeuf there.
You totally saw something weird on the subway or street today (you may not have registered it was weird because you are jaded), what did you see? Today, specifically? Surprisingly, nothing all that exciting. I did see a guy with a cockatoo chilling on his shoulder riding the A train once. That was weird.
Only a newbie would sit on the street in Times Square! Lucky she didn’t catch trichinosis.
What is your favorite fictionalized New York? How does it compare with reality? Hmm…the image of all of the men heading to work in their suits in Revolutionary Road is my absolute favorite image. They’re all spilling over the stairs in Grand Central in their fedoras and muted, tailored suits. I’m obsessed with the 1950’s and early 60’s, so this completely appeals to me. While I’m sure it captured the feel of that particular time period very well, much has changed in fashion and accepted work apparel since then. So, it’s probably not the most up-to-date fictionalized New York.
Plug something! Be it something you are involved in, your significant other/roommate/cat is involved in, or just something you think is extra-special going on in NYC. I write a blog! (I was absolutely inspired by Ms. New York Cliché.) Musings of a 20-Something Know-it-all. Check it out! http://liveditlearnedit.wordpress.com/
I’d also like to make a big ol’ shout out to any and all small, start-up theater companies. Go out, see their shows, help them get on their feet. The more theater there is in this city, the more this city will feel alive, with a completely unique heartbeat.
Thanks, April darling for being part of my Other New York clichés feature! Now please come home from your audition so you can approve this post before we clean the apartment. With any one else, I might be dreading it. But with you, we’ll make cleaning fun.
What do you think of this series? Love it so much you want featured? Fabulous! Email NewYorkCliche@yahoo.com.
Ladies love men with accents. It’s a cliché, one so grounded in reality that a dating website called iloveyouraccent.comactually exists. Anyone who has read my dramatic Safa Boy Saga (and if you haven’t I really recommend it, it’s the most shocking my blog has ever been) knows my fondness for foreign fellas. When a new guy showed up at my interactive theatre job, a new British guy, it was inevitable. Before the week was up I found myself sitting next to him at a pub, sharing a pint. Did I throw myself at him? Quite. I giggled at his cheeky sense of humor, asked him about horrible clichés (“what’s up with fish and chips?”), and sat enamored by every dulcet word escaping his lips.
Where do the origins of my admiration of British blokes lie? Two theories:
1. The height of Hugh Grant and Collin Firth fame coincided with my adolescence
2. Watching “Help” and age 12 and being smitten by the timeless charm of “The Beatles”
So bloody cute [credit: fanpop.com]
I have never set foot on British soil. The closest I ever got was a layover in Heathrow Airport. I have certainly pretended to be on British soil a silly number of times, what with several plays and summers working at a Renaissance fair. My British accent is quite convincing, I’ve fooled scores of non-natives. Given all this, the fact I was drinking Stellas with a man who was born and raised in Britannia was exciting enough. That he had forsaken his homeland for my homeland was intriguing.
Brits have a significant American advantage as foreigners go: there is little language barrier. I’m familiar enough to know if a Brit says he wants to “bum a fag” he’s looking for a cigarette, not being a homophobic douche. That was just an example, my Brit doesn’t actually smoke. I beg him to tell me what other words differ across the pond. “Fanny” I already knew thanks to the film Billy Elliot (a tamer word for “butt” vs. a slang term for “vagina”). “Pants” mean underpants, very different from “trousers”. “Tellie” is actually said for “television” and a “biscuit” is a cookie.
image: greatbritishmag.co.uk
Then the Brit opens a wardrobe of Narnia proportions:
“Are you familiar with CRS?”
“No…I know RSC, Royal Shakespeare Company. Is CRS the dyslexic version?”
“No, not quite,” he laughs, “It’s Cockney Rhyming Slang.”
Cockney Rhyming Slang is intense. There are all sorts of fun theories as to its origin- was it developed as a game or made to befuddle outsiders? What’s for sure is that if you are unfamiliar, it makes absolutely no sense. It is not an easily cracked code. Or “a la mode” as you’d say in CRS.
Let me try to explain.
