I spent most of this weekend visiting grad school friends in Worcester, Massachusetts. The details of the visit are only secondary with regard to this blog post; it was great seeing my friends and I definitely killed a few thousand brain cells in the process. I ate a bunch of junk food and had some great conversations. It made me kind of miss being a grad student... kind of.When I lived in Boston, my girlfriend lived in central New Jersey. Approximately twice a month while school was in session, I would make the eight-hour round trip to visit her for the weekend. I always enjoyed the drive (in both directions, although the drive to NJ was better than the drive to Boston), because it gave me lots of opportunities to work through shit in my head.
Depending on how you do it, the drive from New Jersey to Boston can consist of near-constant car rock, lots of scenic views, and the company of lots and lots of other cars. Everyone around you is going somewhere, and that makes long-distance driving lots of fun. My creative streak runs amok on these drives, and lately I thought to myself that it might be interesting (if incredibly narcissistic and self-serving) to blog some of these creative thoughts.
Below is such an attempt. All dates, times, and locations are approximate.
10:55 AM, Saturday, New Brunswick, NJ. Having picked up a bottle of "Sopranos" Pinot Noir (a taste of New Jersey for $12.99 that easily could have been sold for $3.99), as well as three Rocky Patel Robusto cigars for the weekend's festivities, I am off to the races.
It is about 85 degrees and rainy out, and I dread the idiots who will be driving on the Interstate highways of the Northeastern U.S. this weekend. We shall see. On Radio 101.9, "Backwater" by the Meat Puppets is on.
11:10 AM, Saturday, Bloomfield, NJ. Fast highway driving is like playing the stock market in the sense that there are two types of talented highway drivers/stock investors. There are the rare ones who know enough to "get it right" and then there are ones who are (a) aware that they're not the first kind of genius but (b) able to spot them and imitate their every move. I am this second type of talented highway driver.
The Garden State Parkway today is a mess; weekend drivers are retarded in general, because they don't drive often. Additionally, there are lots of weekend drivers on the road and it's raining. We're stop-and-go, and I would be content to chill out in the fast lane (aka low-cost index fund investing) but instead I notice a late-model Toyota Camry that really seems to "get it". I pull behind this car and do really well for about 10 miles, until they exit the highway.
I worry about the day that I pull this move and get myself shot by a paranoid meth addict, but so far, it hasn't happened yet.
11:20 AM, Saturday, Mahwah, NJ. The disc jockey on 101.9 just pre-empted a Silversun Pickups song by referring to how "heavy" it was with respect to most of the radio station's playlist. Two songs later, the same DJ played Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song." With a sigh and a shake of the head, I turn over to 104.3.
11:30 AM, Saturday, West Nyack, NY. I feel bad that I really dislike "Freebird". It just goes on and on and on and on. If "Freebird" were five instead of eight minutes long, I would probably like it all right, but I can't tell you the last time I caught it on the radio and haven't turned the dial. I switch back to 101.9 FM, easily my favorite radio station at this moment, and catch MGMT's "Kids", easily one of my favorite new alternative rock songs at this moment.
Meanwhile, I'm going 47 mph in the left lane of the Tappan Zee bridge and I'm getting absolutely dominated by Buicks, Penske rental trucks, and drivers from Maine in the right lanes. There is someone ahead of me in the left lane whom I would quickly murder, if given the chance. They need to give out special licenses for the fast lane.
11:35 AM, Saturday, somewhere between Rockland and Westchester Counties, NY. I may have ranted about this before, and if so, I apologize for my duplicity. However, it's absolutely ridiculous that the Tappan Zee bridge has signs reading "A Life is Worth Saving, Suicide Help Line Ahead."
Let's assume you're the average, severely suicidal person who has already managed to walk halfway up the East Coast's highest bridge, because you're intent upon killing yourself. You see this sign, imploring you to continue walking up the bridge in order to reach a pay phone which may or may not be working.
They're suicidal! How about working to get them off the fucking bridge, where the value proposition of killing yourself isn't so obvious! If I were in charge of writing these signs, I would make them say "Attention Suicidal Person, Suicide Help Line 500 Feet Behind You (on Dry Land)."
I am now in bumper-to-bumper traffic because the people in front of me should have killed themselves years ago but, unfortunately, did not.
11:55 AM, Saturday, Brewster, NY. The pavement on Interstate I-684 in New York is in horrible shape, which is strange because approximately 99% of this year's federal stimulus money has been used on re-paving projects. I know that very meaningful road in New Jersey is either getting widened, repaved, or both right now, which is very annoying when you're sitting in traffic but I guess it makes sense... somehow.
