Ruth K.'s Musings and Madness Blog: Vol. IV

There's nothing like summer in the city. Some are under stress, some are sitting pretty. Forgive me a little Hamilton indulgence. Last weekend I was in DC, I live in New York, the specter of the earworm show follows me wherever I go apparently. But Miranda knew what he was talking about, the New York summer. Its beautiful, and chaotic. It's New York, just hotter. And muggier. And sometimes the streets smell like pee.

I'm told that should be the title of the memoir I write someday about my time here, when I'm hardened and seasoned and dyed in the wool and all that jazz. I think it's rather fitting, truthfully. Sometimes, you're walking in the park and the trees are their own sky and the dogs are all the cutest you've ever seen and the people are smiling. Sometimes the skyline is breathtaking and the old world architecture makes time travel real and there's music coming from a local restaurant that paints the world sensible.

And sometimes the streets smell like pee.

It's the great dichotomy of New York. The greatest city in the world and the worlds hottest garbage shithole. The subway system is a wonder, magical to a mid-western car creature like myself. And then on occasion the guy across from you is actively smoking crack in the sub car. What can I say, no place like home.

Speaking of, we hit another home-making milestone the other day. As I mentioned, I trekked my way to DC last weekend to visit my oldest bestest friend. I hopped my ass on a bus that meandered through east coast foliage, and at one point, heinous traffic! At least the French kid next to me turned out to be a history nerd and a decent conversationalist, despite his hooligan youth appearance. When do we get old, again? Is it when we start calling teenagers hooligans to feel distinguished? Anyway, the trip was a wildly successful one. I had a fabulous time seeing my friend, who indulged me in all of my own history nerdiness. We ate at delicious restaurants of note and notoriety, and spent approximately 5 hours in the Smithsonian history museum and National Mall, time generously given to my meticulous obsessive history love. It was, after all, my first real dream job, to work as a curator for the Smithsonian. All this to say, it was a wonderful weekend trip, and I was ready to return home when I got on the bus back.

Music you listen to on long drives is sacred beyond measure. It is all of earth's wisdom and heaven's mercy and hell's revelations, and if you think that's a little hyperbolic, then try it for yourself. Take a night drive and put on music you've never heard before and if it doesn't rip your soul from your body and shove it in your face for close examination, I'll buy you and ice cream or something. I got up close and personal with my entire metaphysical being in a routine check up on the bus ride back, listening to Noah Kahan's album Stick Season (Forever). One song on it hit me like I'd stood in front of the bus on the highway: "You're Gonna Go Far". Whatever it was supposed to mean, I interpreted it that day as a parent giving their child the blessing to leave home on the grand adventure of adulthood, and considering this was my first trip away in which I was returning to New York as home base, this really got me. You get me?

I knew it would come to pass eventually that I'd be traveling, and the trip home would be to New York, not Colorado. I knew it would have a profound impact on my view of this place as home. I was right. And that felt fucking amazing. When I got back home, I was home. Take that how you want. I took it to heart.

I'm sitting here writing all of this at a sweet little street cafe that serves a nice risotto and a large dish of crème brûlée, and a tasty pineapple (virgin) mule. It's an even temperature, the lights are warming and the breeze is soft, and there's green. It's a local cafe. It's my first summer in my new home, alright, and I can't stress this enough, I thinks it's pretty neat. That's all I've got for now, thanks for reading this one. It was a little longer, sing-song-y and whatnot, but nothing like a French cafe to bring out the poet, eh? Oh, and before I forget, I updated the photo album a bit with my escapades. Here's the link again. Also, the link to that song. It's really worth a listen, I think.

https://photos.app.goo.gl/viJJTDaWKc8YwaHR8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yPNTvPWcbj8

Anyway, cheers good people. See you next time.