CRS most often takes a phrase of two things, rhymes one of the words with the word you normally use, then cuts off the rhyming word so what your left with seems completely unrelated. That made no sense? It’s impossible to understand without an example. So here is the common example: Say you’re going up the stairs. “Stairs” rhymes with “apples and pears”. Now subtract the rhyming word, you’re left with “apples”. So instead of “going up the stairs” you’d say “going up the apples”.
You want a beer, you order a “Britney”. “Britney Spears” rhymes with “beers”. You lost your phone, you’ve lost your dog, “dog and bone”. You got hit in the head, it’s a blow to your “loaf”. “Loaf of bread” rhymes with “head”.
The blog I nicked this from is really fantastic: paulbommer.blogspot.com (click for direct link).
I love it. I am horrible at learning new languages. I struggled with basic French in high school and again in college. I am abysmally mono-lingual. But Cockney Rhyming Slang, I could learn that! Okay, so it’s not actually a different language. Also, a large part of my motivation comes from the fact the person who taught it to me is an attractive man…But still! It is based on wit and cleverness! It’s perfect for me!
The day after my date I faced the all too common dilemma: I want to text him, but is it too soon? Yes. But maybe just one text to say I had a nice time and thank him for the drinks? I mean, that is polite. Right? Then it hit me- the absolute perfect text. One so fitting, cute and clever I beamed with joy as I hit send:
My attempt at CRS: Sending machine guns, I had a rats lemon last night.
Was it too subtle? I wondered. No, I thought to myself, He’s smart and clever, he could easily get it. And even if he doesn’t, he’s guaranteed to text me back. He did text me back almost immediately, unable to figure out my first Rhyming Slang attempt! I confess I was a bit disappointed. What about you dear reader? Can you figure out the slang, and see what was actually a very simple text?
“Machine guns and tanks” rhymes with thanks. “Rats and mice” rhymes with nice. “Lemon and lime” rhymes with time.
Sending thanks, I had a nice time last night.
Clever or ridiculous? Cheeky or trying way too hard? A second date did come of this; is Cockney Rhyming Slang to thank, or did I snag the date despite my overzealous attempts? Can I go to England just so I can utilize witty rhymes in all my pick up lines? Hairy Knees? (Please?)
Happy March 1st! I’m so glad February is over as it holds the title of “My Least Favorite Month of the Year”. There was something in the last week of February that just took it out of me. I got a horrid head cold, fell into a creative void, and wanted to do nothing more than watch two whole seasons of Downtown Abbey. So the British country side was the better part of my week. This worse part of my week was filled with temp work, blowing my nose a great deal, eating a great number of cupcakes I brought home from an event, paying several over-due bills, and thinking to myself “I really should blog” but doing nothing. Ever have one of those weeks?
Now here it is Friday night at 11pm. I just got off work, I’m supposed to go to a birthday party, and I have but 60 mere moments to fulfill my promise from when last I wrote! I have a give-away winner to announce! Thank you so much to everyone who entered. Were I not surviving on a starving artist “salary”, I would but fantastic picture books for all of you!
The lucky owner of Sophie Blackall‘s lovely book “Missed Connections” signed by the author herself is…. Craves Adventure! I’m so glad the powers of random.org chose this wonderful blogger and long time supporter of newyorkcliche.com, check out her blog if you have a chance Craves Adventure.
(E-mail me at newyorkcliche@yahoo.com and I will get your book sent out west as soon as I can!)
I hope everyone has a great weekend. I know I will, tomorrow I am working an event dedicated to pork and craft beer called….wait for it….”aPORKalypse Now“. No joke. #ReasonNumber173ImNotAVegetarian.
Spring is in the air, I think my creative fog is fading. It is 11:50pm, I did it! I wonder how many will read this before bed- good night! and how many will instead read it in the morning- good morning!
It was cool just watching the dancers transform into horses. Also, lots of kids in the huge crowd watching.
Once transformed we were treated to a 20 minute performance. There was a perfect balance of horse movement, I really felt like I was watching creatures frolic about, and more abstract dance.
Butts and heads separated, movement got lively and even more colorful!
You can see the performer inside the horse! I sometimes forgot they were in there. The little four year old girl next to me was adorably confused by it all.
