Coney Island. WTF.

On Saturday we toured the High Line, which was built in the 1930s to lift dangerous freight traffic about 30 feet above the ground.  Trains haven't run on it since the 80s, and it has since been (and is being) converted into a public walkway/garden way.  It was a great way to view the city, people watch, enjoy art installations and nature, and see how New York has turned what could have either been a blight or what might have been ultimately torn down, and utilized it into a dynamic and interesting public space.
Next we took the train out to Coney Island.  Definitely a different sort of feel as we started to head out that way.  Lots of women that were hard to differentiate from men with bad tattoos.
Coney Island is a weird place.  It's a beautiful sandy beach with a seemingly endless boardwalk... juxtaposed against an amusement park... and several medical facilities resplendent with razor wire.  So there were carnies and fat tourists and people that didn't seem entirely healthy all meshed together, eating the fine foods offered by Nathan's Hot dogs.
Given the exorbitant rent rates in New York and that the wealthy hop jitneys out to the Hamptons every summer, it seemed very odd to me that some - what I would think is - prime real estate is occupied by a giant Ferris wheel, some invalids and some tenement housing.
I'm not saying that the waterfront should only be accessible or enjoyed by the wealthy, but it just seems that the huge parking lot to support a slightly seedy amusement park, and the tenement buildings facing the water with the tiny windows are strange.
We headed up to Washington Square afterwards and caught some live, free jazz in the park.  There was a great, super talented group with a guy that - when one of his band mates left the band to go and pass the hat - would play two trumpets at the same time.  They were so tight and so talented and we really enjoyed being able to sit in the square, enjoy some excellent music, and people watch. 
After this we went to one of the most divey bars I've ever been to for some free piano jazz.  There were Christmas stockings behind the bar, dilapidated turkeys still stapled to the wall, Halloween decorations and a myriad of other shit strewn everywhere and I kept on waiting for someone to come and try and sell me a block of stolen cheese like what happened to me at the Ivanhoe when I was but a wee and impressionable lass.
 And thus ended another boring day in Soho.