The High Line

I have a crush on the High Line.

It was nearly 4 years ago when I was first told about the prospect of turning the raised railway line into a public park. I and a few adventurous friends took a self-guided tour of the northern segment, starting at the sloping ramp that frames the westside rail yards, shimmying under the corrugated metal siding meant to keep out trespassers, and walking as far as 25th street where the neighbouring buildings squeeze the line from both sides.

Then I saw the design plans. And I was smitten.

I thought I wouldn't get to see the park before leaving the city, believing the red tape would hamper its proposed June 2009 opening. However the Friends of the High Line delivered and opened the first section of the park to the public a few weeks ago. And yesterday, I got to walk along those old rail ties with Katie and Virginia. My infatuation grew with each step as I witnessed the attention to detail in the perfect execution of the proposed design. I am looking forward to the completion of the park, even though I myself may not get to enjoy as often as I would like.

CONSUMED: The High Line; Meatpacking District/Chelsea (Manhattan)

Michael Arenella & His Dreamland Orchestra

Central Park. Hands down the number one thing that you gotta do when you come to New York, before the Empire State, Rockefeller Center, even the Statue of Liberty. It is the figurative and literal heart of the city, pumping vitality into its inhabitants; without it, the city would gain 10 BMI points, start to balkanise, and finally commit suicide.

It's for this reason that I show the park off to visitors like it was my very own backyard. I still relish in the park's verdure, and in the disparate (though inevitably intertwined) cultures of the native New Yorkers and the weekend tourists.

And so on touring Central Park with an old Haligonian friend last weekend, it was with feigned surprise (I am no longer surprised when the park provides unexpected forms of entertainment) but unfeigned delight that we stumbled upon Michael Arenella & His Dreamland Orchestra. Their hot dance jazz ditties had attracted a healthy crowd to the steps of Bethesda Fountain, including what appeared to be true aficionados of the fancy dances of the 1920s. We couldn't help but gawk and share giddy smiles, faintly aware that the city in which we were standing was intricately tied to the anachronism playing out in front of us.

CONSUMED: the steps of the Bethesda Fountain; Central Park, New York