My parents were in town recently, staying in a hotel in Chelsea. They had nothing to do one morning, so I suggested they check out Manhattan's newest, coolest, most-in-the-news park, the High Line. They did.
And the verdict? "What a big nothing," said my mother, who has has kept a huge and locally celebrated flower garden in her backyard for decades. "It's full of weeds." I explained that the species that were planted were chosen on purpose for their wild and natural character. "It's not anything we'd plant back home in a park." She added that, in the winter, when such wild plants turn brown, the spectacle amounts to less than a big nothing.
"Not much a view," observed my dad, saying the the elevated tracks only allowed you a close-up of the dirty sides of old brick buildings, underlying traffic and the West Side Highway. I had to admit that this was indeed the view one got on the High Line. They hoped the thing hadn't cost too much. I said that it had cost a great deal of money, and more was being poured into the project every day. It was the most expensive new park in the City, and our Mayor's pet project. They rolled their eyes the way only visitors can when confronted with the folly of New Yorkers.