Huntington State Park, Connecticut

I've been teaching college students for more than 3 years in NYC; if they remember one thing about my class, it'll likely be how much I love to hate the New York Post. Rupert Murdoch is generally gross. But everyone enjoys tabloid journalism from time to time. Or, daily. It's like a candy apple; or even, like those rumored candy apples with razorblades hidden in them that your parents warned you about on Halloween: there's some goodness in there somewhere, but it's wrapped in some pretty toxic shit. I've noticed that The Post, and maybe all of "the news," tends to go through waves of extremely depressing stints. Lately, The Post, and maybe just the reality of New York City, has depressed me. People are horrible to each other--they're sad, sad monsters. But this weekend, I was up in Huntington State Park, Connecticut: just an hour from the city. We booked an AirBnB and hopped on the motorcycle. The moon was bright, the crickets were out, and little lakes dotted the land, reflecting the trees--just beginning to change colors. We didn't read The Post, and for once, I didn't miss it at all.