Places STG Wants to Go

This collection of grinning ephemera has grown from basement to Brooklyn.

A restaurant on Staten Island showcases a different grandmother’s cooking every night.

Nondescript elevator doors open to reveal a stunning, surreal world.

Love, knishes, and best wishes from this legendary Lower East Side bakery.

The original toys that inspired the beloved children's stories are on display at the New York Public Library.

World's largest magnetic research facility.

One man's grief over the national tragedy has manifested in a pod of homemade whales on his front lawn.

Crumbling Kennedys and a decaying Tecumseh are just some of the haunting remains of one man's cement art trail.

Divinely-inspired village houses 6,000 dolls, plus strange and lovely outsider art.

A mailbox that saved a nature reserve.

The first statue of Christ sleeping on a bench in the United States confused its affluent parish.

This set of rickety spaceships are prepared to give alien travelers a place to relax and go to the bathroom.

A hobby born from insomnia has turned into a hangar full of objects that have been be-buttoned by the Button King.

Remarkably realistic Florida shoal bass "swim" inside this large globoid sculpture.

"Not too many people can say they've had a nuclear bomb dropped on them, not too many would want to." — Walter Gregg.

The art and history of the velvet painting are on full display in this Los Angeles museum.

Rainbow-hued local gem in Venice.

One of many gator theme parks, abandoned in the sugar fields of South Florida.

Former wax museum from the 1960s, home to many wax U.S. Presidents and the famous White House miniature.

Beating out all other concrete competitors, this massive garden feature's pointy hat has earned it a world record.

The oddly shaped, steam-spewing building is now an art studio and gallery.

The library's graceful rotunda is like a bibliophile's temple.

A house and yard adorned with bizarre concrete sculptures in a Milwaukee suburb.

Weighing 30,000 pounds, this monument represents Detroit's first industrial era.