The Finch Formerly Known As Gold

30 April 2003

Eternity in the Garden State

According to Susanna Cornett, this is the beauty of New Jersey:

It chips away at you, all day. You fight traffic to work. You deal with bad attitudes and political pandering and 31 flavors of accents and nothing's ever easy, horns blowing all day outside. You drive home and women lean out their car windows and curse each other while your car is between them. You drive around the block for 20 minutes to find a parking space two blocks from your apartment building only to find the tiny entry is nearly blocked because SOMEONE put a baseball glove in the mailbox of one of your fellow apartment dwellers so the door won't hardly open. And this door, there's only so much room to squeeze through, the one opposite opens into the entry too so you have to get all the way in and close the first door before you can open the second door but the BLASTED BASEBALL GLOVE is making the mailbox take a gouge out of you, and you manage a smile at the thought that this is one more reason you're glad you don't have implants.

Like more reasons were needed?

Actually, I can appreciate some of this. Brock Yates once said that the New Jersey Turnpike was the American equivalent of MiG Alley, and I have no reason to doubt him; usually it's somewhere around Exit 7 when I recall just why it is that racers wear gloves. On the other hand, if anyone in Jersey ever cursed me (and that includes you, Susie Q), I don't remember it.

Posted at 8:05 PM to Dyssynergy