New Jersey: You're shore to love it

Jean made a reasonable request after my rant on New Jersey drivers. “So when do we see the posts about things you LIKE in New Jersey?” Naturally, my first reaction was snarky, because, let’s face it, there is a lot to despise about this place. But am I too rough on the Garden State? This is the most densely populated state, and in such a crowed environment, things (tempers, blood pressure, blisters from too much tanning) rise. But because Jean represents 20% of my blog’s audience, I thought, “Sure, I can think of some things.” So below are things I like about New Jersey.*

*I have excluded people and friends because this is a no cornball zone.

• Naturally, it is pretty incredible to be so close to New York. My town sits on top of a hilly area, and we can see much of the New York City skyline driving through town. That feeling of awe really doesn’t go away.
• New Jersey is home to amazing pizza and bagels. You can find either all over. In North Carolina, it was all chains.
• Generally speaking, things move fast up here – on the roads, in stores, on dates, etc. That mixes well with my general lack of patience for slow people.
• Despite all the densely packed houses, every town I’ve lived in has had an expansive city park where families routinely go on nice afternoons.
• The library system up here is amazing. I can read all the graphic novels I can think of through the inter-library system.
• There are practically no mosquitoes up here! The humidity is only bad for a month or two in the summer. And the spring and fall are usually pretty mild. Can’t say any of that for North Carolina.
• You can’t spit without hitting a Dunkin’ Donuts. (Of course, you can’t spit without hitting a salon either, so …)
• With Continental’s hub in Newark, I can fly almost anywhere in the U.S. non-stop

There's probably more, but my head is tired.

Honk if you want to risk your life on New Jersey roads

Driving in New Jersey is like living in Mad Max: the streets are a lawless, post-apocalyptic free-for-all where the aggressive do as they please and the timid are left limp and lifeless on the side of the road, unable to cling to one more precious breath of air as the toxic fumes of society’s death speed by in souped up, dual exhaust Hondas. Trust me, of all the things I had to get used to when I moved up here from North Carolina, driving was one of the most difficult. I come from an area where people do not tailgate, wait patiently to turn onto other roads, and do not pass those cars waiting to turn.

In New Jersey, drivers get into the left lane of the highway and stay there, no matter how many cars line up behind them, eager to go faster. In New Jersey, the shoulder is merely another lane for cars to pass those stopped and waiting to turn left. In New Jersey, it is a driver’s right, given by God Himself, to pull out into the street and block on-coming traffic as it waits to turn left out of the Stoprite parking lot. In New Jersey, the only time it is acceptable to take your hand off the horn is when you are raising it to give someone the finger. In New Jersey, if someone is going too slow, the only solution is to practically tap their rear bumper – this will undoubtedly solve your problem. In New Jersey, when the light turns red, at least five cars can still slide through and turn left. That’s just common sense. And in New Jersey, if you don’t like it, you can take your non-fake-tanned rear somewhere else.

The snow blows, and other cold Northern truths

Growing up in North Carolina, I was excited every time it snowed. In fact, I have very vivid memories of most of the snow storms we got when I lived in Durham. I remember riding a very flimsy, plastic sled down the Lees’ driveway, right over a very big, bumpy rock around their mailbox that made my area where a human butt should be hurt horribly. I remember Dad helping us all go down our driveway with a wooden sled we could steer with our feet. I remember standing outside WTVD-11 as our church Youth Group was preparing to film the Christmas classic, Rise Up Shepherd*, and a freaky November snow fell on us as we lined up to get inside.

*This is the classic in which I made my television debut**, at the age of 7, with the immortal line, “What about the baby Jesus?” He is the reason for the season, I’m told. Anyone interested in watching this timeless masterpiece, contact me for details on our annual viewing.

** This only aired on the local ABC affiliate, and I believe Nielson recorded it as 0.01 rating.

I even remember sitting around the kitchen table listening to a Walkman with Mom (because the power was out) hoping that school was canceled that day. More often than not, if it snowed, we stayed home. And if it snowed while we were in school – heck, if the forecast called for the possibility of snow – they would cancel the rest of the day and tell our parents to stop partying. The kids were coming home early.

In other words, for 25 years of my life, snow was a big deal. A stop-the-world-I-see-white event.

Today, as I enter what is my fifth winter in the North, it snowed on my way to work. And far from being happy with it, I was irritated. Winters here are cold, dry, and windy; and when it snows, unless it’s a nor’easter, life goes on, your bones freeze from the inside, and the snow hits your face with the cold, wet kiss of a Dementor.* It snows often, and it snows unforgiving. It took only a few years, but New Jersey has turned some of my favorite childhood memories laughingly out-of-date.

*Harry Potter reference!

