4. Apple Picking
I had plenty of elite things I wanted to do once I moved to the East Coast, like wear Fair Isle sweaters and recycle. At the top of my list was apple-picking. I imagined going to Maine or Connecticut, but due to time constraints, we went to New Jersey. We got there late, so there weren’t many apples. Plus we didn’t want a ton of apples, so plucked 8 or 9 ones that weren’t eaten by worms then left. I had burrs stuck to my tights.
3. Watching Someone Get a Tattoo
I wanted to see blood, screaming, and crying. I wanted to see human endurance pushed to its limits. But since I accompanied the toughest he-man in existence, all I got to see was a few grimaces and the occasional arm cramp. There wasn’t even one trickle of blood. They did, however, play Abbey Road in its entirety while we were there, and I forgot that I didn’t hate “Octopus’s Garden” as much I had thought I did.
2. Ice Skating in Central Park
Ice skating in general isn’t that fun. It’s expensive, clunky, and repetitive. It’s slightly worse in Central Park, where they play the kind of saccharine pop I would’ve loved in 4th grade (think S Club 7 but with 5 more members). Also, it’s clearly a rink for loving fathers teaching their kids to skate. If you don’t fit into either of those demographics, you’ll feel like you’re intruding into a Fatherhood PSA. Go to Bryant Park, if you have to.
1. Getting Lost in a Cornmaze
Actually, I never had high hopes for this one.