I am now officially leaving the New York City radio market and entering the Greater Connecticut radio market. I listen to rock radio for the most part, which (these days) is like saying "I study 13th-century Norse philosophy." Since January of this year, I've lost my two favorite rock stations in New Jersey (106.3 and 92.3), and I recently heard that WBCN in Boston turned into a Top 40 station, as well.
The one remaining rock station in New York broke the news about WBCN by stating, in essence, "Rock radio is in a panic state, everyone's losing their jobs, and I'm lucky that I get to work right now." Only a decade ago, rock radio stations were institutions; they hosted concerts, had long-running promotions, and you felt like you had a relationship with that particular number on the dial. Now, you're lucky if you have a radio station that plays music that you like.
The issue here is perhaps three-fold. One, smart people have more money than dumb people. Two, smart people listen to rock music, while dumb people listen to Top 40 music. Three, as a consequence, smart people have moved en masse to satellite radio, where they don't have to listen to annoying commercials and retarded disc jockeys who think the Silversun Pickups are heavier than Led Zeppelin.
Because of these three factors, you are now faced with two choices when you're sitting in your car and want to listen to music: (1) buy satellite radio, or (2) be prepared to listen to shitloads of Lady Gaga.
Although I was scared when the first song I heard was from No Doubt, Connecticut's alternative rock station (Radio 104.1) still exists. It will be my musical accompaniment most of the way through CT.
1:00 PM, Saturday, Tolland, CT. Exit 68 off of I-84 in Connecticut is AMAZING. There is a Dunkin' Donuts, a Subway, two gas stations, and a strip club -- basically, everything a dude traveling alone could possibly ever want, all in one stop.
I am currently waiting in line inside the aforementioned Subway, while an entire boys' soccer team (and both their coaches) order subs, one at a time. Whatever is in the water in Tolland, CT, it seems to promote healthy appetites. Each of these children, although they can't be any older than ten, is ordering a foot-long sub with double meat.
Oh, and did I mention that no one on this team (players or coaches) spoke English? They all only spoke Spanish, and no one was available to translate. As you might suspect, this was a complete and utter disaster. Kids ran away without paying, the orders got mixed up, some of the kids didn't have the money to pay.
Because of the language barrier, it was difficult to resolve this issue. The young couple in front of me left a $10 bill on the counter and walked away; I thought about doing the same thing, but I'm way too nice for that. After about ten minutes in line, I am finally munching my toasted 6" Subway Club on Golden Italian.
1:15 PM, Saturday, Union, CT. If I were to name the most desolate place on my drive from NJ to Massachusetts, it would be Union, CT. There is an exit here, but besides a boarded-up Christian book store, there seems to be no signs of life. Maybe there's a town back there somewhere, but I bet it's haunted like Silent Hill.
It's not surprising that in August 2009, the CT Dept. of Transportation has decided to repave this entire section of I-84. As I sit and wait in traffic (the traffic would keep up until the Mass Pike, 7 miles up the road), I think about the most surreal traffic jam I ever experienced.
It was 11:00 PM on a Thursday in August 2008, and I was heading in the opposite direction on I-84 (but at about this same point). Highway crews were (surprise!) re-paving the highway, and three lanes were going to be cut into one, so naturally there was lots of traffic.
It was a warm evening, the ground was very misty, and I had a cigar prepared for this very situation. As I sat in my SUV and slowly smoked the cigar, inching forward on the highway extremely slowly, I started to think about my life.
On one hand, I'd just finished my first year of graduate school with great grades and excellent research. On the other hand, I was miserable and craving something that felt real. Because I needed some, I played the "Clarity" CD by Jimmy Eat World. Between the smoking and listening to emo music, I started to think and feel like I used to when I was nineteen, and this was no good.
For a split-second that night, I could almost touch the past. It didn't feel like a dream, but I didn't feel like I was sitting in traffic, either. I felt like I was anticipating something, even though I had nothing to anticipate at that time. As it were, everything turned out OK, of course. I made it home and eventually left graduate school.
I haven't smoked while driving since. Back in August 2009, I'm playing one of my favorite albums of the 90's -- Guster's "Goldfly" -- because there's no radio reception in Union, CT.
2:30 PM, Saturday, Worcester, MA. It's hard to describe exactly why it's tricky driving on city streets in Massachusetts. It's some combination of the roads being poorly signed, the number of lanes being poorly indicated, intersections being at odd angles, and other drivers constantly pressuring you to drive faster than you want to.
Twice so far, I've been instructed to be in the right lane even though I was about to make left turns. This is not normal.* (*NOTE: Says the kid from New Jersey, where there are jughandles that lead people to do the exact same thing.) Then again, very little is standard about driving around here - you just have to fly by the seat of your pants, and be creative.
You know, kind of like how this blog post was creative. Stay classy out there.
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