As friends and family in North Carolina excitedly post pictures of a rare snowstorm, I jealously long for that sense of childlike enthusiasm. You know, rather than the beaten-down, “here we go again, how long is the commute going to be this time,” I hate you CBS 2’s John Elliott! feeling I get now when I see snow in the forecast.

On the plus side, the summers are far less humid. So that will be nice in 7 months.

On fandom

I grew up a rabid University of North Carolina sports fan. My dad and several of my aunts and uncles attended the school in the 1970s, and the devotion they showed their alma mater (rather through genetics or osmosis) passed along to me. I grew up on Woody Durham-called games of often pitiful football games (I remember hoping one year for a Liberty Bowl berth …) and the excellent but not-quite-good-enough basketball teams of the late 1980s (an upset of Number 1 seed Oklahoma in the 1988 NCAA tournament a high point). I was a fanatic in every sense of the word. In the 1995 final four, I had to go up to my room and listen to the Final Four game against Arkansas on the radio rather than watch; the game was too close and I couldn’t stand the anxiety. (They wound up losing.) I was distraught when the football team (ranked in the top 10!) blew a 17-3 fourth quarter lead at Virginia in 1996 which would have given the team their first win in Charlottesville since before I turned 1.

Then I went to school in Chapel Hill. If possible, things got worse. I attended all the football games, despite the ineptitude that was the Carl Torbush tenure. I went to all the basketball games I could, despite this requiring picking up tickets at 6 am Saturday mornings and despite this being the Matt Doherty era – I went to at least 15 games my junior year, when the team went 8-20. In other words, I bled Carolina blue, win or lose, thick or thin.

Things did not change after I graduated. There is something extraordinarily magical about the University of North Carolina. If you did not attend the school, I don’t think I can adequately describe just what happens to you when you join that brotherhood (girls allowed). From the beautiful campus (particularly in Spring), the school’s history, the sports, the people … those four years leave a permanent mark. And that mark includes living and breathing Tar Heel sports. That mark has followed me to New Jersey.

That brings us to this year. And what a year it’s been. Between one full disappointing basketball season (with another in the early stages) and a football team that both disappointed on the field (from possible conference championship to 7-5) and off the field (taking money from agents? cheating on papers?), this is a hard time to be a Tar Heel fan. As a fanatical follower, I take losses hard and react to off-field transgressions with anger. I shout obscenities and curse opposing players (especially those in the uglier shade of blue). In other words, I behave in a way that would horrify me if I saw others doing.

I thought of this again during the Cleveland-Miami basketball game last night. The Cleveland fans feel betrayed because Lebron James left their team and their city. That betrayal has led to hatred – pure, absolute hatred of a player they once adored. During the game, they booed mercilessly, chanted things intended to hurt him (“Scottie Pippen!” “Akron hates you!”), and some even threw things at the Heat bench during the game. All because the fans feel that this player – someone they’ve never interacted with personally – owed them more. This player, who as that term implies, makes a living playing a game in front of spectators, has disrespected them and created a city-wide feeling of having been left at the altar, dumped for a more attractive city. And this devotion has turned rancid, and these people – people who I assume are well-meaning and mild-mannered during the day – turned into rabid, loud, hate-filled patrons in the night. They came prepared, with signs, shirts, props, and more, with one goal in mind: to show one man how much they hate him. We are talking about sports here. People don’t put this much thought into protesting homophobia or the rising deficit – things that actually matter.

And I can say with full self-awareness, that I would have probably done the same.

I can also say that this is not healthy. My blood pressure should not rise and fall with every Larry Drew II turnover or TJ Yates poorly-thrown pass. I’d like to say that with this self-awareness, I’ve decided to step back and re-evaluate my priorities. Perhaps skipping a few ballgames when the team is almost guaranteed to infuriate me would be a good idea. Trying to dampen the affect wins or losses have on my happiness would probably improve my life and make me a generally more pleasant fellow to be around. All of this I know. In my head, it makes perfect sense.

But I can’t do that. I live and bleed Carolina blue. I grew up a Tar Heel fan in Durham, listening to those insufferable snobs go on and on about Christian Laettner and whine about any call that didn’t go Coach K’s (hereafter referred to as “rat face devil”) way. I spent four years immersed in Carolina blue, immersed in Carolina legend … how can I not be this way? Why would I want to be any other way? I’m happy with my delusion: sports matter, Carolina sports matter, and the players care about that legacy as much as I do.

Which is why, if the Heels don’t beat Kentucky on Saturday, you’ll be able to read my “end of the world” updates on Twitter or see me sitting dejectedly in the living room for the rest of the day. Because despite my self-awareness, I’m still a Tar Heel born and a Tar Heel bred. And more than likely, I’ll be a Tar Heel dead.

Let’s just hope my heart can hold out a while before that last part comes true.