Poverty Is Architectural Preservation’s Best Friend Plus MEAT MACHINES!

Eighteenth anniversary of the day that changed everything.

The day that changed everything for the worse…

Relatively few jeremiads in the headlines this morning. Of course, there is actual news today: Trump’s firing of John Bolton (b-b-b-bye asshole!); the Republican win of that North Carolina House seat (the Dems never had a chance); Trump’s idiotic suggestion that the Feds impose negative interest rates (which would drive away any new foreign investment in the ever-escalating debt, thereby toppling the house of cards that is the American government.)

Still.

The memory of 9/11 seems to be fading.

We’re maybe ten years off from 9/11 reenactments.



One of the best things about going on adventures with BB is that he is willing to explore anything interesting we pass on the road!

I don’t do this when I’m alone ‘cause you know: embarrassment.

And other people won’t do this with me ‘cause you know: You gotta get to where you gotta go!

The world is a more fascinating place with BB ‘cause he’s interested in exploring.

Thus we paused for Art Photos at an abandoned and improbably chrome diner on the empty road up to Hudson:



And documented every stretch of the way as we crept up on the Rip Van Winkle Bridge (autumn fully in evidence):



I canoodled a bit with the plywood ghost of Thomas Cole, and we argued about the Hudson River School of Painting:



That’s another great thing about going on adventures with BB. He never gets bent out of shape if we argue and if the arguments get intense.

We’d set out to do the Skywalk, which connects Cole’s erstwhile home in Catskill Village with the bizarre and improbable turrets of Frederick Church’s home Olana on the outskirts of Hudson:



We got across the bridge.

But it started to rain.

So, we turned back.

This island under the Rip Van Winkle bridge is the largest tidal swamp on the Hudson estuary. It’s only accessible by boat:



On the other side of the bridge was an abandoned comice pear orchard:





Then, we ended up exploring the tiny town of Athens on the Hudson’s west bank for an hour or so.

Poverty is architectural preservation’s best friend! Athens has a staggering number of Federal and Greek Revival rowhouses dating back to the early 19th century that are still in excellent shape. It was obviously a successful community at one point.

It’s not now.

We thought this was really fucking weird. The ground beneath this building has given way. Rather than bolster the foundation, the contractor decided to customize the window frames to give the windows the illusion of sitting true:



I’ve never seen anything quite like that before.

And, of course, there was the requisite Gothic masterpiece house complete with Tiffany-inspired stained glass and odd Masonic-inspired gingerbread frippery, available—if, for some insane reason, you wanted to live in Athens—for a low, low, low price:



Afterwards, we dropped by to say hi to Aimee.

That was a bit weird.

For various reasons, great waves of anxiety always pulsate off Aimee. Those reason are always changing, but they never fail to clash with her Gracious Hostess persona, thereby creating an unsettling sense of cognitive dissonance that reminds me for some bizarre reason of Ugly Wuglies (obscure E. Nesbit Enchanted Castle reference!)

I suppose it comes from the fact that Aimee chooses to live her life in a web of sketchy personal and business connections.

I’m not judging.

They’re the type of connections I wouldn’t have had any problem with in my 30s and maybe not even in my 40s.

But as a sexagenarian, they make me extremely nervous. And clearly, they make her extremely nervous. One cannot help but think, There but for the grace of God… It is so easy to slip through the cracks when you’re old.

All nervousness disappeared, though, when I beheld the wonder that is Applestone’s meat vending machines for the very first time:





The meat vending machines were so cool! I could see myself turning back into a raging carnivore if Hudson were only a little bit closer to home.